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fieldofdaisiies · 1 year ago

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Ars Amatoria | ch. VIII

Elucien AU word count: 2,8k words warnings: none

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“Turn around, Lucien! Immediately!” Lucrezia’s voice is loud and stern and leaves no room for objection.

“She is in the library. And you go talk to her now. Apologise for whatever drove you to leave her alone last night.”

There is a deep crease on his mother’s forehead when Lucien around turns to her and shamefully dips his chin at his mother. He feels like a little boy who has done something mischievous and now is blamed for it. And in the broader sense he has done something bad and is now blamed for it. And he deserves it. He deserves all the blame he can get.

He was a coward and not at all a noble man. Not the kind of man Elain deserves.

“Will do so,” Lucien says in a voice filled with embarrassment.

It is shortly past lunch time, the meeting of the Signoria took, once again, longer than expected.

“Yes, and, Lucien, don’t you dare be a massive idiot again!” His mother tilts her chin up, warning glowing in her russet eyes. All kindness has left her expression, there is just disappointment there.

Lucien lifts his hands in defence, but nods again and descends the staircase.

With his heart slumping into his stomach, he heads for the library. He hesitates outside the library, waits for a long moment before his hand reaches down to the cool handle and he draws in a long and deep breath.

Elain moves along the shelves, her index finger brushing over the spines and she stops in front of Roman Philosophers and Writers. She gazes at the collection of books standing before her, captivated by their beautiful spines. Nesta would love it here…

The croaking of a door makes her turn around and she is met with no other than her husband. But gone is his confidence, there is nothing but serenity and shame etched into his features. He looks so boyish in this moment, so young and full of regret and remorse.

Lucien carefully closes the door behind him, not saying anything until the door is sealed shut. Then he lifts his gaze to Elain, she is already looking at him, her heart thrumming in her throat, waiting for him to make the first step.

“I am sorry. I should not have just left last night.”

Lucien walks into the room, only alit by the few strays of sun that find their way inside through the curtain-framed windows. Elain nods her head a little, but can’t keep the question bottled up, it just bursts out of her.

“Why did you leave? You could have just told me that you did not want me, instead of leaving me waiting for you.”

A small crack appears in Lucien’s heart at the hurt in her voice and he wants to nothing more than just wrap her into his arms and explain it all to her. But that would be out of place, wrapping her into his arms, after his actions of the previous night.

So he decides to walk closer to her and try to explain everything with a little distance between them.

“I know you said it is your duty to sleep with me — your duty as my wife. But I don’t want you to sleep with me because you think it is your duty. I want us to sleep together because we want to. We barely know each other, Elain. I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything just because you think you have to do it in order to be a good wife.”

Lucien inhales deeply, his eyes never leaving Elain’s. He feels that she wants to look away, but she is brave, her hands balled into fists at her side, her posture rigid.

“I am not worthy of taking your maidenhead. And if I ever do so, if you ever allow me this, then only because you want it. And not because you feel obliged to sleep with me. You understand that, Elain?”

She understands. And she…she can’t even put into words what that means to her. What it means to her that he is thinking so. That he wants to give her time. Even though they are married, he wants to give her time.

Graysen always pushed her to finally kiss, even wanted them to sleep together rather early, but now she is given time. She has time.

A tiny smile blooms on her face and she wants to thank him, wants to throw her arms around him and say a thank you. But she stays composed, not letting her other side show already — the bubbly and chirpy Elain who only a few people know of.

“How do you know that I am still a virgin?” she finds herself asking instead, herself even surprised over her sudden confidence to just put this question out there. And that this is the first question that comes up also surprised her. Second would have been – why did you not properly talk to me?

A flush creeps over her cheeks, but she still manages to hold Lucien’s gaze, even now that that this questions hangs in the air between them.

Lucien seems a little relieved, somehow at least, and smiles — it almost looks like a smirk.

“Well, are you not?” He raises a brow and leans agains the desk behind him, his arms crossed over his chest, one ankle over the other.

“Well, I am.” Elain presses her lips in a thin line, waiting for Lucien’s reaction. If it causes any kind of reaction. But he stays calm, the smile still on his lips. “So, is waiting alright for you?”

“It is. And I am thankful for you giving me time. For you…to be my husband.”

She just has to say this, admit it. She could have had much worse luck with her future husband and even though she has been robbed of her freedom and of a future with Graysen and there is still a tiny kernel of hurt about the previous night in her heart, she is has to admit that she is lucky that Lucien Vanserra is her husband now and not some man who would constantly take advantage of her.

“There is nothing to thank me for, my lady. I am just trying to be a good husband.”

His smile brightens even a little more and Lucien's chest heaves with a deep inhale. “This is my duty. To make sure you are alright and happy and that, even though we have been both forced into this agreement, you get the best out of it.”

Elain takes a quick step forward, nearly closing the distance between the two of them. “But what about you?” She looks up at him, her deep brown eyes meeting his of russet.

Once again, now not wearing heels for the first time but just slippers, she realises how much taller her husband really is. And she loves it. Loves how he towers over her, even while leaning against the chair. It is not intimidating or scary but rather gives her a feeling of security. Lucien gives his head a little shake, his eyes moving over her face in a slow, explorative motion.

“Don’t worry about me. You are kind, smart, and probably the most beautiful women Italy has ever seen. I think I can call myself a very lucky husband.”

Her ears turn red. So does her face and her cleavage and Elain swallows thickly, eyes widening as she stares at Lucien. And it is all she does, and that for a long moment. She just stares, her lips parting the slightest bit. “I….I..thank—“ “Nothing to thank me for, I already said so.” Lucien grins and pushes off the desk, now standing directly in front of her.

“What are you doing in here? Looking for something specific? Maybe I can help you.”

Lucien steps in line with Elain and places his warm palm on the small of her back, turning her so they are facing the large book shelf.

He knows they will have to talk about the wedding night again, knows that Elain wants to talk about it again, about everything, but right now...right now he will get to know his wife a little. Later they can talk.

Elain is slightly caught in a stupor about his touch, tingles erupting on her skin where his hand is placed on her body. Her heart makes a tiny flip.

“Oh, I was just looking around for a book I could read.” She inhales deeply and involuntarily draws in her husband’s magnificent and absolutely beguiling scent — it is woodsy, earthy, a little like the woodfire-scent outside and in addition, he smells like sun-warmed skin. Perfect, in other words.

Lucien hums and Elain takes a step closer to the shelf, looking at the book bindings, trying to keep herself busy. She especially wants to keep her traitorous brain busy as suddenly quite irrational and odd thoughts of wanting to bury her face in his chest and draw in his scent again sprout their.

She blushes anew, trying to call upon her rationality. God! What is this man doing to her?

"I think I have two suggestions. They are my favourites,” Lucien says behind her and suddenly stands terribly close to her. But it is not uncomfortable, it actually feels very good. And very right. “May I?”

“Sure!” Elain blurts out, not quite sure what he has even been asking for.

He moves in even closer, his chest brushing Elain’s back, his body stretching behind her, his arm reaching up until he grabs two books —two books— in one, broad hand.

He takes a step back, allowing Elain some freedom when he places the first book in her hands. It has a brown cover and the binding looks rather old. Elain lets her fingers dance over it.

Ars Amatoria. The art of love.

She flips the book open and reads over the first lines, a dedication to some people she does not know. She moves to the next page where a short outline of the book is given.

“Poems,” Lucien comments, watching how Elain’s eyes trail over the words. He watches how her throat works on a swallow. The book has three parts.

1) Ubi Romae guy puellae congredi potest? 2) Quomodo vincet homo amorem suum? 3) Quomodo potest homo facere dominam suam?

Where in Rome can you meet a girl, how you can win her love and how you can keep this love.

From Nesta Elain knows that this book also discusses quite ribald things and she closes the book with deep red cheeks. “I am sorry, but I think this book is not quite for me.”

She lifts her gaze to Lucien who is still smiling at her, but looks a little irritated. “Why is that?” he asks, voice tinged with curiosity.

“It is quite ungodly I would say?” Elain poses her statement more like a question and it draws a little laugh from Lucien.

“Ungodly?” he asks with an amused smile on his lips.

Elain holds her chin high, but not in an accusatory way as she is still smiling. “Yes,” she says with quite some power in her voice. “Ovid. He teaches people in the art of seduction.“

“Really, does he?” Lucien asks, nothing but amusement and a hint of mischief in his tone. “But is this a bad thing?”

He looks at his wife for a moment before he continues. “I like his books a lot. His wording is phenomenal, his phrasing and his metaphors. Try reading it at some point, hm?”

“Maybe one day.” Elain bites down on her lower lip, smiling cheekily up at him.

It is then that Lucien hands her the other book: Odyssee. “I think that will be more to your liking. It discusses no..ungodly shenanigans. ”

Elain, who has heard of this book before, giggles a little. She has never read it but it is about someone going on a trip somewhere, or so she has heard. She wants to read it and returns Ovid’s book back to Lucien and takes the one with the red binding out of his hand.

“Put it on the table, you can get it later. For now, I would like to show you the gardens. I think you will like them.”

Elain’s heart warms, beating happily in her chest at this question. Yes, yes, she will like them.

✢ ✢ ✢

“I really regret leaving last night without saying a word. Please, know that I truly feel miserable about it and that I would understand if it takes a while for you to forgive me. I was a fool and a coward.” Lucien’s voice is low, and cold, yet his palm on the small of Elain’s back is warm.

Maybe now, now that they are in the gardens he can address the topic anew. Maybe they can talk about it...a little at least.

Lucien guides Elain through the pruned trees that are growing in neat rows along the pathway. They are flowering as it is early spring, carrying lush green leaves. A breeze blows through them and also whirls Elain’s hair around.

She needs a moment to think, her demeanour turns serious and she stops. “I was really hurt yesterday, but you explained it to me. I see you reasons for doing it, especially since those reasons were mostly about me and my well-being. And I can forgive you for that.”

Elain glances past her husband for a moment, looking at the bird bath where a bird couple is sharing an earth worm. She smiles at them and then returns her attention back to Lucien, waiting for him to answer.

“I truly am a lucky husband who does not at all deserve his wife,” he says.

His eyes sparkle in the afternoon sun and for the first time Elain sees the scar on his face, from his forehead down to his cheek. Lucien must have noticed her looking and brings his hand up to his face, fingers tracing over the scar. “I got into a fight a few years ago with someone who meant nothing but harm to our family. Don't worry about, it is all in the past.”

He adds no more of an explanation, but a small smile plays on Lucien’s lips, and Elain has to admit that he could compete with the sun high above them so beautiful he looks in this moment. Elain lets out a soft hum while maintaining eye contact, and it's only after a brief moment that they move on.

Lucien guides Elain through an archway covered in vines to a stone bench where they sit down. Elain smoothes out her dress and then finds a lady bug sitting on her hand. She smiles as she watches it crawl over her skin.

“Is it only a few days since you left Venice, but do you miss it?”

Elain lowers her head briefly and thinks about the question. The little lady bug is still on the back of her hand, not minding at all that he is crawling on top of a human.

When she looks up at her husband she finds Lucien already looking at her. “I thought I would miss it more. I haven’t really thought about it that much, to be honest.”

Lucien nods, some unreadable emotion passing over his face. “And your family? You have another sister right?”

Elain tells Lucien about Feyre and her being married to the duke of Milan. They talk a little about their siblings, and find out that Eris and Nesta are quite similar in many ways.

“He needed allies in Florence, he said,” Elain explains to Lucien in answer to his question why his father and Eris made the deal and what her father told her. Lucien nods in acknowledgement and tells her that Eris told him something similar.

Lucien now also looks at the ladybug, lazily crawling over Elain’s hand. He loves how she looks at the insect, how much love she has for the little things this world has to offer. She is so good, deep inside her heart, and also on the outside, she is simply pure and good. Too good.

Lucien swallows thickly as he silently regards her, her button nose, her long lashes, her lips that are a little pouted. No wonder, truly no wonder, that Jurian wants to paint her so many times. She could absolutely be Venus — the goddess of love and beauty. Maybe she was reborn?

Elain’s voice is what fetches Lucien back to reality, and he clears his throat, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck when he feels a little bit of warmth fill his cheeks.

“Would you like to hold him?”

He does not understand immediately, but when Elain lifts her hand and shows him the lady bug, he has to smile.

“Him?" he chuckles. "But, of course,” Lucien adds, a hint of playfulness in his tone.

He brings his hand closer to Elain’s until their fingers touch and the ladybug casually walks onto his hand. Lucien smiles and Elain giggles loudly, the sound so pure and rich it makes Lucien’s chest warm from the inside out.

His must have shaken his hand a little as the bug spreads its wings and takes off, but Elain does not deign him a glance, her whole focus on Lucien who says, “There he goes.”

Elain has to laugh a little, her nose crinkling, and her eyes sparkling, as she holds eye-contact with her husband, some silent conversation of a now more positive future passing between them.

~~~~~~~~~ taglist AA: @octobers-veryown @velidewrites @areyoudreaminof @acourtofthought @liftyourhipsformelovex @hallway5 @stickyelectrons @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @bibliophiliaxvignette @thelovelymadone @sunshinebingo @arabellatheauthor @autumndreaming7 @nestas-workwife @rarephloxes @tuzna-pesma-snova general el. taglist: @rippahwrites @shadowhunter2003 @my-inner-crisis @ladyelain @acourtofthought @itwasalwaysaboutthetea @multifictional @moonlightazriel @aayo-whatt @brekkershadowsinger @sunshinebingo @gracie-rosee

#elucien #elucienweek2023 #elain x lucien #acotar #acosf

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youwouldntbelievehowigothere · 1 year ago

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Here, I said I would continue it. I guess I'll keep using the zelink week tags even though that time has passed. Here is the fifth chapter of the untitled OOT zelink child timeline arranged marriage story

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CH 5: By a Thread

With an etiquette book in hand, Zelda worked up her courage. She was going to surprise Link with a visit. She was going to go into the library and distract him from his studies.

She was being a bad influence.

But she so wanted a little time with him without others so near! And there were plenty of places in the library that they could spend time without being missed. She glanced down at her book, it was the perfect cover.

There he was, nose buried in a book– sleeping. Sleeping? She noted the way his head rested on his arms, on a book, with another propped up in front. Gentle snores escapade him.

He was definitely sleeping.

With a wicked smirk, Zelda crept up to him, ready to shake his shoulders when he suddenly lifted his head and made a face. It was so shocking, Zelda jumped with a yelp, and Link started laughing. Taken aback, she couldn’t help but laugh too.

“Were you just pretending the whole time?” she asked.

“No, I was asleep,” he answered, setting the book that had been propped up so that it lay open on the table. “You’re just so loud you woke me.”

“Liar,” she accused. The only person she couldn’t sneak up on was Impa.

He only smiled, waiting a moment, then asking, “And what do I owe to the honor of a visit from the princess?”

His grand praise, as always, flustered her a little. “Well, I had thought…” she started, suddenly finding her plan extremely silly. “The library might be a good place to practice.”

“Practice…” he started, then motioned her to lean closer. She obliged and he continued, “intimacy?”

From the way her face burned she was sure it was bright red. She hadn’t actually meant that, but the thought of it was too good to pass up. In an attempt to be demure, she lowered her lashes and glanced away.

From the corner of her eye, she could see his almost boyish grin. With a mischievous glimmer in his eye, he reached for her hand.

Once more, hand holding did not feel as exciting as it ought to. More than any great passion, it filled her with the gentle warmth his friendship had already brought her. Which wasn’t to say she didn’t enjoy it.

He stood and then gently pulled her along. She followed eagerly, practically dogging his steps. Where were they going? She knew the library extremely well, and the route he wound around the bookshelves didn’t reveal any obvious answers as to his destination.

After more than a few twists and turns, and one staircase later, she almost asked if he was lost. Until he turned on her, pressing her to a bookshelf.

This close, she could feel the heat of his body, and the sensation made her knees weak. She leaned harder into the full shelves behind her, not trying to move away, but simply needing support. His half lidded blue eye observed her with a dedication she’d never seen before.

Was this it? Was he going to kiss her?

He leaned closer, and she thought her heart might beat out of her chest. Was he nervous? Was he used to being so close to girls? His slight smile and whatever it was that simmered in his gaze didn’t reveal any of his thoughts. Nothing besides the fact that clearly he was enjoying something about the moment. Would it be presumptive to think it was her?

Her eyes drifted shut as she waited for his lips on hers… Only to wait a bit longer than expected. His cheek brushed hers as he went past her lips to whisper in her ear.

“You need to stop blushing so much,” he said, “It’s strange to see the princess so excited.”

Zelda’s eyes snapped open. His words alit a frustration in her and she bit back defensively, “I’m not exactly used to any of this.”

The silent question of ‘are you?’ must’ve carried along as he laughed slightly. “I’m not either, but perhaps it's a good thing. People might think you’re a maiden in love as they ought.”

“Or they’ll think you a rake who seduced their precious princess,” she said back, remembering her pride. She could allow for the people to think her in love, but it wouldn’t do for her emotions to be so plain. No one would seriously think Link was a rake, or at least no one who knew him would, but appearances did matter. Love was an important part of marriage, but in a royal marriage, so was level headedness. And a blushing maiden did not embody that virtue.

He pulled away, giving space for both of them to breathe. His brow was slightly furrowed.

“I think,” she started again, steeling herself for what she was about to suggest, “we ought to kiss now.”

“You want to jump straight to that?” he asked.

“It would be the simplest way to get used to each other,” she reasoned, “and it’s really the only thing that we might do in public that we didn’t do before.”

And she really really wanted to.

For the first time, Link showed some sort of nerves. She reached up to place her hand on his shoulders, slowly drawing him in.

When she was inches from his face, he asked, “Is this something you really want?”

She tilted her head slightly, watching his oddly serene face for any new signs of discomfort. “We have to start somewhere. Besides, more will be expected after we’re married.”

“And you want that?”

She swallowed. “I do.”

He had to have already known that. She’d never hid her fate.

“I wonder…” he started, a far off look in his eye as he trailed off.

“You wonder?” she asked.

Link blinked, obviously not realizing he’d spoken aloud. “Oh, it’s nothing.”

She had been slowly pressing into his personal space, and he’d been slowly retreating. With a gentle bump, his back hit the bookshelf on the other side.

“Do you want this?” she asked, “truly?”

His eye flickered to the floor and then to her lips. Almost sardonically he said, “I accepted it, didn’t I?”

It wasn’t quite a yes, but her thoughts were interrupted by a most fierce kiss. She reciprocated on instinct, hardly knowing what to do.

He pulled away and observed her face closely. Zelda lowered her lashes. It was all too much so suddenly. And yet… she gripped the fabric of his tunic and pulled him close again.

His lips were softer than she’d been expecting. She supposed that made a certain amount of sense, but every other bit of him seemed in contrast to herself. She was sure they must look rather silly, her almost desperate, him too cool. She still couldn’t find it in her to care.

Eventually Link was the one to quietly make distance. Her brows creased as to why they had stopped, until Link said, “That’s probably enough practice.”

Right… it was just practice. He wasn’t kissing her because he had been overcome with passion, but because they needed to not look awkward in public.

Zelda let go of his tunic and stepped away, trying to ignore the way his lips were slightly colored pink with the lip tint she’d put on that morning. She tried to ignore the way his eye moseyed over her own with equal curiosity–– and the look of guilt that flashed over them.

Guilt? What need for guilt was there?

“Was that alright?” she asked, self doubt sinking in. Maybe he had stopped because he couldn’t stomach her anymore.

“It was more than alright,” he placated, “Just that we’ve been here for a while, I think we ought to head back.”

He was probably right. Before she could get too down, Link tilted her chin up and gave her one last kiss. More of a peck, but Zelda could get used to such a farewell. She smiled shyly, forgetting the purpose of their practice.

“I’ll let you get back to your studies,” she said, “and will see you at dinner?”

He nodded. “I’ll see you then.”

…

Dinner was a fine affair, save for the fact she felt she had to act the entire time. The ‘training’ backfired spectacularly because now all she could think about was what they had done.

Once more, if Link was as affected as her, he hid it well. Impa watched the two of them with interest, and Zelda knew she knew more than the king did about Zelda and Link’s relationship. Not that there was anything to be embarrassed about, since this was the sort of thing that was good no matter the feelings.

Right, it was good even if he didn’t love her…

Was it good?

When he kissed her, it felt like he did love her, exactly as she loved him. Could that just be her lying heart?

“Zelda,” her father called, “how did the dress fittings go.”

So preoccupied with other thoughts, like that of kissing and the wisdom of her own heart, Zelda had completely forgotten about her dress fittings.

“It went fine,” she said, “There wasn’t much, if anything, to adjust. They did a fine job.”

“Link, we’ll need to get you a suit as well,” her father said, “you’ve been so busy with training that it’s been difficult to track you down.”

Difficult to track him down? Zelda furrowed her brow. It was completely reasonable to believe he would hide out in obscure places around the castle, or sneak out to the town or field. He’d always been inclined for unaccounted time. But why wouldn’t he tell or invite her?

Was it dangerous? Did he worry she would get him caught?

Had he been going to meet someone?

She tried to shake such thoughts from her mind. That was ridiculous, unfounded jealousy. What made her think he needed anything besides some time away from the castle? She felt that way too.

He was about to become prince, so she ought to support such freedom while it could be managed.

Bolstering her untrusting thoughts, Link avoided looking at her or her father as he answered, “I’m sorry, I hadn’t thought of that. When would be a good time?”

Zelda stopped listening to the rather dull conversation and ruminated.

At the end of dinner, she stood with Impa to prepare for sleep, only to be stopped by a hand on her wrist. She looked up to see the handsome face of her fiance. Concern pinched in his brow, and he glanced at Impa before speaking.

“Everything alright?”

Was it?

“I think a walk would do to clear my head,” she answered. Glancing at Impa she silently pleaded to be afforded an evening walk. Ever since her midnight escape Impa had been reluctant in allowing Zelda walks in the dark. Not that a princess could be forbidden by her guard, but Zelda didn’t want Impa to worry. Subtly, Impa nodded, and Link noted. He held out his arm and Zelda took it.

They strolled to the gardens in quiet. Once in reasonable privacy, he asked once more. “Are you alright? Or did my arm do something to offend you?”

She released his arm with a small startle. Her hands had tightened around it like a vice. “I’m sorry,” she apologized.

“I’ll forgive you if you answer my question.”

“Have you been sneaking out of the castle?” she asked.

He stalled, both in speech and movement before starting again.

Finally he said, “I haven’t gone far.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

His expression was hard and she didn’t know what to make of it.

“I just worry,” she continued, “I can never tell what you’re thinking. I don’t want you to think you can’t trust me. And it’s not that I don’t trust you, but–” she searched for the rest of what she had been thinking but all that came was the turbulence and uncertainty love seemed to ignite. “–but I worry.” she finished lamely.

“I trust you,” he answered immediately. “I don’t want you to– I only… I only wanted some time to myself.”

“Oh,” she started, “I’m sorry, I should’ve known and I’ll just leave you now–”

Zelda made to get away, but Link caught her hand.

“I like spending time with you too,” he said.

“Of course.” She bowed her head. How foolish was she! She didn’t need his pity.

A finger lifted her chin up. “Is this my fault?” he asked, “I thought you might combust at the start of dinner, but by the end it was like when the Zora’s Domain fro–” he stopped himself, “A whirlpool in the Zora’s domain. Have you always been like this?”

It was overwhelming to look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“It’s not you I want to get away from,” he said, “it’s… everyone else. I know it’s not quite right for us to be alone for your reputation, but I just want to talk without fear of others hearing.”

“I think it could be arranged,” she said. As long as they didn’t go far, Impa wouldn’t object, right? “My father hinted as much would be okay, expected almost.”

He chuckled and warmth and giddiness erupted through her body. His hand was still on her face. She squeezed his bicep once more, but this time on purpose. He raised an eyebrow.

“Do you think we need more practice?” he asked in hushed tones.

Zelda didn’t have an answer for him. Not with words at least.

She leaned up, near enough she could feel his breath on her skin, but before his lips could meet hers, he turned his head. As she wondered clearly for the reason, She followed his line of sight and saw Impa staring at the two of them. Link smiled wistfully, made appropriate distance, and said good night.

Impa approached then and a certain sort of rage bubbled up in Zelda.

“How could you!” She hissed to her former nursemaid and current guard.

Impa’s red eyes stared unperturbed at her princess’ anger. “I wouldn’t have stopped the boy, he did that of his own accord.”

“Why are you here then?” Zelda asked.

“It’s late, and people talk,” she said, “I’m your chaperone as well as your guard, so I need to be in your vicinity.”

“What does my reputation matter anymore?” she asked, “I’m to be married in less than a month.”

“It’s not your reputation, but your safety.”

“And I’m not safe with Link?” she challenged.

Impa hardened her expression. “If he had his wits about him you would be. But clearly you’re both preoccupied.”

But not with the same thing, clearly.

The wedding was fast approaching, and Zelda wondered if she would ever gain the ability to ask Link a question she may truly not want the answer to.

She followed Impa to her chambers, where the older woman helped her out of her evening gown and into her nightgown. Once in the night gown, she began brushing her hair.

“I will admit, it’s odd to see you like this, princess” Impa said, “I always knew you cared for him but…”

Zelda burned with embarrassment once more.

“I hope he is deserving of it.”

So even Impa was unsure.

“Do you not trust him?” Zelda asked.

Impa was quiet for a long moment. Finally, she set the hair brush down and began braiding. “I have trouble trusting anyone anymore. Especially someone who has so much power over you. Even if he did declare his love for you every second sentence I don’t think that would help. People in love can do desperate things.”

She spoke as if she had experience in it. If she did, Zelda had never heard anything about it.

“It’s not just him,” Impa said finally, “it may just be the fact you’re getting married. You’ve been an adult for a while now, and it’s just now that I recognize it. You will always be mine to protect, but I can’t protect you from matters of the heart.”

With that statement, she tied the braid off and left the room, leaving Zelda to her thoughts. And what overwhelming thoughts they were.

Just as she was about to lie down for the night, a pebble hit her window. Curious, she approached to see a piece of paper tied to a rock thrown onto her balcony. Using her magic, she teleported the rock to her room and untied it, reading the note.

‘Tomorrow night. The stables. 10pm.’

From the handwriting, the sender was rather obvious.

Zelda held the note to her chest and sighed.

…

Ever since that first night, it’d become something of a routine to sneak out every few days or so. It felt silly and rebellious to do so so close to the wedding, but if not now, when? She’d never the chance to rebel against anything when she was younger.

The one time she’d asked Link if he felt the same, he’d stopped and looked at her funny and then laughed. As he often did, he refused to explain what exactly was so funny.

Most of the time was spent simply talking, but some of it was spent otherwise. It would’ve been embarrassing how much she looked forward to these meetings, had the joy of love not tinted everything rose.

On that particular evening, Zelda was not especially on guard due to said feelings of love. Even if there were guards, it wasn’t that difficult to sneak past them, and beyond that, she was going to meet the one of the people most concerned with her safety. Preoccupied with all the questions she was going to ask Link about the concert they’d attended earlier in the day, and all the honest answers she would get away from listening ears, she failed to notice the shadows that followed her.

Just as she smelled an odd scent, almost like an exotic flower, something crashed over her head and the world went dark.

…

She awoke an indeterminate time later to the sound of a woman arguing with someone, loudly. The exotic flower smell, she realized, was the Gerudo’s perfume, the same as the one from that night all those weeks ago.

So she had been right, the would-be assassins had escaped the Lost Woods. Or at least one of them did.

“Why can’t we just kill her,” the second voice asked, a Hylian man from the sounds of it, “I don’t see how we’ll be able to smuggle her all the way to the desert without half of Hyrule finding out. Besides, you said you’re trying to kill the Hero.”

“I told you before,” the Gerudo assassin hissed, “We serve Twinrova, and they demand her blood.”

“You serve Twinrova, whoever that is. I serve whoever pays me.”

“Twinrova is paying you so you serve Twinrova.”

Clearly this had been an ongoing argument and Zelda took stock of herself. Her mouth was gagged, and a bag had been tied over her head. Her wrists were tied, as were her ankles, the former of which were already starting to wear raw. She tried to feel more with magic, but found her abilities muted. It was like there was a barrier between her and her hands– ah

Twinrova, the Gerudo witches. They must’ve placed some sort of enchantment over the ropes to seal her power. And as the Gerudo didn’t underestimate her, even the knife hidden on her thigh was gone.

Just as she was beginning to despair, as no one knew where she was, and she wouldn’t be missed until morning, chaos erupted. There were only two rogues and from how one of them cried out and the hot liquid flowed onto Zelda’s skirts, soaking through them, only one of them was now in fighting shape.

The element of surprise didn’t last long, as the Gerudo rogue charged to fight Zelda’s savior. Zelda scrambled with her hands and bound legs to get out from under the body, and to find some way to sever the rope. Surely a ruffian would have a knife on him!

The sounds of fighting filled the area, which she determined must be outdoors with how loud the crickets sang, and the breeze against her skin. Metal clashed with metal. Grunts and yells of exertion informed her who was defending her.

Another body landed next to her and for a second, she thought it was Link, but from the long hair that fell on her arm, she knew it wasn’t.

The Gerudo rogue brought Zelda rough to her knees, a sharp knife pressing to her throat.

“Stop,” the Gerudo hissed, “Or your precious princess will spill some of that holy blood.”

Zelda tried to warn Link that it was a bluff, but no clear words could make it past her gag. The point of the knife pricked her neck and a hot droplet traced down her skin.

“Let her go,” Link commanded. If he was scared, it trembled not his voice.

“Put down your sword.”

Something must’ve hit the Gerudo from behind, and she stumbled a step forward. With the knife no longer at her throat, Zelda pushed away from the rogue. She fell to the ground again, but the space allowed Link to close the distance.

The fight was over as quickly as it had started. With a slice of his sword, the Gerudo was quiet.

Careful hands cut away Zelda’s restraints and removed the blindfold and gag.

Once freed, she threw her arms around him, Link reciprocating, holding her almost too tightly. Almost desperately he whispered, “You’re okay, right?”

She nodded, and he pulled her back enough to look in her eyes. Seriousness melted into plain concern as he promised, “I won’t lose you again.”

Her confusion was halted, along with all other higher thoughts as he dove forward to kiss her.

It was a passionate kiss, unlike the ones they had shared before. There was no restraint, or confusion, or any other emotion save the fire that burned between them. She carded her fingers through his hair, relishing in the way his body felt against hers.

They broke apart with a gasp, and Link finally glanced at the two dead bodies at their feet. Zelda had forgotten about them.

“Did you see what distracted her?” Zelda asked.

“I did.”

When he didn’t elaborate, Zelda took his hand and started to pull him away. “We should get help. Do you know if–”

“She was the last of the rogue group,” he said with confidence.

A headache began to make itself known in her head, and Zelda pressed a hand to her temple. She hoped she didn’t have a concussion, but in all likelihood she did. The spot where she’d been hit over the head was starting to throb, the excitement and fear from earlier had distracted her from the pain.

Arm in arm, they walked to where the nearest guard would be and Zelda waited. She waited for her heart to stop pounding.

But Link kept sneaking small glances at her like he was scared she might disappear out from under him, and then smiling when he saw her still there.

The assassins were dead, Hyrule was safe, and Link was in love with her.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

<- Previous Chapter | First Chapter | Next Chapter ->

#zelink #oot zelink #zelink week 2023 #by a thread #day 5 #only a few weeks late lol

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electricshoebox · 3 years ago

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wip meme

Rules: Post the names of all the files in your WIP folder, regardless of how non-descriptive or ridiculous. Let people send you an ask with the title that most intrigues them and then post a little snippet of it or tell them something about it! and then tag as many people as you have WIPs.

Tagged by: @just-another-wasteland-merc, thank you!!

WIP Titles (I don’t get very creative with these I’m sorry):

The Eye of the Storm, Ch. 16

[Ch. 17]

[Preston/Anthony]

[DeaCready Rain Kiss]

[Quinnverse DeaCready]

[Duncan, reading with Deacon]

[ALITS Last Days]

Tagging: @molliehaswords, @desynchimminent, @valkyriejack, @junemermaid, and @velvet-verve. No pressure if you’re not up for it!

#wip meme #ask memes #writing memes

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coin-writes · 3 years ago

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stellar bouquet: tessember 2021

read ch 1 on ao3!

Summary: A collection of one shots featuring Tess, who also goes by Space, experiencing all kinds of things in the inherently vast universe. Loki, Avengers and Infinity gang are not the main focus—they'll come in and out as I please. Will be combining hard and regular mode prompt lists together.

Chapter One: Space Summary: A surprise for Tess.

you can also read the fic under the cut!

“How much longer?” Tess murmurs, lowering her eyelashes and trying not to flinch at the bright glare of Reality’s camera. Repetitive clicks sound, and Tess remains still and posed, feet gliding over water.

“Don’t talk,” is what Reality says, crouched in front of her with their large camera. It’s so large it covers their face so only their long red curls are visible, bouncing as they take shots from different angles of Space.

Space, who stands over a lake, one hand on a hip jutted out (one of Reality's numerous poses), modelling in Reality and Soul’s recently made dress. It’s a dark, flowing gown coloured in night’s colours; blue, black and purple being some of them, and it's embroidered with sparkling jewels that appear rather stellar on the dark background. “And if you keep asking that, it’ll feel much longer,” Reality continues, coming towards her to adjust the gown for the umpteenth time. “Move your chin up a little. Don’t hunch and don't flutter your eyelashes like that, please.”

Tess scowls at the multitude of instructions. Someone's feeling especially bossy tonight. “Like what?”

“Like you’re about to sleep,” says Reality, tucking a few folds of her gown in a way that highlights a few of the larger jewels they embroidered. “And remove that scowl off your face.” At Space’s indignant look, they sigh, face slipping into a tired but determined expression as they move back to their camera. “Just one last set, Tess. And then you can relax all you want — I promise.”

“No more weird poses, though,” Tess agrees with a low sigh.

Reality nods, moves back into position, making an effort to fix the camera at another angle.

They sigh internally.

What Tess doesn’t know (but Reality does), is that this is all a vivid effort to distract Tess from wondering what’s going inside their house or wandering into there.

And stumbling into the chaotic environment they must have created, Reality thinks internally, eyes squinting at the camera's screen. Tess looks great, and Reality has enough photos already, and they can sympathise with Tess's tiredness and lack of enthusiasm for another set, but this is all for good. It will pay off.

Hopefully.

Reality laughs in mind, as the camera clicks, thinking of the frenzied state Time, Loki and Power must be in, as they arrange Tess’s gifts, prepare the halls, cook the dinner, bake the multi-layered cake, clean Time’s room, et cetera et cetera. There were a ton of things that had to be done in such a short time and while Soul and Mind had the ability to remain calm in almost every situation, the same could not be said of the rest of them. Which is why Reality, being exceptionally clever (or so they liked to think), had taken the first opportunity to be the one to distract Tess.

“Are we done yet?” comes another whine from Tess, and they almost regret taking this job. Almost.

Ten minutes and fifteen similar questions later when Reality says, “Yes,” Tess's eyes almost bulge from her sockets.

“Really?” she asks, her limbs tired in a way she isn't used to.

Reality gives her a sardonic look. “Really.”

“Oh, yes.” Tess whoops. “Finally!”

“Careful,” Reality says, watching Tess do somersaults in the gown itself with a fond look. “Don't tear that. And I didn't realise you disliked my company that much,” they remark, assembling their camera, not really hurt.

“Oh, no, it's not about you, Alit,” Tess turns to smile at them. She looks a little weary. “It's just been a long day.”

“I see,” Reality says. They flash a smile at Tess, white teeth sparkling, contrasting against their red lips.

The two walk back side-by-side on the stone pathway leading to their large house, Tess holding the trails of her gown and Reality their camera. “You did agree to do a hundred poses.”

A pained look flashes over her face. “Urgh, hundred. I regretted that already. It felt like a thousand. Some of them were weird, though. Like the one on the tree...” She frowns pensively.

“I was just experimenting,” Reality says quickly, not wanting Tess to suspect something. “It looked much better in my head.”

Tess nods slowly. “Hmm. I want to see those photographs though. You owe me big time.”

“Noted,” Reality says wryly.

“Like seriously,” Tess insists. “If I didn't know better, I'd say this whole thing was a scheme.” Reality stills. “An evil plot. Or like, a plot which is not really evil. Like the ones Thor reads about in those papers.” She waves her hand around. “Just a way to get me. Most of the time it's about a lost bet or a dare. Did you lose a bet with someone?”

At Reality's frozen expression, them not knowing what to say, Space laughs. “Relax. I'm just kidding. I know you wouldn't trick me.” She smiles.

“Of course,” Reality laughs nervously.

They stop at the door, Reality's hand on the knob. “Are you prepared?”

“For what?”

The door swings open.

“SURPRISE!”

Tess's eyes turn wide at the well-dressed ensemble gathered—only her family, but as they are in a cluster with arms spread wide they sure do look like a crowd. “Wow,” she breathes at them, at Soul dressed in golden, arm tucked in Loki's, dressed in an appealing silver. Mind's hair is in a frizz, Time's clad in red, Power has an attractive solid combination of purple and silver and the decorations—silver hangings, silky floating balloons, planet-like balls hanging off the ceiling, threaded sparkling stars—oh squeezed starry skies they're wonderful.

And, she sees, awestricken, as they usher her into the hall, a giant, multi-layered (four layers? five? dear universe she can only guess) sitting on the middle of the table, sparkling blue and white and silver and green. It looks like chaos incarnated into a food and she bets it tastes like that as well.

(“Who made it?” she'll ask later, pieces of cake all over her nose and mouth. “I'll kiss them on the lips,” she manages to say clearly even with her mouth full, and Loki's cheeks turn an interesting shade of red.)

“All of this, for me?” she says now, hushed, voice raspy in awe and wonder and as her heart overflows with love.

They nod, and Tess's eyes glimmer, because this is just, so exciting and kind of them, what a turn of the day, she's had a bad day and they noticed, of course they did; she sees the amount of effort they put into the surprise, the decorated halls and the lovely dinner and the beautiful dress she's wearing and this just uplifts her mood, makes her forget of all the problems in the universe—it's exactly what she needs.

She stands up from her seat, her vision filmy yet immediately noticing the looks of worry shared between them and she can almost read their thoughts—what if Space didn't like it, what if it wasn't up to her tastes, they should have done harder—

“Aww, you guys,” she wipes a tear, and her heart will surely burst any moment now, ”Group hug!”

Squeezing all of them with her long arms, her cheeks aching with her smile and their mushed faces, she declares, “I love you all so much,” and tears stream down her cheeks at their answering chorus, bright and wonderful: “And so do we, Tess.”

#Tessember2021 #tesseroki #my fic writing #mcu #tesseract #reality stone #infinoki

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lonelypond · 3 years ago

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Parent Trap, Ch. 9

NicoMaki, NozoEli, Love Live, 2.6K 9/?

Summary: Maki is on a mission; Nico is on the job.

Car Culture

Dia was crying. Maki groaned. Why wasn’t Raye...oh, no Raye. With a curse, Maki kicked off her blanket, catapulted out of bed, grabbing a robe to throw on, feet awkwardly groping for slippers. A message blinking on her muted phone. Nico. At 5 a.m.

N: Hope you and Dia have a good day. Nico’s going to be so busy ε= ٩(●❛ö❛)۶

N: But Maki will be so impressed when Nico’s video’s done.

No kiss emoji, no hearts, no...Nico-ness...a wail from Dia. Maki had no time to mope. Or make up. She had a growing, growling, grumpy daughter demanding all her attention.

###

“Maki, calm down.” Rin leaned back against the arm of her couch, sending her calmest mood at Maki.

“It’s been two and a half days, Rin. Dia doesn’t want to eat anything, keeps asking for Nico, who’s too busy to answer her damn phone, and I CAN’T TAKE ANY MORE LILO AND STITCH.”

Rin could see Maki pacing, kicking the rug that was at the center of the cabin’s main room. Dia was probably napping, like Tora. Maki needed to nap more. “Calm down, Maki. I’ll drive up there. Why are you in Wisconsin anyway? Where’s Raye?”

“Can you watch Dia?” Maki had no volume control. Rin grimaced, rubbing her ear.

“Is that Maki?” Hanayo stuck her head in, “Can you ask her what Nico’s new…”

Rin made a slashing gesture to head off Hanayo’s question. Hanayo pouted. Rin walked to the door, gently pushed Hanayo one step away, and closed the door.

“Maki, are you all right to drive?”

“Of course, I’m all right to drive.”

“But you sound so angry.”

“You’ve known me for more than a decade, Rin. When has anger interfered with anything?”

Rin could check off a huge list of times. But that would not calm Maki down. “So you’re going to see Nico?”

“Yeah, there’s this huge party we got invited to. ” Maki was now moderating her volume.

But Maki’s declaration had kicked Rin into red zone worried mode. “You’re going to a huge party. Because of Nico. Do you know anyone else who’ll be there?”

“Honoka will be there.”

Rin blinked. Maki and Honoka parties were a legendary recipe for disaster. Honoka’s impulsiveness brought out Maki’s idgaf core principle. Mix in alcohol and...

“I just want to talk to someone taller than my knee, Rin.” Maki sounded desperate.

“We’re talking. I’m taller than your knee.” Rin fell back on the couch. This was bad.

Maki’s voice softened. “Please, just watch Dia for me for a couple of days. She really misses Tora.”

“So you’re meeting Nico there?” That wouldn’t be so bad.

“Probably, sure, I don’t know the exact details yet.”

“I’m worried about you, Maki, you sound really upset. And you and Honoka and parties...”

Maki didn’t let Rin go drag out her history. “Rin, just please…”

“What?”

“Take care of my daughter.” Maki was tapping on something, probably unconsciously, Rin could hear the vibrations. “Nico’s upset because my parents sent me to Wisconsin, Nico likes parties, I REALLY miss Nico and…” Maki sounded nervous, Rin knew how reluctant her friend was to discuss anything related to dating and sex, “that disconnect is starting to happen.”

“So meet Nico somewhere and…”

“Rin, I am driving to Chicago, I am changing into a sexy dress, I am going to a party, I am going to down a couple of shots of something, and I am going home with my girlfriend.”

Rin sighed, “We’ll talk when you get here. Just please drive carefully. For me. And Dia.”

“Of course, I will.” Maki exhaled, “Thanks, Rin.”

“I’m your bestie, Maki.”

Maki laughed, “See you soon.”

Rin hoped five hours driving would wear Maki out enough to be reasoned with.

###

Nico couldn’t slump yet. Fourteen hours on the set, the crew were getting ready for the big stunt, Cocoro was confirming the details of something with the director, and Umi was handing Nico a bottle of electrolyte solution, a bright enough green to wake Nico up.

“Start with that.” Umi frowned, “You don’t want to get sick.”

“Thanks, Umi.”

“When does your tour start?”

“Too soon,” Nico swallowed a cough.

“It is essential to allow yourself a chance to recover physically from the kind of exertion you are experiencing.”

“You’re not my doctor.”

“I’m sure Maki would say the same.”

“She’s not my doctor either. She doesn’t know anything about this kind of day.” Nico chugged the entire bottle.

Umi seemed genuinely puzzled. “If you don’t talk about your work, what do you talk about?”

“Nico doesn’t remember, it’s just kind of a tired sexy blur. Maki’s surprisingly....”

Umi didn’t have to frown. Her entire posture screamed displeasure at Nico’s cavalier comment.

“Sorry. Nico just misses Maki.” Nico tossed the bottle into the recycling barrel, “We’ve been talking about our pasts. Talking about the present gets us to Dia and…”

Nico’s phone pinged. Maki’s ringtone. “Hang on a sec.” Nico switched to full charm mode, Umi didn’t know where she found the energy. “Hey, sexy.”

“Nico, you have to come here, now.” A shrill, panicky voice.

“Who is this? Where’s Maki?”

“In the shower.”

“Who is this?”

Umi was surprised by the anger in Nico’s voice.

“It’s Rin, you know, Maki’s bestie.”

Nico could feel her forehead clench. “Is Maki okay? Is something wrong with Dia? Why are you on her phone.”

“Cause I don’t have your number on mine, duh. You have to come here. Now.”

NIco sagged, leaning against a wall, “Okay, Rin, where do you want Nico to go? Wisconsin?”

“Nah, Maki’s at me and Kayo-chin’s house.”

That was news to Nico. When and why had that happened? Nico sighed. She needed more than electrolytes and sugar to deal with this.

Rin continued. “Maki wants to go to this big party, to meet you, but it’s a Honoka party and whenever Maki goes to a Honoka party in this mood, there’s tequila and…”

“How can Maki meet Nico if Nico isn’t going to the party? Nico is working.” Nico flung out a hand as if to show Rin everything and everyone on the set.

“Oh, she won’t like that.” Rin sounded sad.

“Hang on a sec.” Nico put her hand over the mic, “Was Honoka Maki’s college roommate?”

Umi nodded, “Briefly, why?”

“Just learning some more Maki facts…”

Rin’s loud chirp called Nico’s attention back to her phone. “So you’ll take Maki to the party. I’ll tell Maki I ordered her a ride. It’ll be a good surprise.”

Nico wanted to punch the wall. “Nico can’t pick up Maki. Nico has to finish filming a dance, crash a car, rescue a dangerous damsel, and save the world.”

“But what am I gonna do, Nico?” A whine.

“Tell Maki to skip the party and call me later. For pizza or something, Nico knows a place.” And that was as much help as Rin was getting from Nico. Maki was an adult, she could make her own choices. Nico chose to follow through on her responsibilities.

Call ended, Nico slid the mute button over and tossed her phone into her bag. “And now Nico blows everybody away.”

Umi nodded, already going down her mental checklist for Nico’s upcoming stunt. “Make sure the safety harness is tight. I’ll go over all the fastenings.”

“You’re just fas-cinated by Nico Ni.” Nico bounced into her pose.

Umi stared at Nico, then quirked an eyebrow, “That tired, huh?”

Lowering her hands, Nico giggled, which lightened the weight, “Yeah, I guess so.”

###

“Is my ride here yet, Rin? Did Dia get to sleep? I still have to dry my hair.” Maki, a towel slung over her head, dressed in a clinging lilac to near black ombre swing dress. Rin grabbed Maki, forcing her into a seat.

“What the hell, Rin?” Pulling off the towel, Maki glared.

Rin had her hands on her hips, her expression serious, finger wagging at Maki’s nose. “You’re grounded, Maki. No parties.”

Maki stood, looming over Rin, staring down at her oldest friend. “I’ll say it again, Rin, what the hell?”

“Nico’s not going to that party. You’re in a foul mood and you’ll just get in trouble. You know how you get.”

“You got really boring.” Maki pushed Rin back.

Rin shook her head, “No. I’m a mom. In a relationship. And so are you. And Nico’s a real person with feelings and a stunt car crash to do…”

Maki pulled Rin back, lifting the shorter woman off her feet, nose to nose, “What do you mean, stunt car crash?”

“Nico said she had to” Rin concentrated, “Crash a car, rescue a girl, save the world.”

Maki dropped Rin and glanced at the nearest clock, it was after 9 p.m. “She’s still working? She stared at 5 a.m.”

“You work crazy shifts.”

“I’m used to it…” Maki tapped Rin on the shoulder, “How do you know so much about Nico?”

“I called her to tell her to take you to the party. And she said she had to crash a car.’ Rin inhaled, her chartreuse eyes determined.“You need to communicate better with Nico if you want a successful relationship like me and Kayo-chin, Maki.”

Maki sagged into the couch, head in her hands. Rin was practicing her parent of a teenager moves and Maki did not appreciate it. “Where is she?”

RIn shrugged.

Maki grabbed her phone, hitting Nico’s number. No reply. Then she tried Cocoro.

“Cocoro Yazawa. Can I help you?”

“This is Maki. Let me talk to Nico.”

“I’m sorry, Dr. Nishikino, my sister left no instructions about being interrupted.”

“Where are you?” Maki felt her jaw clench.

“I’m sorry, Dr. Nishikino, but the set location is secret.”

“Tell me…”

Cocoro’s curt, professional tones cut off Maki’s snapped demand, “I will let Nico Ni know you called, Dr. Nishikino.”

And a ringtone. Maki wanted to throttle Cocoro. But that wouldn’t be any way to make inroads with Nico. Umi, Nico had hired Umi, Umi would...no, Kotori would, Kotori could be persuaded to share information. Umi’s integrity was unbreachable by anyone not Kotori.

###

“Hey, is Nico coming home tonight?” Nozomi slid next to Eli on the couch, wearing Eli's robe, her hair loose and luxurious.

Eli put down her Atlantic magazine, “I don’t know. Why?”

“I want you to stop pretending you’re mad at me and sleep in my bed.” Nozomi bit at Eli's shoulder.

Eli snorted, “How romantic.”

“I’m not offering romantic.” Nozomi took the magazine out of Eli’s hand, then grabbed Eli’s wrists to pull her closer, green eyes alit with dangerous urges. “You have needs. I have wants. And really really graphic fantasies.” Nozomi’s tongue licked from Eli’s ear to her...

“NOZOMI!”

“Text Nico, tell her to sleep in her own bed. Unless you want her to know that you…”

Eli put both her hands on Nozomi’s face, pulled her beloved, impossible wife in close, and drifted into a slow promise of the deepest of kisses, the only way to stop the avalanche of provocation. Then she grabbed her phone.

###

Nico winced, her ears still ringing. The boom had blasted through her hearing protection and her head had maybe, maybe contacted the crash foam. She couldn’t exactly remember the sequence of events. The helmet had helped, but pulling it off dramatically had been immediately followed by a wobbly tilt into the car. Nico was now taking a minute, eyes closed, to rest before checking if the world really was spinning.

“NICO!”

The crash must have messed her up, she thought she heard Maki’s voice. Bad enough she’d nearly messed up the timing because she kept wondering if Maki had gone to Tsubasa’s party and how many shots of tequila had she downed. Maybe Nico had been thinking about tequila so much Nico was sympathetic tipsy.

“Nico?”

A hand on Nico’s arm, with a grip that was going to add to Nico’s bruises. Arnica gel, entire tube, maybe Nico could find a sympathetic dancer who had massage skills. Nico opened her eyes. Maki, face flushed, gorgeous eyes weary and worried, a killer ombre shaded dress clinging to curves that made Nico instantly more alert. Maki smiled at Nico, then opened her sling bag and handed Nico a menu.

“Read the prices to me, Nico.”

After a couple of minutes, Nico realized what was odd. “You carry pizza menus around with you?”

“Just read the numbers, Nico.” Maki’s beautiful long fingers traced a pattern on the paper.

Maki had knelt, staring up into Nico’s face. It was all weird. “What kind of a date is this? Quizzes first?”

“It’s a concussion test, Nico. Eye movement is one of the biggest disruptions.”

“You like….” Nico wondered why she’d started that sentence. “Eyes, Nico’s eyes.”

Maki bit her lip, nervous, it was sexy adorable, and Nico would have given up a platinum record to not be feeling nauseous.

Umi appeared next to Maki. “I checked the footage. There was definite head contact. Cocoro’s sending everyone home. I’m glad you’re here, Maki.”

“Nico, can you read me the prices of a couple of appetizers, three pizzas, and a dessert.” Maki’s voice was very calm, but Umi noticed her hands trembling.

“Clever.” Umi whispered.

“Just order whatever you want, Maki.” Nico let the menu drop, “Nico will pay.” Nico leaned back onto the car, Maki and Umi with a quick glance agreed to split and support Nico from either side.

“C’mon Nico, I’m taking you home.” Maki said quietly.

Nico frowned, “Nah, Eli’s right?”

“Are you sure she shouldn’t go to an ER?” Umi pulled her phone out, ready to hit 911.

“I’ll take her if her symptoms worsen.” Maki tapped the car hood, considering. “I want to avoid noise and people.”

“Hey, Sis!” Cocoro raced up, “The director wants to talk to you about tomorrow.”

“Nico won’t be here tomorrow.” Maki snapped.

Cocoro shoved between Maki and Nico, “You have no authority here, Ms. Nishikino. Nico handles everything.”

Maki spoke deliberately. “There is a high likelihood that Nico has a concussion. She will need to recover before she does anything else.”

Nico smiled and hugged her sister, “Hey, Cocoro! Where’s the car?”

“We can still shoot some of the background scenes tomorrow, Cocoro, if I remember the storyboard correctly. I’ll help you figure out who we need.” Umi pulled Cocoro to the side, trusting Maki to support Nico.

“But Tsubasa’s scheduled…”

“Tsubasa…” Nico raspberried, “can go away.”

“Is there a problem with her cameo? Cocoro sounded concerned.

“The problem is your sister has a concussion.” Maki put her arm around Nico’s waist, Nico leaned in to her, “I’m taking her home.”

“To your place?” Cocoro relaxed, “Good. Eli called me, Nico. She said she needed some wife time.”

Nico didn’t appear to be listening.

Maki did not want to deal with her parents. “We’ll just go to her house. I know the address.”

Cocoro frowned, “But there’ll be…”

Umi decided the matter, “That’s a good idea, Maki. Nico gets dropped off sometimes on the block behind and sneaks through her neighbor’s backyard. I suggest that.”

“Okay.” Maki kept careful watch of Nico, “Text me the address.”

“I’ll drive you. They’ll be watching for your car.”

“This one’s got Wisconsin plates. No one’s seen it.” Maki pulled a beanie out of her bag and pulled it over her red hair. She handed another one to Nico, “Let’s be spies.”

Nico stared at the hat, as if unsure what to do with it. Cocoro, after a glance at Maki, stepped forward and pulled it over Nico’s carefully coiffed apocalypse hair. “Dr. Nishikino’s gonna take good care of you, sis.”

“Nico doesn’t need a doctor.” Grumpy, hunched Nico detached from Maki to lean against the car.

“All right, Nico, I won’t be just a doctor.” Maki blinked, feeling tears in the corner of her eyes, “But buy me that pizza. For our date.”

Nico nodded, “Okay.”

“Let’s go pick it up.”

Nico stood, Maki offered her hand, Nico reached for it, missing the first time, “I’ll drive.”

Maki hummed.

A/N: Good and sad things the past week, hope you are well.

#NicoMaki #Nishikino Maki #Yazawa Nico #Yazawa Cocoro #rin hoshizora #llsif #nozoeli #ayase eli #tojo nozomi #sonoda umi #parent trap #head injury #concussion

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rosethornewrites · 4 years ago

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Fic: the thing with feathers, ch. 7

Relationships: Lán Zhàn | Lán Wàngjī/Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn, Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn & Yú Zǐyuān, Jiāng Fēngmián & Yú Zǐyuān, Jiāng Yànlí & Wèi Yīng | Wèi Wúxiàn

Additional Tags: Transmigration, Alternate Universe - Time Travel, Time Travel Fix-It, Illnesses, Family, Scars, Memory Loss, Angst, Crying, Music, Nosebleed, Fear

Summary: Lan WangJi spends time with Wei Ying and Jiang YanLi, until a memory Wei Ying shouldn't have pops up. Confusion abounds.

Notes: See end.

AO3 link

Chapter 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6

------------------------

WangJi played the guqin for another half hour or so, with Wei Ying chattering at him intermittently about the music. He seemed to particularly enjoy a piece WangJi hadn’t yet mastered, “Jiukuang,” which was more lively than many guqin pieces, as well as “Guangling San.” He didn’t seem to be bothered that WangJi didn’t speak much, and he found himself enjoying his voice.

Jiang YanLi brought a tray of food for a late lunch with enough for both of them. Wei Ying’s arm shook after only a few bites when he tried to eat, his muscles unsteady after such a long coma, and she took it upon herself to feed him.

“I’m sorry to trouble you, shijie,” he murmured, sounding embarrassed.

“My a-Xian is no trouble at all. Shijie is happy to help you recover.”

Jiang YanLi gently pinched the end of his nose, startling a laugh from him. His laughter was bright and happy like birdsong and fit his smile.

The soup, as Wei Ying had promised, was delicious. As WangJi adhered to vegetarianism, he placed the meat from his portion into the bowl Jiang YanLi was feeding him, as the extra protein would do him good. He knew the broth was pork, but the issue was more textural for him.

Healer Kang returned as they were finishing and gave permission for him to eat some of the treats gathered in town and preserved with stasis talismans by XiChen.

The healer insisted Wei Ying get out of bed to be helped to the table under his supervision.

“You’ll need to work to rebuild the muscle you’ve lost, young master Wei,” he said.

Wei Ying didn’t complain, though his movements were slow and unsteady and he didn’t bear all his own weight. WangJi found himself trying not to hover, concerned.

But the boy’s bright smile when he made it to the table and sank down on a cushion, looking at his gifts, filled WangJi with a simple joy of his own.

“The vendor who gave these said they were extra spicy, your favorite,” WangJi reported, gesturing to the steamed buns.

Wei Ying took one and bit in, and the strong scent of chilies and spice filled the air. Though it was strong enough to make WangJi‘s eyes water, Wei Ying let out an appreciative sigh.

“Popo’s buns are the best,” he said. “She always sells out early.”

Then he paused, glancing between him and Jiang YanLi in wonder. “I remembered! She’s not my popo but she insists I call her popo.”

Jiang YanLi nodded, clearly too overcome with joy to speak.

“Would you like to try some?” he offered them.

She laughed, covering her mouth with a sleeve as befitting a young maiden of her station.

“Oh, a-Xian, you like them so spicy none of us can eat them without crying.”

He smiled again at the information.

WangJi set a small bottle of the jujube juice in front of Wei Ying, pulling the stopper for him.

Wei Ying sampled bits of each of the gifted food, insisting on sharing the cakes and candied haw and shaobing and sesame balls. Jiang YanLi unpeeled lotus seeds for them to share. Wei Ying and his shijie chattered at each other, and she discussed learning about healing and improving her golden core, referring to shufu as Lan-laoshi. WangJi was certain shufu was pleased to take on a student, particularly one who seemed as eager to learn as Jiang YanLi.

“Oh, you should bring some to Cheng-ge, shijie,” Wei Ying said abruptly, as though he had just realized his martial brother was missing.

WangJi could see a bit of guilt and embarrassment on his face at that realization—though he could not be blamed for the gaps in his memory. Jiang YanLi reached forward to pat his cheek affectionately, and it washed away under a smile.

“He’ll come visit later and you can share with him then,” she said. “He’s training now.”

When Wei Ying seemed finished with the food, much of it still remaining, WangJi slid the brush, charms, and dizi forward. He could see now, as he hadn’t when XiChen accepted the gift on behalf of Wei Ying, that the dizi wasn’t all black, but had carved lotuses painted a deep purple. For a child’s instrument, it was quite beautiful. He wondered if it had been crafted with Wei Ying in mind when word of his illness reached the vendor and his wife.

Wei Ying took the health and luck charms and slipped them in the sash of the simple sleeping robe he was wearing. He clearly recognized their purpose and took their intention seriously.

WangJi had expected to have to explain, but it was interesting what his mind had retained and what it had lost. At least from a purely academic perspective. For Wei Ying, less interesting and more disconcerting, as with their conversation about recognizing music.

When Wei Ying examined the brush, his eyes unfocused a bit.

“Did… did I paint your picture, Lan Zhan?”

WangJi shook his head, surprised by the question; prior to his arrival at Lotus Pier, he had only met Wei Ying briefly in a Yiling alley.

“It’s weird. I get an image of painting you, and painting a flower in your hair, but you’re older in the painting, so it can’t be a memory.”

Confusion passed over Wei Ying’s suddenly-pale face, and a drop of blood began dripping sluggishly from his nose.

“Oh, that happened earlier!” Jiang YanLi said, fretting.

She called for the healer, and WangJi steadied Wei Ying as he swayed on the cushion.

Healer Kang wasted no time, bundling him back to the bed.

“Maiden Jiang, if you could get your father—”

She bowed quickly and scampered off.

“Lan Zhan, I’m scared,” Wei Ying murmured, his voice a bit slurred. “Don’t go.”

At the healer’s nod, WangJi sat at the bedside, took Wei Ying’s hand when he reached out. He can see tears in the boy’s eyes.

WangJi remembered what he had overheard in his time in the infirmary, that Wei Ying had been attacked by resentful energy, that some was in his brain. He didn’t understand what that meant, but he knew it was bad, that it could be causing this.

He could only watch as Wei Ying fought to keep his eyes open, his grip weakening.

“Don’t let go,” the boy whispered, and WangJi squeezed his hand to try to reassure him.

The healer checked his meridians quickly.

“Young master, don’t fear,” he murmured to Wei Ying, whose breaths were short and frantic. “You’re simply exhausted. I pushed you too much, I’m afraid.”

A tremor passed through Wei Ying, and a tear slipped down the side of his face.

“Don’t want to forget again.”

His voice was weak. WangJi squeezed his hand again, understanding his fear immediately. Though he had slept peacefully only hours before and had woken without more memories lost, it was a natural fear.

“If you do, I will remind you, Wei Ying,” he promised solemnly.

The boy’s eyes alit on him, filled with a mix of fear and gratitude, eyelids drooping despite his obvious fight against sleep.

“Sleep may help you recover more memories,” the healer said. “You need more rest to heal.”

The reassurance didn’t stop Wei Ying from fighting sleep, but he succumbed anyway before a minute was up, his hand loosening in WangJi’s grip, his eyes fluttering shut.

“He will be fine, second young master Lan,” Healer Kang said.

His voice was soft in that way adults spoke to reassure children, but WangJi found he didn’t mind—he wanted that reassurance.

“But the blood?” he asked.

The healer pulled a piece of cloth from his robe to wipe it away. It wasn’t much blood, just a drop that had already partly dried against Wei Ying’s upper lip and philtrum. He wet a corner of the cloth in a basin next to the bed and gently removed the remainder.

“The resentful energy caused his brain to swell,” he said as he worked. “He’s still recovering from that. He may be susceptible to nosebleeds for a little while as a result, but his meridians don’t indicate any further damage.”

WangJi appreciated that the healer, even with the gentle tone, was speaking to him on this level. He stood to offer a small bow, though he didn’t let go of Wei Ying’s hand to make it proper.

“WangJi appreciates the explanation, daifu.”

Jiang FengMian arrived before the healer could reply, Jiang YanLi in his wake.

“A-Ying?” he asked, his voice tight with concern.

“Asleep again. Overexertion and a nosebleed. As I was explaining to second young master Lan, they seem frightening but there is no damage. It may be a byproduct of the swelling on his brain, but Healer Lan and I will monitor him.”

Jiang YanLi moved to the other side of the bed, making soft concerned noises as she reached out to brush her hand over Wei Ying’s cheek.

“He ate, at least. A good meal. We were showing him the gifts sent for him, and he got confused,” she told her father.

“He asked if he had painted me,” WangJi added. “He thought he remembered doing so, but he has not.”

“What would cause that?” Sect Leader Jiang asked.

The healer sighed softly.

“At this point there is no way of knowing. His mind may be piecing together bits of memory to try to make sense of them, but I will confer with Healer Lan. I am sorry, Sect Leader, but he only woke today, and we simply don’t know yet.”

Jiang FengMian nodded, though he still looked unsettled. WangJi didn’t blame him—he, too, felt troubled. He kept hold of Wei Ying’s hand as he settled back in the chair beside the bed, reluctant to let go even bow. He had asked him not to, after all.

But he realized the sect leader was looking at their joined hands, and he felt his ears heat.

“He was afraid,” WangJi said reluctantly. “Asked me not to let go.”

“Afraid? What is a-Ying afraid of?”

“Forgetting again.”

A grimace passed over Sect Leader Jiang’s face.

“We’ll help him remember, Father,” Jiang YanLi said, her face set in a determined way.

“I told him,” WangJi added with a nod to her.

Young maiden Jiang gives him an approving smile, and though his concern for Wei Ying is not for the sake of approval, hers is appreciated. The sect leader also looks pleased with him.

Though he technically only promised Wei Ying he would remind him, he was promised help. WangJi was glad the Jiangs would offer theirs as well.

Pounding footsteps caught their attention before a disheveled and sweaty Jiang Cheng rushed in, clutching two swords.

“He’s asleep?”

The boy sounded disappointed.

“A-Xian ate,” Jiang YanLi told him. “But he had another nosebleed and fell asleep.”

Jiang Cheng stepped forward a bit further, peering at Wei Ying in concern. Jiang FengMian put a hand on his shoulder.

“He needs lots of rest to recover, a-Cheng. But I’m sure he’ll be glad to see his sword when he wakes again.”

The sect heir nodded and set one of the swords on the bed beside Wei Ying. Its hilt and pommel were wooden and sleek in shape, its sheath matching with an embossed silver design. Simple and elegant, and not ostentatious like the swords many cultivators carried.

“The townspeople sent gifts for him,” WangJi found himself saying. “Wei Ying wished to share with you.”

Jiang Cheng grinned, and WangJi couldn’t help but notice his smile was not as bright as Wei Ying’s.

“I’ll wait until he wakes up again and eat with him,” he said decisively. “I bet they sent all his favorites, and he likes to poison everything with spice. Plus I’m too hot from training to eat now. I’m all sweaty and gross. I just wanted to give him his sword. I polished it and everything.”

With that, the boy dashed from the infirmary. WangJi realized he’d come straight from training in hopes of catching Wei Ying awake, and a sort of fondness swelled in his chest. Blood or not, Jiang Cheng was a good brother to Wei Ying.

“I meant to ask, second young master Lan. Did he remember you when you gave him the rattle drum?” Jiang FengMian asked.

WangJi nodded. The rattle drum rested on a table next to him, and he took it with his free hand to place it beside his pillow, something Wei Ying could see when he woke, that might re-invoke the memory if he had lost it as he feared.

“He remembered a-Li’s soup, but none of us,” the sect leader said, sounding pleased. “It’s good for him to have someone he remembers nearby.”

He realized he needed to tell at least the sect leader the truth. Lying was forbidden, after all, even by omission.

“Sect Leader Jiang… when I met him in Yiling, I never told him my name. He did not recognize it when I told him earlier. I do not know why he called for me.”

He shifted uncomfortably when the three Jiangs and the healer stared at him but he added nothing more.

“But you still went to him?” Jiang FengMian asked. “And stayed with him?”

WangJi didn’t understand why that would be surprising. Had he been in Wei Ying’s state, he would have wanted comfort as well. Denying him would have been cruel.

“He was afraid, and sick, and crying. And I didn’t help him in Yiling.”

“As I said before, you have no reason to feel guilty for that.”

“I know,” WangJi said with a nod. “Wei Ying told me. But I still want to help him.”

Sect Leader Jiang sighed, turning to look at Wei Ying again, this time with a concerned frown. The boy was still asleep, unmoving and peaceful.

“We may never know how he knew your name, why he called for you,” he said after a while. “But I appreciate the information, and a-Ying is fortunate to have your help.”

“A-Xian really seems to like you,” Jiang YanLi added. “I’m glad you’re his friend.”

WangJi blinked, a little startled. Had he so easily become friends with Wei Ying? In less than a day of him being conscious? But Wei Ying had remembered him, and the sect leader had said he was the only person he remembered right now. Maybe that, too, was yuanfen, bringing them together.

The boy didn’t seem to mind his silence, had enjoyed the guqin music he had played, had shared his treats from the townspeople, had smiled at him.

Aside from xiongzhang, Wei Ying would be his first friend. He was surprised to find the prospect pleasing.

“I will be his friend,” he avowed.

WangJi would help him, as he hadn’t in Yiling; though the Jiangs and Wei Ying himself did not blame him for his inaction, he now had the chance to do better. Perhaps they were meant to ride the same boat in this lifetime.

-----------------------------

Notes:

The last line is taken from a Chinese proverb, “It takes hundreds of reincarnations to bring two persons to ride on the same boat; it takes a thousand eons to bring two persons to share the same pillow,” which has to do again with yuanfen.

Easter eggs: “Jiukuang” was supposedly written by Ruan Ji, one of the Seven Sages of the Bamboo Grove, whose lover was another sage, Ji Kang (who was at least famous for playing “Guangling San,” though it seems to predate him). They tried to avoid politics and ultimately Ji Kang was executed as a result. Hilariously the title of this song is basically “Wine Madness,” so I daresay QiRen might not know WangJi is learning it. Or because it’s famously a classic, maybe he does. He’d be more in favor of “Guanling San,” though it apparently told the story of an assassin who killed a prime minister (Nie Zheng, worth looking up as likely the inspiration for the Nie sect) in the Warring States Period. Supposedly Ji Kang played it as his swan song before his execution, which was an interesting choice and made it popular. Ji Kang was considered seditious and scandalous, someone who challenged established social norms and was not a fan of Confucianism. They were considered two of the geniuses of the 3rd century and I want to read more on them because they also wrote poetry, and I guess they remind me a little of Lan WangJi and Wei WuXian.

But anyway! I digress! Two pieces by cutsleeve lovers played by 10-year-old WangJi for Wei Ying, because I can. (Both of these songs can be found on YouTube played by guqin.)

Also, I can’t stop myself from doing these little Easter eggs, so I hope folks are enjoying them.

Someone reminded me in a comment about Wei Ying not remembering calling Lan Zhan’s name. The explanation is that he hadn’t yet lost his memories. His older self, still traumatized by Lan Zhan’s death, was fighting the spell without meaning to. As a result, he wound up unwittingly calling young Lan Zhan to his side, and the comfort of his presence allowed him to let go and allow the spell to seal his memories take hold. So, yeah, angst.

#my fanfiction #the untamed #untamed fanfiction #mo dao zu shi #mdzs #mdzs fanfic #mdzs fanfiction #chen qing ling #cql #cql fanfiction #cql fanfic #lan zhan #lan wangji #jiang cheng #jiang yanli #jiang fengmian #wei wuxian #wei ying

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trashpandaorigins · 5 years ago

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The Body Keeps the Score Ch. 21

"You said it yourself bitch, we're the Guardians of the Galaxy." Gamora is finally a part of something. But the past always follows you, eats at you and she must come to grips with her deeds as she tries to build a future. Meanwhile Rocket has never cared much for anyone or anything. Together the two of them discover they are more alike than different and try to heal themselves by befriending the other.

*Content Warnings: Mentions of child/animal abuse, trauma, character death, physical torture/pain. This chapter contains torture, medical/surgical torture/shooting/guns being shot. I want to be super sensitive to folks who might be triggered by these subjects. Please take care while reading*

Title of this fic is taken from the book of the same title "The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma," by Bessel van der Kolk

There's a joke here somewhere and it's on me

I'll shake this world off my shoulders

Come on..., this laugh's on me

You can't start a fire

You can't start a fire without a spark

This gun's for hire

Even if we're just dancin' in the dark

Dancing in the Dark - Bruce Springsteen

“Peter. Get Drax and Groot...get them back to the ship. Now.” Gamora breathed through clenched teeth. Rocket barely heard her, eyes fixed on Groot who whined and scurried back to Quill. The mechanical thing in his heart hammered away, making his chest cinch with pain. His muscles tensed, claws tight against the trigger of Quill’s blaster.

“Gamora,” Quill pleaded, “I’m not leaving you here with these….these,” he turned to the Halfworlder’s, “what exactly are you? Because I picture you like mad scientists but you’re also clearly aliens so….mad scientist aliens?”

“Peter!” Gamora’s eyes stared unbroken at the two figures in the doorway. “Get them back to the ship, NOW!”

Rocket glanced down at Drax, still clutching his side and moaning on the floor.

“Do you trust me?” She hissed, the human man swallowed.

“I could kiss you right now.”

“Not now Peter! GO!”

The man nodded, moving over to Drax and helping the man off his feet. Groot hauled himself up on Quill’s jacket, looking over his shoulder at Rocket. The raccoonoid held his breath, watching the little flora’s eyes wide with confusion.

“Rocket…” Quill turned to him, mouth open trying to find the right words.

“Get out of here!” The raccoonoid sighed, reaching for the gun, and tossed it to him with a heavy hand.

The man caught it. “Go!”

“What about you?!”

“Yah heard Gams, get outta here! Take Groot and go!”

For once in his life, StarDork listened to him.

“I’ll see you later.”

He watched Quill take one last look at Gamora and moved quickly past the Halfworlder’s, daring them to make any move in protest.

“We aren’t here for them,” the female reprimanded her colleague, the male, who leered towards Quill as he snuck past. “You heard her orders. We are to get Subject 89P13 only.”

Something wet and warm trickled down the raccoonoid’s leg. If he’d been anywhere else, he’d be ashamed. But this place….it stripped all shame all confidence of you. Revealing only your deepest fears and insecurities to the point where you no longer cared about your dignity. Only your survival. The two, Rocket had learned long ago...were easily severed.

The female alien grinned, turning back to him, Gamora and Nebula.

“You really thought you escaped, didn’t you?” They rushed forward, revealing those all too familiar electric prongs.

Rocket panicked, scrambling for anything in sight.

“Quick try this!”

The ringtail swiped the device that the Halfworlder’s gave Gamora from her belt.

“Rocket no! Don’t!”

He charged ahead, pressing the center button on the device, aiming at their chests.

He dropped the device instantly. His back arching, scalding pain alit his small nervous system, sending off pain receptors everywhere, snapping and popping. He swallowed the animalistic whimper building in his throat, curling himself in a ball. His hair stood on end, white electricity snapping and crackling. Every hard stood on end even as he fell to the ground, body twitching.

Gamora ran forward, sword out, beating them back as best she could.

“Nebula get him….aaarrrghhhh!!!!”

The raccoonoid blinked slowly. Through his blurry vision he could barely make out the male alien, sticking one of the pokers in Gamora’s side, taking advantage of her momentary distraction. She crumpled beside him, her own cybernetics in her face glowing and sparking. If he hadn’t been in so much pain...and so furious...he may have felt a twinge of sympathy. Maybe.

“H...how...l..long have y...you b...ben holding on to ...t..th...that?” He panted through the burning in his belly.

Gamora twisted her neck around, glaring daggers at him from under a messy tangle of her hair.

“About as long as you were spying on me.”

Rocket snarled, teeth bared a nasty reply formed but never delivered. Rough hands grabbed him by the scruff, jerking him up with an agonizing pinch in the back of his neck.

“What are you going to do with them?” Nebula’s rough voice cut through the sound static sparking through the bolts in his back.

Rocket tried to swipe back at them, legs and tail thrashing madly, every move met with flaring stinging agony.

“That is no concern of yours.”

Nebula’s gaze found him, Rocket struggled to keep his eyes open.

“It’s a pity,” the alien woman holding him continued. “Thanos never sold us any of his projects. Even a defective one.” She ran her oily eyes over Nebula with a dehumanizing appraisal Rocket knew all too well. Nebula winced. The alien woman turned back to him, tightening her grip on his fur. “But alas, vermin were free and expendable, so vermin is what we worked with. Luckily Terra had vermin to spare.”

Someone grunted, Rocket clenched his teeth, twisting to see Gamora drag herself up once more, clutching her side. The cybernetics in her face glowing with electricity. She tensed, adjusting her grip on her sword and moving forward. Nebula grabbed her shoulders, steadying her, whispering something he could not hear.

“Come, she will be waiting for him.”

This time, he could not stifle the whimper coming from his throat.

---

“P….please,” he tried, vision swimming.

Where the flark are we?

His mind was sluggish, limbs and tail heavy. He’d been stripped down. Someone was inserting tubes into his back, his ears twitched at the click as it locked into place. Arms hung suspended, head low.

This isn’t a lab...a ship? No. We’re not on a ship. Where’s my fucking gun? Where’s...Gamora? Groot? GROOT?

Rocket tried to struggle, only to stumble and sag with the weight of the tubes fixated to his back and into the front of the bolts of the cybernetics in his clavicle. Thick fluid syrupy and cold made its way from the machine and into his body. He could feel it moving through him, doing who knew what. For all his genius and awareness, for all his sentience, they’d made sure he knew very little about his own making. Rocket, who knew every type of gun on every planet, who could replicate a resecian bomb and could pilot even the most ancient of Esselian crafts….knew nothing of his own biology.

“Please,” he whispered the shadow of the alien Halfworld woman falling over him. She crouched down to him, slit pupiled eyes staring into him.

“Please...d...don’t take me apart again. I...d..don’t want to be put back together.” The very thought of enduring that again made his body tremble, tubes and wires rattling with his movement. They pulled on him, tearing his skin.

“Oh you won’t be,” she smirked, revealing yellow fangs. “Not this time.” The raccoonoid’s belly sunk with icy dread.

No….stop it… claw her eyes out! Too tired….can’t move freely...what are they putting inside me? Whymy….dizzy?

“Your creator has no interest in her failed experiment.”

Failed.

Failed Gamora

Failed Groot

Failed the new version of Groot

Hurt Gamora

Betrayed Gamora

Hurt Groot

Failed

He couldn’t make the words right, thoughts came slow and jumbled and when they did come to him...he couldn’t...couldn’t make his mouth move to form the words.

“F...faile...faild?”

Through blurry vision, he could see the Halfworlder nod.

“You are a cruel and tempestuous wretch. Your existence to an affront to all who breathe. You were given life by the hands of your creator because she wanted to make something beautiful.” The alien continued, words reaching his ears in slow motion. Rocket swayed, closing his eyes. The chemicals coming through those tubes...they were putting things into his blood, but somehow….sucking him dry of any awareness. His mind tried to go through the rolodex of toxins, poisons but couldn’t name any.

A monster….

A monster who betrays their friends

A monster who hit Groot

He tried to flex his paws but the movement was clumsy.

“We will be getting on our way soon enough. By the time we get back your cerebral deprograming will be complete and hopefully she will be able to harvest what’s left.”

What’s left?

GET A GUN YOU IDIOT! FIGHT, CLAW THIS BITCH TO PIECES! TEAR THESE FUCKING TUBES! RUN! RUN! RUN!

Rocket tried to move, to swipe weakly at the woman before him. She only smirked, standing. Eyes looking over his vulnerable twitching form for a moment, making him want to claw her insides out. But his chest only sunk with an invisible weight. She sniffed, and departed. His eyes closed to black before she left the room.

Gamora...she was asleep during her enhancements...no. Not asleep. Gone. Gone during her enhancements and brought back after. Where did she go? Where was he going? His brain liquidating in his skull, his body pumped with unknown substances.

How did Gamora do it?

How did she stand it? What did she cling to when she was falling away?

Failed.

A failed subject. A failed friend.

Rocket hung suspended from the wires and tubes that created and would now destroy him. The worst thing was….he didn’t mind. The ringtail smiled to himself, letting his eyes close again. Chemicals rushing through him in a tumult of nausea and spinning. The dark behind his eyes was different from that of sleep...somehow even that blackness was unnatural.

It’s better...like this. ...G...Gamora will...what are they doing to me? Gamora will...get the others back to the….to the...the thing that will let them get away. RUN! CLAW! TEAR! TEAR OUT THESE THINGS AND GO! She’ll get em to safety...Why’d you come here? Didn’t I escape Halfworld? No. Never left. Groot...Groot where’s Groot? Did I….GET OUT!

Rocket’s mind drifted from one fractured thought to another

Earthen smells…other smells. Gamora….repairing her arm.

Her words.

What did she say?

GET OUT OF HERE! KICK, CLAW, SCREAM! SHOOT! SHOOT THE GUN!

He was drowning….drowning from the inside out. The buzzing and clicking around the room now sounded funny. His tongue tasted salty in his mouth,

Flecks of wood chips from the blast on Xandar.

Groot. Dead.

His own claws tearing through wood...scratching the new Baby Groot.

“Cerebral deprogramming 55% complete.” Voices...far away...like they were muffled underwater.

Rocket clenched his fists, trying to concentrate on the reality of his surroundings. Claws digging into the sensitive pads of his paws. He sniffed, trying to recall what was around him. Chemicals, metal, blood.

GET A G….

What was that word?

The thing that fired bullets that stopped people in their tracks.

The woman with the green skin. The woman he hurt. The tree creature, small and crying for him. Him. What was him? A cruel tempestuous creature.

He tried to move, but only flung his head backward in a coordinated effort. Sending more shocks of anguish through his own skeleton.

I’m sorry…..

I’m sorry….

I never shoulda….

IThing went too far…

I’m sorry…

I’m….

I’m…

I…..I...I...

You, you, you…

You ...the tree thing….you, the green woman

The green woman who hurt as much as he did.

G...m...Gmora

S...ry...Gaamo..r...a

Friend.

Rocket’s mind lost words….vision long since having gone black. He was slipping. Falling… dimly aware of the throbbing in his neck and throughout his cybernetics. He went stiff, straining against whatever the aliens had injected into him. But that battle was lost the moment they’d hooked him to the tubes. Still the raccoonoid went rigid against it. Until he couldn’t. All that bravado and zeal for nothing.

“Deprograming is at 63%.”

“Good. Come, we’ll prepare the ship to leave. By the time we get back it’ll be done.”

“Hang on, these outputs are outrageous! It actually bonded with Subject FC616! Oh look it’s crying! You gotta see these images! 89P13 certainly tried to make a life for itself.”

“Good. She’ll want to see it all upon our return.”

“Regret...sorrow...grief...joy...music…? It makes no sense.”

“It was responding to stimulus from the outside environment. It’s programming filled in the gaps for what it believed it should “feel.” It was designed to do that.”

“Huh. Alright, let’s go.”

The doors slid closed, Rocket’s consciousness ebbed. Sinking away. So heavy.

Gmra...Grot…

---

“Rocket!”

Something warm and rough cupped around him...around his...shoulders?

The ringtail fought back the darkness as soon as he became aware of it. Being dragged up from wherever he’d been. An endless void of black nothing.

A voice.

He blinked, slowly, colors of green and pink?

“Rocket look at me,” the thing before him spoke fast. “I know you're scared, I know you’re in pain. I know how that feels. You know I do.”

Focus….

Can’t….tired...

FOCUS!

“I know this is the most horrifying place in the galaxy for you.” Rocket swayed from side to side, trying to rock himself awake. But the dark void place he’d been beckoned. Pulled at him. So nice, so blank...so devoid of everything.

“I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. That’s why we need to get out of here but I need your gun. Where is it? Can you point?”

Rocket gestured vaguely. The woman...he could tell it was a woman now. But who? She looked in the direction he indicated. Only to return her gaze to him, her eyes. Her eyes were somehow soft and hard at the same time.

….Gmmmm….m...or...ra?

Ga..mora?

Gamora?!

“Rocket….I need you to tell me where they put your gun.”

“...G...mora?”

His chest tingled, his limbs and tail still lead weight. He could barely move. Trying to clear his head of the dense fog inside his skull.

She shook him, his cybernetics fizzing painfully. The fire in his nerves jolted at him.

“Ga...Gamora?!”

“Yes! Good! Now, where is your gun?!”

Something behind her crashed. Screamed.

The ringtail roved his eyes over the room, to the right, then the left. Counters, buttons, monitors.

“Rocket!” She hissed urgently. “Look at me! Do you trust me?”

Rocket blinked in momentary recognition, then nodded.

Gamora leapt upward, grunting as she collided with the figure who’d barged into the room. He watched them wrestle, each grappling for the other. The green woman’s sword came down, again and again, trying to strike, stumbling back, striking again. She twisted, running the butt of her sword into the other woman’s head. The Halfworlder grunted, curling into a ball. Gamora ran forward, yanking the wires and tubes from him. They released with an agonizing twist, the liquid chemicals leaking out clear and congealing. Rocket’s legs flooded, tail trying to find balance but failed.

“Where’s your gun?!”

“G...gun?”

A second figure tore into the room, this one larger. The rushed for Gamora who lifted her sword just in time to fend him off. They sprung apart and she grabbed a handful of tubing in her fists, swinging it towards him. He cursed, stumbling back,wiping the liquid from his face.

Rocket let out an involuntary squeak, the alien woman regained her footing now aimed at him, clawed hands ready to seize him. He tried to spring out of the way, but his body wouldn’t follow direction and he flopped to the ground, only to be caught up in her iron grip. He kicked, clawing.

“Rocket!”

He turned, Gamora backed away from the alien man, eyes searching for anything she could use as a weapon.

“Th...there!” Rocket managed to nod towards where he spotted his jumpsuit any other items, tucked away by one of the monitors. Gamora crouched just before the Halfoworlder punched. She slid on the ground running to the counter, madly rifling through his belongings.

“How does this work?” She screamed, letting out a cry of anger and lifting her blade over her head with her spare arm, she brought it down on the male Halfworlder. He screeched, stumbling back clutching his arm.

“Sh...shoot...e..em w...with the...not handle part!”

“I know that much!”

The alien who held him tightened her grip, Rocket’s vision spun. His mind and body had not fully returned to him.

“You insufferable animal!”

Claws dug into his back, around the tender skin grafted around his cybernetic paneling. Digging into his flesh and yanking at him. The wiring beneath the skin pulled at the veins and tissue

“Rocket hold still!”

Gamora shouted, holding the gun with ready arms, she peered through the scope, trying to get the accurate aim.

“Gamora!”

The male alien lunged for her, knife out and ready to tear the gun from her hands. She turned, instantly and shot.

Rocket watched with wide eyed shock as the alien’s head jerked back and his body collapsed, twitching and went still.

The sharp tear in his skin, raw and stinging brought him back to the face of the Halfworld alien. She sneered, tugging at the panel in his back. The ringtail panicked, this time his body obeyed, more or less. He lashed out with his claws, ears pinned to his skull, mouth foamed with blood and saliva. He buckled and wriggled, ignoring the fiery shock ravaging through his body.

“Hold still!”

“C...can’t!”

Rocket strained to shout, throat rasping.

The alien pulled again, this time eliciting the ringtail to vomit in pain. He pinched his eyes shut against the wrenching in his spine as she tugged at the panel again.

No...no...no...no!

BAM!

Rocket dropped to the floor with a hard thunk, his insides quivering with the impact. His tail twitched, electricity around the panel in his back fritzed out. He reached one arm up slowly, trying to message the area around the damaged panel.

Gamora stormed ahead, past him, to where the alien woman crouched, one hand to her shoulder. Black blood bubbled up from the surface of her wound.

“L….Lady...G...Gamora, pl..please. W...we can compensate you for it. How much...d..do you want? Units? Esken gold?”

Rocket tried to heave himself up, swallowing the blood in his mouth. His whole body ached. Vision still blurred around the edges. He faded in and out of awareness, recurring shocks of stinging pain waved over him every few seconds, bringing him back to consciousness.

Gamora bared her teeth, looming over the Halfworlder, gun at her head.

“Ga….Gams,” he tried.

“N…..n….name your price….D...daughter of T...Thanos.”

“Shut up!” She hefted the gun, squeezing the trigger.

“Go on…” the Halfworlder grinned. “I’m hardly the first person you’ve killed….y...you enj...enjoy it...don’t y...you? He...he raised you well.”

Rocket stood on shaking legs,

“G...Gamora!”

The woman ignored him, leering at the injured alien woman. Her whole body shaking.

“W...what's it worth to you? We’ll double it. N...name your price.”

She turned over her shoulder, looking at him. Rocket froze, staring at her. Gamora adjusted her grip on the gun but did not look away, her eyes boring into him. The ringtail steadied himself under the crushing weight of her gaze.

She wouldn’t….she said she wouldn’t before...even when she was angry…

“I’m not like you.”

“Go on...d..daughter of Thanos...what will you trade for it? We’ll give you anything you want.”

Gamora looked at him, eyes narrow with contempt. He watched her bite the inside of her cheek. His own stomach turning.

“....well?”

She took a breath, held it. Still staring at him unblinking. He watched her turn her stance, pointing the barrel of the gun squarely between his eyes.

Rocket’s guts squirmed, tail sticking up, hairs prickling.

...Gamora….

She glared at him from above the gun, barely breathing.

“G...gams...I…”

Her brows narrowed,

Do. You. Trust. Me?

Yes.

Her wrist flicked, he flinched, going on all fours instantly. Then blinked, her fingers no longer held the trigger, but rotated the weapon around handing it to him.

It dawned on him too late.

The Halfoworld alien screeched in rage, making her move, leaping upward. Gamora spun, gun still in hand,

BAM! BAM! BAM!

The alien dropped instantly going still, blood pooling under her.

“We have to go,” Gamora ordered, monotone.

The ringtail opened his mouth but the words were still slow.

“Put this on,” she ordered, throwing his jumpsuit at him. “Can you walk?”

“Tsch...of course I …”

She didn’t wait for him. Dropping the gun, turning on her heel, and out of the lab room a limp in her step.

“Gams! W...wait!”

He tripped up, not expecting her to stop. She looked down at him, skeptical.

Flark me,

Rocket reached out, shaking paws grabbing at her boot. He hoisted himself up, crawling his way up her back and purchasing on her shoulder. She shifted her shoulders, glancing at him, waiting for him to secure himself.

He only nodded and held on as she took off, down the dark halls, up the stairs, through the halls. Surprisingly light on her feet, sword in hand, body tense and ready to fight at anything that might leap from the shadows. From his hand on her head, Rocket could feel the nerve tremors beneath her skin, hot to the touch. Her own cybernetics were damaged, the lines of facial enhancements in her cheek no longer seamless but broken and cut between flesh and metal.

Gamora rounded the corner, through another set of doors and out into the open.

Wh...where’s the...Benatar?

“HALT! By order of the Nova Corps, Subject 89P13, Gamora Daughter of Thanos you are under arrest for murdering an officer, lying under oath, and gross endangerment of your crew.”

Gamora let out a cough, chest heaving. She sheathed her sword. She reached up to him, Rocket expected her to throw him off, but she only pulled her hair back from her face.

“Gamora!”

Quill ran down the ramp of the Benatar,

“You got him! C’mon we gotta…..Nova’s here we have to…!”

Rocket couldn’t help but smirk, a pain twinging in his side as he laughed.

“Th...thank you..c...captain obvious.”

“Wow really?! The ONE time you acknowledge I’M the captain you…”

“B...bigger problems here Quill!”

From his place on Gamora’s shoulder, he thought he heard her huff in satisfied agreement.

It wasn’t much, but it was something.

#the body keeps the score fic #my writing #gotg #gotgfanfic #groot #baby groot #gamora #rocket raccoon #peter quill #starlord #drax #drax the destroyer #halfworld #rocket origins

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snowycrocus · 6 years ago

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Frozen Fanfiction “Such a Cost” Ch.3/? Elsa Sacrifices her Magic to Save Anna

Start with part one and part two first.

Now to find out what is going on with Anna....

Anna hung her head and waited for the others by the doorway.

“I’m sorry,” she uttered as Kristoff approached.

“You should be,” he shot back, voice thick with emotion. “You….for over a month?!” He ran his hand through his hair, subconsciously closed his hands into fists. “You know what this means for you, what could happen – and you didn’t tell us?!” His voice had risen in anger and panic, his stance becoming tense and stiff, almost threatening in his concern. Movement from the corner of his eyes made him turn, seeing Elsa crouch down against the wall and hug herself into a ball in response to the situation. He recognized the start of a panic attack – something he had now seen a couple of times but less and less frequently as time went on.

Kristoff sighed, seeing his anger would only make things worse – for everyone. “It doesn’t matter now,” he told Anna. “All that matters is that we get you the help you need.” He took slow, careful steps to approach Elsa, crouching down to her level on the floor.

“Elsa.” He reached out a hand to settle on her shoulder before thinking better of it in the current circumstances.

Elsa drew a rattling breath. “I can’t go with you. I can’t.” Her breathing came staggered and stuttering, high-pitched through her throat which felt like it was closing.

“We might need you there.” He tried to soften his words while what he wanted to do was shake her shoulders and smack her senseless for prolonging the time until they could get help for Anna.

“You – you don’t need me,” she spit out, struggling. Her chest was heaving and Kristoff found himself needing to tear his gaze away from watching the tears slide down her cheeks before freezing and catching the light. “No one does. Least of all Anna. All I ever do is hurt her.” She tried to brush the tears away but they stuck to her cheeks. “Just go. You’re wasting time.”

His frustration bubbled up to the surface and broke through. “No, you’re wasting time!” He grabbed her roughly by the shoulders, figuring even if he began to freeze he didn’t want to live without Anna, and they were already going to the trolls for help anyway. Elsa gasped and sputtered in surprise and Kristoff was struck by just how fragile she felt underneath his palms, like he could accidentally crush her if he could get past the feeling of rapid-onset frostbite under his skin.

She staggered as he pulled her up and couldn’t meet his gaze. “Don’t touch me,” she cringed. She waved a hand vaguely in Anna’s direction. “Look at her.”

Kristoff bit his tongue before answering. “You’re coming with us, Elsa,” he said, his tone brooking no room for argument. “None of us know what’s going on, and you especially need to be there to help figure this out.”

Her breathing began to even out, panic fading into relief as someone else took charge of the situation for once. “Fine. But I’m not riding with you. Just – just stay away.” Her voice broke on the words and Kristoff merely nodded.

The ride to the Valley of the Hidden Rock was nearly silent – just the sounds of Sven’s hooves clip-clopping and Elsa’s disc of ice on which she stood gliding over the icy path she cast in front of her. Her path occasionally spread out farther to the sides than she intended, shards of ice and lumps of snow shooting out to the sides and encroaching upon Sven’s path ahead. The struggle increased as time went on and Kristoff recognized it as the fear overtaking her. Her facial expression spoke of her strain to fight her magic, brows knit tightly in concentration and lips twisted in a pained grimace.

Upon reaching their destination, Kristoff bounded off of Sven before helping Anna gently to the ground. He was relieved to note that Anna’s appearance hadn’t worsened during the journey, and though she felt chilled she didn’t feel close to the point of freezing like she once had months ago. He released a breath he hadn’t realized he had been holding. We still have time.

As the trolls rolled around the incomers and called for Grand Pabbie, Elsa hung back, a light wind tossing her hair and skirts as little snowflakes fluttered in the air. Anna turned back toward her sister.

“Elsa,” she called. Elsa whipped her head around, startled.

“I’m sorry,” Anna started. “I should’ve told you. I just didn’t – I didn’t want to worry you or upset you. -Elsa!” she cried out, as her sister took a few more steps back, wrapping her arms tightly around her stomach. “Elsa, please – please, I need you.”

“No.” Elsa’s voice came surprisingly strong to Anna, as far away as they were. “No, you don’t. Just stay away from me, Anna. I told you before and I’m telling you now. Stay. Away.”

“But the trolls will help! They can tell us what’s going on!”

“Anna, we know what’s going on – I hurt you with my magic before, and now I can’t even tell when I’m hurting you anymore!” Tears poured down her face and Anna felt more anguished over her sister’s emotions than the fact that she was slowly freezing once more. Elsa had finally broken free over feeling powerless over her own magic, from feeling like her body had betrayed her. And now that betrayal was back, and with vengeance.

“Princess.”

The rough, gravelly voice behind Anna made her jump in surprise. Grand Pabbie stood by Anna’s knees and held out his hands to her. His gaze passed calmly yet concernedly over her form. “Princess, what happened?” His gaze flitted over to Elsa briefly, who still stood away from the group, shuddering.

Kristoff stepped in as Grand Pabbie took Anna’s hands in his own. He examined her ice-encrusted fingertips and reached up to touch her blue-tinged ears. “We don’t know, Grand Pabbie,” he told him. “Nothing happened, this time.”

“Hmmm, strange indeed.” Grand Pabbie gestured to Anna to lean down in front of him so he could hold a hand to her forehead. He closed his eyes. “Queen Elsa – do you know nothing of this, child?”

Elsa’s hands closed to fists tightly and she shook her head violently. “No!” She protested. “I don’t – I didn’t – I don’t know how I-” she broke off with a choking cry.

Grand Pabbie concentrated for a few moments with his hand on Anna’s head still. Finally, he pulled back, and Anna gasped at the release from his probing magic.

“Interesting,” he started, as the three turned to him in desperate anticipation. He turned to Elsa first. “Queen Elsa, you are correct – as you know, you did not strike the princess with your magic this time.”

Elsa quite literally sagged in relief, her limbs suddenly turning to jelly and breath escaping her. The question remained, though, and her gaze turned perplexed as she opened her mouth to ask-

“How, then?” Anna interrupted. “What’s going on?”

Elsa felt safer to approach and joined her sister and Kristoff, who was holding on to Anna’s arm tightly.

Grand Pabbie pondered for a moment, hand rubbing his chin. “How do I explain…” He turned to Bulda next to him and they joined hands. Both the crystals around their necks alit and Bulda’s eyes moved beneath her eyelids as she felt and saw what Grand Pabbie had gleaned from Anna with his magic.

“Aah, I see,” Bulda exclaimed. “Kristoff- do you remember, when you were a child, you ate my fireweed soup?”

“Uuhh, no, sorry,” Kristoff scratched his head and looked down at Bulda apologetically. “Why?”

“Well,” she started, “you ate it, and then perhaps a few weeks later you ate it again. But that time, after you ate it, your skin turned red and bumpy and your lips swelled and you were having trouble breathing – remember that?”

“Sounds like something I blocked out,” Kristoff responded, looking a bit startled. “I’m glad to know now not to eat any fireweed though. But – what does this have to do with anything?”

“An allergy,” Elsa breathed. Her eyes were wide with concern yet she wore a calculating expression. “Anna’s body is reacting to….me?”

“Precisely,” Grand Pabbie nodded. “Though more specifically, to your magic.”

“The princesses’ body has experienced harm from your magic twice now,” Bulda continued. “Now it senses the presence of your magic and is attempting to protect itself.”

“But just like an allergy, the body often creates the very problem it’s attempting to protect itself from.” Elsa twined her hands together. She was fluctuating between breathtaking relief that she hadn’t harmed Anna and crippling anxiety over the fact that she was still causing Anna harm even when she wasn’t doing anything.

“Wait, what?” Anna sounded a mix of worried and outraged. She narrowed her eyes. “So, what, if I leave Elsa, then I’ll be back to normal?”

“Correct, Princess,” Grand Pabbie nodded. “As long as you are away from your sister and her magic, you shall survive. However, your body’s reaction to the presence of her magic is causing you to slowly freeze to death once more. If you choose to stay, and allow your body to react to her magic…at this rate, I would imagine you have perhaps four to six more moons until your body succumbs to the ice.”

The air around the group turned frigid and a wind began to blow. Elsa was struck speechless – she had only recently gotten her sister back – her sister who was her whole world – and now, out of her control, she would either have to lose her for eternity – or, essentially, watch her die.

“Whoa, whoa hold on-” Kristoff waved his arms in the air, breaking up the stunned silence. “What’s ‘far away’ mean? A couple feet? Kilometers? What’re we talking, here?”

Grand Pabbie looked at the small group gathered solemnly. “Queen Elsa’s magic is extraordinarily powerful, with a great range. Even out here in the Valley we can feel her presence.” Elsa bit her lip and her skin turned an ashen grey at the words she knew would follow. “If the princess wishes to live….she cannot see her sister again.”

Anna staggered back like she had been struck in the chest, while Elsa’s knees gave way and she crumbled to her knees as gusts of snow and ice began to swirl.

“No-”

“Please-”

“There must be another way!” Kristoff turned to Grand Pabbie, pleading.

The troll pondered, silently observing the mourning sisters who even in their deepest grief dared not to touch one another.

“There is – there is a way, but-”

“Anything.” The snow and wind stopped abruptly and Grand Pabbie actually had to look down to find the Queen of Arendelle on her knees, begging. “Anything,” she repeated harshly, tears cascading down her cheeks and freezing to twinkling droplets. Her gaze was fierce, eyes piercing blue. “Just tell me, and consider it done.”

Grand Pabbie waved his hands in the air and allowed his magic to create pictures of light in the sky. “Only with the power of love,” he began, painting two feminine figures above, “can I remove magic.” Anna gasped by his side at the light show above. He drew waves of magic being drawn out of both figures. The one on the left, as a result, turned from icy blue to blazing green and grew straighter, taller – fuller and healthier. The figure on the right, however, faded from an azure blue to an ashy grey, crouched and spasming in suffering and loss.

“Yes,” said the Queen without hesitation. She stood, once again confident, straight and tall. “Remove my magic.”

“Elsa, no!” Anna ran to her sister’s side to grab her, but Elsa recoiled from Anna’s icy fingers on her skin and grimaced when her eyes found the blue tinge of Anna’s ears and lips. “You can’t do that, Elsa!” Anna continued, despite her sister’s reaction. “Your magic is a part of you! What makes you you. You can’t take that away!”

“Anna,” Elsa shook her head in grim acceptance. “You don’t understand. You are the most important part of me. You are what brought me through all the darkest times – it is you that brings me the most happiness. You make me me. Without you – without you I am nothing, I have nothing.”

There was no question, no consideration. She returned to stand in front of Grand Pabbie.

Elsa stood tall and proud, looking more like a Queen than even at her coronation. She raised her chin, squared her shoulders and spoke, strong and clear.

“Do it. Remove my magic. Save my sister.”

I’d love to hear your thoughts, readers! What did you think of my reasoning? Trying to stay away from the cliche “there’s still some of Elsa’s ice left in Anna, etc”

Please please let me know what you think of the chapter! I love to hear any words/comments/tags you care to share, each one means so much! <3

From here on out I believe the chapters will be snapshots of Elsa and Anna’s lives as they grow used to (or not used to) Elsa without her magic. The original discussion thread gave me lots of ideas for these next parts, but please feel free to throw some more ideas at me as to how this would affect them.

Tagging those of you that commented and/or reblogged for the previous chapter- let me know if you don’t want to be tagged in the future (or if you really do!)

@grrlgeek72, @ellacarter13, @no-escape-from-the-storm-inside, @a-frozen-kind-of-love, @etiennia, @justlookatthosesausages, @thankfullyimgay, @pyre355, @above-d-clouds, @heidi-and-joseff-bjorgman, @frozenartscapes, @wandering-bard-from-the-id, @habibi18, @thegeekogecko, @maregnbue, @butimaloneandfree, @the-magic-one-is-you, @snowqueenofmyheart

#frozen #elsa #anna #frozen 2 #fanfiction #frozen fanfiction #disney #kristoff

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livelaughlovetoread · 2 months ago

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A Light in the Shadows || AO3 || 21k words || Rated M

Chapter 1: James Fleamont Potter

The first chapter has 18 sections, so the 21k words are split up quite a bit.

Each character chapter (1-6) will cover the first 11 years of their life (Brith to August 31st, 1971). I did this so each big character would have only one chapter. James and Lily's chapters are the longest, others will be shorter.

If you like smaller sections, you can search the dates, I recommend the following breakdown:

Sunday, March 27th, 1960 - Tuesday, April 21st, 1964 (3 sections, 1.4k words)

Sunday, August 15th, 1965 (1 section, 2.5 words)

Monday, September 6th, 1965 (1 section, 1.4k words)

Friday, October 21st, 1966 - Friday, April 21st, 1967 (3 section, 3.5k words)

Monday, June 17th, 1968 (1 section, 1.6k words)

Saturday, August 17th, 1968 - Friday, May 10th, 1969 (2 section, 1.6k words)

Saturday, June 28th, 1969 (1 section, 3.2k words)

Saturday, October 11th, 1969 - December 1969 to June 1970 (2 sections, 1.4k words)

Saturday March 27th, 1971 (1 section, 2.6k words)

Thursday, June 10th, 1971 - Tuesday, August 31st, 1971 (3 section, 2.6k words)

#harry potter #hp #jily #james potter #marauders #james fleamont potter #euphemia x fleamont #fleamont potter #henry potter #mauraders #jily fanfiction #jily fic #ALITS #A light in the shadows #ALITS chapter 1 #maraders era #ALITS ch

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xoxopandapanda · 6 years ago

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Little Family Ch. 14

Chapters 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15

FF.net

AO3

Thump, thump, thump.

Kagome woke to the distinctive sound of destruction in her home. Koji had been steadily on the mend over the last two days, gaining back his confidence and antics.

However, his sleeping schedule was still a disaster and he was now a very nocturnal baby.

Inuyasha’s ears flickered back and forth as he listened to the sounds of a busy baby rummaging through the hut. But he made no motion to get up and stop it.

Crash, thump, thump.

“Inuyasha.”

“Hmn.”

“What is he doing?”

“He’s in the dishes again.”

Kagome sighed and looked over her husband’s chest to find her toddler rearranging her dishes. She dropped her head onto his chest and just watched for a while. Inuyasha, for his part, hadn’t even opened his eyes or looked over to see what Koji was doing. He could tell from the sound alone.

Koji, deciding he was quite satisfied with his new organizational skills in regards to the dishware, left to find his favorite rock collection and see which rock was stronger than the other. Once he started to scrape the rocks against each other and the wretched sound filled the hut, Inuyasha pulled his ears low into his hair and opened his eyes to look at his son.

“Why does he like to do that?”

Kagome snorted. “Because he’s a toddler and that’s what toddlers do.”

The sound never seemed to bother Koji like it did his father, as he was pleased and placed the small pieces that broke off the weaker rock to the side for later inspection.

Inuyasha, realizing that the family was up for the night now, started to stretch his legs and twist his hips to loosen his back. “We need to make sure they don’t get sharp on him.”

Kagome kept her head on his chest, still unwilling to admit defeat and accept that they were up for the day now. “We should also make sure he didn’t snag any of the flint for the fire.”

Inuyasha sighed. “That too.”

Koji continued to gleefully break one of the rocks into very small pieces with loud thuds and cracks. Inuyasha had stretched enough for the moment and resumed his still position so Kagome could wrap her arms and legs around him, squeezing him tight. Inuyasha continued to watch Koji, whose eyes were bright in excitement from his destruction and was thoroughly entertained for the moment.

He muttered to his wife, “If it keeps him busy…”

Kagome nodded in agreement.

Koji only had so many weak rocks he could attempt to destroy, and after nearly an hour of his singular game, he tucked away his good rocks and ran over to where his parents were still laying, watching him play.

He didn’t slow down as he jumped onto Kagome’s side and Inuyasha’s middle, colliding with them at an alarming speed.

Inuyasha let out a loud “Oof!” and Kagome swore she felt one of her ribs move at the contact. Kagome rolled away onto her other side, clutching her ribs and letting out a loud groan. Koji slid between them, his momentum still far too much for him to slow down.

Hearing his mother’s groan, he pulled at her shoulder to get a good look at her. His eyes were inquiring as to why she had made the noise and he pulled at her hair to get a better look at her face.

Kagome looked at him with a grimace, certain she was going to have a bruise from the impact. Koji, still working on understanding facial expressions, mimicked her face back to her. Inuyasha burst into laughter at the sight of Koji crinkling up his face back at Kagome.

“Don’t laugh,” Kagome wheezed out. “You’re encouraging him”

Koji looked gleeful at his father’s outburst and tossed the same contorted face at him. Inuyasha returned the look.

Kagome rolled her eyes and accepted her fate.

They laid together for a little while, Inuyasha enjoying making faces at Koji who was fervently trying to mimic them with all this might. The game eventually turned into Inuyasha moving his ears back and forth, twisting them which way and that and Koji desperately trying to keep up.

His frustration at not being able to also move his ears fluidly became apparent as he lurched forward and tried to grab his father’s appendages.

“Ah, ah, ah! No, you don’t!” Inuyasha scooped the airborne toddler up by his chest and raised him high into the air.

Koji was initially taken aback by his unexpected change of course, but was quickly amused by his arrival into the air. He kicked his feet hard, tossing is weight forward. Inuyasha allowed him to tilt so their foreheads met before lifting Koji up again to be in the air.

Kagome kept her back to the father and son duo, closing her eyes and just listening to the sounds of the game they were playing. Her side was aching, but she was so exhausted it didn’t stop her from drifting into a light sleep.

Inuyasha kept Koji fully entertained the rest of the night, and as the early morning rays drifted into the hut, announcing the coming of the day, Kagome forced herself to fully rouse. Wincing as she lifted herself up into a seated position, Kagome looked over she shoulder at the pair next to her. Koji’s face didn’t give any emotion away, but his eyes were alit with mirth and a small fist was pushed into his mouth. Inuyasha had a broad smile plastered across his face, a new feature of the man since Koji had come into their lives, and was tossing the child a very small distance from his hands into the air.

It was a scene almost too perfect to be true.

Kagome exhaled through her nose, drawing Inuyasha’s attention to her.

“Are we getting up?” he asked.

Koji was quick to recognize that he no longer had his father’s attention and squirmed to be put down. Inuyasha put him on his chest where the toddler slid down and scrambled over to the other side of the hut.

Kagome moved to her fours before crawling off the futon and standing up gingerly. “Yeah, might as well.” She clutched her side as she tried to rise to her full height, but found it painful. She tossed a pained smile at her husband, who was looking at her unamused.

Inuyasha’s smile had turned into a light frown. “Stupid humans and their weak bones.” There was no malice in his voice.

Once they had tucked away the futon and Koji had returned to reorganize the dishes (again), Inuyasha did take a look at her side to make sure it was just a bruise and not anything more serious from the impact.

Kagome sucked in air through her teeth when he touched a particularly sore sport, trying to prevent tears from falling.

That was the one thing Koji reacted the worst to.

“How bad is it?” Kagome looked upwards, hoping that if she used gravity to keep her tears in her eyes, they wouldn’t fall.

Inuyasha let out a grunt, and pulled her sleeping yukata further open to get a better look. “I think we should wrap it. He might have moved a lower rib.”

Kagome let out a laugh at the whole situation, but gasped at the sharp pain.

“Maybe don’t do that.” Inuyasha stood up to get some bandages to wrap up her side. Koji had been watching from the dishes, but scrambled over to his mother when she gasped. He scooted his whole body on to her lap and tried to hold on to her, but Kagome had to pull his hands away from her chest to prevent him from aggravating her rib cage.

Koji took her moving his arms away from her as a sign of rejection and froze as Kagome turned his body around so he was facing away from her. She moved his arms and sang the song, trying to teach him a paddy cake game, hoping to distract him for the moment.

When Inuyasha approached, slowly, as if unsure as to what was going on, Kagome had him sit directly in front of Koji, and hold up his hands.

She repeated the motions and the chant until Inuyasha had started to catch on and was playing with his son. Koji, initially still and scared of rejection, started to warm up as he became distracted by the game. Soon, he was putting his hands together on his own, clapping to some unknown beat. Once Inuyasha was no longer needed for the little game Koji had started to play by himself, as clapping had become a much more interesting game than the actual paddy cake, he got to work on Kagome’s side.

Koji was scooted to the end of her lap, resting on her knees with his feet firmly planted on the ground. Kagome kept repeating the paddy cake chant over and over again, but Koji’s beat was not even remotely in time with hers. Kagome would stop and try to fit the chant in with the boy’s clapping, but it appeared Koji had no sense of rhythm.

“Well,” Kagome finally gave up and addressed her husband, who was tenderly tightening the bandages around her chest, “we know he’s not going to grow up to be a musician.”

Inuyasha didn’t pause in his action. “No idea what you’re talking about.”

Kagome smiled and nodded. “Fair enough.”

Koji still wasn’t smiling and laughing like his normal self, even two days after his human night. Today was the first day that he struck her as having his normal amount of energy back.

But the steady return to normal brought further fears to her mind.

When was a good time to bring Koji back into the village? She was sure Sango and Miroku missed them or at least were wondering, since it was going on four days since that had seen their friends, but would that cause him stress?

Inuyasha finished wrapping up her chest, giving her a little pat on the side when he was done. “What should we do today?” he asked, moving to sit directly behind her and drape his arms around her waist loosely.

Kagome sighed and tilted her head back so that it rested on his shoulder. “Maybe it’s too soon to bring him back to the village.”

“Maybe. But I’m sure they are wondering about us.”

“I don’t want to overwhelm him.”

Inuyasha understood her unspoken addition. If he reacted poorly to the village people, would that cause a repeat of his human night?

He was still so fragile. How would they know what was best for him?

Koji had worn himself out, and flopped his body backwards to rest on Kagome’s chest. Inuyasha’s arms bore the brunt of his weight, so only his head was putting any pressure on Kagome. Kagome was thankful in that moment for her attentive husband, as she wasn’t sure how she could have distracted Koji again from laying on her.

Finally, Kagome herself leaned against Inuyasha’s front and said, “I wouldn’t mind another day at home just bumming around. There’s always work to be done here.”

“I don’t think the little one will mind either.” Inuyasha lifted his arms a little before dropping them, bouncing the child in Kagome’s lap lightly. Koji didn’t indicate he was intrigued by the game, but he also didn’t protest, so Inuyasha continued to move him up and down. Kagome was a little annoyed by the head now lifting and dropping onto her sore chest, but she couldn’t be bothered to say anything.

Koji eventually grew tired of the little game, and moved back to the bowls across the room. Instead of rearranging them, as was one of his most favorite past times, he brought them out, one by one, and laid them next to the fire. Kagome smiled at his antics, patting Inuyasha’s arms to let him know she was going to get up.

Shifting to her knees so she could stand easier, Kagome exhaled, “I think he wants breakfast.”

Inuyasha kept his hands out in case she needed help getting up, but agreed. “Yeah, that’s a fair assumption.”

Koji ate mostly on his own, which was an exciting sign for his parents. He gobbled down as much rice as he could with Inuyasha’s attempts to keep him at a reasonable pace, and slurped down the miso soup, although most of it dribbled down his front and dirtied his clothes. Kagome only went to wipe his face once she realized the cloth on his body was not going to absorb any more liquid.

Once he was full, and thoroughly smelling like breakfast, Koji waddled over to his favorite location in the hut: the futon. He made a bold effort to climb on top of the bedding resting just above the ground to air out, only to be deterred by his father.

“Where do you think you’re going, you breakfast fiend?” Inuyasha had pulled off his tops and put them to the side so he could lift the miso-scented toddler. “I think you need to clean up before you get in Mama’s nice clean bedding.”

Kagome smiled and started to stack their breakfast bowls for cleaning, leaving Inuyasha’s separate from hers and Koji’s, because she knew he would want to be eating more once he cleaned up the messy Koji. “Going to attempt to give him a bath?”

Inuyasha snorted. “I’m going to succeed in giving him a bath.”

Although the soft wailing come from the now scooped up toddler told Inuyasha his success would come with a price.

It was still warm enough outside that Inuyasha could rinse Koji off into the river and not worry about giving the boy chills, despite the production that Koji would put on any time he realized he was being cleaned. Walking to the river, Koji tossed himself around in his father’s embrace in a vain attempt to escape his inevitable fate of being cleaned off.

“Quit your squirming. I’ll be faster than your mom.” Inuyasha put the boy on his feet at the edge of the river and worked on getting removing the strongly smelling clothes. “You’ll feel better once you don’t smell like miso.”

Koji, every time Inuyasha’s hands separated from his body, made a break for the edge of the forest, causing Inuyasha to have to keep one hand on an arm at all times so he wouldn’t have to chase a naked toddler through the woods.

Once he was stripped down Inuyasha tried to put his legs in the water, but using an extreme amount of core strength, Koji kept his feet well above the water, tucking his legs in close to his body and lifting his torso to be in line with Inuyasha’s arms.

Inuyasha made several attempts to put the boy in the water on his feet, not wanting to sit him on the gravel of the river, before sighing and looking Koji in the eye. “You’re going to make me get in, aren’t you?”

Koji blinked in response.

Realizing that if he attempted to raise his pants so they wouldn’t get wet, Koji would most likely be able to make a rapid dash for freedom, Inuyasha resigned himself to getting wet as well.

Standing from his crouched position, Inuyasha stepped into the river himself, silently chuckling at Koji’s widening eyes.

“Didn’t think I’d do it, did you?”

Inuyasha squatted back down, feeling his bottom get wet from the river and the water making a steady and firm encroachment through his fire rat robe. Although it was mostly water proof, it still got soaked when faced with an entire body of water.

Inuyasha put Koji on his knee and used one hand to hold him and the other to lift water from the river to rinse him off. While it wasn’t the extent of washing that Kagome would have done, it was enough to get the smell of breakfast off of him.

Koji, however, was still not amused by the prospects of a fast rinse.

He swatted Inuyasha’s hands away from him, frantic to get the water away, unintentionally, putting the entire handful of water up into Inuyasha’s face. Although startled by the afront of cold water up his nose, Inuyasha remained still for the sake of the child sitting on his knee.

Taking a couple of deep breaths in through his nose to re-center himself, Inuyasha turn a disapproving gaze on his son.

Koji returned one of shock.

Inuyasha continued his efforts, using one hand to take smaller amounts of water and rinse off Koji’s legs and then his chest. Koji continued to get Inuyasha just as wet as he was getting by flailing and smacking the hand away, but eventually, Inuyasha was able to remove most of the smell of the miso off of the child.

Both parties were thoroughly soaked for their efforts, and Inuyasha stood to carry them inside. Koji was still of the mindset that escape was his best option, not registering that it was all over, and continued to squirm with all his might. Inuyasha turned him outwards, resting his bottom on his hip and facing the toddler’s chest outwards.

Inuyasha left the boy’s clothes next to the river so he could come back and wash them once Koji was back inside with Kagome.

Koji tried to get leverage with his feet on his father’s legs to push off into freedom.

Inuyasha kept walking to the hut, stopping in the genkan to put the boy on the floor, where the child streaked across the room into their bedding, his ultimate goal finally achieved.

“Rough go of it?” Kagome snorted from her spot by the door rinsing off the dishes via the bucket of water kept there. Inuyasha narrowed his eyes at her, sensing her amusement at his soaked state, deciding in that moment that the revenge was too good to be ignored.

Lowering himself to the balls of his feet and hands, Inuyasha stared at Kagome. Kagome, finally looking over at her husband, paled at the sight.

She pointed at him. “No, Inuyasha!” she shouted, rousing the attention of their toddler from the bedding to look over in curiosity, but Inuyasha had begun his shake.

And shake he did, spraying his wife, and most of the room, with the brisk water from the river that his child hand put on him.

Koji was clearly more amused by this than his mother was, who was sputtering and shouting indignantly at her husband, himself going in for one more good shake.

Koji shrieked in glee, his first sound of happiness in over three days, and clambered out of his nest in the bedding to run to his father.

“Inuyasha!” Kagome covered her face while she shrieked, not in glee, at him. “Not in the house!”

Inuyasha smiled at his wife, feeling like he had won this round, still in on his fours.

Koji reached his father finally and moved to mimic Inuyasha’s stance, before shaking himself the exact same way.

Inuyasha balked at the water now being put on him, startled at Koji’s actions, although amused that his son was so interested in copying him. Also amused that Kagome was now yelling, “Koji, no! Don’t be like Daddy!”

Figuring he had more water to shake off now, Inuyasha twisted quickly to relieve himself of it, taking note of how Kagome was crawling to get away from the wet boys at the front, although it was pointless as Inuyasha had a great range.

Koji laughed, lighting up the room, and Kagome couldn’t help but laugh as well, despite her annoyance at her husband in that moment.

From her hideaway just an arm’s length away, Kagome told Inuyasha, “Look at what you have done.”

Inuyasha looked at the toddler who was beaming. “Yeah, look at what I’ve done.”

#Little family #inuyasha #inuyashaxkagome #inukag #inukag fanfiction #inuyasha x kagome #panda writes

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cafechaussette · 6 years ago

Text

Tout est fiction, reste le marché

Nourri d’anecdotes et de précisions savantes, « Sapiens », de Yuval Noah Harari, se présente à la fois comme une séduisante entreprise de vulgarisation portant sur l’histoire de notre espèce et comme une réflexion sur le sens de cette histoire. La pédagogie se double ainsi de considérations qui, sous couvert de science, trahissent une banale défense de l’idéologie dominante.

Conjuguer histoire et science pour traverser cent mille et quelques années, et chercher à analyser ce qu’il s’est passé et ce qu’il se passera sur Terre, c’est ambitieux. Même en trois volumes. Yuval Noah Harari, professeur d’histoire à l’université hébraïque de Jérusalem, né en 1976, a été intrépide, et il a eu raison. Le premier volet de sa trilogie, Sapiens (1), s’est écoulé à huit millions d’exemplaires dans le monde. En France, il n’a pas quitté la liste des meilleures ventes depuis le 2 septembre 2015, date de sa sortie en librairies, et les ouvrages qui l’ont suivi, sans encore atteindre ces sommets, les tutoient : quatre millions pour Homo deus, le deuxième (2). Sapiens a été loué par MM. Bill Gates, Mark Zuckerberg, Barack Obama, Carlos Ghosn, ou encore par l’artiste Damien Hirst. Impressionnant. Harari est ainsi adoubé comme un maître-penseur, y compris par Jared Diamond, l’auteur du célèbre Effondrement (Gallimard, 2006). En bref, il est aujourd’hui « le penseur le plus important du monde (3) » pour avoir, comme le résume brillamment le site de la Fnac, écrit « un livre-monument, audacieux et provocateur » qui « remet en cause tout ce que nous pensions savoir sur l’humanité ». À l’évidence, il serait dommageable de s’en priver.

« Logiciel biologique »

Sapiens, comme les ouvrages qui lui succèdent, cherche « une clé pour comprendre notre histoire et notre psychologie (4) ». La clé, c’est la capacité de l’espèce à nommer des entités qui n’existent pas et à les partager : cette « révolution cognitive » opérée par le langage humain permet de créer des fictions collectives. Dès lors, « un grand nombre d’inconnus peuvent coopérer avec succès en croyant à des mythes communs ». Les Sapiens vivent donc dans une double réalité, objective et imaginaire, mais c’est la réalité imaginaire qui devient la plus puissante : une religion, une nation, Google... Les principes universels, le libéralisme, le socialisme ? Des mythes, et qui, de surcroît, peuvent changer vite : « En 1789, la population française changea de croyance presque du jour au lendemain. » Des mythes dangereux, souvent, notamment la croyance dans la raison, le libre-arbitre. Ce sont des « lois, forces, entités, lieux qui n’existent que dans leur imagination commune (5) » qui suscitent chez les êtres humains « les croisades, les révolutions socialistes, la défense des droits de l’homme ».

Il semble quand même, sans vouloir être désagréable, que cette lecture de l’histoire humaine ne soit pas très éloignée des clichés de comptoir : tout n’est que croyance, la vérité n’existe pas, l’universalisme encore moins. La réalité objective se dissout dans le récit qu’on en fait. On comprend que l’auteur soit quelque peu obsédé par le matérialisme historique et le « communisme », dont il se plaît à faire le symbole de l’erreur tragique — ses fidèles ayant été selon lui « prêts à risquer l’holocauste nucléaire à cause de leur croyance au paradis communiste (6) ». Voilà une pensée agréablement conforme à l’idéologie en place, d’autant que, aux yeux de l’auteur, le capitalisme, autre version d’une religion centrée sur l’homme, a « réduit la violence humaine et accru la tolérance et la coopération ». Bon. Pour l’égalité postulée par les droits de l’homme, même entreprise de pulvérisation : il faudra s’en passer. Comment ne pas reconnaître, par simple bon sens, que c’est une sottise ?, interroge Harari. L’aptitude au bonheur, par exemple, est génétique, et les humains sont ainsi par nature inégaux devant lui...

Il reste à comprendre comment ces illusions prennent corps et s’inscrivent dans la réalité « objective » qu’elles modifient. Nous ne le saurons pas. Et nous ne saurons pas davantage comment la science ne relève pas du « récit » mythifiant. Car Harari croit en la science. D’ailleurs, « peut-être un jour des percées dans la neurobiologie nous permettront-elles d’expliquer le communisme et les croisades en termes strictement biochimiques », avance-t-il dans Homo deus. Notre « logiciel biologique » est déterminant. Sans grande surprise, il affirme avec force que « notre ADN croit encore que nous sommes dans la savane » — belle époque, où nous n’étions pas encore des « serial killers écologiques » — et que, plus largement, les scientifiques sont de plus en plus enclins « à soutenir que le comportement humain est déterminé par les hormones, les gènes et les synapses ». Autrement dit, l’humain a beau (se) raconter des histoires, au fond du fond, ce sont la mécanique neuronale et l’inné qui le font agir.

Mais qu’est-ce qui déclenche la mécanique, fait se connecter les synapses, fait, somme toute, qu’on produit des mots et des idées, par exemple ? Précisément, des « algorithmes » établis par les gènes et l’environnement. Réflexion, travail d’émancipation ? Algorithmes. Soyons clair : nous sommes programmés. Comme dans Matrix, sauf qu’ici c’est sans espoir. On ne peut en sortir. Une solution pour l’accepter : la méditation vipassana — de façon taquine, l’auteur nous confie qu’il en est adepte seulement vers la fin de son troisième livre (7). Elle permet de saisir « que la vie n’a pas de sens et qu’il n’est pas nécessaire de lui en chercher un », comme le pensait le Bouddha, mais aussi d’accueillir le fait que le moi, comme toute autre entité imaginaire, est une fiction.

Dans ces conditions, on comprend difficilement pourquoi Harari estime que, « plus que du chômage de masse, nous devrions nous inquiéter du glissement de l’autorité des hommes aux algorithmes (8) » ; ou pourquoi il dénonce un risque de dictature numérique que permettrait la fusion de l’« infotech » et de la « biotech », afin d’élaborer des algorithmes au plus près des désirs de chacun — si ce chacun en a les moyens. Ce serait, à terme, la fin de Sapiens, mais son règne sur Terre « n’a pas produit jusqu’ici grand-chose dont nous puissions être fiers », alors...

Harari a cherché à étayer, et souvent asséné, les lieux communs propres à la conception du monde selon le libéralisme : tout est relatif ; il n’est pas de vérité ultime ; il y a une nature humaine première ; la raison sert de masque aux émotions qui l’impulsent, seules véritablement déterminantes, etc. On comprend qu’il ait pu être invité au Forum économique de Davos. On comprend moins qu’il soit pris au sérieux.

Evelyne Pieiller in Le Monde Diplomatique (janvier 2019)

(1) Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens. Une brève histoire de l’humanité, Albin Michel, Paris, 2015.

(2) Yuval Noah Harari, Homo deus. Une brève histoire du futur, Albin Michel, 2017.

(3) Thomas Mahler, « Yuval Noah Harari, le penseur le plus important du monde », Le Point, Paris, 20 septembre 2018.

(4) Yuval Noah Harari, Sapiens, op. cit. Sauf mention contraire, les citations suivantes proviennent du même ouvrage.

(5) Yuval Noah Harari, Homo deus, op. cit.

(6) Ibid.

(7) Yuval Noah Harari, Vingt et une leçons pour le XXIe siècle, Albin Michel, 2018.

(8) Ibid.

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helshades · 6 years ago

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Salut la Macronie ! Pourriez-vous avoir l’infinie gentillesse de partager une histoire Alain-Rey compliant du mot entreprise ? C’est peut-être creux mais quand on prend du recul je trouve ça très joli entre-prise.

TU SAIS CE QU’IL TE DIT LE RECUL

Je te pardonne, ô impertinent anonymoustachu, mais seulement parce que tu as cité le très-haut, très-sacré, très-délicieux Alain Rey, dont la canonique cervelle est chère à mon cœur.

Et puis, l’histoire du mot en question est fondée sur une erreur sémantique, ce que je trouve on ne peut plus charmant.

Première remarque : le terme entreprise a pris son sens actuel vers 1798, désignant désormais « une organisation de production de biens ou de services à caractère commercial ». C’est loin d’avoir toujours été le cas !

Le verbe entreprendre, à l’origine, en ancien français (première trace écrite connue : 1140) signifie « attaquer » au sens propre ; au figuré, « accuser, interpeller » (1174). Figurativement aussi, entre le XIVᵉ et le XIXᵉ siècles il a eu le sens d’« atteindre (quelqu’un) » en parlant d’une maladie. Ces emplois sont sortis d’usage mais pas celui d’entreprendre (qqn.) au sens de « s’attaquer à (qqn.) pour le railler », qui date du XVᵉ siècle ; ni celui d’entreprendre contre pour « engager une action hostile » (1647). Disparu en revanche, l’emploi classique (XVIIᵉ s.) pour « prendre en charge (qqn.) »…

Par extension du premier sens, entreprendre sur (1396) signifie « s’arroger le droit de juger » – dont je dirais qu’il est pratiquement inconnu de nos jours ; et, avec un complément abstrait, « empiéter sur » (XVIIᵉ s.) – qui ne me paraît plus très usité non plus.

En revanche, on parle encore assez facilement d’entreprendre quelqu’un pour une tentative de séduction : le sens figuré de « conquérir » est apparu au XVIᵉ siècle, par extension de la sémantique guerrière… D’où l'emploi fréquent de l’adjectif entreprenant, -ante (1360), surtout au masculin, au sens de « hardi auprès des femmes » (attesté avant 1678).

Alors, quel rapport avec le commerce ? Et bien, au XIIᵉ siècle (entre 1176 et 1181), le verbe prend le sens de « commencer (quelque chose), se mettre à faire (qqch.) », puis, à compter du XVIIᵉ siècle, ce sens se spécialise pour parler de rapports marchands (1671). Or, ce sens provient d’une confusion entre entreprendre et un verbe disparu emprendre,« commencer, mettre en œuvre » (1080) directement issu du bas latin °imprehendere, issu lui-même du latin classique prehendere, « prendre ».

À noter que le verbe emprendre existe toujours tel quel en catalan ; en espagnol, sous la forme emprender, et en portugais, empreender. L’italien, en revanche, paraît avoir calqué le français : intraprendere.

D’ailleurs, le substantif entrepreneur, -euse, bien qu’il soit apparu isolément (1253-1289) sous la forme entreprendeeur, a existé comme empreneeur (v.1283) et emprendeur (fin XIVᵉ s.), avant l’avènement de la forme moderne en 1422 – autrement dit, au début du moyen français (dont l’apogée coïncide avec la Renaissance, précédant le français dit classique…). Sous ces diverses formes, le mot désigne une personne qui entreprend quelque-chose, emploi vieilli aujourd’hui ; il a pris à l’époque moderne (1611) le sens de « personne qui se charge de l’exécution d’un travail ». Ce sens-là s’employait surtout en matière de construction, au demeurant, avant que le sens contemporain, apparu au début du XIXᵉ siècle, n’en vienne à le supplanter : de nos jours un entrepreneur est un « personne qui dirige une entreprise », synonyme du syntagme chef d’entreprise ; secondairement, ce peut être une « personne qui fait métier d’entreprendre sur contrat certains travaux, notamment de construction, ou de fournir des marchandises, des services».

Dans le contexte de l’idéologie économique libérale, ce sens a pris des connotations plus larges qui se retrouvent fidèlement dans l’emprunt anglais entrepreneur (invariable) : chose fascinante et assez révélatrice quand on mêle économie et politique à l’histoire des langages, on employait avant le XIXᵉ siècle en Grande-Bretagne le terme adventurer (aventurier) de manière équivalente. On parle là d’une époque pionnière du capitalisme, annonçant l’ère industrielle.

Les premiers sens d’entreprise (la substantivation du participe passé féminin d’entreprendre) sont probablement celui d’« opération militaire », attesté en 1373, et d’« action de mettre en œuvre » (1393). Le sens militaire étant sorti d’usage, c’est du second que provient celui d’« opération de commerce » (1799), également disparu aujourd’hui. De l’idée d’action découle l’emploi, vieilli, pour « action par laquelle on attaque quelqu’un » (1721), puis le fameux sens de « tentatives de séduction » (1721, au pluriel), encore en usage…

Pour être parfaitement honnête, il faut sans doute préciser que la toute première attestation du substantif entreprise remonte en réalité à 1230, sauf que personne n’a jamais compris ce que l’auteur de ce roman arthurien intitulé Le Chevalier aux deux épées (la traduction vaut son pesant de cahouètes) avait fichtrement bien pu vouloir dire, qui paraît l’employer au sens de « défaut » !

Du coup, un petit encart final sur le terme emprise qui, lui, bien entendu, est dérivé du verbe emprendre, auquel il a largement survécu : premièrement attesté en 1175, il a le sens de « prouesse chevaleresque » (l’auteur anonyme du Chevalier aux deux épées fumait vraiment la moquette) ou plus largement de « belle action » – ce jusqu’au XVIᵉ siècle. Et puis il est tombé en désuétude, avant d’être repris au XIXᵉ siècle au sens de « domination intellectuelle ou morale » par croisement avec empire et empreinte, merci Théophile Gautier (Le Capitaine Fracasse, 1863). Le romancier aura pu être inspiré par le lexique juridique administratif, lequel emploie emprise pour désigner une mainmise de l’Administration sur une propriété privée (emprise de terrain, 1868), usage que l’on retrouve dans le Code rural par exemple. Parce que cette saisie s’opère généralement au moyen d’une expropriation, emprise en est venu à désigner par extension « envahissement, mainmise », ce qui pourrait expliquer la confusion manifeste, mais pas dénuée de poésie, du cher Théophile entre emprise et empreinte. Je me hâte de préciser que si emprise morale a pu être une faute autrefois, elle est depuis longtemps (enfin, depuis la seconde moitié du XXᵉ siècle.) entrée dans les mœurs…

En parlant de lexique administratif – et non point de poésie – ce sale raseur poseur de Paul Claudel a un jour eu le front d’employer emprendre dans son sens médiéval !!!

Il n'y a pas un de vous qui ne me soit précieux; pas un de vous, si vil qu'il soit, que je ne désire emprendre comme l'air flamboyant.

(Claudel, Tête d'Or, 1890).

Connard.

#gallomancy #raiponses #anonymoustachus #la linguistique c'est chic #étymologie #lexicographie #vocabularistique #maudit soit paul claudel #honni soit son nom #cet article a été ghostwrité par charles dantzig #langue française

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