#HER SOBBING INTO AGNES’S ARMS?????

[wrong-energy]

If i had a nickel for every time Robert Sean Leonard was in a show where he is in a tragic romance that ends with him getting cancer id have two nickels. Which isn’t a lot but its weird that it happened twice.

[nebbyy]

I have a request, if youre taking them.

Baldwin's wife sneaks into the battle in 1177 with sixteen year old Baldwin, his reaction and what not. make it your own, just thought this would be cool

King Baldwin x reader - My archangel

A/N: I absolutely LOVE this idea! I've never thought of a scenario like this before, so thank you so so much for the suggestion<3

Sorry if this took so long btw, I haven't been active lately because of school and work😔😔

As always, painting is "The Crown of Love" by John Everett Millais (it's so funny to me for no reason, it just makes me think of how Baldwin would be physically dragging you out of danger).

Summary: During the most importante battle of his life so far, the last person king Baldwin expected to see on the battlefield was his newlywed wife

Warning: war, but it's more of a background thing, mentions of injuries and a hint at misogynism

Word count: 5433

It had been decided. Jerusalem's knights and soldiers would be riding towards Saladin's army at dawn, led by their king, King Baldwin IV of Anjou. Your Baldwin.

The mere idea that tomorrow your husband would find himself fighting face to face against the most fearsome of his enemies terrified you, especially knowing that you could do nothing to protect him. He had expressly said he did not want you or his sisters anywhere near the battlefield, it was too risky. You should have waited for his return, for him to be victorious astride his steed, now lying lifeless on a black bed.

You closed your eyes, begging your mind to spare you from the projection of that macabre image in your head. But you could do nothing against these emotions, which were tearing at your mind and spirit. You could not remain still and impassive, obedient and elegant as you always were as a young princess, then as a wife and now as a queen.

No, that image of you had to slumber, if only for a while. You did not have your kingdom on your mind at that moment, only Baldwin and the overwhelming desire to be close to him.

You cursed your nature for making you a woman, for not having had the opportunity to learn the art of arms and war. You cursed your long robes that prevented you from any daring movement, and your limbs because even if they were able to move freely they would not have the strength to even wield a sword.

As Baldwin fell asleep in your arms, exhausted by the fatigue that this imminent battle was costing him, and you held him close to your heart as if to compel him eternally into your embrace, you weaved a plan in your mind. A plan not to leave him alone at dawn, to stay as close to him as possible.

Because even if it was the day God would claim your husband's soul, at least you wanted to be near him as he took his last breath.

How selfish you were, not even death would have been left for him. But then again, poets have been saying it for centuries, love is the gravest form of madness.

You woke up in an empty bed, the spectre of a kiss floating on your bare shoulder where Baldwin's lips had rested a few moments before, when he had to arouse himself to lead his army into battle. And despair pervaded you almost immediately, when when you woke up still no idea had come to your mind to stay by his side, after you had hoped that sleep would grant you a solution to your problem.

Unable to hold back tears of frustration and despair, you summoned your favourite handmaiden, your nurse, old to almost retirement but cunning as a mischievous child. You wept on her welcoming lap, clutching the fabric of her robe in your fists.

"Oh Agnes, how unfair is my fate as a woman. I am asked to stand by my husband's side all my life and yet I am denied a place beside him in these dark times. And they tear him from my arms and leave me here, alone and helpless, these monstrous Saracens!" She looked at you with sympathetic eyes, stroking the long hair that fell from your shoulders, which resembled the waves of the sea as they shook slightly from your sobs. "What can I do, Agnes? You who always have a quick tongue to give solutions to my every worry, tell me what I can do, before his horse and troops are too far away to be seen."

She, like a mother consoling a child who has injured himself while playing, took your face with one hand, inviting you to turn your gaze towards her. As she wiped the tears that streaked your cheeks with her thumb, she spoke softly to you, although her tone had a hint of her typical mischief in it: "My lady, weeping over your fate does not suit you. Instead, I propose you run. Make haste to the armoury, there you are sure to find armour left behind by some lord. Do you follow me? Well, you will simply have to put on the armour, carrying a pair of your husband's breeches underneath. And keep your helmet tightly closed, so that it cannot be seen that beneath the armour there is not a brutish knight, but a beautiful queen.

Go out of the palace through the servants' passages, and buy the horse of the first man you find. Not yours, in the royal stable they would notice his absence. And then all that remains is for you to ride, ride as fast as you can, to reach the Christian encampments as soon as possible, which by then will have been set up. Remain aloof, and reveal yourself to your husband only. And do so at night, in his tent, where no unwanted eyes can see your unexpected encounter. Is it all clear, my lady?"

You merely nodded frantically with eyes wide in wonder and relief. You practically leapt into the air, quick to grab the first slip you could find and a pair of cheap shoes that you could ruin with all your impending travels. You were about to leave the room, but stopped for a moment at the threshold, before turning back to Agnes to hold her tightly in a warm embrace.

"What would I do without you, my dear. You are even better than a guardian angel, I wouldn't be surprised if one day you left some white feathers behind!" The woman squeezed you affectionately before pushing you away playfully, urging you to get out and go and do whatever she directed. "It is the job of a nurse, to solve a child's problems in the same way as a mother. But hurry now or the battle will be over before you have even found a helmet!"

You laughed lightly as you wiped the dried tears from your cheeks, wasting no more time in rushing to get what was necessary to implement your plan. You rushed in front of the crate containing Baldwin's clothes, tossing robes and shirts in the air until you found breeches fit for a ride. You hastily donned them, then dashed down the long corridors of the palace.

Once in the armoury, you began to spin like a wheel, desperately searching with your eyes for any armour. You weren't picky, anything would have been more than enough: you'd have been fine with just a breastplate, chain mail, simple shoulder straps,… But most of all, you needed a helmet. And that you found almost immediately in your mad search. It was crudely moulded and already bore a few dents on the sides, but you paid no attention to it, it was enough to conceal your identity.

You also found a breastplate, and that was all you needed. You considered taking a sword with you too, but quickly changed your mind: it might be foolish to most, but you hoped that if an enemy found you unarmed, his honour would prevent him from challenging you to a fight.

And then, your focus on your sword quickly faded as you remembered that you still had no horse to reach the battlefield. Running awkwardly, like a child ambitiously trying on his father's far too large armour, you stepped back into the corridors, this time frantically searching with your eyes for a servant to follow towards the back exit.

It must have been a hilarious scene from an outside observer, a burly swineherd looking perplexed over his shoulder as a half-armed knight los eguiva like a tin puppet through the narrow corridors. But the scene was short-lived, for after a couple of turns you finally reached the palace exit, and emerged into the crowded streets of the city.

I had to move my helmet slightly above my eyes to better see the road around you, scanning the area for any horse. You could only see two camels, a few cows, a hen with her small flock of chicks, but no horse in sight. But just when you were about to give up hope, a mysterious force swept over you.

More than mysterious force, you were almost overwhelmed by a horse held on the bridle by a dirty, smelly man. "Out of the way, kid!" Looking at the man with wide eyes, taking good care to make sure your helmet covered your features well, you strained to speak in the most naturally deep voice you could muster, attempting to fool the yokel into mistaking you for a mere boy.

"Sir how much… how much are you asking for your horse?" He laughed, opening his mouth wide and exposing his few remaining teeth, yellow and frayed, and looked at you with a look of paucity and mockery, "You're going off to war without even a horse? The Saracens will impale you like a spit, son. Not that the battle would do you any good either way, with the child king we have, they will all be wiped out. before they even reach those bloody Arabs!”

You clenched your jaw so tightly that you thought your teeth might blow out from the pressure, so hard were you trying to suppress your anger at that disrespectful commoner. Breathing slowly, trying to calm your nerves, you spoke in stiff, icy words, "30 shillings. And you leave me the saddle" The man's eyes widened, incredulous at how much a young man was willing to pay for his old, shabby horse. But he wasn't complaining at all; in fact, better for him if the thirst for war drove the youth of today to such lengths. If only he had known that it was not the bloodlust of a daring young man that was before him, but instead the affectionate madness of a desperate wife.

He did not even answer, stretched out his open hand in front of him where a moment later a bag full of coins fell. He opened it for good measure, making sure the hefty sum was true. When he was satisfied, he slowly handed you the bridle, dazed by the small fortune he was holding.

You hoisted yourself awkwardly onto the horse, and it was not a quick operation as it seemed almost impossible for you not to fall off the horse, so much was the armor restricting your every move and weighing you down. After a few minutes of tribulation, you finally steadied yourself in the saddle and with a firm gesture of your leg, spurred the steed, which galloped off in an instant.

At a gallop, the city didn't seem nearly so big. Nor did the streets seem so crowded, perhaps because the people spread out like the sea in front of Moses as you passed, trying to escape the unpleasant fate of being swept away by the running horse and its mysterious rider. You felt as if you were sailing through the waves of the sea, with people's heads bobbing up and down, a current of movement pushing you closer and closer to the city gates. No one paid much attention to you as you crossed the threshold into the kingdom of heaven, most just thought you were a careless rider who had fallen behind, perhaps this was your first battle. Whatever your problem was, it was not about the wall guards. And so your figure disappeared from the sight of the remaining citizens in the city, vanishing into the vastness of the endless desert.

You did not know quite how long you rode, how many hours it took you before you began to locate even the slightest trace of the passage of the army of Jerusalem. At first it was only small details, marks left on the ground, mainly trinkets possibly dropped to the soldiers during the ride. Then the signs of their passage became more prominent, when around a small oasis you even found a few abandoned spears, probably forgotten back by some careless soldier.

And you stopped there for only a moment, as thirst would have prevented you from going any further. As you drank from the body of water, your mind travelled in thought to your husband; who knows if he too drank from this spring? And if so, how long has it been? Will he be far from here? What would he say when he saw you retracing the passage he and his troops were tracing? At that last thought a shiver ran down your spine, most likely he would not be very happy to know you were so close to danger. You shook your head, trying to rid yourself of the image of the look that Baudouin would give you if he saw you at that moment, alone, barely armed in the vast and merciless desert, with no escort to protect you…

You only hoped that the surprise and joy of seeing you at such a tragic moment might cloud his mind from any concern he might have for you. In the meantime you had quenched your thirst enough. Regaining the reins of your horse, and after a series of ministrations to remount the saddle, you resumed your ride towards the battle with the unknown outcome.

As you rode with the wind blowing in your face, with nothing to entertain or distract you, your mind could not but return again to Baldwin. You could not help it, for fear for his fate had been tearing at your soul for days without respite, ever since it was announced that a battle would take place.

Baldwin was too young for all this. He was barely of marriageable age, he could barely reign without a regent at his side, he was hardly considered more than a child, many nobles even refused to call him an adult! And then there was his illness, which although not yet crippling, had already begun to expand its deadly effect on his body, numbing his nerves and making it impossible for him to wield his right hand properly. It was really unfair, that a man in his condition should lead an army to what everyone considered certain death.

Death at the hands of the Saracens, who were rumoured to be as many as ten times the number of the army of Jerusalem. A sob escaped from your mouth, followed by a faint stream of tears that ran down your cheeks, but they were short-lived on your face, the dry desert wind dried them in no time.

Only an instant seemed to pass, time to bring a hand to his face to wipe away the dried saline tears. Yet when your gaze focused again on the landscape in front, you saw a few hundred metres away a series of white tents, a few faint rows of smoke rising in the air, a massive cross set with precious gems, leaning against a rough wooden construction. It was the camp of the Jerusalem army.

Getting off your horse, you advanced hesitantly through the camp. Looking around, you noticed the stunned gazes of soldiers and horsemen watching you, some intrigued by your unkempt armor, some confused by your clumsy way of moving. But although the attention of their gazes made you stop breathing, fearing that you had been discovered, but fortunately it was short-lived, all the men were too tired from the exertions of the journey to investigate even this oddity. Taking you for an inexperienced little boy, they looked away from you and proceeded to drag their aching limbs back to their respective tents.

But although no one gave you more than the attention you give any stranger on the street, your heart would not stop beating furiously in its cage. You quivered at the mere thought of seeing your husband again, who although he had recently separated from you, already felt as if you had not seen him for an eternity. And your soul screamed at the idea that this might be the last time you would see him alive, and urged your legs to move faster. From hesitant strides, your gait grew brisk, impatient, and faster and faster until you burst into a frantic run through the expanse of white tents.

You scanned one, two, ten, a hundred, so many that by now they seemed to you an endless bundle of the same white cloth. But although your hope gave no sign of existing from your mission, your legs were beginning to give out under the constant strain you had subjected your body to for endless hours. You had no choice but to stop to catch your breath, resting your hands on your trembling thighs as you gasped for breath. And it was in that very instant, while you neither heard nor saw anything but the roar of your heart echoing in your ears and the rough ground flattened by the heavy footsteps of the soldiers, dark because of the blurred evening light, that you heard it. That voice.

"We will discuss this tomorrow, now I need the rest" "Certainly, my lord." The dialogue was followed by a knight of high lineage who came out of the tent in front of which you had pulled up to rest. He did not even dignify you with a glance, and you could not care less, for it was not him you were interested in. He was the first man to speak who had captured your complete attention, making the whole world fade away around you. It was a jovial voice, full of life despite obvious tiredness. It was a boy's voice. It was Baldwin's voice.

You sidled up to the curtain of the tent and, before opening your mouth, breathed slowly, tending not only to ease your nerves but also to modulate your voice to make it more masculine, deeper. The deception was to be revealed only when you were alone in the tent, away from prying eyes.

"My king, I know you are now bereft of strength, but grant me a brief interview with your majesty." You could visualize him rolling his eyes, puffing silently and running his good hand over his eyes, as he was always wont to do when any courtier demanded his attention while he was already lying in your arms. And as whenever this familiar event took place, similarly Baldwin made an effort in this case to stand up and mutter a reply, unaware that the subject behind the cloth was not just any boy, but his beloved wife. "I'm afraid I'm in no condition for a meeting at the moment. We will discuss whatever you need tomorrow." Panic grew in you hearing him so indisposed. After all, you should have expected it; he had more to think about than granting an interview to an anonymous soldier. In an instant, however, you changed your strategy, if you couldn't convince him you would have to bait him, "Please, sir, give me a few minutes! I bring with me a great surprise, a gift that I know will fill your heart with joy and restore your energy!"

He paused, as if weighing his options. At least that was what you thought, but in truth Baldwin was wondering if he was going crazy. If he had only dreamed, due to exhaustion and fatigue, that the voice speaking to him from outside the tent was not any young man's, but a disguise meant to hide the angelic melodic voice of his beloved wife. Were it really her, Baldwin would not have wasted a moment in throwing open the door for her, taking her into his arms and carrying her to his momentary abode, where her presence alone could be savored by him.

But he knew it could not be possible: you, his beloved wife whose image constantly pervaded his mind, were thousands and thousands of feet away, safe within the walls of your palace, as you had promised him. It was just not possible that you were the one hiding outside the tent, his hopes were just a cruel game of his mind. But by now his attention had been caught by the stranger so eager to talk to the king, to give him this phantom gift. Perhaps there would have been cause for concern, for thought of possible deception or assault by an enemy spy, but Baldwin did not give the thought more than a second's attention, before sighing softly and turning away, gazing back at the white fabrics of the tent. "Very well, come forward then. I hope this surprise you tell me about is really that formidable."

You came close to slinging yourself into the tent, throwing yourself into Baldwin's arms in an instant, and never letting go. But you still couldn't do it; it was too risky. You merely placed a hand on the side of the fabric that closed the curtain, pulling it to go through and letting it fall back behind you. And there you stood, facing Baldwin, clad in that armor far too large for your size, your heart pounding wildly from both the fatigue of the journey and the excitement. And he slowly, with a phlegm as elegant as the waters of a stream, turned to reveal the identity of his mysterious visitor, and you had already freed your face from the tortuous confines of the helmet you had worn for endless hours.

His eyes widened, wide as never before. Perhaps for the first time in his life, Baldwin could say he was truly, truly surprised. A thousand emotions passed from his face, from astonishment, to joy, to anger, and then to sadness, and then to astonishment again. For a moment he seemed about to open his mouth, but he stopped, opting instead to run to you, putting his arms around you, holding you tight and lifting you off the ground so tight was his grip. "My affection, how can you be so foolish! This is no place for you, so far from home, close to the enemy… You promised me you would stay safe, let me go, let me protect you! How could you do something so rash, you who are always so wise? Alone through the desert, what if the enemy had met you before I got here? What would I have done if your lifeless body, tortured by the Saracens, had been brought to me?"

His voice was exhausted, worn out by weariness and emotion that blocked his throat and threatened to make hot tears fall from his white cheeks. His words were harsh and stern, but devoid of any reproach: it was his fear speaking, his fear of seeing you the next day among the stacked bodies of war victims. And as he spoke he held your arms, shook you lightly, and in the process interrupted himself to place chaste kisses on your face, as if through the touch of his lips he was trying to convince himself that you were really there, standing before him. That it was not a mere illusion, a game of his mind.

Gently, with a touch as light as the morning wind, your hands went up his chest to his beautiful face, which you lovingly cupped. "I swore before God that I would not abandon my place at your side until the breath leaves my body. I have enjoyed with you wealth, pomp, and good fortune. But what you have granted me to witness is only half of the aspects of a nuptial union. Poverty, sickness, and the misery of war are the woes that touch every human being, and which two spouses are expected to face together. So now, my king, I beseech you, do not deny me a place at your side as you fight for the honor and freedom of the Holy Land, do not deny me a duty that has been mine since you and I were joined in eternity. It is unjust what you have subjected me to, to have to watch you ride away from me, toward the worst of dangers! And how could you think I would let you go just like that, without opening my mouth? Now we are even, I have retraced the path you yourself have traced, as bereft of safety as you were bereft of my presence. And now together we face this mortal danger, which, however, will never hold a candle to the pain that distance from you brings me!"

Baldwin's eyes softened, though they had a melancholy note in them. He inhaled with shuddering breath, and his grip became softer on your body, his hands descended from his arm to your waist, always holding you as close as physically possible.

"I was always told that silence honors women. This does not suit you, for depriving you of speech robs you of the royalty that makes you my queen. I ask your forgiveness, my angel, for leaving you alone in such a dark time. But try to understand my choice, how self-centered would I have been to ask you to come with me, in the midst of the greatest danger? It was simply too much for me, my beloved, the burden on my heart, begging me to do all that was permissible to keep you safe, even if that necessitated keeping you away from me. You are too far away now for me to send you back to the palace with an escort, and my heart could not bear to part with you for even another hour. You will stay here, ruling your people as you should. But please do not do me the wrong of setting foot on that bloody battlefield tomorrow. If even God decides that tomorrow my hour has come, and I fall lifeless on the bloody ground, do not move a step, do not show any sign of weakness. Don't follow me into the afterlife, don't even think about it: I know full well that I will never have the honor of lying eternally by your side, I am not worthy of it, so don't jeopardize your precious life in the name of an eternity by my side."

You did not respond, and silence fell. Squeezing together for another moment, you broke away shortly thereafter only to move to the bed set up in his tent, not as luxurious as his usual palace bed but certainly far more comfortable than the hay bunks in which soldiers elsewhere rested. Clinging to each other, you remained silent for a few moments. Or maybe it was hours, neither of you knew. Nor did you care, knowing how much time had passed, how much more separated you from the inescapable fate that awaited you the next day. Silent tears streaked your faces, sobs and sighs filled the air of the room. Then, you took courage to open your mouth, your voice soft and melancholy, weakened by weeping. "How unfair is our fate, affection. How bitter is my soul, knowing that tomorrow I must witness such a slaughter, an open-air slaughterhouse in which you yourself may become yet another victim."

As your first response you heard a snort from your husband, who squeezed you tighter for a moment, as if to secure you beside him, engulf you in his body. His lips pressed against your temple, placing a gentle kiss there, and they remained resting there even as he began to speak, "I know, I know my angel. I too wish things were simpler, that I could retire from this world, go and live with you, away from all this chaos, all this violence. You don't know how much I would have liked to abdicate, to leave the throne to Sybilla and her husband. They would have been good rulers, if only dear William had not passed away so soon. And so we have only to live like this, my beloved. To live perpetrated by the duties and horrors that mankind is capable of, all in the name of God's affection," a pause, a look that said a thousand silent words, and then resumed, "in the name of my affection for you… Tomorrow it will be an honor for me to fight, for like the valiant Lancelot, who fought to his last breath in the name of beautiful Guinevere. I do not care if my life will be endangered, if I return wounded and maimed more than leprosy is already reducing me. No, I don't care, because at the end of the day, whether my heart still beats or not, I know that I will return to lie in your arms.

And that makes up for all the injustices I will have to face." The last words were whispered, softened by a deep affection that numbed the senses and made everything as graceful as the clouds in the sky.

More tears streamed down your rosy cheeks, but you tried to conceal them by hiding your face in the crease of Baldwin's neck. The tone grew sterner for a moment as he resumed speaking, intimating you to listen with a grip on your shoulder. "Just promise me that, in case the battle goes badly, and I am dead and defeated and my whole army with me, promise me that you will escape, as far away as you can. Find shelter at the dwellings of those who have abstained from this conflict, find asylum in churches and in any sacred place you can find. Do whatever you can in order to protect your life. Protect what has always been dearest to me, your life."

"I will, I promise." You would have liked to retort, or much less say what he wanted to hear without really thinking it. But deception did not suit you, not toward Baldwin at least. And the mere thought that that might be his last will, which made you want to throw yourself to the ground and cry every tear you had in your body, also made it impossible for you to disobey that simple request, which after all was the request that you care for your own body and soul.

Whether Baldwin had taken your word for it or not, you were not sure, it was hard to say. It didn't matter, both of you were too tired to linger talking any longer, contrary to your usual routine of endless discussions on all kinds of topics. He whispered something to you in his native tongue, and although the language was vaguely unfamiliar to you and fatigue clouded your mind, you could still discern a sweet "I love you" among the words he spoke.

The next day your awakening was similar to the day Baldwin left Jerusalem: alone in bed, the place where your husband lay still warm. Outside the men were shouting orders and the horses were pawing in irritation at the din. In the distance you could hear the cries of the Saracens approaching, and the horns of war echoing in the air. You tried to peep your head out of the tent, but a guard surprised you right in front of the entrance. "My lady, his majesty has ordered that you do not leave the tent until the battle is over." The tone was authoritative and gentle at the same time, but his spear was stretched across the opening of the tent, an admonition far more direct than his words. You obeyed, as you had promised Baldwin that same evening, and without protest you retreated back inside the small temporary dwelling.

And so you stood there, alone and unaware of what was unfolding beyond the white tent. The last sound you were able to discern was your beloved's voice inciting his men to battle, before the din of war produced such a cacophony that it was impossible to understand a single sentence spoken. They rode for a few hundred meters until they reached the place where the battle would take place. They rode so far that the din they caused as they passed became muffled, barely audible. And perhaps it was for the best, for the distance muffled the atrocious sounds of war, of slaughter.

And so you waited there, within the four fabric walls, white as snow, that you feared at every moment might be stained with blood, friend or foe. You waited for the outcome of the battle, dumb with fear, with tension. You awaited Baldwin's return, dead or alive, victorious or defeated. And you did so by standing there, closer to him than was possible, exhausted and restless at the same time.

A/N: Yallll this was LONGGGG. i really really like how this turned out, and i hope you do too! I'm really sorry for how long it took me to write this piece, but I promise the following ones will take much much less🙏🙏🙏 Anyway, now I gotta go start working on those, feel free to leave a comment or feedback about this fic<3<3

[ragnarockz]

“I can’t stay” from the prompt list. HURT ME, PAL.

Tip Jar 💰

ASK AND YOU SHALL RECEIVE! 😤

also me like ohhhhh i know, i know....you want vidaltofuckagneswithherownstrapigetitIGETIT

"I can't stay."

Agnes felt her stomach drop and the instant warmth of embarrassment and fear cover her neck and face. That three word sentence knocked the wind out of her when Agent Vidal mumbled it under her breath in the early morning light that peeped through the blinds and casted stray lights over them in bed. Vidal was still wrapped up in the navy sheets when she spoke and knew in that moment, Agnes was awake beside her.

Vidal knew Agnes had been awake for quite some time and it was only now, that Vidal had gotten the guts to speak what needed to be said.

Agnes tried to shift closer to Vidal under the covers; tried to reach her hand out to touch Vidal's arm. She wanted to pull her in close and hold her tight and maybe someway that simple act would make the agent change her mind. She knew it was futile; knew that Vidal was pretty clear on her decisions. That was something Agnes admired in the other woman, the way she would come to a conclusion and hold it tight and very rarely, if ever, sway from what she believed in. For once, Agnes wished she could stray from her determination.

"Why?"

Barely a whisper and close to a sob; Agnes had to clear her throat to keep herself in check. She wasn't going to crumble now; not so early on. She couldn't show Vidal that she was weak or soft and that, something like this, something so routine was going to break her. That was a death sentence Agnes believed, a sure way to never have Vidal come back to her in such capacity as this.

"Why, Vidal?"

Another passing moment of silence and Agnes heard the sheets rustle beside her as the agent tried to move away once more. She could tell Vidal was on the cusp of possibly changing her tune; maybe even thinking over what it would mean if she did stay with her. How much would she lose? How much could she possibly gain? Would she want this for another day longer with Agnes and, was it worth it? Was she worth it? Agnes held her breath and waited for Vidal's answer to hopefully make itself known.

No words came out of Vidal's mouth but she did turn herself over to face Agnes in the semi-dark room. She could see the pain and worry and defeat etched into the detectives face; lines of worry and loss that must lay there countless times over and over in moments exactly like this. How many other women had she brought to her bed and pleaded the same words? How many other woman had she asked to stay and they, couldn't give Agnes what she wanted?

Could she do that now for her and would she want to? Was this something she thought would be a good idea in the long run? Would Agnes think it would be good for them, to continue on this way? Two people working in different capacities with different lives and histories that started off pretty rocky, pretty tumultuous.

Vidal swore Agnes hated her guts the first day she walked into the police station. Vidal swore even in this second that Agnes still hated her guts; held something over her because she was a little 'higher up' and a little more 'polished'. She held things against Vidal because she didn't come across as hard and rough and filled with obvious pain and grief. Vidal was the light that Agnes shielded her eyes to. Would she want the light in for longer than a night? Longer than a day?

Vidal watched as Agnes' face changed; something stoic and nonchalant. The usual mask she wore at work that deemed her a 'hard-ass' and 'not easy to get along with'. Cold and calculating and maybe a little bit laced with pride, Agnes pushed the sheets away that covered her and exposed her naked self. Vidal eyed her hungrily; soaked in all the lines and curves and swells of the detectives' body like it was the first time she was seeing her naked. It truly felt that way and Vidal, caught the lump in her throat.

It was risky and maybe even a little pathetic but Agnes didn't care in that moment; couldn't let her decision make her second guess herself and how badly she needed to show Vidal that she was meant to stay with her. She hovered over the Agents' body before making her way down in a familiar way she had done just hours ago when the room was darker and the light from the lamp casted a warmer glow. The detective heard Vidal suck in her breath as Agnes made contact with her skin; lips pressed against her as she kissed her way down starting from Vidal's neck.

Vidal could only listen to her body and what it wanted, what it craved. It craved Agnes; again and again. Over and over. It was like a disease; an addiction. She wanted to go and move on but she knew truly she could never; so tangled up in this mystery of this woman she was so determined to crack open. Maybe that was the agent in her or maybe, it was because she saw so many things on the borderline of being so in sync and so similar to herself it made her afraid.

Agnes, she realized as the detective made her way down and nipped at her hip bones, was exactly like her.

"Agnes..."

The detective quickly looked up at the agent and tried to read her face; tried to determine then and there if she was going to stay or not. The slightest head nod and curve of Vidal's lips gave Agnes the answer she had been hoping for. She bowed her head once more and continued until she got just below Vidal's navel; lifting her head back up and pulling her body away.

She wanted Vidal to chase and beg; wanted her to show and tell Agnes that yes, her choice was hers and she needed her and the decision to stay was final. She didn't need to leave and break off whatever it was they had now. Agnes needed it so badly as her gaze burned into Vidal's naked body that had been uncovered by the sheet seconds ago. They were both vulnerable and naked; both baring their souls and hearts out to one another. Agnes suddenly felt lightheaded as she sat back onto her legs and watched Vidal very, very closely.

A predator waiting to strike its prey; she watched closely what its next move would be.

Vidal moved from her spot in Agnes' bed; pulled herself up to her hands and knees and crawled towards Agnes. Her hand reached forward and gripped the base of Agnes' cock that was still set between her legs. She hadn't taken her harness off before falling asleep last night. Had told Vidal that she wanted her to feel her press up against her while they slept.

It was not lost on the agent that this was a part of Agnes she could not sever nor fully remove. This was how she saw herself and Vidal, understood Agnes completely.

A shaky breath pushed from Agnes' lips as she stared down and watched as Vidal stroked her off. Slow and precise her hand moved while Vidal, brought herself closer. Her lips made contact with Agnes' stomach as they kissed under her navel and out to the sides until she met her hip bone. Kisses turned soft bites and she felt Agnes push her hips towards Vidal's hand; a reaction to internal even Vidal didn't question it.

"...tell me what you need..."

Maybe they had both said it at the same time but it was a question that posed between them in both of their minds simultaneously. Agnes wanted to do whatever she could to keep Vidal here and Vidal, wanted to do whatever she could to show to Agnes that she wanted to be there.

They moved in tandem as Agnes' hand ran through Vidal's hair and Vidal, moved her head down to the base of Agnes' cock before her mouth made contact with the head. There was a unity they couldn't break; unspoken in their mutual understanding of one another even if they didn't recognize it right away.

The pang and twitch between Agnes' legs that shot up right through her clit and made her moan as she tugged a little harder on Vidal's hair. The heaviness in Vidal's throat and the saliva that pooled under her tongue made her moan as she took more of Agnes into her mouth. They were playing a game only they understood; something that had existed in them long ago that they couldn't place.

Vidal pulled herself away; unwound the fingers in her hair and released the silicone from inside of her mouth. She gasped loudly as she tried to catch her breath; looking up at Agnes with only what could be described as a look of desperation. Agnes felt that burning pit of desire in her lower abdomen only spark and grow higher, wilder.

Vidal reached forwards again and grabbed the base a second time. Her left hand came to join her right as she carefully removed the toy from its nest inside of the o-ring. She could cut the silence in the room with a knife and could sense the curiosity that burned inside of Agnes only growing with each passing second. She removed the toy fully and left Agnes bare with just the harness around her hips. They locked eyes for only a split second before Agnes gave the quick nod of her head and the outwards jut of her chin before she untucked her legs from underneath herself to lay back down onto her bed.

Agnes had at one point, thought Vidal to be too green to push herself in any which way that wasn't by the books. She had debated if she could even tap into the sort of things that filtered through Agnes' head; things she hadn't even dared to speak out loud. Such things, she had never said to anyone; no partners or hook-ups before. Thoughts and feelings and emotions that lived in the deepest, darkest parts of her mind that she barely touched.

Vidal got behind her and pressed herself up close; tangled her legs with Agnes' as she dropped her left hand over the woman's side so that she could reach up and cup her breast as she teased the toy between Agnes' legs at the same time. She held the base still as she used the head to trace around Agnes' labia and upwards to her clit. Sharp sucks of breath that sounded icy caught in Agnes' throat and Vidal, brought her face into the crook of Agnes' neck. Agnes pushed backwards while Vidal kissed and licked and sucked at Agnes' tender skin. The second Vidal bit down onto Agnes' earlobe was when she felt the different sensation of weight on the other end of the toy and realized, Agnes had grabbed the front of it and was guiding it into herself.

She was impatient; that was a fact that Vidal had learned very early on with working with the detective. Agnes wasn't one to sit on her hands and hope something would come along. Always the first to pounce, to move. She had to take a crack at things before anyone else even realized they could. She guided her own cock inside of herself and pressed back into Vidal; pressed hard until she could feel just how wet Vidal was as well on the back of her legs and against her ass. Vidal moaned into her ear as she kept her hand holding the base of the toy as well; didn't want to let go just because Agnes took the other half of the control they both so eagerly fought for.

"...that'sitAgnes...keepgoing...keepfuckingyourself...keepgoing..."

Up against her ear with the wetness of Vidal's breath against her, Agnes pressed herself back once more and tried her hardest to feel every inch of Vidal's hot and sweaty skin pressed to her own. It was a necessity of needing to absorb Vidal; become meshed so perfectly together she could feel the agent inside and out of herself. The silicone cock with their hands both holding the shaft and pumping it was merely an extension of what Agnes felt inside and the desire to have Vidal stay.

It was no longer just an extension of herself, Agnes came to realize as she tightened up her muscles around herself. She could feel the pressure building until it was close to spilling over the edge; her toes and fingers curling as they tried to hold onto something while her head pushed harder into Vidal's shoulder she was sure her bones would crack under the pressure. The phantom limb that made itself known and familiar to her was not hers any longer but theirs. This extension, transcended her own body in such a way that when Vidal used it, it had become hers, too.

Vidal's movements got harder and rougher; faster which caused Agnes' hand to go limp and fall off. She basically rolled over and Vidal followed until she was on top of her now with her hand reaching around Agnes waist to keep up the movements as she fucked her down into her mattress. Face pushed down and fingers gripping at the navy sheets, Agnes felt her eyes close and her mind clear and the sudden realization washed over her as her orgasm did that Vidal, was not going anywhere she wouldn't be.

[percervall]

hooray once again because my fav chaotic family is back!!🩷🫶

you know i have to request a little uncle nano moment with the stars were bright, Fernando + and what if he was a bit naught and took one of the kids to karting for the first time without their parents knowing??👀

Summary: Fernando simply cannot say no to his miniature partner in crime

Driver: Fernando Alonso

Warnings: none

Word count: 503

A/N: You absolutely can! I had so much fun writing this!

When Fernando pulls up to the house, he spots the little girl sitting on the stone border in the front garden. She swings her legs a little, but Fernando can tell by her posture she is not the happy child he knows and loves. 

Brows furrowed, Fernando gets out of the car and walks over to her.

“Hola pequeña,” he says.

“Hi,” Agnes sniffles, not meeting his eyes. Fernando sits down next to her.

“Do you want to talk about it?” he offers. Agnes shrugs.

“‘s Not fair, Nano,” she whispers as tears roll down her cheeks. Fernando pulls her closer.

“What’s not fair?” he asks quietly. 

“I want to play with my go-kart but Mama sayed that I can’t and it’s not fair,” she sobs, hiding her face in Fernando’s shirt. He wraps an arm around her and lets her feel her feelings; sometimes big emotions just needed to be felt. Her crying slowly becomes sniffles and Fernando wipes away her tears.

“How about Uncle Nano takes you karting?” he asks. Agnes looks up at him, cheeks blotchy. 

“Promise?” she sniffles. Fernando nods and smiles at her.

“Promise,” he says, “I will come pick you up tomorrow and we'll go karting.” 

—

After Agnes’ tearful admission, Fernando had walked her inside and told Mark he would pick her up the next day for an Uncle Nano day. Fernando almost felt bad for not telling his best friend what they had planned, but he also knew that sometimes you need to keep your cards close to your chest. 

When Fernando walks up to the house, Agnes is waiting in the hallway for him, bouncing on the balls of her feet with her backpack already on. Fernando chuckles at the eager six-year-old.

“You sure about this?” Mark asks as he lets Fernando in.

“Absolutely. We’re gonna have fun, right pequeña?” he says, smiling. Agnes nods, beaming back up at him as her blue eyes twinkle with mischief. Fernando knows he’s in for the riot act probably when her parents find out he did not take her to a playground but for that bright smile, it will be worth it.  

“Alright then. She’s got her water bottle and some snacks in her backpack. Where’s your sunhat baby?” Mark asks her. Agnes shrugs and looks up at him. 

“I don’t know Dad.” 

Mark scrubs a hand down his face, and groans. Crying filters into the hallway followed by shouting.

“You go, Mark. I will buy new one.” 

Mark sighs and kneels down to give Agnes a kiss, and after a whispered be good, he walks back into the house to deal with Margot and Luke fighting. Fernando takes Agnes’ hand and leads her out to the van, her go-kart and helmet already loaded up. After he’s made sure she’s safe in her car seat, he gets in and starts the car. 

“Any music requests for the drive?” he asks her as he looks at the little girl through the rearview mirror.

“TayTay!” Agnes cheers, making Fernando laugh.

[nerdanel01]

No. 8 - Substitutionary Satisfaction (NSFW/18+)

…Over the years she had only caught the tiniest peeks at Emmrich’s private rooms through his doorway, but the luxurious burgundy color of his bedsheets had pressed itself irrevocably into her memory. And it would smell so keenly of Emmrich, there, just as it had in the tent—like bergamot and pepper and dusty old tomes. Her imagination transfigured the chiming of Rolf’s belt into the clink of Emmrich’s bangles, the bracelets that adorned his arms, the many jeweled rings on his long fingers. 

When he entered her, Agnes was not thinking of Rolf at all.

She was thinking of all the things that she wanted but could never have. Of Emmrich’s hands on her body. The same elegant, well-manicured fingertips that would point out the most fascinating passages to her in whatever book or scroll he was reading; the same tanned, long-fingered hands that caressed her drawings with such reverent wonder (to be looked at once by him the way he looks at her sketches!); the same hands that now dug deeply into the meat of her hips, drawing Agnes’ body back towards his as he sheathed himself totally inside of her.

Agnes’ hand flew to her mouth, muffling the sob of pleasure and sheer relief that flooded through her, the warmth spiraling out from her stomach and flushing out into her limbs. The euphoria of fullness, the wanting in absence, and then the exhilarating rush of fullness again as Emmrich drew her back against him. The wet sound of their copulating, soft living flesh smacking against flesh and skin and meat each time Emmrich’s hips met the curve of her ass. The light rake of his nails down her bare back, his little huffs of breath as he thrust behind her. Giddying, mind-numbing joy as his fingers carefully unpinned the crown of hair around her head, sending black waves tumbling down her shoulders and around her face, running his fingers through it appreciatively.

In no time Agnes was writhing beneath him, arching her back to meet each of Emmrich’s thrusts, leaning into them to drive his cock deeper inside of her. So rapturous so gratifying so good one almost forgot to breathe, but then when one did—! Rockets of pleasure shooting through her body, coiling tight, driving her relentlessly towards her finish. 

Imagining the look on Emmrich’s face. His beautiful eyes, his mouth open and slack with pleasure. The drag of her name in his throat, what it might sound like spoken hoarsely around his satisfaction: “Agnes.”

Climax took her, white lightning of pleasure reducing her body to a trembling, sparkling, magnificent mess—all the tension she had carried in the Necropolis utterly unspooling into a warmth that carried her out of herself into a space of pure bliss, stifling her answering cry—“Emmrich!”—against the back of her hand.  [read full fic]

---

I’m really proud of all the writing I did this year! So for the last ten days of 2024 I’m going to be reblogging my 10 favorite pieces that I wrote.

This chapter from for no mere mortal can resist makes the list because 1) its the first Emmrook smut I wrote (if that counts, as Emmrich is not technically in it) and 2) ROLF. He's such a cad in this one, but for a character I made up for Agnes to basically bang and disdain, he's snuck into a bunch of subsequent fics, grown a lot, and now I kind of adore him. Himbo sleeper hit of 2024.

also @erikonil drew an incredible portrait of Emmrich's protective face that still makes me kick my heels and giggle when I think of it ❤️

[rita-repulsa-ke]

Scarlet

Agatha’s nightmares are dyed red. Not the red of fire, enemy of witches, but the red of power, coveted, lost, a beautiful crimson glow staining the sky.

No, not crimson.

Scarlet.

In her nightmares, she is Agnes. She noses into her neighbor’s business, bakes pies, solves crimes and talks like a badly-written sitcom character, all while her true thoughts stay hidden in one tiny corner of her mind, and in that corner, she is—

She is screaming.

“Agatha!”

She jerks awake on a Road that doesn’t exist, and Rio is there, her ex, Death, the person she’s feared most for centuries, holding her by the shoulders, staring at her with concerned brown eyes and Agatha—

Agatha breaks. Agatha sobs in her arms, broken-child sobs, screams and bawls and vows eternal vengeance on Wanda while Rio strokes her hair and murmurs sweet nothings in a hundred dead tongues.

Then, of course, she comes back to herself, shoves Rio away with as much force as she can muster. “Get away, get off me, get the hell off me! Don’t touch me! You think I want anything to do with you?” she spits the last word with venomous contempt.

“A second ago…”

“Nothing.” she stands, straightens her shoulders, tosses her hair. “A second ago, nothing. What are we doing wasting time like this? Let’s get everyone and get moving! Come on! Vámonos!” Turns with a snap of her coat to march toward where the others are sleeping and Rio can only watch her go with a shake of her head.

Same old Agatha. Prideful, stubborn, hates to show vulnerability.

Wanda, huh. The so-called Scarlet Witch.

There are rules. A natural order. Rio can’t take lives on her own, not without good reason.

She has made exceptions to that natural order before. Mostly for one specific person, the one currently chivvying her latest victims toward the finish line.

She could make an exception again. And she does so hate when people touch her things.

Want to read the sequel to this, where Rio goes to meet Wanda? Try Death and the Scarlet Witch

Want to read something longer with post breakup shenanigans? Try the mistake

Want to read something shorter with them still together, but Rio getting a hint of the future? Try the apple

[mosneakers]

part 2 <read part 1 first, here>

Sunglo: You've been crying. I notice you've washed the smell of smoke off.

Coni: [Voice strained] Glo, baby, I'm tired.

He reaches to touch her arm, but she proceeds past him.

Sunglo: Then let's not drag this out. Where is she? What happened to her?

Coni: She's gone, Sunglo. [Keeps walking]

Sunglo: Gone? Concept—wait! Get back here!

Coni sits in front of her vanity table, while Sunglo stands behind her, exerting every effort to steady his emotions.

Sunglo: [Calmly] What do you mean she's gone, Concept? Coni glances down at the gleaming ring Sunglo gave her, passed down from his great-grandmother.

Coni: There was a malfunction that resulted in her combustion. She was destroyed. I'm sorry. You trusted me with your best bot and I failed you.

Sunglo: [Shakes head vigorously] No, that's impossible. Give me a detailed incident report if that's truly the case.

Coni: Stop, I just lost someone too. I'm in no position to do that right now, please.

Sunglo falls silent, stunned.

Sunglo: Coni… If there's something you're not telling me…

Coni: [Voice sharpens] WHAT, SUNGLO? What are you going to do? Hm?

Sunglo: I'll find out. I can access her data, her surveillance. I'll figure it all out on my own, Concept. If I have to, I will.

Coni looks up at him with a sympathetic frown, her fingers tracing the collar of his shirt. A soft chuckle escapes her lips, though in her ragged and worn-out voice, it sounds more like a whimper.

Coni: [Sighs] No baby, you won't. Sunglo: Sorry?

Coni: You won't. That's the thing. You'll never find out. You're the smartest man I've ever known, but I'll always be one step ahead of you... thanks to my genetic advantages. I destroyed Cecilia. I had to. And If I wanted you to forget all of this, I could make that happen with the snap of my fingers. But I'm just so tired of this game. I'm so tired of hiding from you, my darling.

A tear falls down Coni's cheek, against all efforts to stop it. Sunglo's stomach churns as a faint blue aura begins to emit from her skin; the same blue aura that comes from Aurora when playtime is cut short, or she doesn't get the toy she asks for. Everything starts to fall into place.

Sunglo: No... [Shakes head, tears forming] Concept... you're scaring me...

Coni's eyes mirror the tears welling in his. She tries to vocalize "I'm sorry," but only manages to mouth the words, her voice failing her. Sunglo: This can't be real. I feel sick. Is this real? Coni: I... Do you want me to show you? ...Myself? My real form?

Sunglo: What? No! Those things, they—[lowers voice] they violated me, Con... And you? You're really one of them? Did you help them?

Coni: NO! Mod, no. I would never do that to you, Glo! I would never hurt you. I'm not like them. I was raised here in Strangerville. I don't do what they do, okay honey?

Sunglo: What do you do, then? Lie and manipulate? And apparently destroy? Why? Why'd you do that to Cecilia?

Coni: She… she knew too much.

Sunglo: Oh, It all makes sense now. You were protecting yourself. Coni: I— [stops herself]

Sunglo: I think I'm gonna be sick... I should go.

Coni: Baby, please… Wait, just come sit down. We can fix this, okay? We can get back to our normal happy life! We can fix Cecilia. We can fix us.

Sunglo: I… I think I need some time to think about this.

Coni: Think about what? Stop, you're scaring me, now! What are you saying, Glo? We were supposed to be—this life we made for us… it's perfect. Our love is perfect.

Sunglo: It was perfect. You destroyed it. It was a lie, Coni. You lied to me.

Coni: PLEASE! I'm the same Coni you've always known. We were supposed to get married, Glo! You just proposed. You gave me Agnes's ring, I know that means something special, please!

Sunglo: Keep the ring. But— I think we need to call off the engagement for now.

Coni: Call it off? What are you saying? What does this mean for us? If you don't want to marry me then you don't want to be with me, either! [Sobbing]

Sunglo: I just need time, Coni.

Coni: What about our family and friends? Erwin? He definitely won't be able to handle this. Are you going to tell them I'm an alien so that they all hate me too?

Sunglo: Of course not. You tell them when you're ready. And for what it's worth, they'll always love you. I'll always love you, Concept. Okay? I… I just know I'll never be able to reconcile, and I… I just need to think about whether I can live with that or not... forever.

Coni: [Sniffles]...S-so this is goodbye, then?

Sunglo: Only for now.

[episodeoftv]

Round 2 of 8, Group 3 of 4

propaganda and summaries are under the cut (May include spoilers)

Good Omens: 1.03 Hard Times

We follow Aziraphale and Crowley's friendship across the ages. Meanwhile, in the present day, Agnes Nutter's descendant Anathema arrives in Tadfield on her own mission to save the world.

What the fandom calls the breakup scene is just.. *sob* Also seeing the characters evolve through millenas and being the only people able to understand each other.

Star Trek: The Original Series: 1.28 The City on The Edge Of Forever

When a temporarily insane Dr. McCoy accidentally changes history and destroys his time, Kirk and Spock follow him to prevent the disaster, but the price to do so is high.

So beautifully written and something pretty special. Kirk falls in love with a woman in the past in a beautiful whirlwind romance and then has to watch her die in his arms in order to preserve the peaceful future he knows. It's full of musings on peace and fate and love and human nature. Also Spock wears a beanie.

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Redcliffe

Agi receives a missive from the Inquisitor that changes everything. Luckily, she doesn't have to deal with it alone. Not anymore. SFW.

“Alright, let’s get everyone around the table at the Lighthouse and discuss our next move.” Agnes said to Lucanis and Neve before they passed through the eluvian in Treviso to return to the Lighthouse.

An overall good day.

Maybe Emm and I can share a bath later…

However, any thoughts of a romantic bath with her lover soon disappeared when she saw Harding sobbing in the dining hall with Taash trying very hard to comfort the dwarf.

“What’s going on? Harding, what happened? Is everything okay?” Agnes asked, taking a step towards her. She then felt Bellara’s hand on hers and shot her an inquisitive look.

What’s going on?

Bellara shoved a letter in her hand and muttered several apologies.

The letter, as Agnes discovered, was devastating.

“Yet I fear that even Skyhold won’t be sufficient. Already the darkspawn have claimed Redcliffe, and the shores of Lake Calenhad writhe with the blight’s corruption. Our land sickens and dies, and I fear that whoever among Ferelden’s people live through this relentless assault will starve to death instead.”

Redcliffe…

No.

NO.

NO!

MUM!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

The letter fell from her hands as she turned on her heel to leave the dining hall, tears streaming down her face. She only made it a few steps into the courtyard when Emmrich stopped her, his jeweled hands on her shoulders and concern painting his features. “Dearest, wha—”

She shook her head and tried to shake him off. “I need to find Mum. Redcliffe…Redcliffe’s been…”

My home is blighted.

The lake I learned to swim in…to fish in…to skate on…it’s dying.

The forest where I would hone my magic is dying.

My friends and neighbors, those who survived, are starving.

The flowers…remember the flowers…there’s hope even among the blight…

“Darling, look at me. Look at me.” He commanded softly, waiting for her gaze to meet him. “We just got a missive from the Inquisitor. She has your mother. She’s safe and on her way here.” His hands moved from her shoulders to her pale cheeks. “I-I’m so sorry, Agi.”

Mum is safe.

Mum is fine.

Mum is on her way here.

But home…

It was then that Agnes Aldwir, otherwise known as Rook, threw her arms around Emmrich’s neck and sobbed uncontrollably.

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur---the tearful reunion with her mother; settling her mother in her room while she moved her basics into Emmrich’s; and then writing to adventuring friends to call in every favor I have. My people won’t starve. They won’t. I won’t let them.

“Dearest.”

She looked up from the last letter she was composing in Solas’s music room and saw that Emmrich placed a bowl of pasta on her desk. Her lover’s expression was grim, and she imagined hers was no better.

“You need to eat.”

She shook her head. “I’m almost done, and then I will. I promise, love.”

If Thancred can smuggle food into—

He cleared his throat and clasped his hands together in front of him. “It can wait until tomorrow, my love.” His expression softened, and not the first time that day, she felt tears in her eyes. “You cannot take care of others if you’re not taking care of yourself. That is what you’ve told us time and time again.” He dragged a chair next to hers, sat, and wrapped a long, slender arm around her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her head. “Let me take care of you, darling.”

Wonderful. The most wonderful man.

Exhaling deeply, she nodded, a small smile tugging on her lips. “Perhaps…perhaps that wouldn’t be so bad, love.”

Emmrich barked a laugh. “Dearest, you positively wound me! ‘Wouldn’t be so bad?’ My goodness, whatever will I do with you?”

She rolled her eyes playfully as she lifted her fork. Penne with vodka sauce. One of my favorites. Thanks, Lucanis. “I don’t know about you, but I’m going to eat this and then think about a place to live for Mum once the whole ‘killing gods’ business is over.” Oh fuck me, thank you so much Lucanis. So good. Perfect after a day like today. I wonder if Emm asked him to… She paused to have another bite and heard him clear his throat.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I…well, your mother and I have already spoken about that. She’s going to stay with us. If, however, we decide that particular arrangement isn’t working some reason or another, then I will purchase her an apartment close by.” He smiled softly, one of his bejeweled hands on her thigh. “You needn’t worry about this, my love. It’s settled.”

Her free hand found his and gave it a squeeze. “Thanks, love.”

Glancing at their joined hands, he sighed. “Your burdens, your troubles are not yours to shoulder alone, my darling. As you have been a pillar of support and love to me---a beautiful new constant in my life---so too I shall ever be for you.” A grinning Emmrich then pressed a kiss to her cheek. “You stubborn woman, let me help you.”

Agnes dropped her fork and grabbed his face, pulling him close until her lips collided with his.

I love you.

I love you with all that I am, and I promise you, Emmrich Volkarin---we’ll make it through this. Together.

Because I want to spend the rest of my life telling you…showing you…how much I love you.

“Thank you.” She whispered, breaking the kiss with a small smile. “For everything.”

Leaning his forehead against hers, he returned her smile. “I have you, my darling, as you have me. Our home awaits you.”

Our home.

That luxurious townhouse with six bedrooms and a small garden is our home.

Our home…

She looked into his brown eyes, her heart racing with what she felt like an urgent need to tell him—

“Emmrich, no matter what, please know that you’re the best thing to ever happen to me. Promise me you’ll hold that close to your wonderful heart when things inevitably swing back in the ‘oh shit that’s actually horrifyingly terrible’ category.” Giggling, she gave him a quick peck before continuing. “Promise me.”

His moustache twitched slightly. “Dearest, you know I cannot refuse you.”

“Don’t tease me.” She whined slightly, her nose wrinkling.

His gaze fell to her mouth, which he then captured in a slow, deep kiss. He tugged on her lower lip and purred, “I am yours to command now and always.”

Her pale cheeks burned at her mind wandered to totally not appropriate implications of what he said. However, before she could respond, her stomach growled loudly.

They stared at each other for a moment, both sets of eyes wide.

Then they burst into laughter, as joyful and easy as their relationship (which may have developed rather quickly but fuck it the world might be ending), Agnes’s focus returning to her dinner. “Sorry about that, love!”

He shifted in his chair, facing her, his hand once again resting on her soft thigh. “Don’t apologize, my heart. All is well at the moment, I assure you.” Watching her take a bite of pasta, he smiled. “Ah, but what shall we do tonight, dearest?”

“Could you read to me?” she asked between bites.

His eyes sparkled. He loves reading to me. To Manfred. To anyone who will listen. “Anything in particular?”

Shaking her head, she swallowed. “Whatever you want, love.”

He patted her thigh, a warm, deep chuckle escaping him. “I’ll forgo academic texts, darling. Those seem to put you to sleep.” Accurate. “Perhaps some poetry? I have several collections of love poems in my library and some of a more erotic variety, if that pleases you, my love.”

“Honestly,” she smiled. “It all sounds lovely. Maybe a mix of both?”

Emmrich quickly rose, giving her a hand a kiss before releasing it. “I’ll select the volumes and then check in with Lucanis regarding the churros—”

CHURROS?!?!?!?

FOR ME?!!?!?

Her eyes widened. “Did you ask Lucanis to make me churros?!”

That man has the gall to look offended!?!?!? SIR?!!?

“My dear, of course! Now, be a good girl,” EMMRICH!!!!!!! “And finish your dinner. I shall return soon.” He bent to kiss the top of her head and then walked through the music room door.

Agnes closed her eyes, breathing slowly.

Slow. Deep.

Everything will be alright.

It will be, because I have him.

[idiotwithanipad]

Amy: *having another HS flare* Hey guys, you okay?

Plaguers: Hello again!

Agnes: Where's it hurt, Lovey?

Amy: Under my arm and my right leg this time

Nigel: *sobbing*

Amy: What's wrong?

Mick: Oh yeah. That guy with no trousers said that Nigel's hair was a mess and he stank

Amy: Fuck my arm.. *runs back upstairs cracking her knuckles*

[the-nexverse]

@thicc-pirate *non judgemental but very aware gaze*

Agnes: mostly a silent and lonely drinker, lets herself get lost in the dumps, but if she gets disrupted while drinking, she won't hold back and will let go of all the rage that boils inside of her. has caused lots of brawls and is banned from several bars because of this. high tolerance

Ryan: ah, booze! what a joy and respite from his everyday struggles! pretty chill, easily cracks jokes and laughs. what a great time he has! nothing else to worry about in the world! medium tolerance

Lisabel: prefers to be sober and have her partner be drunk. she's the kind of person to take advantage of someone inebriated. when she drinks, she does it alone and takes it easy, simply to enjoy the buzz on her own. it's more of a quiet, self-care moment to her, unless she's purposefully drinking with someone else, then it's frisky time 7w7. low-medium tolerance

Eric: warm and loud! very touchy (hugs, grabbing someone's shoulder/arm and shaking them, slapping someone on their back, etc). has the strongest, heartiest laugh you'll ever hear. sunshine all around. medium-high tolerance

Léan: disqualified. given some apply juice instead

Rask'r: being an argonian means being resistant to poisons, and that sadly includes alcohol. he either has to drink a lot or drink very strong stuff to get tipsy, and both options require quite the coin. so he goes for social drinking and then kinda lets the placebo effect take place on him. but when he actually gets drunk? gets completely careless. bumps on everything and everyone, stumbles around, drops things, falls over, etc. and his lycanthropy also shines through his body language. don't know if actual alligators can get drunk tho. i'll need to research that for his transformed form lol. max tolerance

Raz: rarely gets drunk because he fears he might lose control, transform and hurt someone/many. so he only drinks when he's completely sure he'll be alone. another sad drinker, he goes down nostalgia road and will likely end up sobbing and crying about his past. which tbh, valid. he's had it rough. low-medium tolerance

Donovan: liquids are like, the one thing he can "safely" consume bc he needs to keep his body hydrated, but i'm not sure how alcohol would affect someone whose liver or intestines haven't functioned in centuries. i'm sad to announce he can't physically get drunk 😔

Lee: eep time

Vreytus: as a chimeralma, he has the choice of letting alcohol affect his body or not. he chooses not to. but if he did, low tolerance

Bug: will challenge the biggest baddest meanest looking guy in the bar for a drinking contest, bet all the money they can and then win, because chimeralmas can't get drunk, but they don't know that lol. sometimes they do let the booze do its job, but since it fucks up with their perception of their surroundings, it also means that they kinda lose control of their physical shape. and believe me, having a shapeshifting monster that can't settle on a form and doesn't know where it's walking towards is not a fun experience to anyone involved. low tolerance

Voirdity/voirds: immune

Chad: loud, bratty and annoying. all his inhibitions leave his mind, so he behaves like a fucking prick. no filter to what he says whatsoever, will blurt out the stupidest takes anyone has ever heard. also a fighter, will consider any threat towards him as a personal invitation to brawl. at least his muscle memory still works when drunk, so he's still a very competent fighter. medium-high tolerance

Lewis: oh Lewis, my dear Lewis. he gets sappy very soon, also physically affectionate, needy and emotional. he WILL cry for at least an hour after watching Toy Story 3. low tolerance

hey Cy. Cy.

[ragnarockz]

The Tape

Part 2: Gifting the Tape

Part 1

@sapphictea (cannot believe you're gonna read this bright and early tomorrow that's WILD 🙃)

@whomstthephucque LETSSSSSSSS GOOOOOOOOOO YEET *train whistle*

Alice hands Agnes a coffee the way she takes it and a bag containing her favorite chocolate donut. Agnes mumbles a half-hearted thank you and wraps her hands around her coffee. Alice takes the seat across from her and holds her own coffee between her trembling hands.

They sit there in heavy silence for a minute, then two. Two turns into three, and then five. Alice clears her throat and finally brings her coffee up to her lips. She can barely look at Agnes. The pain on her face reads worse than it was just months ago. It breaks Alice's heart that Agnes looks like she hasn't slept in five months since Nicky's death; the way she looks like she's aged five years.

She watches as Agnes carefully raises her cup to her own lips and doesn't sip. She lets the steam hit her lips and nose; feels the heat and warmth on her skin. She feels frozen in time and space; unable to start or end anything. She's waiting for Alice to say something, anything. Waiting for the shoe to drop in some way or another. Alice swallows her coffee and clears her throat again before she sets her cup down on the table.

Agnes' gaze drifts to the box on the third seat in between them. A rough handwritten 'AGNES' in black sharpie scribbled on the side. She swallows the bile rising in her throat; choking back a sob she knows is coming. Agnes' gaze drifts to the other end opposite the box; the empty fourth seat. Agnes looks directly forward now to Alice, hoping and praying that Alice breaks the silence between them. A knife coming down to cut the tension.

"...You know it's only a six hour drive if the traffic isn't awful..."

Agnes closes her eyes and leans back into the chair. The hard, cold metal hitting under her shoulders. She can barely stand this place anymore; the lights and the smells. The food and the seats and the music they once sang along too. All of it; every single aspect of it. She wants to get up and bolt out the door. Leave her coffee and donut and Alice and whatever the stupid fucking box that has her name on it.

"They have visitor passes and overnight passes...you can stay with me..."

Agnes finally takes a sip from her coffee. It tastes bad. Too sweet. No, too bitter. It's off. Something isn't right about it. Something acidic and not in the way coffee should taste. She puts it down and pushes it forward. She doesn't want it anymore and she's making a point to tell Alice that she doesn't accept it. Won't. Can't.

She fingers the waxed lined bag with her donut inside; the crinkly sound almost too much for her to bear. Her appetite suddenly gone now. She pushes that bag forward as well.

Arms crossed against her chest now, Agnes closes herself off even further. No longer accepting Alice's gifts or words or her. Not even her presence. And fuck whatever was in that fucking box on the third seat.

"We can talk every day."

Agnes licks her lips and laughs under her breath; that snarky, knowing laugh that this is all a joke. Everything that came out of Alice's mouth; her actions, her gifts. All of it. Just a silly fucking joke.

"What's the box for, Alice?"

She was taken aback by Agnes' sudden voice finally making itself known. Alice's own voice was suddenly lost as she tried to wrap her head around Agnes' question.

What was the box for?

Was it to pull her closer or push her away?

"It's yours...well...ours, I guess...just things I want you to have..."

"Why?"

"Because it's us...our stuff. Things I want you to have to remember me and us...and...him too..."

Alice nods her head instinctively towards the empty seat. Agnes closes her eyes again and shakes her head, scoffing at the idea. The mere thought.

She had lost Nicky and now she was about to lose Alice too.

"You don't have to look through it right now or anything...just, take it with you."

Alice sniffed as her tone changed, got lower, got quieter. She felt the shift between them that could never be reversed. Too much had changed in such a short period of time. The other shoe had finally dropped for Agnes; one she had expected to fall within seconds of meeting Alice.

Alice had tried her hardest to keep that stupid red string of fate taut between them; even now as it started to fray in their favorite coffee shop. Would it still be their favorite after this? Would they ever remember it? Would Agnes walk on the opposite side of the street from here on after to avoid it like the plague?

"I have...to go now...Agnes..."

Alice gathered up her coffee and the one she had bought for Agnes that remained mostly untouched as well as the bag with the chocolate glaze getting stale with each second.

She didn't say another word as she walked by the chair with the box on it, the chair that Agnes was still sitting in. Couldn't bear to look at the empty fourth seat as she trashed what was in her hand and walked out. She had parked her car right outside. She couldn't even look up as she unlocked the door and got in. She took a moment to herself as she tried to collect her thoughts, her memories. All the feelings she had and all the feelings she was going to lose. She started up her car and slowly, ever so slowly drove away without looking back.

Agnes, still sitting with her arms crossed over her chest, watched through the window as Alice drove away. The shoe had dropped and all she was left with was a box with her name on it and two empty seats.

[keirawantstocry]

🐦‍⬛ Salut!!!!! It is I, back again with more vague yuri prompts surrounding qJaiden

Jaiden/Baghera;

Something happens

Jaiden goes non-speaking

"are you okay?"

'I think I need a hug'

"always, mon agne"

Salut, darling. this got a bit off track but <3 

Jaiden considered herself decently well adjusted to life after Purgatory. She had a home, a family. A near battalion of moms on her side and a beautiful daughter who slept in her arms at night. 

But she wasn't always okay. She wasn't always sure what triggered the episodes. Sometimes it was clear: the gunning of a chainsaw or a glimpse of fire in her periferal. Other times it just happened. 

This was one of those times. 

She collapsed on the floor of their living room, trying her absolute hardest to shake out of it. Focus on the soft texture of the carpet and not the vivid flashing of blood in her mind's eyes. Gasps tore out of her as she bent over and tried not to sob. 

Gentle arms wrapped around her and Jaiden gasped before relaxing into the easily recognizable hands of Baghera. “Shh, amor, shhhh,” she soothed. “It's all right.” 

Jaiden choked on her tears, barely able to see through her tears. 

Leaning back, she let herself be held. Her voice refused to work, she couldn't even begin to say the things she wished she could say. They echoed in her mind like the répétitiveness of à war drum. Thank you, thank you, thank you. My love, darling, baby please. Baby I love you. You mean everything. You're the only light left in my only world, the only thing keeping my heart tick tick ticking in this relentless hellscape of love. 

They laid there rocking for hours. The first words out of Jaiden's dry mouth were, “I love you.” 

“I love you too, mon ange.” 

[nerdanel01]

No. 3 - Guard

(tw: blood)

Scratch-scratch-scratch. The harsh scrub of the brush against Agnes’ bare skin echoed in the vast, porcelain-tiled chamber of the communal washroom. It was unusual for her to have the whole space to herself, and it felt too big, too quiet, too empty. Her mouth was pulled into a tight line, her face set in an expression meant to stand against the threatening tide of her tears.

Her blouse had been so soaked through with Emmrich’s blood she had needed to quite literally peel it off of her body. By the time she had at last stumbled, numb and senseless with fright, into the washroom, the blood had already begun to congeal, sticky and crimson. She scrubbed her body down once with peony-scented soap until her skin was stinging, then began a second time, top to bottom. She crammed the brush’s bristles beneath her fingernails, desperate to clean imagined drops of dried blood from the beds of her nails.

Stepped under the spigot, Agnes and pulled the chain to release a flume of warm water from the central tank above that fed the ring of showers below. Until that moment, she had managed to keep herself together. But as the water rinsed the soap from her body and after her second wash and still ran away pink—when Agnes realized that somehow she had managed to get some of Emmrich’s blood into her hair, as well—she broke.

A keening wail pulled itself out of her throat, and she collapsed on herself, dropping into a squat, clutching her bare arms around her bare legs, rocking herself on the cold, wet tiled floor. How much blood could Emmrich have left in him, if he had bled out so badly she was finding it dried and crusted in her hair? Her fault, her fault! The whole point of her being a Watcher to begin with had been to protect him and she had failed at even that straightforward task. How far gone did someone need to be before the healers could do nothing for them but help them pass comfortably? The possibility of Emmrich dying drove her to her feet—she should be there, she should be at his side—but found she was too much of a coward to endure the experience of watching him breathe his last. The thought of it alone made her sob like a child, right there in the washroom where anyone who might happen by to brush their teeth or take a piss could plainly hear her.

Her fault, her fault. Agnes could not say what was more terrible: how much she feared to lose Emmrich, or the guilt at how completely she had failed to protect him. When she returned at last to her dormitory, she caught sight of herself—wet and pathetic as a starved alleycat in the rain—in the looking glass over her wash basin. Before she was fully aware of what she was doing, her fist struck out and made contact with the silvered glass, and sent shards like dazzling rain into the washbasin and onto the floor beneath.

[link to full piece]

— I’m really proud of all the writing I did this year! So for the last ten days of 2024 I’m going to be reblogging my 10 favorite pieces that I wrote.

This one is a deep cut from waayyyyy back in June/July. It's now a little OOC for both Emmrich and Johanna (Johanna for obvious reasons, Emmrich because we didn't know how bad his thanatophobia was yet, Alfred in general) but writing it helped lock in a lot of Agnes' characterization for me. I still get kind of emotional thinking about her washing the blood out of her hair in the shower. 🥲

[islandtarochips]

*nigel. Agnes. And ruz shivers in fear*

Agnes!: just put it in!

Ruz: I am!..*her wavy hair was put into a ponytail as she reluctantly puts another rubber band in the watermelon clearly going to expload*

Ruz: phew..your turn Nigel

Nigel: Why me!

Agnes:you agreed that we take turns it’s me her than you so it’ll be fair! So hurry your ass!—

Nigel: alright alright!

*he puts it in and pow! The watermelon explodes causing a mess outside*

Nigel: screams like a girl and hops into ruz arm

Agnes: my hair! *it had watermelon mush on it*

Ruz, was carrying Nigel as she looked at him: You okay, Nigel?

Nigel, was hugging her neck and looked at her: O-Oh...uh...*slowly gets off and dusted himself off as he pretended that didn't happened*

Nigel: Oh yeah! I'm FINE! That- That didn't scared me at ALL!

Ruz: ......whatever you say.

Agnes, was sobbing: My haaaaaaaiiiiiiiiiiiiir......😭

Poor Agnes and her HAIR. Lol. And once again, Nigel had screamed like a little girl. Isn't that cute? Hehehe! Thank you, pele! For sending this! I really love these three interacting!

[townsenddecades]

1330 – Day 2 – Chevalier Home

Like Agnes and Mariora, Elisaria gives birth to her child this quarter, just a few days after Elias is born. After what has happened to poor little Landon, she dreads hearing whether this child is a boy – a boy she is sure won’t survive to see his first birthday. But there is no choice for her but to weather the agony of childbirth and hope for the best.

While she is with her mother and the midwife, Robert is, once again, with the girls and trying not to listen to her screams from across the yard. Marguerite is old enough by now to know what is going on, at least in principle, but Jehanne has tears in her eyes as he explains to her that their mother may be in pain now, but hopefully, they will have another new brother or sister in the morning.

His proclamation doesn’t cheer up either of them. Marguerite especially has seen too many of her little siblings show up, only to disappear again, that it only makes her more distraught. So he has that fear to sooth, as well. And while he tries to be cheerful for his girls, inside, he is feverishly praying to the Watcher for his wife’s and newest child’s safety.

And he does this for hours, even after the girls are already asleep. Once again there is nothing for him to do but waiting, waiting, waiting.

And then, finally, their newest child arrives.

If Elisaria wasn’t already sobbing with pain and exhaustion, she would probably weep out of sheer relief when she hears that her newest little one is a girl. She wants to give her husband an heir desperately, but by now, she is certain that the Watcher doesn’t want their sons to live. Daughters are another matter. Both of their girls have been healthy so far.

It isn’t any different with their third one. Little Marie has strong lungs – which she uses instantly to voice her displeasure at being in the cold outside world – and is a big and hale child. Robert can’t help smiling widely when he first holds her in his arms and feels how heavy she is.

“This one seems to be a fighter, like her mother”, he comments. Elisaria gives him an exhausted smile.

“Let’s hope so.”

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