#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

[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.

[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

[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]

Secret

In which Gale asks his lady to tell him a secret. NSFW.

“Tell me a secret,” Gale whispered to his lady. There was a slight slur to his words because of the wine. He’s so adorable when he’s a little drunk. Even more cuddly and snuggly than normal, which is not a bad thing! I love it.

Agnes giggled. “Gale love, you already know so much! There’s very little I haven’t told you.”

He took another sip of wine and placed the goblet down on the little table in his tent. As per their previous agreement, when they were alone, his glamour was off. But that’s not the only thing that’s off. He’s down to his smalls and holding me and kneading my belly and kissing me and oh my fucking gods please Gale don’t ever stop. “My sweet sorceress, surely there is something you haven’t shared.” He kissed her red curls and sighed. “Could be a nice secret. Not anything bad.”

The dwarf closed her eyes for a moment, listening to Gale’s heartbeat. “I…do you remember the night we shared the Weave? The night of the celebration after saving the grove?”

“Mhmm yes, my love.” His free arm continued to hold her to him as he drank some more. “Such a beautiful moment with you.”

Playing with his thick, dark chest hair, she smiled. “Feeling you, feeling the Weave…I knew I loved you in that moment. I mean, I already liked you of course.” She opened her eyes and tickled him a bit. “Even though you insulted me.”

He let out a dramatic sigh. “You’re never letting me live that down, are you?”

NOPE. Agnes giggled. “Maybe in a decade or so, love.” Back to my not-so-secret secret. “I knew I loved you that night. I could feel your very essence, and it made me feel safe. Happy. Adored.” She felt his hold on her tighten. “You’re a sweet, wonderful, handsome man, Gale. I only wish I said something sooner.”

A broken sob escaped him as he practically squeezes the stuffing out of me!! GOOD GODS, LOVE! “My love, I had wanted to tell you that night, but the orb…any amount of excitement could have made it unstable. I didn’t want to erupt and kill you!” He kissed her hair and rubbed her back.

Should I? I SHOULD. Snuggling against his chest and still playing with his chest hair, she hummed. “Well, I hope that you’ll erupt inside me later.”

The strangled sound that came out of Agnes’s lover made her giggle. Before she had a chance to tease him just a little bit more, Gale kissed her soundly. He was breathless when he pulled away and cupping her face in his hands. “Lie down, my sweet. Let me take care of you.” His brown eyes were full of emotion. “You take such good care of me, sweetness. Let me love you…” He positioned her on her back and began kissing her neck and collarbones. “Oh Agi darling, you’re so beautiful.” His hands found their way to the laces on her corset. Eyes locked with hers, Gale whispered, “May I?”

“As if you even have to ask.” Agnes giggled. You never have to, Gale of Waterdeep! And the only reason I wear this extremely uncomfortable thing is because it’s hot seeing you unlace me! AND MY TITS LOOK GREAT!

Gale chuckled, his long fingers undoing the laces. “While that may be true, my love, it never hurts to ask. Who knows---there might be a night in the future when you don’t want me fondling your breasts.” Pulling the laces loose, he removed the offending garment and tossed it to the side. His hands quickly grabbed her large breasts, kneading them gently. “Though, I do pray they’re few in number.”

“You and me both.” She teased before she let out a soft moan. “Gale love, please…” Please don’t stop. Don’t ever stop.

Those three words seemed to do something to Gale, whose head then dipped and took a nipple in his mouth. Licking and suckling, he was relentless in his very mean and cruel and perfect and amazing assault on his lady.

“G-Gale love, please…”

He released her with a pop, a smirk across his lips. “Please what, my beauty? Please don’t stop? Please continue? Please conjure a mirror image to take that other succulent breast in his mouth?” He leaned back down, his lips barely touching hers. “Please give me your large, incredibly hard cock?”

Trying and failing to rub her soft thighs together because he’s RIGHT THERE, Agnes whined. “For fuck’s sake, Gale…just fuck me already!”

Gale’s brown eyes darkened as he laughed heartily. “Who am I to deny such a heartfelt request from the most beautiful, sweetest sorceress in all the realm?” He lined himself to her entrance and sighed happily. “My love, I’ve been wanting you all day…needing you…”

YOU. AND. ME. BOTH. GALE. LOVE. “A-ah,” she breathed as she felt the tip of his cock slip through her folds. “Is that why you’ve been so handsy tonight?”

Groaning, he nodded quickly. “You arouse me in infinite ways, my beauty. Seeing you cast even the simplest spells…the sway of your hips as you walk…” He gently thrust a few times, moaning. “The way your thighs touch…your generous bosom bouncing as you get excited…your plump lips touching mine when I give you a kiss…” The next thrust was much harder. “The way you come on my cock…Gods, I can’t get enough of you.”

Gale love, this all amazing and I love you so much but MORE FUCKING LESS TALKING. Reaching for his broad shoulders, Agnes pulled Gale down, his lips crashing into hers. As much as she could, she wrapped her legs around his thick waist. Want more contact. Want more of him. All of him. Always. Thrusting up into him, she moaned into his mouth. “So close…” She breathed, gasping for air after their kiss. Feeling his fingers pinch her clit, she came with a small scream on his mouth, her brown eyes meeting his.

He came soon after, several very ungentlemanly but very sexy grunts escaping him as he collapsed next to her. He said he’s afraid of crushing me. I’m a dwarf! I’m tough! I can handle my big, sexy wizard. One hand was over his heart, sweating pouring off him. The other was holding hers. “I love you dearly, my sweet sorceress, but I’m afraid you’re going to be the death of me.”

Turning, she snuggled into his side and giggled. “Who? Me? Your beauty? Hurting you? Never, Gale love.”

“Ha! I never said ‘hurt,’ darling, but if you want to go again, give me a few—”

She pressed a kiss to his chest. “Not tonight. If we were at my house, in my bed…yes, absolutely.” When we get to Baldur’s Gate, I’m insisting on a night for just the two of us at home. I’ll cook him whatever he wants, maybe chocolate chip cookies for dessert, watch the sunset on the roof deck, and then ride him until dawn!

He raised an eyebrow and smiled. “Or in Waterdeep? I assure you that my bed is quite comfortable---a soft mattress with the finest silk sheets and Waterdhavian feather pillows. Plenty large enough for the two of us.” Kissing her red curls, he heaved a heavy sigh and sat up. “But before we delve into this much further, let’s get cleaned up, shall we? You stay right there,” a long finger touched her nose as smiled gently. “Let me.” He grabbed a cloth and tapped a bowl that filled with water instantly. I love magic. He carefully cleaned her first and then himself. Knowing his preference for modesty, Agnes expected him to put on his sleep shirt and trousers and lie back down.

He only put the trousers on.

She raised an eyebrow as he pulled her into his embrace once more. “Your shirt…?”

He tensed immediately. “O-oh, you want it on? Forgive me, I—”

“No! No, it’s not that. I mean, you usually have on a shirt and bottoms. It’s a…good change.” Good. Great. Amazing. Spectacular. She nuzzled his hairy chest and rubbed his soft belly. I love you so much. My own walking encyclopedia magic bear. I hope this is another little step towards you loving the man you are, not the great wizard you think you should be.

Gale sighed and rubbed her shoulder. “Oh! Well, good then! As I was saying, my bedroom…”

His lady giggled softly, listening to him describe nearly every detail of his bedroom for over a half hour before she poked his side. “Hey, you asked me for a secret earlier. How about one for me, love?”

He did not say anything for a few minutes. “I,” he swallowed thickly. “I…ever since we’ve been together, despite the dire circumstances of said meeting, despite the orb, despite everything else, I’ve been dreaming of the future so much more. Do you want to hear about them?” His voice was tentative, and he seemed a little nervous.

“Of course I do, love.”

With a nod, Gale continued. Breathing a deep sigh of relief. Poor love. “I dream of us in Waterdeep, living in our tower.” Our!!! TOWER!!! Oh goodness, this already sounds perfect. “I have students that come for lessons. After all, every wizard begins somewhere! Not like a certain sorceress who was simply born with awesome power.” He chuckled and kissed her head. “Ahem, anyways, I’ll have students coming and going for lessons. Or maybe I’ll teach at my old university. There was a dream where you brought us sandwiches and treats.” I can picture the dreamy look on his face. “Another you came in as I was doing work with a tray of freshly baked cinnamon rolls,” his lips curled into a smile. “With a small army of little ones following. Each with varying degrees of red in their hair, big smiles, and another one on the way. We ate. Laughed. I told them stories about our adventure, about the Weave, anything, everything. Sometimes you were the one telling stories.” His voice broke a little. “The dreams themselves are so beautiful, my love, but the fact that I can dream about this…that it may actually come to pass…all because of you…I cannot describe what it…what you…mean to me. There are so many words yet all they all seem inadequate for you and what you’ve given to me…to us. I suppose that’s a long way of saying I have the most pleasant dreams of our future, and they make me so happy.”

As he spoke, Agnes’s eyes had filled with unshed tears. She shifted, leaning on her elbow. With the change in position for her, he turned on his side to face her. “Gale love, I promise, no matter what, all your dreams will come true.” She got closer to him, their foreheads touching and their eyes locked. “We will make them happen. Together.”

His lips lazily touched hers, a small smile forming. “Yes, my love. Together.”

[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*

[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.” 

[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!

[theroyalhouseofwindenburg]

As the morning sun cast a soft glow into her chambers on the 6th day of spring in the year 1333, Queen Fiona stirred from her restless sleep, a wave of discomfort washing over her. The undeniable pain in her stomach signaled the impending arrival of her long-awaited child. Fearing the labor pains, she summoned her trusted lady-in-waiting, Agnes Rivers, who stood by her side as a pillar of strength.

Hours stretched into what felt like an eternity as Fiona grappled with the arduous labor. Each contraction brought her closer to the moment she had both anticipated and dreaded. Then, at last, the cries of a newborn pierced the air, momentarily silencing the world around Fiona. Eagerly, she turned to Agnes, her heart pounding with a mixture of hope and trepidation, seeking reassurance. But Agnes's face remained inscrutable, casting a shadow of uncertainty over Fiona's heart.

Agnes informed Fiona that a daughter had been born, not the male heir that the kingdom and King Wilhelm had hoped for. Fiona's heart sank, the weight of her husband's expectations crushing her in that very moment. She sat on the edge of her bed, emotions swirling within her, not knowing how Wilhelm would react to this news. Her thoughts oscillated between the immense love she already felt for her daughter and the looming storm that would inevitably ensue.

Summoning her strength, Fiona allowed herself to hold her daughter, to whom she named Augusta. The infant's innocent eyes and delicate features ignited a powerful surge of maternal love within Fiona, momentarily eclipsing the storm of troubles that awaited her. She marveled at the beauty of new life, finding solace in the bond she shared with her child.

However, the tranquility was short-lived. King Wilhelm's arrival from court shattered the delicate atmosphere, his stern countenance casting a foreboding shadow across the room. Expecting to see his long-awaited heir, Wilhelm's demand was met with Fiona's somber admission that they had welcomed a daughter instead. His reaction was swift and merciless, his disappointment boiling over into a storm of anger.

Harsh words spilled from Wilhelm's lips, branding Fiona as weak and inadequate, the bearer of a daughter rather than the coveted son he desired. His bitter comparison to his mistress only deepened the wound in Fiona's heart. Struggling to hold back tears, Fiona pleaded for her husband to understand, to see beyond the gender of their child. But his rage remained unchecked, and his decision was final – their daughter would be taken away from Fiona's care and placed under the guardianship of a governess at Windenburg Castle.

In a sudden eruption of fury, Fiona's voice shattered the air, her desperation manifesting as she demanded that Wilhelm not take her baby away. With a chilling swiftness, Wilhelm's hand closed around her arm, his grip vice-like as he forcibly pushed her to the floor. Overwhelmed by his physical dominance, Fiona felt his foot press down on her chest, a cruel reminder of her helplessness.

"Keep her in line," Wilhelm barked at Fiona's loyal ladies, his command echoing through the room like a sinister decree. As Benedict approached the cradle, Fiona's heart clenched with a mixture of rage, sorrow, and despair. Her baby girl, the embodiment of her dreams and love, was lifted away, destined for a future beyond Fiona's reach.

On the cold floor, Fiona cradled her head in her trembling hands, her sobs muffled by the weight of her heartache. Her devoted ladies surrounded her, offering words of solace that could hardly penetrate the depths of her anguish. Through tear-filled eyes, Fiona watched as Augusta was carried into an uncertain future, a future from which Fiona felt forcibly excluded.

In that haunting moment, Fiona's world shattered, the echoes of her daughter's cries and the bitter taste of powerlessness lingering in the air. She clung to the memory of Augusta's tiny face, etching it into her heart as a beacon of hope amid the darkness of her captive existence.

[aparticularbandit]

21 of the angst ask got me thinking about Agnes and Agatha. (Curious what you could with pairing one and two tho)

well, i mean, i can also do the other one. (and by can i mean plan on it just. will post it separately.)

also idk why it decided to double small the stuff i copy-pasted from word. alas.

dialogue prompts - angst edition

21) “You made me miserable and I still loved you.”

tw: discussion of rape/non-con

“I was…I was you.”

Agnes says the words, but she doesn’t understand them, can’t comprehend being the lived in prison for a woman as wonderful as Agatha is, refuses to believe that the memories she has of her parents – her siblings – are an entire false construct, that if she tries to call her mother, no one will answer.

That is, unfortunately, what prompted the entire conversation.  She has no mother to call for the holidays, no large family with whom to share Thanksgiving now that she and Ralph aren’t together anymore and he doesn’t insist on keeping these sorts of things to themselves, no children who are happily spending their holidays with their families, which should feel better because it means they aren’t actively ignoring her for years at a time, but doesn’t because it means she has no children and no grandchildren, even though she can very clearly remember each of them and each of their names.  There was—

She flinches, and something like static flicks through her brain, and almost immediately she senses a need to change the subject of conversation, except she’s her own person now – apparently she wasn’t before, apparently she hasn’t always been – and she can remember the subject and she doesn’t want to change it, she wants to remember her sons’ names, only there’s an absence where those names should be—

Agnes bites her lower lip.  She turns away from Agatha.  She crosses one arm about herself and raises the other hand so that she can chew on her fingernails.  It’s a bad habit.  Her mother used to paint her nails so that she would stop chewing on them – the fingernail polish tasted horrible and kept getting stuck in her teeth – except…except if Agatha is right, none of that really happened either.

“I can’t…I can’t have been you, hon,” Agnes says, trying to convince herself more than Agatha.  “I would have felt you, crawling about in there.”

Agatha sighs – and Agnes can’t see it, turned away as she is, but somehow she knows that Agatha is pinching the bridge of her nose – before saying, “The day after Wanda disappeared from Westview, your husband Ralph came home drunk on tequila, told you that if you wanted to save your marriage then you would suck his cock, and then proceeded to choke you while fucking you up the ass because he couldn’t handle how much you told him it hurt.”  Her eyes narrow as Agnes turns to face her again, but the hatred Agnes feels wafting off of the other woman has nothing to do with her, she’s sure of it.  (At least, she hopes.)  “For two weeks afterwards, you wore turtlenecks and scarves to hide the bruises, which was perfectly acceptable, given how cold it was outside.  In the third week, the bruises finally faded, but dear old Ralph came back late, even more drunk than usual, his eyes so bloodshot red that they terrified you, and this time you didn’t complain, not because you didn’t want to, but because you couldn’t breathe—”

”Stop.”  Agnes wraps her arms so tight around herself that it feels like the morning after again, sitting naked in her bed with Ralph long gone, sore in places she’d never wanted to be sore, trying to breathe around sobs that wracked a throat that felt like it had been crushed under her husband’s hands.  “Ralph wasn’t so bad, you know,” she whispers, more to comfort herself than to defend her ex-husband to Agatha.  “He brought home flowers every day for a week after that.  Violets.  Daisies.  My favorites.  If you were there, then you would remember how he tucked one of them into my hair and told me that they made my eyes pop.”

Agatha steps forward, reaches out, and cups Agnes’s face with her warm hand, fingers just stretching into her hair.  “Your eyes are like the ocean,” she says, mimicking Ralph.  “I feel like I’m drowning in them.”

Agnes shivers and steps back out of Agatha’s touch.  “That’s not funny.”

“I’m not trying to be funny, hon; I’m trying to—”

“Read my mind and learn all about my past and the thing you use to make me believe you is that.”  Agnes can’t spit the words out because that would be harsh, aggressive, and she still doesn’t know how to be either of those.  Anger may not be a four letter word, but rage is, and that’s close enough.  She knows what it is to be upset and frustrated and hurt, but she’s never once used those emotions to lash out at someone, and she certainly isn’t going to start doing it now.  Still, she can’t meet Agatha’s eyes, can’t stop her own shivering, can’t stop the tears she knows are rolling down her cheeks.

“I’m not reading your mind, hon; I’m—”  Agatha cuts herself off.  She hesitates and then tries again, voice much softer.  “After Wanda left, your back started killing you,” she says, gentle as anything.  “You went to the doctor – to a lot of doctors – but none of them could ever tell you what was wrong.  Your back was just fine.  You were completely healthy.  But whenever you leaned up against it just wrong, you felt a sharp stabbing of pain, and whenever Ralph pressed his fingers against—”

“Please don’t mention Ralph, dear,” Agnes interrupts.  “I think you’ve said enough about him.”

Agatha nods, accepting this.  She turns away from Agnes and then slowly lifts up her shirt until her back is exposed.  “Look.”

Despite her instinct to turn away from Agatha, to give her the privacy she must need, Agnes obeys, and what she sees makes her eyes widen in shock.  She steps forward, one hand outstretched, and then stops herself.  “May I?”

Agatha glances over her shoulder and gives a little nod.  As Agnes runs her hand along the thin white scars etched into Agatha’s back, feeling each tensing of her muscles as she does, Agatha explains, “They don’t cause me pain the way they once did; Wanda fixed all of that, but when she made you, she didn’t know they were there.  She made your back look normal, but she couldn’t just take away scars she didn’t know I had.”  She flinches again.  “Your hands are cold, hon.”

“I’m sorry, hon, I—”  Agnes steps back, swallowing.  “You’re saying my back hurt because it was your back because I was…I was a curse for you.  Wanda cursed you to be me.”

“Yes.”  Agatha pulls her shirt down, straightens it.  “That’s why your mother isn’t answering your calls.  She’s not—”

“You must have been miserable,” Agnes says, slumping down onto the edge of their mattress, hands on either side of her.  “That’s…that’s horrible.  Everything Ralph did to me—”

Agatha turns to her.  “I thought you didn’t want to talk about him, dear.”

“—he did to you, too.”  Agnes’s voice grows even quieter as she says this.  She starts to shudder, her entire body shaking in a way she cannot stop and cannot control.  “You weren’t…you didn’t….  I….  But you—”

“Shhhh.”  Agatha stepped towards Agnes as she spoke, and now she sits on the mattress next to her, taking one of Agnes’s hands in her own.  “Don’t yourself by thinking too hard, darling.  It won’t do you any good.”

Agnes presses her lips together so hard that her teeth draw blood from her soft flesh.  “You never would have let him—”

“That was part of the punishment, dear.  Part of the curse.”  Agatha rubs her thumb gently against the back of Agnes’s hand.  “You had to give in, dear, and he had to hurt you.  I needed to live through hell.  That was hell.”

Agnes glances up, stares at Agatha curiously, and can’t help but ask, “If you hated being me so much, dear, then why are you still here?  Don’t I just….”  She looks down, unable to keep her head up.  “Don’t I just remind you of all of that?”

“Sometimes, yes,” Agatha admits.  “I hated you at first, you know.  I wanted to kill you as much as Ralph did.  But the longer I spent stuck in you, seeing how hard you tried, seeing how much you wanted, seeing how good you were….”  Her voice trails off, but her thumb continues to stroke the back of Agnes’s hand.  “You made me miserable,” she says, voice soft, “and I still loved you.”

Her words send a spike through Agnes’s heart.  She ponders them, echoes slow, refusing to believe, barely glancing up, “You love me?”

Agatha meets her eyes, and a sad smile creases her lips.  “I suppose I do, dear.  I suppose I do.”  She reaches up, tentative, and then slowly wipes away Agnes’s tears.  “You deserve so much better, sweetheart.  So much better.”

It’s instinctive, the way Agnes curves easily into Agatha’s touch, how she places her hand over Agatha’s and holds it there, against her cheek.  She’s never been very active in these sorts of situations – although, given what Agatha has just told her, that’s less her and more a construct made of false memories that Wanda had given her, a personality that she holds to that doesn’t truly have to be hers (although, if she’s honest with herself, she isn’t sure how much she would change, isn’t sure that she can change that much) – but she can change this in this moment—

Agnes crosses the – admittedly small – distance between them and meets Agatha’s lips with her own.  She thinks on how, really, they’re the same person and kisses Agatha the way she would want to be kissed – gentle, at first, delighting in the feel of Agatha’s warm, soft lips plush against her own, before parting them just enough to let her hot breath mingle with Agatha’s in the softest of invitations, only moving her hand from Agatha’s when she accepts the invitation, when her tongue slips gentle across her lips.  Agatha’s had moves through her hair, cups – cradles – the back of her head, holding her so, so gently, and on instinct, Agnes nips the tip of Agatha’s tongue.  Her heart races with fear, but Agatha purrs, “Oh, Agnes, hon,” with such pleasured longing before kissing her back that Agnes is sure her instincts are correct.

The heat rises in more than just Agnes’s cheeks as Agatha’s free hand moves to her waist at the same time that Agnes’s moves to hers.  But Agnes doesn’t feel the same hesitation, the same care that Agatha does, and so her hand moves beneath the edge of Agatha’s shirt, fingers searching for sensitive spots she knows on her own body, waiting for the gasp of pleasure as she traces one fingertip, slow, across Agatha’s skin.

“You won’t hurt me, will you, dear?” Agnes asks, voice quiet and afraid, pausing just long enough to meet Agatha’s eyes, to search the pupils already grown wide.

Agatha doesn’t flinch away.  “Never.  I would never hurt you, angel.”  She doesn’t drop her gaze, only asks, “Is this what you want?”

“You don’t have to ask—” Agnes starts to say, but then remembers you deserve better, and instead, she nods, says near breathless, “Yes.  You’re the only person in the world maybe who has ever loved me, so please.”  She hesitates, searches for the right words, and then says, “Take care of me.”

At her words, Agatha slowly begins to lean Agnes back along the bed, and although Agnes’s heart races, she does not stop her.  “I will take such good care of you, pet.”  Instead of letting her fingers slip beneath Agnes’s shirt, they begin to trace the inside of Agnes’s thighs.

Agnes takes in a sharp breath.  “Be gentle with me.”

Agatha brushes her nose gentle against hers, breath hot on her lips as she says, “Always.”  Then she covers Agnes’s mouth with her own, swallowing the soft moan into her mouth as her fingers move beneath Agnes’s skirt, a moan that only grows louder as one runs along the pad of her underwear.  But it doesn’t stay there; Agatha cups her ass and squeezes, slowly moving her thigh between Agnes’s legs until Agnes whimpers.  She stops, searches Agnes’s eyes, waits for a nod to continue but doesn’t get one, only gets Agnes grinding against her leg, eyes wide and hungry.

Agnes flinches as Agatha’s fingers brush her waist when she removes her shirt, and her muscles tighten as Agatha’s lips find the soft skin of her stomach.  “Agatha, please, dear, I—”  But then Agatha hits that spot – that spot – and Agnes’s hips rise, grinding harder against Agatha’s thigh, and she’s always been so good about her language, but here she can’t be – a gasp followed by “Agatha, fuck, fuck, Agatha, fuck me, fuck me, please, Agatha, please—” – and then Agatha’s hands are on her thighs, spreading her legs, squeezing her skin, and despite it all, Agnes wants – she wants – and when Agatha returns to kiss her lips again, breath hot on her skin, Agnes presses her hands beneath Agatha’s shirt, finds where her bra cups her breasts, and palms them, squeezes them, just as she bends to suck Agatha’s collarbone.

Agatha breathes her name out – “Agnes” – and she sucks harder until she hears it, hears “I love you,” and then she peppers kisses along Agatha’s neck, across her jaw, until she finds her open mouth again, and tugs on her lower lip.

You’ll love me more, Agnes thinks, when I do something other than make you miserable, and this time when her hips raise, she wraps a leg around Agatha’s waist and pulls her down flush against her, grinds not against the thigh she’d been given but against the spot she hopes is just as wet for Agatha as it is for her.  Agatha rocks slow against her.  Much better than an unmoving thigh.  Agnes lifts Agatha’s shirt off, peppers kisses along her exposed skin.

When Agnes takes Agatha’s hand and guides it where she most wants it, Agatha interlaces their fingers and tugs their hands away, murmuring, “Not yet, babe,” amid Agnes’s most desperate whimpers.  She just smiles, kisses her neck, and purrs, “You told me to take care of you, hon.  I’m doing just that.”

And for not the first time in her life, Agnes believes her.

[swedethings]

All Agnes could do was nod. Her son did, in fact, eat blueberries on a daily basis. Since the move to Bar Harbor, he'd been asking for them daily in some form. Whether it was with his breakfast or as a snack, he wanted his blueberries. And up until this morning, his mamma agreed with him that they were absolutely delicious. "You are going to have to tell me what food group you are talking about..." Her mind still felt muddled from trying to process the fact she was actually pregnant. Despite having known deep down for a couple of weeks now, having seen the positive test in the bathroom made it all the more real. And she was struggling to fully process it. "I do know about ginger candies. I, uh, I had a bag with me the entire time I was pregnant with that lille gubbe." She shared, pointing in Gunnar's direction as a small smile curled upwards at the corners of her lips. She recalled having similar feelings to how she felt now when she first found out she was having a baby three years and nine months ago. At first, she was scared and confused. But then, she accepted what was happening; and she couldn't have been happier. She loved her son from the moment she learned of his existence. It would be the same with this baby. Sophie was right. She just needed some time to process...

Since Gunnar had been eating blueberries and the scent made Agnes want to retch, she shook her head in response to wanting to situation him in his seat for breakfast. If Sophie was willing, she'd gladly have the blonde deal with that this morning. She needed to just sit and sip her tea.

Unfortunately, the sound of the doorbell chiming made it so that wasn't entirely possible. Checking the clock on her phone, she let out a sigh as she noticed a missed text from her pappa stating he was going to come over half an hour early. "You will get to see his reaction with me... That is min pappa now." She stated, finally moving to stand. Pushing her chair in, she turned to Sophie once more. "I am not scared to tell him. I-I know he will not be mad." If his reaction upon learning of her first pregnancy was any indication, her pappa would be nothing but supportive. And with that said, she excused herself to go answer the front door.

"Hej pappa..." Agnes greeted upon opening the front door to reveal her pappa standing on the front step with presents in his arms. She tried her best to force a smile, to mask some of the thoughts still swirling through her mind. She knew the forced smile would be useless, however. Her pappa could read her like a book. He'd instantly see in her eyes that she was unwell; and the moment he asked, her initial response would tell him everything he needed to know...

"Vad är fel, älskling? Är du sjuk?"

Agnes swallowed hard, shaking her head 'no' before she managed to formulate a verbal reply. "Ja och nej." She settled on.

Those three words were enough to tell her pappa what was going on, especially since he already knew about the drama his daughter had been dealing with since both Anders showed up in town. Placing the presents on the small table that adorned the guesthouse's little porch area, the man then held out his arms for his daughter. She didn't hesitate to accept his embrace, burying her face in his chest. "Du är gravid igen, eller hur?" He asked, already knowing deep down what the answer would be. He should've known sooner. As he thought back to the past week since his arrival in Bar Harbor, he realized the signs had been there. His daughter had just been better at hiding them up until now. Something had to have changed. Was the news now officially confirmed? Was that the change? Regardless, it didn't matter. What mattered was his daughter's soft nod against his chest followed by soft sobs.

In that moment, all he could do was hug her tighter, gently rubbing her back as he reassured her in a similar matter to when she'd announced her first pregnancy three years prior. "Vad du än väljer, har du mitt stöd. Jag älskar dig, Anna."

The use of the special nickname only her pappa called her led to Agnes sobbing harder. But she knew she had to compose herself sooner rather than later. They were still stood on the guesthouse's front porch. She didn't want any of the Hewitts to spot them. She didn't want anyone to question her tears. And besides, Gunnar and Sophie were still inside getting ready for breakfast. So after another moment of just savoring her pappa's support and embrace, the brunette pulled out of the hug and wiped her tears with the back of her hand. "Är du hungrig? Vi äter pannkakor till frukost. Men jag är inte hungrig. Du kan få min. Blåbären gör mig sjuk."

"I'm sure he'll understand. He doesn't eat them everyday does he?" She asked as her hand kept a sturdy grip on his leg to keep him from falling over. "That's a tradition that won't change. There's an entire food group you guys haven't touched yet." Sophie made light of the situation. Awkwardness made her uncomfortable. "Can pack your thermos and take it with you. There's also something I know Lucy and Diana both told me when I went over to double check their vitals. It's a a ginger candy I believe. It kept their nausea at bay."

She checked her watch and knew her dad was about to come and then she would feel better about taking off to make sure she hadn't yet lost her job. Everything would make her be on time for when festivities would begin. "Are you afraid of his reaction or more worried about being pregnant? Some may say this is a golden birthday. You should change up your view. Some people don't even get this far in life. So, I'd like for Gunnar to open his present before he leaves. I kind of want him not to break it. His card is on the table. He has to finish his food but after." She plated the pancakes on the plate and got his attention. Sitting the plate down in front of him so he'd see that he was about ready to eat. "Did you want to set him down where he sits?"

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Breeze

The morning after defeating the Endsinger and Zenos, Agi wakes to feel a cool breeze. SFW.

When Agnes awoke, she felt a cool breeze. Where am I? Laying on her side, she opened her eyes, blinked, and vaguely saw her glasses on a bedside table. And next to that…

“Love?” She whispered softly.

Estinien’s eyes opened suddenly and darted around for a second before he caught his wife’s gaze. A small smile appeared on his tired face. “Hey,” he moved his chair up to the bed and took her hand. “How are you feeling, sweet girl?”

“Sore.” One of her hands caressed her belly. “Where are we?”

“The Leveilleur Estate. They insisted on having you rest here, away from all the hubbub.” Upon seeing her confused expression, Estinien chuckled. “The world is celebrating, my love. The Final Days are over. The star and all creation saved. Krile offered the Annex, but I agreed with the lord and lady of the house…and Luci…that this would be better. You need to rest. Both of you.”

Are those…tears in his eyes? Agnes squeezed his hand. “It’s okay, love. We’re okay.”

Tears streaked down his cheeks. “Promise me, Agi. Promise me, no more adventures or danger until after she’s born. I cannot…I thought you were…” Estinien choked back a sob. “Please.”

Agnes, very slowly, sat up and flung her arms around her husband. “I’m not fucking planning on it, love!” She giggled. “After all,” she kissed his tear-stained cheeks. “We must have our extended honeymoon in Radz-at-Han, remember? And I personally don’t want any more surprises or world-ending events happening during this pregnancy. We’ll finally have time for each other—no Scion business, no revolutions, no primals to kill, nothing of that sort. I wasn’t kidding when I told Thancred that I’m relieved to finally have help on that front.” For the next few minutes, the couple sat in silence as Agnes comforted her husband—rubbing his back and kissing his tears.

“Forgive me,” he murmured. “I worry about both of you.” Their foreheads now touched, Estinien nudged his nose against hers. “We’ll need a name for her.”

“Luci Varlineau?” Agnes suggested with a grin.

Estinien grunted. “No thank you. I was thinking…Esme. Twas my mother’s name, and Esme Varlineau has a nice ring to it.”

Esme Varlineau does sound a lot better than Luci Varlineau. Sorry Mum! “I agree, love. Her name will be Esme.”

“We love you already, Esme.” One of his hands touched her belly. Was that?! Estinien’s eyes widened in awe. “Was…was that her?”

“It was, love! That was a strong little kick from her. Hello, my little love.”

Estinien still looked awe-struck. “She’s…kicking again. Does she know it’s me? That I’m her father?”

This is too cute! He looks positively softer than a pile of goo right now. Agnes giggled. “Maybe? You should talk to her. Get right up close. Here,” she adjusted herself on the bed, sitting upright. “Come on, love. Talk to her.”

Estinien quickly scrambled onto the bed and lay his head gently on Agnes’s belly. “Hello Esme. It’s your father. You be a good girl for Mummy, alright? She needs her rest. You just be a good baby and keep growing…There she goes again!” Right in the ribs! “Heh, good baby. You’re such a good little baby. Me and Mummy love you so much. We can’t wait to meet you, but you must stay in here for a while. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of you and Mummy.” OOF! “Ah! She did it again! What a good baby! You’re such a good baby, Esme,” he cooed. OH MY GODS, LOVE! How is he so adorable?! “Are you hungry, Agi? Maybe Esme wants some food.”

Agnes giggled and played with a strand of his long, silky hair. “I don’t know about her, but yes, I’m famished. Could you ask Mum—LOVE!”

Within seconds, Estinien leapt out the window into the cool breeze leaving Agnes laughing hysterically. Estinien returned with a veritable feast from The Last Stand, much to Agnes’s chagrin. Burgers, fries, waffles, pancakes, milkshakes, decaf coffee, fried cheese, sausages, bacon, fruit, crepes, ham, and a very large ice cream sundae. I insisted on sharing with the staff…and Mum…and the twins and their parents…good gods, does he think I’m eating for a dozen?! “You know, love, I was going to ask if you could have Mum make me some Eggs Benedict. You didn’t have to do this!” She laughed, patting him on the arm as he popped a fry into his mouth.

Alisaie rolled her eyes. “Seriously, we could’ve had some food made here! This must’ve cost a fortune!”

“Hmph, I’m more than willing to pay any price for Agi and our babe.”

“Estinien, sweetie…there’s a difference between that and…” Luci gestured to the feast in front of them. “Whatever the fuck this is.”

“Agi likes sharing, so I got a lot. And Esme needs food!” He shoved another fry into his mouth. “She’s a growing baby!”

“Esme is a lovely name!” Alphinaud exclaimed. “Isn’t it, Mother?”

“Yes, indeed. A beautiful name for a beautiful child. Is there ought else you require, Agnes?”

“Nothing at the moment, thank you.” Agnes looked fondly at everyone in her room and felt the cool breeze again.

I have all I could ever want or need right here.

[modern-vellichor]

Nothing Can Stop You Now

summary: You figure out the little game Wanda is playing, but she can't let you go. She doesn't know how, and she doesn't want to either. warnings: angst, language, wlw a/n: just a little short fic tonight

"I will never be free," you whispered.

"Baby, please," Wanda sobbed. She reached out for you but you jerked away from her. "I don't know what you're talking about, let's go to bed."

You looked around your home, and you didn't recognise it. You didn't recognise anything, or anyone. Nothing was familiar. You realised that you couldn't even remember yesterday, or the months previous. You looked down at the ring on your finger. You don't remember a proposal, you don't remember a wedding. You look over at the boys' toys. You don't remember their last birthday, or the one before that. You don't remember a pregnancy, or a birth. You don't even remember this morning.

"Who am I?" You asked quietly, voice on the verge of breaking. You rephrased the question. "What am I?"

"Baby," Wanda reached out.

Suddenly you were in her arms. How did you get here? You were just by the door. Why are you in the kitchen? She cupped your cheeks and wiped away your tears. Why are you crying?

"What happened?"

"Nothing, honey," Wanda smiled. "You're just a bit emotional."

"No."

No. You're not playing this game. You're stronger than this. Don't let her get to you. You pushed her off of you and stormed towards the door. Suddenly, Billy and Tommy were blocking your path. You gasped, clutching your chest. They looked concerned.

"Mommy?"

"No," your voice broke.

"Mommy, what's wrong?"

"I'm not your fucking mother," you pushed past them. You continued towards the front door.

"Honey," Wanda's voice broke through. You stopped. "Don't walk out that door. You'll regret it."

You scoffed.

"I don't think I will."

Your hand gripped the door handle. You twisted. The door swung open. You slammed the door behind you and marched out of the garden with a new sense of purpose. The air was fresh, the breeze was light. You were giddy. You were free.

"Hey, hon," someone called. You turned to look. Agnes. "Everything okay in the Maximoff household?" She giggled. "Heard some shouting."

You began to back away, a grim smile on your face.

"Fuck. You."

You got into your car and began the drive out of town.

Nothing could stop you now.

[swedethings]

"I do not blame her for sobbing. I think it is hard not to sob when you see something så jävla perfekt." Agnes commented, a soft chuckle falling from her lips as she maneuvered Delilah in her arms just enough to momentarily free up a hand to gesture to the visible tears welling in her eyes. "You and Lucy make nice work." She added, her smile still wide as she followed Jette's advice and began to gently rub Delilah's stomach. Like the newborn's father had said, the baby's small fingers came to wrap around one of Agnes's fingers. The gesture caused more joyous tears to course down the brunette's cheeks. "Gunnar did the same thing when he was small... Babies have a pretty impressive grip, eller hur." She would never forget the first time her son had grasped one of her fingers. It was shortly after the pair had managed to figure out nursing for the first time. He was milk drunk and starting to doze off. Agnes had reached for his little hand after wiping some milk from his chin; and he'd instantly grasped her pointer finger, refusing to let go. He'd stayed grasping her finger for the duration of his nap. "There are an assortment of, uh—" The word momentarily skipped her mind, leading the brunette to shut her eyes for a second as she tried to picture what the tag said. "—scrunches—“ That both did and didn’t sound right; but she wasn’t going to concern herself with the word too much. “—in the spa package I made for Lucy. Remind her to never wear her hair down. The first time she forgets the messy bun will be hell." The brunette hadn't worn her hair down for almost the entirety of Gunnar's first year. She'd tried braids a handful of times; but her son still managed to pull on them. She'd lived in messy buns, double low buns, and braided crowns, the latter whenever her little sister made her take a rest. Mattie would braid her hair into a crown as an excuse to get the eldest Lindqvist to put herself first for a change.

JJ chuckled softly hearing her response. Luckily he was a bit more advanced now that he could understand she not wanting to eat. "We can share something? I am still full from before. Ate like half of Ellie's plate since she got full after the few bites she had. He offered as a way to get both of them to eat. His eyes were glued on his two babies and one of his thumbs gently rubbed over their cheeks. Their skin were so soft that he knew he could never get used to it. "Nana would have kicked my behind if we didn't eat. She even tried to feed you right as you walked into the door of the palace." Remembering the night Agnes had come down he chuckled. That was what it was like though in his family.

Almost like they heard their names they cooed in response and that made JJ smile. "I feel a little overwhelmed but in a good way. Watching them is like my new favorite thing. When Lucy kept sleeping I found myself just staring at them. Everly looks the most like Lucy already and these four are my entire life." He shared as he kept his eyes trained on his kids. It didn't fall on deaf ears when she let that wanting another out. Though he merely smiled and was gonna get around to it later. "You should have seen Ellie when she met them. She full on sobbed when she saw them out. I think she can teach Gunnar a neat trick. She likes when the babies hold their fingers. For Delilah. Rub her stomach. Her finger will briefly grip yours for a second. I think they're gonna love Gunnar."

[harryscherrypie]

I've loved you through centuries ch.4

The arranged marriage

Harry Styles x fem!reader reincarnated au

previous chapter

Summary of the chapter: The prince can't get over the fact that he will be married off to someone, who isn't Agnes. His life becomes a living hell when he has to spend time with his future wife. But Agnes is there to comfort him.

!Photos from mood boards are from Pinterest, credit goes to the creators!

!The people in mood boards in no way represent the looks or skin color of the characters. These are the first photos I found that looked the closest to the image in my mind.!

warnings- Shitty father, arranged marriage, crying, historical inaccuracies

!All people in this story are made up, no one is a historical figure!

---

“Absolutely not, not happening,” he stuttered and his father quickly stood up from the throne.

“You have a duty to this kingdom,” his father started, his voice already loud.

“You are not a child anymore, no more games and fun, you are going to be a king,” his father continued and with every single word coming from his mouth, William’s eyes filled with tears.

“You will get married to the princess of Italy, she is nice, good looking and has a great chance to be a great wife and a queen,” the king continued, not caring about anything his son had to say.

“When will she visit?” William asked defeated.

“She will be here soon, in a few days.” The king announced

“Now, go get your act together, I don’t need her to see you like this. A mess,” he spat and ushered William out of the room.

William went straight towards the kitchens where he knew his Agnes would be. The journey was too long for his liking. It felt like the hallways he walked through his entire life, looked never-ending.

But his torture ended when he stopped in front of the wooden doors. The chatter from behind the doors snapped him out of his thoughts. He swiftly opened them and looked around the room.

The chatter died down and everyone watched the young prince, looking very distressed.

“Your highness, what can we do for you?” the helper, Elizabeth, asked him. He ignored her as he moved towards the back of the room, in the direction of the staff rooms. He quickly found his lover’s door. He didn’t even knock, he just pushed it open.

It was empty. Her bed was made with scratchy covers tucked under the hay-filled mattress. He moved towards the bed and sat on top of it, trying to stop his head from spinning too much. He sat there for a long time before she walked into the room.

“William, what’s wrong?” Agnes quickly moved towards his figure as she dropped to her knees in front of him.

“what’s wrong?” she asked again, more urgently this time and he shook his head.

“I’m so sorry my love,” he sobbed out and she slowly pulled him towards her, gently placing his face into the crook of her neck.

“Tell me, love, what’s wrong,” she tried to get some information out of him. He was quiet for a few minutes, his breathing calming before he dropped the bomb.

“My father arranged a marriage for me,” he breathed out and her eyes widened in surprise.

“What?” she breathed out.

“What do you mean?” Agnes asked teary-eyed and William tried his very best not to break down all over again.

“He arranged a marriage for me, with the princess of Italy,” he repeated and Agnes shook her head in denial.

“No, absolutely not, you are joking right?” she questioned, wishing this wasn’t true.

“I have to get married, and not it’s with you” he whispered sadly.

It was as if everything came to him all at once, and a loud sob came out of him. He won’t be able to be with her, they will have to be apart, he realized. Agnes wrapped her arms around him and he leaned into her, looking for a bit of comfort. They stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon.

---

“You can’t avoid it can you?” Agnes asked him that night. They spent the entire afternoon in her small bed, basking in each other’s presence since they didn’t have much time left together.

“I’m afraid I can’t,” he sighed into her hair as he kissed it softly. He spoke for the first time that afternoon with his voice raspy from the crying.

“So, what will happen with us,” she questioned and his hold tightened around her waist.

“I don’t love that woman. I have never even met her. Nothing will change.” He said and Agnes shook her head.

“But it will, you will be a king and have a wife. I will stay in the same position, a maid.” She started. He went to say something before she shushed him.

“How do you expect me to be okay with the fact that another woman will sleep in your bed? You will have to sleep with her at one point,” she continued, a fresh wave of tears welling up in her eyes. She looked up at him and the look on his face said everything. It was a look of a person defeated in a battle.

He stared off into the distance, wheels in his head, turning. After a few moments, his eyes moved to look into hers.

“We can’t stay together can we?” he asked, the realization hitting him. She only shook her head as she moved to kiss him desperately.

“What are you doing?” he mumbled and she looked into his eyes.

“Just let me distract both of us, will you?” She asked as she moved down his body gently.

---

“Your highness, they are ready for you,” the servant knocked on his room gently and walked in.

“I’m coming, let me fix my shirt,” William mumbled as he buttoned up his shirt for the second time that day.

In a few moments, he walked out into the hallway, just a few moments from meeting his future wife. As he walked down the stairs, he saw the pitiful looks of the castle’s staff.

Only about a few hours ago, he learned that nearly all of the staff knew about them, but didn’t say anything. That just made him feel worse. That so many people believed in them and it had to come to an end now.

When he arrived into the huge hall, William stood in front of the huge wooden doors for a few moments to get his jitters under control. After a few moments, he wordlessly nodded at the two guards standing in front of the massive doors and they pushed them open.

“Ah, there he is, we were waiting for you my boy,” his father spoke up, fake kindness lacing his voice.

“Sorry to keep you waiting father, I got held up by some servants on my way here” he gave a fake excuse and it looked like his father ate it up.

“now, for the introductions, this is king Fabrittio and his beautiful daughter, Vittoria,” he motioned towards the girl in front of him.

She couldn't have been older than 19. Her hair was up in an intricate updo with a beautiful crown full of little diamonds sitting in her hair. Her face was round, with no trace of pimples or acne. Her blue eyes softly looked at him with a little smile on her face.

The dress she wore hugged her form very well. The beautiful blue complimented her eyes and the little swirls in the fabric reminded William of the most beautiful tapestry he had seen in his life.

He walked towards her, moved her knuckles towards his lips, and placed a soft kiss on top of them.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, your highness” He forcefully smiled at her. She blushed a tiny bit and curtsied.

“It’s nice to meet you too your highness,” she spoke softly. Her voice was velvety and sweet, just like her. She was beautiful. Dolled up in a beautiful dress, with jewelry complimenting her outfit just right. Many men would fall in love with her at the first sight.

But William didn’t. The only thing on his mind was his beautiful lover, who was helping in the kitchens, preparing lunch for the king’s guests.

“Now, how about we eat some food and talk about the wedding, I’m sure you want to get to know your future wife,” William’s father gripped his shoulder tightly.

“Yeah, of course, come this way,” William ushered the princess and king of Italy into the main dining hall.

---

“Is she nice at least?” Agnes asked sadly after William returned from his daylong meeting.

“I mean, yeah she is. But she isn’t you,” he smiled sadly as he cuddled up closer to her. Their days together were running out and they wanted to make the most out of them.

“I’m going to miss this so much,” she whispered out and he hummed, his voice cracking with emotion.

“I’m gonna miss this too,”

---

“Do I have to mother?” William asked and the queen smiled at him sadly.

“I’m sorry my dear but I’m afraid that you don’t have a choice,” his mother said gently as he looked sadly to the ground.

“You know that if I could, I would cancel the wedding in a heartbeat. I don’t want you to be sad. Marriage is supposed to be happy.” The queen stroked the prince’s cheek and he smiled sadly.

It was a few weeks before the wedding and it was a day for the future ruler’s painting. William, all clad in his more princely outfit with his hair all trimmed and styled. He wasn’t looking forward to this. Standing beside princess Vittoria and touching her for hours without moving sounded like a nightmare to him.

He always dreamed that the woman he would be getting painted with for the future ruler’s painting would be Agnes. And not some random princess he never spoke to in his entire life.

“I know this is not who you want to spend your afternoon with but if you make this, I will excuse you from your remaining duties and you can spend some time with Agnes huh? How does that sound?”

He nodded, looking a bit happier and she motioned towards the door.

“Let’s go, they are waiting for you… again,” she teased and he offered her his arm. She hooked her arm with his and they walked out of his chambers.

---

The process of painting the royal “couple”, took around 8 hours. It was the longest 8 hours of his entire life. The pose they had to stand in was super uncomfortable and he felt so awkward.

Princess Vittoria was turned to face him with her body, with her hands placed on his chest. His arms were placed on her waist.

The princess tried to make small talk but he cut them short. He didn’t want to talk to her. He just wanted to bury under the covers of his bed with his lover and never leave.

---

“They met in July of 1461, just 3 months after prince William’s 21st birthday. From the staff’s notes, we know, that the whole castle was unhappy with the turn of events.” Ayako explained. She moved towards a large painting set in a golden frame. There were two people looking at the group from the painting. The woman was happy but the man looked miserable. Even if he tried to hide it.

“These are prince William and princess Vittoria just a few days after their first meeting. As you can see, William didn’t look very happy.”

“He looks exactly like you when you have to do something you don’t want to,” Y/N giggled and Harry looked at the painting. It eerily reminded him of him. The prince’s eyes were too similar to his own. He just shook his head, thinking he must be crazy.

“Now, this is where the stuff gets a bit more complicated,” Ayako frowned and moved towards the glass vitrine.

---

When he walked into his room, he was met with a sight of candles and a tub filled with boiling water in the bathing corner. Agnes was humming a soft tune as she poured some herbs into the water of the tub.

“What are you doing my love,” William asked tiredly and Agnes turned around to look at the state he came back to her.

“Hello my prince, I thought that it would do you a good service to soak in a nice relaxing bath,” she explained and his lips curled up in a soft smile. God, he was so grateful for her.

She slowly walked towards him and moved her hands towards the buttons on his shirt and started to unbutton them. She made her way down his chest and when she unbuttoned the last button she pressed a soft kiss on his chest. He shrugged the shirt off and it fell to the floor.

“You want my help with the pants too?” She teased lightly and he shook his head and pulled his pants down his long legs. She didn’t say anything, only pulled him towards the bathtub.

He thanked her quietly and kissed her forehead before he stepped into the scorching water. He hissed out a bit as the heat seeped into his tired muscles.

He closed his eyes and leaned his back to the wall of the tub. She took a small cup from the side of the tub and started to wash his hair.

“You don’t need to do this love,” he spoke quietly and she shushed him by kissing his cheek.

“I want to do this for you, William, don’t make me stop please,” she pleaded and hummed in agreement.

After his hair was wet, she took a small glass bottle of shampoo and poured a bit of it into his hair. Then she massaged it into his scalp thoroughly.

“That feels good my love,” he groaned as she rubbed the skin behind his ear.

“M’ glad you are enjoying it,” she smiled and rinsed her hands in the tub water.

He got out of the tub when it got cold and Agnes wrapped him up in a towel and a fur blanket, so he won’t get sick. She got his sleeping clothes out and helped him get dressed.

“Ready for bed love?” she asked softly and he nodded sadly, the difficulty of the day heaving upon him. She pulled him towards his huge bed and tucked him into the bed.

“You are going to stay with me right?” he asked tiredly as he tightened his hold on her hand.

“Of course not my prince, I’m just going around the bed, not going anywhere,” she reassured him and his panicked expression disappeared.

She quickly moved to take off her apron, dress, and headscarf. The clothing fell to the floor and the only thing that got left was her undergarments.

“God, I am a lucky one aren’t I?” he asked as he moved his eyes up and down her body. Her cheeks heated up in a slight embarrassment and shot him an angry expression.

“You don’t have to be embarrassed my love, you look absolutely beautiful.” He mumbled and pulled her to lay on top of him.

She rolled from the top of him to the side and quickly slipped under the covers. He didn’t waste any time and he quickly rolled on top of her and buried his face into the crook of his neck.

“Thank you for taking care of me, it means so much,” he whispered as he cuddled up to her.

“Thank you for letting me, I wanted to do something for you, you had a very rough day” she explained and moved her hand to tangle up in his curls.

“Wanted to spend some time with you before you are off to get married,” she explained and kissed the top of his head.

“I don’t want to get married,” he whispered sadly. He knew that if he said it any louder, his voice would crack.

“I don’t want you to get married too, I wanted to be the one to marry you.” She pouted and he kissed her exposed collarbone.

“Maybe one day,” he whispered, closed his eyes, and drifted off to a dreamless sleep.

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The next chapter

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