#I’m not insinuating that Sister pats herself on the back for what she’s done for Copia

[ficandkaboodle]

The implications left by Sister using her position to give Copia everything he wanted (and stuff he didn’t necessarily want) while still controlling everything…Like a mother who thinks providing the bare minimum can make up for their failings in the realm of emotional support…

[iliveiloveiwrite]

Pain in My Heart // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Could I please request a Bridgerton imagine where Eloise or Daphne are trying to matchmake Reader with one of their brothers (you can pick which one) but Reader actually hits it off with another brother who's in love at first sight (again, your choice!!). - @libraryoffandomsuniverse

A/N: I am so sorry for how long this has taken!! I hope I have done your request justice. I had a lot of fun writing this, I’m pretty proud of what I’ve come up so I hope you like!! Thank you for requesting! Title: Pain in My Heart - Otis Redding

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Platonic), Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader (Romantic)

Warnings: pining, mutual pining, awful flirting (I can't write it for the life in me), unrequited love (?), a pride and prejudice moment, love confessions, fluff, very very light angst.

Word count: 4.7k

There wasn’t a lot that Daphne and Eloise Bridgerton had in common. It was thought by their mother that due to their closeness in age, they would get along swimmingly. However, by the time that Eloise could speak for herself, it became increasingly clear that there were to be no two people different than that of Eloise and Daphne.

However, whilst the two did not share the same tastes in music or literature, they were united in the hope that they would see their elder brothers happily in love.

It is on a Wednesday in the middle of February when Daphne decides that it is time for her eldest brother, Anthony, to find a wife.

Her decision is made when Anthony stalks into the family drawing room. The only sign of his anger being the blazing of his eyes. Dramatically, he throws himself onto the closest couch, his legs stretching across the pale blue fabric as he laments the meddling of mothers.

Daphne barely represses the urge to roll her eyes. She could tell that Eloise was having a hard time not telling her brother how easy he had it in comparison to rights of women and marriage.

Thankfully, however, Anthony is saved from such a lecture by the announcement of a beloved friend. (Y/N) (Y/L/N) had known the Bridgerton family for as long as she had been alive. The same age as Daphne, the two had fallen into an easy friendship that grew more cherished the more time passed.

Upon her announcement, Anthony sits up with keen interest. An action not missed by both Daphne and Eloise – they share a look, one only understood by sisters with masses of brothers.

“Dear (Y/N),” Daphne greets, standing from her chair to greet her lifelong friend, “How have you been?”

“I’ve been very well though it has only been a couple of days since you saw me last.”

Daphne laughs; a light and airy sound. “I can still miss you in that time. Come, sit by me and we can catch up.”

The two women are soon joined by Eloise who places her book down on the table, spine up so she does not lose her page. From where they sit, neither Anthony nor Benedict can hear what the women seem to be whispering about though it seems to be of a serious issue with grave looks on their faces.

Benedict decides that he doesn’t like the look of frustration on her face; the furrow of her brows. If it wouldn’t raise questions of his sanity, he would press his thumb to the furrow, smoothing out her brow so not a trace of the worry remained.

“(Y/N),” Anthony calls, interrupting the conversation currently taking place between the three women, “Would you be attending Lord and Lady Hopton’s ball later on this week? Lord Hopton has done nothing but discuss the expense being put into the event.”

(Y/N) swallows her small sip of tea, placing the cup and saucer down on the table before answering the eldest Bridgerton. “I do plan on attending,” She smiles, fiddling with her gloved fingers.

A pleased smile breaks out across Anthony’s face as he nods. Turning away from her, Anthony walks back to the pale blue couch that only mere moments ago he had thrown himself across in vexation at his dear mother. Now, he sits down gently, making sure every ounce of his nobility is on show.

Benedict cannot help but roll his eyes at the antics of his elder brother. As if on a covert mission for the crown, Benedict’s gaze slides back to her – runs over her figure, taking in the way her dress sits on her form and the way her smile lights up her whole face. He’s a fool in love, he realises, but he would rather be a fool in love with her than a fool in love with anyone else.

It’s as if he finally understands what the poets write about; how the artists never paint more than their muse. As Benedict peers down at the sketchbook in his hands, he comes to realise that he has been drawing her for months. He has found his muse and it’s close to breaking him when he sees the plotting glance shared between Daphne and Eloise.

(Y/N) sits at the table, utterly unaware of the plan being concocted between his sisters. He has the urge to scream, to yell but he keeps quiet. Benedict becomes the very definition of decorum; smiling politely at her when their eyes meet from across the room. The very moment sends his heart skipping a beat before picking up a rhythm he isn’t certain is compatible with life. He has to stop himself from reaching up to grab his chest to ensure his heart doesn’t beat right out of it.

All too soon the moment is over, and she returns to laughing with his younger sisters, but even she knows that something has changed between them. (Y/N) wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight; the very notion belonging only to fairytales, but she, herself, could not deny the thrill that overtook her body when she met the blue eyes of Benedict Bridgerton.

-----------

Lord and Lady Hopton owned one of the last remaining Tudor residences in London. Many had fallen during the reformation, but in some strange stroke of luck, the Hopton’s home had remained largely undamaged. From there, it passed down the male line as all properties and titles were wont to do in such a society.

The current Lord and Lady prided themselves on the tracking of their lineage, dedicating themselves to the conservation of their home. It was rare for them to throw a ball such as this one, but with the favourable weather, Lady Hopton was able to convince her husband it would be well enough for the courtyard to be used to entertain their nearest and dearest.

There was no set theme; an idea many were grateful for. As much as (Y/N) loved the dress up, the competitive nature between eligible ladies wasn’t something she was in the mood for.

The atmosphere is much more relaxed as (Y/N) takes a turn about the room, smiling politely at the women she has grown up with in London society. They would be civil towards each other, but there was no real friendships forged. (Y/N) was quite content with the Bridgerton brood.

Though they had arrived together, (Y/N) found herself wandering from the comforting presence of the family. She could feel Anthony’s eyes on her, and she thinks of Daphne’s suggestion from the other day; the eldest Bridgerton girl had all but suggested that (Y/N) marry Anthony.

Whilst the suggestion was flattering, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the moment she shared with Benedict. She thinks of the moment often; remembers the way his stare felt, as if he was staring into her very soul and he liked what he found. She thinks of the way her body responded; the shiver sent through her and how she realised that she liked the way he looked at her. As if she hung the moon and stars in the sky for him, and him alone.

(Y/N) loses herself in the crowd. She wanders and wanders, watching new love form and old love strengthen as she catches sight of couples beginning their night. (Y/N) continues her ruminating until she bumps into something hard. Another body.

(Y/N) cringes when she finds herself face to face with the chest of Benedict Bridgerton. “Benedict!” She gasps, “I’m sorry.”

He steadies her with a gentle hand to her elbow. “You have nothing to apologise for. You looked to be deep in thought, I’m only sorry for interrupting you.”

(Y/N) feels her skin begin to flush. I was thinking of you, she wants to cry at the man, but she only just manages to refrain herself.

Benedict laughs before he can stop himself. “If you’re reacting like that, I have to know what you were thinking of.”

“Nothing for nosies,” She responds, a coy smile crossing her painted lips.

Benedict gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock hurt. “You wound me, (Y/N).”

“I’m sure you’ll recover,” (Y/N) laughs, patting Benedict’s arm in mock pity.

“I don’t know,” Benedict expresses, his eyes running over her face and outfit. “I think I’m going to need someone to nurse me back to health.”

(Y/N) feels her skin once again begin to heat at the insinuation in his words. She had encountered banter before with the Bridgerton brothers, but she had never encountered such overt flirting. Benedict’s eyes glittered with mirth; his smile crinkling the corners of his eyes – this was him. This was Benedict in his element; he was an artist, a gentleman, and a man that could render her speechless with a simple line of speech.

She finds it hard to respond for a moment; finds it hard to string two thoughts together in his intoxicating presence. She flounders for a second, watching Benedict continue to smile widely as if he had nothing better to do than waste time with her.

Eventually, she collects herself enough. She peers up at the man from under her lashes, fluttering them to the best of her ability as she whispers, “Such requests may make the recovery period a lot longer and a lot harder.”

Leaving the man speechless, (Y/N) pats his arm once more before taking her leave. Feeling hot and bothered by her encounter with Benedict, (Y/N) ambles over to drinks table. Daphne and Eloise stand there nursing their own drinks; they smile widely at their friend as she approaches the table.

“Have you given thought to what I suggested the other day?” Daphne asks; watching her best friend over the rim of her lemonade glass.

“Courting Anthony?” (Y/N) clarifies, reaching for her glass of the tepid drink. She frowns absentmindedly; it was one of the main issues with balls, they never could keep the drinks cold enough to be refreshing throughout the night. They almost always turned sour.

“The very suggestion,” (Y/N)’s dearest friend states with a smile.

“It wouldn’t work,” (Y/N) protests, urging her friends to see the truth. “We aren’t suited for each other.”

“Anthony disagrees,” Daphne chimes, looking and feeling all to superior in the conversation. “He confided to me only yesterday that he wants to court you.”

The ground is close to swallowing her whole; the walls becoming far too close for her liking. Her mouth is dry when she tries to swallow around the lump in her throat. “That wouldn’t be fair to him,” She croaks, feeling all too close to tears.

“Why not?” Daphne demands, making her vexation known by placing her hands on her hips.

“Daphne,” Eloise interrupts, glancing warily between the two women. “(Y/N) isn’t in love with Anthony. She’s in love with someone else.”

The fight leaves her beloved friend in an instant; she brings a hand to her mouth to cover the shock of Eloise’s words. “I didn’t know,” She whispers, “I wouldn’t have pushed so hard.”

“I know you wouldn’t have,” (Y/N) appeases, “I’m rather new to this.”

“Do we know who it is?” Daphne asks, unable to keep the excitement off her face as she thinks of the handful of men worthy enough to love her dear friend.

(Y/N) sighs, deciding whether to come clean and tell her longest friend that she has found herself hopelessly in love with her brother. She hadn’t even expected it. “It’s Benedict,” She eventually confesses, feeling pressured by the investigative gaze of Daphne Bridgerton.

“Benedict?” Daphne asks, confused, “As in my other brother?”

“The very same,” (Y/N) comments lightly… too lightly as if ready to be on the defence for her feelings for Benedict.

Daphne blinks once, twice before her face breaks with the most beautiful smile. “Oh (Y/N)!” She cries, “This is wonderful!”

“He might not love me back,” (Y/N) whispers, doing her best to keep a light spin on the situation but the idea that Benedict may not return her feelings hurts far more than it should.

“And Anthony still wants to court you,” Eloise reminds her, her voice close to pity.

“Speaking of the devil,” Daphne murmurs with a smile on her face, “Anthony is heading this way.”

“He is?” (Y/N) asks, pivoting on the spot to the find the eldest Bridgerton making his way through the crowd. He smiles at his sisters, briefly checking their glasses to ensure they were sticking strictly to the lemonade offered. When he is suited with what he finds, he turns to (Y/N) and holds out his hand. “Would you care to dance?” He asks her with a confident smile.

She nods her consent, taking his offered hand and allowing herself to be led to the floor. Anthony leads her expertly across the floor; lessons as a child and years in the London society forging him to be an impressive dancer. He makes her laugh as they continue dance, and whilst (Y/N) has a good time with the eldest Bridgerton, she cannot see herself falling for the man like she can see her entire future with Benedict.

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

The ball had wound down naturally; families and lovers beginning to make their way home through the early morning London streets. (Y/N) travels with the Bridgertons, having arrived with them in the first place. Daphne focuses on the streets of London, doing her best not to fall asleep before getting home to her bed.

“How are you getting home?” Daphne asks, not removing her gaze from the darkened streets of the capital city.

“I’m not sure, I don’t want to have to wait for another carriage,” (Y/N) complains, holding a hand to her mouth to cover a yawn that had slipped out. The tiredness was clinging to her bones now; she wanted nothing more to crawl into her own bed, sink into the pillows and fall into a dreamworld where Benedict climbs into the other side of the bed.

“Stay with us,” Eloise invites, meeting Anthony’s eyes.

“I wouldn’t be an imposition?” (Y/N) asks smally; the last thing she wanted was to be burden on her friends.

“You never could be,” Anthony smiles, “You’re always welcome to stay the night.”

“Thank you, Anthony,” She whispers, reaching for his hand in the dark and squeezing.

Silence falls for the rest of the ride; the weariness of each of them punctuating the air, creating a warmer atmosphere that leaves (Y/N) blinking away sleep. Eloise does her best to remain awake, but her head soon winds up on Anthony’s shoulder to which the man looks the surprised. He recovers quickly, adjusting his younger sister to make her more comfortable.

The Bridgerton siblings and (Y/N) all sigh in blessed relief when the carriage rolls to a stop outside Bridgerton House. The door opening lets in a cold blast of air, making her shiver as she reaches for the handle to help herself down.

“Here,” Benedict’s voice sounds in the dark light of night, “Let me help you.”

His hand reaches for hers; it clasps hers gently as he helps her down from the carriage. All too soon, his hand falls from hers and (Y/N) is left feeling bereft from the absence of his touch. “Thank you,” She whispers, taking a risk and glancing up at the blue eyes already fixed steadily on her.

“You’re welcome,” He murmurs. Benedict glances back to the carriage to find the rest of his family descending on them. “Goodnight,” He whispers, ducking his head in a bow and leaving her on the steps of Bridgerton House.

(Y/N) watches the man depart in somewhat of a daze. If she focused hard enough, she could still feel his hand in hers. She could feel every fingerprint, every crease, every line in his palm. She could feel it all; she wanted to feel more. She wanted everything with that man; would happily offer up her everything for a single glimpse at what it could be like to wake up in his arms and be happy.

Sighing heavily, she touches a hand to her forehead, pausing in the grand entryway of the Bridgerton family home. She felt so keenly for the man that she knew she would suffer the worst fate to man should he not return her feelings: heartbreak.

“(Y/N)?” Anthony calls from the door, his arm around Eloise’s waist. “Would you meet me in my study? I need to talk to you.”

“Of course,” She allows, smiling at the sight before her. Anthony whispers something to his sister to which Eloise offers her goodnights and begins to climb the stairs to her room, Anthony following behind her with a worried look on his face that only a beloved brother could master.

Anthony’s study smelled of wood polish; the mahogany desk sitting by the windows being the main feature of the room. It’s dark wood providing the much of the fragrance in the room; it’s a comforting scent. (Y/N) smiles when she realises that it’s comforting as it reminds her of the Viscount; the scent of his spicy cologne intermingled with the wood, becoming one and the same.

“Thank you for waiting,” Anthony whispers, closing the door behind him, “I know how tired you are, but I really wanted to speak to you.”

“Whatever’s the matter?”

Suddenly, Anthony no longer holds the prowess of a Viscount but rather, looks like the eighteen year old boy handed a peerage all too soon. He runs a hand through his hair out of nerves, pacing back and forth behind his desk. Eventually, he comes to a slow stop, resting his hands on the back of his father’s ageing chair. “Have you given any thought to your future?”

“It’s been on my mind more and more these days,” She answers honestly. It’s all she has thought of since her eyes met Benedict’s across the room and she got a glimpse into what her mornings, afternoons, evenings with the man could be like.

“I think we could be good together,” Anthony argues, offering up a slice of his heart for the taking, “I think we work well together.”

“Anthony, may I be honest with you for a moment?”

“I��d hope for nothing more.”

She takes a deep breath; steeling her nerves before smiling at the Viscount. “With all due respect, I don’t think you do love me.”

Anthony moves to interrupt her; a flash of anger and upset in his eyes. He quietens when she holds up a single hand; begging him to let her continue. “Anthony, I think you were looking for someone to stop your mother from pestering you about marriage. I just happened to walk into the room at the right moment.”

Anthony frowns; he takes in (Y/N)’s words, letting them roll around his mind as he thinks back to the first day when he realised he could truly love the woman sitting in front of him. Violet Bridgerton had been on him from the moment he walked through the front door; producing yet another list of eligible women in London that he could find a potential match in. He had taken the list from his beloved mother and in the privacy of his study, he had ripped the list to tiny pieces making sure that none of the names were legible.

On some level, he has always loved her. (Y/N) had been in his life from the very day she was born; mother being friends, Violet able to offer (Y/N)’s advice as she was her firstborn. At this point, Violet was a seasoned expert on motherhood. Anthony had always known of the girl that was best friends with Daphne; he had watched her grow up. On some level, he has always had some feeling for her.

He knows know, though, that those feelings could never broach romance. There was too deep an affection between them.

“You’re right,” Anthony states, “It wouldn’t be a love match.”

“It wouldn’t,” She affirms, taking a seat in front of the large, wooden desk. Silhouettes of his parents and siblings decorate the space; it brings a fond smile to her face. Anthony presented a strong front, but in private, he was as much the adoring son and brother.

“But you think you have found your love match,” Anthony declares, wanting to clear the air.

“I’m not sure,” She laughs mirthlessly. “I have no clue as to whether he feels the same.”

“He’d be an idiot, not to,” Anthony compliments, “Do I know the lucky man?”

(Y/N) looks sheepish as she stares at the Viscount. She had already confessed to Daphne and Eloise – what harm could one more person do?

“It’s Benedict.”

“You love him,” Anthony whispers; not an accusation, not an ounce of anger in his voice. A simple fact stated for the room.

(Y/N) nods. “I do. I love him with all that I am and all that I know I could be.”

A sad, bittersweet smile crosses Anthony’s face; he won’t speak of how the words hurt him. He reaches for her hand and clasps it tightly between both of his.

“Go to him,” He whispers, “You have my blessing.”

(Y/N) stands. Her intention is to leave the room and find the Bridgerton who had so readily taken root within her heart, but first she crosses to where Anthony stands behind his desk. He watches her with curious eyes as the silk of her glove brushes his cheek; his eye flutter closed when he feels the featherlight press of her lips and the whisper of her gratitude.

Anthony keeps his eyes closed when she pulls away from him; he keeps them closed until he hears the tell-tale click of the door. It is only then that Anthony allows himself to open his eyes and peer into the heartbreak now cracking open his chest. Not for the love he though he felt, but for the utter want racing through his body. He wants a love like that; he was going to find a love like that.

They would be happy together; he thinks to himself as he breathes in the floral scent of her perfume. They would be happy together, perfectly suited to the point that Anthony craves such intimacy. One day; he promises, one day he would hold such a treasure within his hands.

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

Bridgerton House remained warm and inviting even after the family had long retired for bed. The sconces lining the walls still lit; their warm light easy on anyone’s eyes should they need to traverse the hallways for whatever reason.

The path to Benedict’s room isn’t one she has taken often. Thinking on it, (Y/N) realises that save for being shown the door on her first ever visit to the London home, she has not stepped foot close to the room since. Until tonight, that is.

Her skirts swish delicately underfoot as (Y/N) makes her way to his room. She doesn’t dare utter a single breath for the fear of being caught; all around her slumber her closest friends. If she were caught by a member of staff, her reputation balanced on being ruined.

Her hand trembles as she clenches it into a fist, raises it to the plain white door and knocks twice. She waits on the threshold, twisting her fingers into her skirts – a nervous habit she’s had since she was a child. She was thankful that she no longer bit her nails down to the bed.  

“Come in,” calls his quiet voice and her nerves only heighten. Taking a deep breath, she pushes open the door that could reveal her future.

“(Y/N),” Benedict gasps, the deep v of his shirt falling open, revealing far more of his bare chest than (Y/N) had expected to see tonight.

“I wanted to talk to you,” She whispers, hovering between the doorway and his room. She does her best to not stare at the defined muscles on display but loses the battle. Her eyes run over the parts of his muscular torso and the strong forearms shown with the sleeves of white shirt rolled up. She didn’t think it was possible to be attracted to the forearms of a person, but here was Benedict proving her wrong.

“What if you get caught?” He whisper-asks, worry lacing his tone as he glances at something behind her. She turns on instinct only to find an empty hallway and three lit sconces.

“Anthony knows where I am,” She retorts, stepping further into Benedict’s room.

“Anthony?”

“He gave me his blessing.”

“To enter my room… unattended… late at night?”

“Essentially, yes,” She smiles, thinking back to her conversation with the Viscount.

“Why were you talking to Anthony?” Benedict asks before he can stop himself. He doesn’t like the simmering jealousy he feels that the picture of (Y/N) alone with Anthony in his study. He clears his throat to chase away the hollow ache of envy; he doesn’t want to picture the conversation. He doesn’t think he could handle it.

“He asked me to court him.”

“Oh,” Benedict responds, feeling his heart begin to crack in his chest. “What did you say?”

“I told him I couldn’t. We wouldn’t suit each other and one other thing.”

“What other thing?”

“I don’t love him. I love someone else.”

“You do? Do I know them?”

(Y/N) laughs, stretching her arms out as she gestures to Benedict’s bedroom. “I’m stood in your room in the middle of the night, Benedict, with full knowledge that if I were to be caught by any of the staff, I would be ruined. What does that tell you?”

Benedict frowns, refusing to let himself fall into the hope growing in his chest. He feels like Icarus; too close to the sun, too close to thing he wants most in this world.

“Stop this pain in my heart,” She commands weakly. “Stop this pain and tell me if you feel the same. If you don’t, I understand but I’d ask you not to tell anyone of this midnight visit.”

His mouth runs dry, and he finds it hard to answer. He’s falling, falling, falling for the woman stood across from him and he cannot find the words to accurately describe the depth of his feelings for her. That day in the drawing room – he’s known her for years, always been aware of her, but that day, it was as if he was finally seeing her for the pure beauty that she inhabits. She could rival Aphrodite herself.

Upset shutters across (Y/N)’s face as she nods twice, trying her best to keep the burn of tears at bay. “It’s okay, Benedict,” She whispers, turning for the door, “Thank you for listening.”

At the last moment, Benedict reaches out and snatches her wrist. “Don’t go,” He pleads, “Don’t leave me. I don’t think I could live with myself if you left me.”

“I don’t understand,” She whispers; confusion lacing her voice. Her eyebrows furrow as she stares at the man before her, “You didn’t say anything. You stayed silent; I took that as my cue to leave.”

Benedict shakes his head. “Don’t go,” He whispers, bringing a hand up to card through the loose strands of hair framing her face. He almost preens as she leans into his touch. “I feel the same, I love you just the same,” Benedict confesses; feeling the weight leave his chest.

“You do?” She asks; her voice small but hopeful.

“I do,” Benedict smiles, brushing her cheek with his finger, “I think I always have, but I didn’t realise until recently.”

(Y/N) sniffles as tears threaten to make an appearance. She laughs wetly, unable to stop the giggle from leaving her mouth as Benedict wipes away the tears. “I hope those are happy tears,” He murmurs wryly.

“They are,” She answers, throwing her arms around his neck and pulling him down to her level. “They definitely are.”

“Good,” He answers.

Their faces are so close now it would only take a fraction of a movement to press their lips together; to seal the promise of their union. “Kiss me, Benedict,” She whispers; need lacing her voice as she stares into his famously blue eyes.

Benedict doesn’t need to be told twice; it isn’t often he gets to kiss a goddess.

********

Bridgerton taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore​ @dreaming-about-fanfictions​ @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown​ @janelongxox​ @magicalxdaydream​ @aspiringsloth20​ @wallwriterstuff​ @darkestbeforethedawn16​ @gryffindors-weasley​ @spideysz​ 

Taglist is open! Drop me an ask to be added! :)

[themusicplayedherlife]

Unrequited (Part 6)

pairing: bucky barnes x reader characters: bucky barnes (texts), reader, steve rogers (mention), natasha romanoff, wanda maximoff, pietro maximoff, sharon carter (mention)  word count: 3k+ warnings: uhhh, none? i thiink??? correct me if im wrong, probably many mistakes, forgive me summary: things are changing and its startng to get hard to keep up a/n: so, i lied, this chapter isn’t as long, but because i cut the chapters in half, working on the next part still, but thought this one ended at the right moment, and trust me, it did. i can’t wait to truly introduce sam and really stir the pot with wanda :3

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Wanda doesn’t look at you, keeping her eyes on the mug full of tea in front of her. She hasn’t taken a single sip of it since you set it down in front of her and if someone was staring at you the way you’re staring at her, you wouldn’t either. But you can’t help it! She’s a stranger in your home! 

Sure, a stranger who happens to be Pietro’s twin and who you offered to stay with you, but that doesn’t take away from the fact that she’s not only someone you don’t know personally, but she’s someone you don’t know personally and showed up unexpectedly in your apartment!

“So,” you start slowly, “how exactly did you get in?” It comes out more aggressive and accusing than you meant it to sound like. You practically wince at the end of your question.

Her face morphs, uncomfortably neutral expression changing into one of alarm. “Pietro. He gave me a key—he said it would be all right and that you had allowed me to stay with you until I find my own place.”

“We did, but we weren’t expecting you tonight or to even have a key,” you admit, trying not to repeat your earlier mistake. She’s already feeling uncomfortable, no need to make it worse. “But it’s fine.” Wow. That was not convincing enough. That sounded completely half assed and maybe just a tiny bit passive aggressive! Get it together!

“I’m sorry—“ Her hasty apology is cut off by the front door being thrown open by an angry Natasha, emerald eyes sharp and sweeping the room until they land on you and Wanda.

“I promise I was going to tell you both—“ Pietro’s voice flows into the apartment from behind her and she whips her glare in his direction as she walks into the apartment. “Natasha—“

“Don’t,” she warns him, raising her hand to cut him off. “She’s already here, can’t do anything about that.”

Wanda scrambles to her feet, plaster on a sweet smile. “Hello, you must be Natasha, I’m—“

“I know who you are.” There really isn’t an edge to her voice when she talks to Wanda, maybe a hardness in her eyes from being taken aback by her presence, but no anger. “Welcome, Wanda. Please excuse me, I’m going to change out of my clothes and then we can have a proper talk.” She makes her way deeper into the apartment, dropping in front of her bedroom door and looks over at Pietro before disappearing into her room. 

While you’re not entirely happy at having been blindsided, you can’t help but reach out to Pietro. A warm hand on his shoulder and gently patting it like one would with their pet, not that Pietro is a pet, but sometimes he could act like one. “You okay?”

He sighs. “She gave me the silent treatment the whole way here.”

“In the uber?” She could’ve been distracted texting Clint like she was earlier with you.

Except, Pietro shakes his head, understanding what you were trying to insinuate. “No, Steve dropped us off. Lots of chatter, but she was blatantly ignoring me.”

Your mouth parts at his confession—Steve did? Does that mean he didn’t leave with Sharon? Is there hope for you yet?

“What about you? You okay?”

You snap your head in his direction, pausing in your petting to find him directing the question at you and not his sister who is standing awkwardly by the dining table. “Peachy,” you promise, even though you’re not entirely sure of that yourself. “Wanda? Would you like me to reheat your tea?”

She glances away from you and nods. “Yes, please, that’d be great.”

Taking her cup of lukewarm, almost cold tea, you dump it back into the small pot you had heated the water in, and turn on the burner.

Natasha’s bedroom door opens and she steps out dressed in comfy pajamas before veering a sharp right and entering the bathroom.

“Would it be best if I find a hotel to stay at tonight?” Wanda offers quietly and Pietro rushes to her side, ready to convince her otherwise, but it’s you that ends up speaking up.

“Ah, no, no, don’t worry. Natasha is just—processing,” you eventually settle on, not entirely convinced at your choice of word. But it’s basically what she’s doing, taking in all the information and trying to figure out how best to handle it. A trait she learned from her dad. Or, she’s bustling in anger and trying to hold back from exploding. A trait she also learned from her dad. “Don’t worry, she’s not mad.” You think. 

Sometimes you can’t tell. 

It seems to be enough for Wanda, probably trusting you to know her best. “Thank you.”

Pietro and Wanda sit down at the dining table, her hand in his as they speak in hushed tones, a foreign language—Sakovian—being traded back and forth. You give them their time, their own moment to process this—whatever this is or turns out to be.

With a sigh, you reach into your phone just as it vibrates in your hand—a new message from Bucky. As the water boils, you turn off the heat and carefully refill the mug with Wanda’s tea, all the while reading the prior messages he sent in order.

James Bucky: How's the party?

James Bucky: Please tell me you found Steve.

James Bucky: The only reasonable and acceptable answer to why you’re not responding is that you found Steve and are flirting with him

James Bucky: I’m bored, so I started watching the Lion King and Lion King 2

James Bucky: I am definitely not Zazu

James Bucky: Kovu was done dirty

James Bucky: I’m not Simba either

James Bucky: I’m Kovu

James Bucky: He’s my kindred spirit

James Bucky: Hey, Steve and Sam just got home and told me you disappeared during the party? You okay?

Placing the empty pot back over the turned off burner, the smile that had been on your face falls when you read his newest message.

You: I’d have preferred to be watching those movies than be at the party

You’re about to lock your screen when the speech bubbles appear, and a second later his messages roll through.

James Bucky: Why?

James Bucky: What happened?

James Bucky: You okay?

James Bucky: Need me to kick someone’s ass? Because I can kick Steve’s ass.

You purse your lips and hover over the keyboard, wondering if you should tell him or be vague. “That’s the whole point of this, right? Getting their attention?” Exhaling softly, you throw your head back—are you two friends or not? You can’t fucking tell when Bucky says things like that and then things like this. Why won’t he make up his damn mind? 

You: A lot happened 

You: I’ll let you know tomorrow or another day.

You watch the text bubbles as they appear and disappear repeatedly, until finally, he sends: 

James Bucky: Right. 

James Bucky: Sounds good. 

James Bucky: Have a good night.

You stare at his messages and reread them over and over before sighing and typing out one last message.

You: you too, Bucky.

Turning back to the twins with Wanda’s cup of tea, you gently place it down in front of her. She and Pietro pause their conversation, both of them sending you grateful smiles. And you can’t help but notice how similar their smiles are. Most pictures you’ve seen of Wanda have her smiling tightlipped—forced almost, while Pietro’s are wide and toothy. But this time, they’re both mostly identical, grateful and small.

The bathroom door opens and Natasha steps out with a pale face—little hairs around her face clinging to her forehead and eyes a little bloodshot. She’s patting her face with a small, cotton towel. “Sorry, I needed to get more comfortable to have this talk.”

“I completely understand.”

“Why tonight?” Natasha doesn’t beat around the bush, immediately questioning the twins. “We thought you weren't in for another few weeks? Or so we were told.”

Wanda winces, and Pietro does too, the two resembling a Cocker Spaniel and a Labrador Retriever being reprimanded by their owner.

“I—it’s completely my fault I had to change my flight to earlier and—“

“No, I made her change her flight earlier just in case—“

They’re both talking over each other, making it hard to hear what either of them are saying, but with a simple clearing of her throat, Natasha is able to quiet them down.

She sighs, leaning back into her seat. “It doesn’t matter anymore. You’re here now, but I just wish you would’ve told us so we could’ve been ready,” she directs the last bit to Pietro. “We haven’t bought the air mattress we were thinking of getting—“

“Or made space for your things,” you finish for Natasha.

Wanda straightens in her seat and shakes her head. “It’s okay, really. I can’t thank you both enough for even thinking of allowing me to stay. I can sleep on the couch and my things can stay in my bag.” She says it with so much eagerness and gratefulness that it takes you by surprise. “It’s not a big deal.”

You and Natasha both share a look of uncertainty and you can’t help but wonder if she’s thinking the same thing as you.

“It’s only until I can get a place of my own.”

Your eyes slide to Pietro, who looks away from you three, lips set in a frown. His hands on the table are balled, nails probably digging into the soft flesh of his palm. Does he feel guilty? Or is there more to this?

“Take your time,” Natasha assures her as Pietro meets your gaze. The hardness around his eyes soften and his hands slowly come undone when you lift an eyebrow in his direction. “I’m sorry we can’t offer you something more permanent, but…”

“No, I understand. Thank you,” Wanda says, gaining your attention as she flashes you both a small smile, “both of you.”

Natasha nods and pushes herself away from the table as she stands. “Why don’t you take my room for tonight? I’m sure you’re tired after a, what ten hour flight?”

“Twelve,” Pietro interjects softly.

“No, no, I couldn’t possibly—“

“It’s fine.” Natasha wraps an arm around your shoulder. “I’ll just stay with this one for the night.”

You nudge her side and she chuckles.

Wanda excuses herself to get ready for bed, leaving you, Natasha, and Pietro in the living room to dwell in silence for a second before Natasha breaks it. 

“Is your sister okay?” she asks, her arm around your shoulders dropping to her side.

Pietro stills, eyes darting between you two. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just tired.”

You frown, worry growing from the way Pietro’s eyes take shifty glances at the closed bathroom. “That’s not what we—“ A hand settles on your thigh, squeezing gently—a warning.

She shakes her head when you send her a questioning glance.

“Okay,” she says. “Why don’t you take the couch for the night? I’m sure Wanda will feel more comfortable with you here.”

He pauses, maybe thinks about his unresolved mess with Crystal, but then he nods with a small smile on his lips. “Thank you.”

Natasha is already in bed by the time you’re done using the restroom, but she’s not asleep, she’s sitting up and resting against the wall, scrolling through her phone with a smile on her face just like earlier this evening. 

You slip in next to her and she locks her phone, placing it on the high, thin dresser next to her, before sliding down with you.

“When’s the last time we shared a bed?” she asks and you shrug in response.

“Probably senior year?”

“A long time.” She turns to face you. “We should do this more often, then. Give Wanda an actual bed once in a while.”

You laugh, agreeing as you nuzzle into your pillow, but as you think back on the conversation that happened only moments ago, your smile falls. “You felt something was off, too, right?”

Her own smile falls. “Yes,” she answers with a little trepidation, eyes glazing over as she mulls over her thoughts. “I don’t think it’s any of our business. If it were just Pietro, then I’d push for answers, but…”

“I know.” You have to respect Wanda’s privacy. You hardly know the girl anyway, and even if you did, you can’t exactly force a person to unload all their problems onto you, especially not one that you semi accused of breaking into your apartment. Besides, it’s not your place.

“Enough about that.” She bites her lip, green eyes twinkling with mirth. “I saw you talking to Steve.” You groan, lifting the blanket to cover your face and she laughs, the sound tinkering loudly in your room even if she tries to keep the volume down. “I think that was the first time I didn’t see you flailing about.”

“Please stop,” you whine, fighting off the heat beginning to crawl under your skin.

She tries yanking away the duvet, but you resist by holding on tight. “And don’t think I didn’t notice you disappeared when Sharon showed up,” she says this much more softer, worried. “When I couldn’t see you anymore, Pietro and I grew worried. And when I saw Sharon…”

That makes you pause, allowing Natasha to harshly tug the duvet and she practically jerks away from you, having not expected you to not put up a fight. She blinks at you after a moment and her eyes soften when you ask, “Did he notice?”

“No.” A pang in your chest, and a sigh escapes your lips as you roll onto your back. “He did notice that you left—” when though? Soon after? An hour after? “—but didn’t connect your disappearance to Sharon.”

What were you expecting? He notices you’re gone and realizes it was because he left you for Sharon? Why would he notice? When all of his attention has always been for the blonde and her sweet smiles. So what if he called you cute? That doesn’t mean anything. Especially not compared to his ex.

“Of course, he didn’t,” you murmur, but you don’t want to talk or think about Steve, or Sharon, or have your heart broken more than once tonight. Instead, you push away your self doubt and insecurities to a more playful tone, “So, Clint, huh?”

Her worried expression gives way to something brighter, warmer. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him sooner.”

“More surprised and maybe a little disappointed,” you say with a half shrug, mostly out of jest and she chuckles. But you are curious and she knows you are. You haven’t been hounding her for answers, giving her her space and you’re really hoping she’s ready to spill.

“I didn’t want to say anything until I knew there was something, you know? He’s a good guy and we’ve really clicked these past few weeks.” She sighs, but it’s more frustrated than dreamy, and it takes you by surprise. “He—he actually found me while I was arguing with my mom on the phone after one of my classes.”

Natasha and her mother arguing isn’t a new occurrence. They had a strange relationship, always biting and hostile, full of witty remarks and sarcasm that would sometimes make you feel very uncomfortable. Every argument always revolves around Natasha’s so called rebellious attitude.

Unlike her dad, who allowed Natasha to follow whatever dreams she had, her mother placed heavy expectations on her. She’s the reason Natasha does ballet, but it’s also the reason why Natasha never pursued a more ambitious dancing career. She would make Natasha train late into the night before a recital, had her on harsh, strict diets, and wouldn’t take no for an answer. She hated it.

Her majoring in History and Communications and attending the same college as you, was her trying to get away from whatever plans her mom cooked up for her future. And her father was more than happy to help her with her plans if it meant making her happy and causing grief to her mother.

You’re making her sound worse than she is. She’s not a complete monster; she loves and cares a lot about Natasha, wants only the best for her only daughter. However, there’s no denying she’s overbearing and blinded by the things she could not accomplish and wishes her daughter would in her place.

“Dad finally served her the divorce papers.” You know that sounds harsh, but for years now Natasha has been wishing her parents would just divorce instead of making each other miserable, and by extension, her. But they needed each other, whether it was for appearances or money. Keeping the image of a happy, united couple did them well, especially when it came to her grandparents. However, behind closed doors, when it was only them three and maybe the help, the pent up anger and tension would always come undone. “She’s angry since she signed a prenup.” Her fingers tap harshly over her stomach. “She’s trying to get me to do something about it.”

“And what exactly does she think you can do? Convince your dad to give her more of his assets?” 

“Basically.” She lets out a stuttering breath. “I do think mom deserves more than what dad’s offering, she practically built his whole career, but even if he listens to me about other things, he’s not going to listen to me about this.”

Before you could even think about the question, it slips from your tongue, “Why didn’t you tell me?” And you regret it immediately—how could you be making this about you, right now? But you can’t help it, she usually tells you everything right away, it’s you that takes longer to confess and vent. 

“You’ve been distracted lately.”

Your eyebrows furrow and you want to disagree, tell her “no, you’ve been the distracted one,” but you bite your tongue this time around as she turns to face you, settling on her side.

“I thought it was because of Bucky.”

Your reaction is involuntary, the scrunching of your nose and the harsh shake of your head. “Bucky?”

She flashes you a small smile. “You’ve been hanging out with Bucky a lot.”

Oh my god. “He’s tutoring me!” Which isn’t the whole truth, but at least it’s partly true.

She chuckles at your quiet outburst. “I know. For your scholarship,” she says with a teasing lilt and gently shove her. “But after earlier today, I realized it might have to do with Steve, instead.”

You don’t say anything in response staring at her, and she stares back, green eyes watching you carefully before sighing.

“You’ll let me know when you’re ready, right?”

“What?”

“Whatever’s going on with you and Steve?”

There’s literally nothing going on with Steve, only hopeful dreams, and yet, instead of telling her this, you find yourself saying: “Of course,” like the biggest liar on Earth. She smiles and you wrap your arms around her, nuzzling into her arm. I’m so sorry, Natasha. She sighs gently, turning into you. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you while this was happening. You must’ve been frustrated.” 

She laughs humorlessly and you squeeze her just a little tighter. “That’s an understatement, but I’m okay now. Clint’s been an angel, listening to me unload about my parents, making me laugh. He’s a really good guy.” She squeezes you back. 

You smile and she nuzzles her nose into your hair like a cat seeking warmth and comfort. “I’m glad he’s been there for you.”

“Yeah.” This time, she sighs dreamily. “Me too.”

And although you’re happy for Natasha, your heart drops to your stomach as you think of Bucky and your piling half truths.

[ddixons-angel]

Fated: Season 4

Summary: Gloria Rhee narrowly escapes Atlanta with her brother as the outbreak reaches the city. Luckily, they find a camp outside the city and together, they fend through encounters with the living and undead.

Starts a little before Season 1 and then follows the main storyline of the show.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Glenn Sister!OC

Warnings: major TWD spoilers, language, violence (the typical TWD stuff)

A/N: We’re back with another chapter~~! This one FINALLY goes into the actual Season 4 haha I’m really happy you all enjoyed the first half of this season, you guys make it worth everything so thank you to all of those who read, liked, reblogged, and commented, it means the world to me! Enough of me being sappy, let’s get into it!

Chapter 7 

A month had passed after Nina’s exile. Since then, the group of survivors have brought more people into the prison. Rick thought that they needed to build the community they had and couldn’t let one individual stop them from trusting others. They were, however, much more wary about the people they brought in, making sure to ask three questions: how many walkers they’ve killed, how many people they’ve killed, and why. They’d also made sure to not let any new comers go on runs until they were sure they could be fully trusted. 

Daryl and Glenn were planning a large group run to The Big Spot, another abandoned shopping mall Glenn had spotted while on other runs. The group that they planned to bring along with them was Maggie, Sasha, Tyreese, and Zach, a boy from Woodbury who had become Beth’s boyfriend. With the help of some others, they were now all preparing to go on the run, packing up some emergency supplies in the cars. 

Gloria puts a bag into the trunk of a car they were taking then purses her lips in thought, then holds onto Daryl’s arm as he walks by her, “hey...”

Placing a box into the trunk, he looks at her, noticing her perplexed face, “wha’s wrong?”

“I’m... I’m worried.” Gloria sighs, telling him honestly, “the last time we went on a run to a mall...”

“Hey... shh...” he cuts her off, knowing what she’s insinuating, he caresses her face with his knuckles, “nothin’s gonna happen, we’re gonna be fine.” 

“I can’t help but worry about you when you’re out there.” Gloria looks down, shy and slightly embarrassed. 

Her words cause Daryl to wrap his arms around her, holding her close, his hand cradling her head, “ya don’ need to worry ‘bout me, I’ll always come back to ya.” 

Gloria hums, wrapping her arms around his waist and snuggling into his chest, “did you know that Glenn proposed to Maggie the other day?” 

“Oh yeah?” Daryl smiles at the news.

“Yeah, I’m glad romance still exists in this cruel ugly world.” Gloria smiles, sighing happily.

Daryl chuckles then kisses the side of her head, “I love ya.” he whispers into her ear.

The words make Gloria push away from Daryl, looking up at him in pleasant surprise. She didn’t expect him to be the first one to say those three words. A shy smile creeps on her face as she kisses him gently on the lips. Daryl squints at her when she pulls away from the kiss.

“Ya ain’t gon’ say it back?” he says with a hint of playfulness in his voice. 

“I’ll say it when you get back.” Gloria grins cheekily at him, making Daryl scoff. 

From behind Daryl, the sight of Beth with Zach catches Gloria’s eye as they share sweet smiles and kisses. Gloria chuckles and nudges Daryl to look behind him. He glances back and smiles too at the scene, then proceeds to get more supplies for the run. Beth plants another kiss on Zach’s cheek then walks away from him.

“What, no goodbye?” he calls out to her.

“Nope!” Beth grins as she doesn’t even turn around to him.

Daryl walks back to the car carrying a crate while noticing the two teenagers, “’s like a damn romance novel.”

Gloria laughs at his words, “stop, they’re cute!”

Once he places the crate into the trunk, he slams it closed then goes to the other cars with Gloria following him. They both check the other cars to see if they’re missing anything else for the run. Gloria looks around and sees Glenn but no Maggie. She goes up to her brother and nudges him.

“Where���s Maggie, isn’t she going on the run?” she asks, leaning against the truck.

“No, she’s not.” Glenn answers, then looks up at her, “can you um... can you check on her for me? She might not be feeling well.”

Gloria blinks at him, confused, “might?” 

“She’ll explain it to you when you see her.” Glenn says, patting her arm as he walks away.

His answer did not clear up any confusion, it only made her even more confused. She sighs as she pushes herself off the car, crossing her arms and going over to Daryl who had already mounted his bike. Gloria puts at hand on his shoulder and kisses his cheek.

“You be safe out there.” she says with a soft smile.

Daryl looks up at her and pats her hand that’s on his shoulder, “Always am.” 

Seeing that the others are ready to set off on the run, Gloria backs away from Daryl who revs up his bike. She watches as they drive out to the main gates, meeting with Michonne who had just come back from a month of searching for the Governor outside. Remembering her short but confusing conversation with Glenn, Gloria goes to check up on Maggie to see what Glenn was talking about. 

“Can I come in?” she asks after knocking on the open gate of Maggie and Glenn’s shared cell.

Maggie looks up and smiles, “of course.” 

Gloria walks into the cell and sits on the bed beside Maggie, “are you feeling okay?”

“I am...” Maggie says but frowns in confusion, “why do you ask?”

“Glenn told me that you might not be feeling well.” Gloria tells her, shrugging.

Maggie chuckles and shakes her head, “I’m fine. It’s just...” she glances at the floor then back at Gloria, hesitating to speak, “I... could be.... Pregnant.”

“Really?!” Gloria asks, her eyes wide with happy shock, “when did you last have your period?”

“I haven’t really been counting the days but it feels like a few months ago.” Maggie explains.

“Well, have you done a test yet?” she asks, her nurse side peeping through.

Maggie sighs and shakes her head, “I’m a little afraid to...”

“It’s best that you do, just so you know and don’t have to be worried about whether you are or not.” Gloria tells her then reaches out to hold Maggie’s hands with hers, “I’ll be right there with you when you take it so you don’t have to be afraid.” 

Maggie smiles gratefully at her then nods, “okay.” 

“You head to the bathrooms, I’ll get a test for you at the infirmary.” Gloria instructs as her and Maggie get up from her bed and walk out of the cell.

“Why do we even have those in the infirmary anyway?” Maggie questions, slightly amused and wiggling an eyebrow at Gloria, “are you and Daryl...?

Gloria looks at Maggie, bewildered and blushing slightly, “what?! No! The boys went on a run and grabbed a bunch of stuff without trying to sort out what was what and just somehow brought a bunch of maternal stuff back.”

Maggie laughs at Gloria’s reaction and pats her back, nodding and accepting her answer. The girls split ways, Maggie going to the bathrooms and Gloria to the infirmary. Reaching for the bin she had put together specifically for females, Gloria takes out two pregnancy tests and places the bin back in it’s spot. She figured that she would get two just in case Maggie didn’t believe the first one or it turned out to be faulty. She’s about to leave the infirmary when Patrick, a boy who was close to Carl’s age, comes by looking rather pale. 

“Hey, are you okay?” Gloria asks once she sees his complexion, “sit down.”

“Carol told me to come here to see either you, Hershel, or Dr. Caleb.” Patrick explains as he makes his way to sit on the patient bed, but not without coughing a few times. 

Gloria nods then sets to work. Taking a tongue depressor, she tells Patrick to open his mouth wide and presses the wooden stick down, firm but gentle on his tongue as she shines a small handheld flashlight down to check his throat. 

“Your throat doesn’t seem to be swollen, so that’s a good sign.” Gloria tells him, then places her hand on his forehead, “you don’t seem to have a fever either.”

“I’ve been feeling really nauseous and coughing a whole lot.” Patrick tells her, worry in his voice.

Gloria nods as she looks at him, “yeah, you don’t look perfectly fine, but you should be okay, you might have just caught a small cold. Just remember to rest and drink lots of water, and if you don’t feel better by tomorrow morning, come back to see me, Hershel or Dr. Caleb, okay?”

Patrick nods and thanks her before going back to his cell block. Gloria quickly grabs the two pregnancy tests and rushes off to the bathrooms, worried that Maggie would be upset at her for keeping her waiting so long. She calls out a string of apologies when she sees her sister-in-law.

“Patrick came to the infirmary and wasn’t feeling so well, so I did a small check up on him.” Gloria explains quickly and slightly out of breath.

Maggie chuckles at her, “it’s okay, don’t worry. Is he okay though?”

“Yeah, he should be fine. He’s coughing and says that he feels nauseous but I didn’t see any signs of anything too serious.” Gloria tells her.

“That’s good,” Maggie nods, then furrows her brows together when Gloria hands her both of the pregnancy tests, “why are there two?”

“I didn’t know if you would believe just one.” Gloria shrugs, a sheepish grin on her face.

Maggie playfully rolls her eyes and nudges her, taking the tests and goes to one of the stalls. Gloria leans on the sink counter and waits outside patiently for Maggie to do her business. Once she hears the stall door opening, she pushes herself off the counter and looks to Maggie who’s looking down at the test in her hand. She’s unable to read her face then goes to her and looks over her shoulder, reading the test as negative. 

“You don’t know whether to be happy or sad about this, do you.” Gloria says more as a statement than a question.

Maggie nods and sighs, “I do want a baby but... I don’t know if I’ll be able to handle that in the world we live in now.. And after what happened with Lori...”

Gloria wraps her arms around Maggie’s shoulders, “”hey, nothing’s gonna happen to you, you can handle anything that comes your way with us by your side.”

Maggie smiles at her and nods, “yeah, I know.”

---

Later in the evening, Glenn and Daryl’s group had returned from the run but rather than being happy from the successful run, their moods were solemn and depressed. Gloria was in her and Daryl’s shared cell, sitting on the bed writing in a blank sheet music book Glenn had found her on a previous run. She’d been keeping up with her music and writing songs again to pass the time. Sometimes she would even hum her songs to Daryl, lulling him to sleep. 

Daryl walks into the cell, stopping close to the doorway as Gloria was in the middle of humming softly to herself the song she was writing. She looks up at him and sees that he’s looking down at the ground. She frowns as she notices something’s wrong, putting the book to the side, she gets up. 

“Daryl?” she calls out to him as she makes her way to him, caressing his face with her hand, “what’s wrong?” 

“We lost Zach...” he manages to mutter out. 

Gloria stares at him with worried eyes, not knowing what to say. It felt like a while since the last time they had lost anyone in their group, she knew it was too good to be true to last this long. Her mind wanders to Beth and her heart aches for the girl.

“Is... does Beth know?” Gloria asks softly.

Daryl nods, “jus’ told her.”

“How’s she taking it?” she bites her lip, worried about his reply.

“She’s fine,” Daryl chuckles, bitterness in his voice, “ain’ even sheddin’ a tear. Said she doesn’ cry anymore... who the hell says that?” 

He walks deeper into the cell past Gloria, taking off his crossbow and setting it on the ground beside Gloria’s bag and belt of daggers. Gloria takes his hand and guides him to sit on the bed, taking a seat beside him as she wraps her arms around him, kissing his cheek.

“Are you okay?” she says in a small whisper. 

Daryl doesn’t respond right away, he seems to be in deep thought for awhile as Gloria patiently waits for him to speak. Finally, he lets out a sigh.

“It’s been awhile since anythin’ bad happened... since we lost someone.” he starts, “should’ve never brought him on the run...” 

“Daryl...” Gloria reaches down and holds his hand, “no one can ever predict these things, every single time anyone goes on a run, there’s always a possibility that someone might not make it back, and I know it sucks but you still go anyway.. You can’t prevent every loss, no one can.”

He lets out another heavy sigh and nods, he then glances to the side and notices Gloria’s book is open. Daryl takes it and looks at the pages, not comprehending what’s written on the paper.

“Ya writin’ again?” he asks then leans into her as she nods, “what’s it sound like?”

Gloria chuckles softly and turns two pages back, “I don’t like starting in the middle of a song.” 

She kisses his temple then starts to hum the melody to him, a soft smile on her face. She could feel the tension in his body slowly dissipating as he relaxes in her embrace. Gloria was somehow always able to calm him down and help him feel better with her voice, there was just something about her that soothed him like nothing else. 

---

Next Chapter

I know that compared to the previous chapters, this one may seem more uneventful but it gets better! I also tried to incorporate more fluff in each chapter haha I hope you guys enjoy it as much as I liked writing it! Please let me know what you think!! Love you all~~

Also, I know it’s scary out in the world right now with everything that’s going on so I just wanted to let you guys knows that if you ever need someone to talk to or just need someone to listen while you vent, my inbox is always open, I’m here for you guys!

And as always, I would really appreciate any comments left for me! I’ll be replying to any comments in a new post because this is a sideblog!

Taglist (please let me know if you’d list to be added/removed!):

@twdeadfanfic​ | @fandomfanatic97​ | @crossbowking​ | @watchmeaspire​ | @spidergirla5​ | @kamieshep​ | @letsstarsfalling​ | @molethemollie​ | @alicewinchester99​ | @neilox​ | @womanup22​ | @jodiereedus22​ | @theonlyone-meeeee​ | @theunofficialduke​ | @inlovewdxx​ | @delightfullykrispypeach​ | @mrsfortune1306​ | @wolfkg​ | @funeral-7​ | @wnygirl2012​

[auroras-blend]

What Matters

Summary: POV from Patience. Starring baby Marilyn, Emilie Marks, and a fishwife.

Patience let out a frustrated huff as she struggled to strap Marilyn into her stroller, who was determined to wail throughout the entire process. “You do this every time,” she snapped, not that her daughter could understand her.

Marilyn always acted as if this was a brand new terrifying experience. “Stop being so damn dramatic,” she huffed as she finally clasped the buckles together.

Her daughter still continued to wail until Patience not so softly popped a pacifier in her mouth, which silenced her quite quickly. She pulled a white lamb plush from the car and gave it to her daughter who clasped onto it with a desperate fervor. It was Marilyn’s very favorite toy, courtesy of the pastor’s wife. She seemed content to just stare at it rather than play with it, which was strange to Patience but it kept the infant distracted, and really, that was all that mattered. She brushed the strands of hair out of her face that had fallen out of her harried bun before sighing and moving to push the stroller towards the store.

Everyone knew everyone and their business in Summerfield, which was why trips to the grocery store always bothered Patience. Marilyn received soft looks and bright smiles whereas she received critical eyes and grimaces, but Patience couldn’t really bring herself to care. She entered the store, the temperature of her body already dropping as cool air blew in her face, a refreshing change from the scorching summer heat. The store already held a myriad of familiar faces, which completely defeated the purpose of coming in so early in the day and hoping to avoid the crowds. “Hello Miss Winslow,” the greeter smiled, “I hope you’re having a nice day today!”

“Just fine, thank you,” she said to be polite though no genuineness could be found in her tone.

She pushed past and immediately set her sights for the produce section, hoping to cool down further. Her green-eyed gaze remained focused on her task dead ahead because if she only looked forward, she could ignore the judgmental looks that several housewives were giving her. It had been about a year since she gave birth to Marilyn but the scandalous event of her birth and Patience’s status as a single mother and social pariah hadn’t faded. Summerfield residents, as friendly as they seemed, were dull people with dull lives who pretended otherwise and sought amusement from gossip. At the moment, Patience and Marilyn were their favorite topics. It seemed Patience was the only woman in town who didn’t hide her dissatisfaction with the fact that she had a repetitive, restricting, and overall mundane life that’s primary stressor came from motherhood. At least I’m honest.

She was unlikable to everyone except her daughter who looked at her with reverence and the occasional hurt when her affection for her mother wasn’t returned. Part of her felt bad because she did know deep down that Marilyn was not at fault, that she was unluckily and violently brought into this world to suffer a miserable existence with a miserable woman.

Marilyn had been nothing but pleasant if Patience were being honest, or as pleasant as a baby could be. Her birth had been quick and much easier than the first, and she had been a courteous five pounds that hadn’t torn apart her mother’s insides. She was easy to love, to everyone except the woman who mattered to her the most. Perhaps Marilyn had some instinct deep down to behave and be agreeable unless her mother decided that she finally had enough of her and do something terrible.

Patience rummaged through the fresh produce, something she hadn’t done in a long time. Without a vengeance to pursue, bridges to burn, and misery to face, she had more time to at least try and take care of herself. Or at least the illusion of caring for herself, as if she actually used the produce to cook instead of having it sit in her fridge for an eternity in favor of eating frozen meals and drinking a few too many glasses of wine or whiskey. She wasn't quite so picky these days.

It didn’t take long to cross most of the tasks off her list and lead herself to the most aggravating part of the store: the baby aisle. There was nothing wrong with the aisle in particular with the exception of her forced motherhood being thrown in her face and the condescending stares from the other mothers shopping for their brood. Nothing wrong at all, she thought bitterly. Thankfully when she arrived, no one was around which settled her nerves about picking out the necessary items for her daughter, specifically formula. It had been a swift decision for Patience to put Marilyn on a formula diet. Just the thought of her child pawing and nursing from her breast physically repulsed her; she had tried the first few days and then vowed to never do it again.

It would be, of course, an unacceptable decision to the other mothers of Summerfield and unfortunately for her, they were about to be privy to that information. Her luck at being the sole presence in the aisle didn’t last long and it just so happened to be when she was picking up the formula that Mrs. Coombs decided to make an appearance and let out a fake laugh, “Patience! How funny to run into you here!”

Funny? I have a damn baby. She pressed her lips into a tight smile, forcing herself to at least look polite. “Look at little Mary-,”

“Marilyn,” Patience corrected as she held the box tightly.

“Marilyn! An even better name. She’s gotten so big, the time just flies doesn’t it?”

Not fast enough. “Sure does,” she lied as she dumped several boxes into her shopping bag.

“She’s really turning into a beauty. She has your eyes, doesn’t she?” she smiled before it became tighter with malice, “Not your hair though…”

Patience could usually brush off the snide comments, but the reminder of the man who put that child inside her made her sick. “Did she get it from her father?”

Patience’s body tensed, her stomach began to roll. “Yes.”

Her reply was short and curt, and by God’s grace, Mrs. Coombs dropped the topic in favor of sending Patience a new criticism. “Oh, formula?” she asked as she stressed the word as if it were the vilest thing in existence, “Are you having trouble? Some women do. It came pretty easily to me, but my sister had to have a lactation consultant.”

The insinuation was there. Bitch. She refused to be ashamed for not letting her daughter nurse from her breasts. It wasn't as if Marilyn was suffering or lacking nourishment in any way, and it's no one's damn business. Patience’s smile turned smug. “Actually, I can but I’m choosing not to breastfeed.”

The disapproving and aghast frown on Mrs. Coombs face made it worth it. She knew she’d be the talk of the woman’s circle of friends, but just the sight of making the woman uncomfortable and being shamelessly confident with her decision made it worth it. Marilyn giggled behind her pacifier, amused by the face of the critical fishwife. “Oh really?” the woman gasped, “Well, there are more benefits if-.”

“How lovely to see you, ladies, here!”

Jesus Christ. Patience sighed and turned around to see Mrs. Marks. “Emilie!” cooed Mrs. Coombs who brushed past Patience and slightly knocked Marilyn’s stroller to the side.

Patience grabbed the stroller to prevent it from hitting the shelves, causing Marilyn to whine as she was jostled in her seat. The two women embraced as Patience ignored the pair, or at least tried to. “Fancy to see you in this aisle! Oh, does that mean there's happy news?” gasped Mrs. Coombs.

“Um...not yet,” she could hear Mrs. Marks say, pain and discomfort in her voice.

“Oh, I’m sure it’ll happen someday!”

“Yes, well, we’re praying that it does,” Mrs. Marks said tensely.

Why does she have so much trouble getting pregnant? I'd switch with her if I could. It seemed cosmically unfair that she was saddled with an unwanted child while the Marks failed in their desperate attempts to have one. There were many times where Patience entertained leaving Marilyn with them one day and never return. She'd be better off with anyone but me. However, whenever she was ready to put Marilyn in the car and drop her off, a pang of religious guilt consumed her. She's your atonement. “Why are you here then if-,”

“That’s not really your business, is it?” hissed Patience who had tired of hearing of her pester the woman.

Mrs. Coombs was a busy body who aggravated her to no end. Patience never truly made an effort to convince the woman of her politeness or that she liked her, but as the pastor's wife, it was Mrs. Marks job to do so. Politeness for Emilie Marks was mandatory, so if she couldn't tell Mrs. Coombs to fuck off then Patience would.

Grey eyes narrowed towards Patience. “Your tone isn’t appreciated.”

“Your questions aren’t appreciated,” Patience snapped, throwing a box of diapers into her bag.

“Now ladies-” Emilie tried to interject.

“Are you capable of being anything other than unpleasant?”

Mrs. Coombs volume wasn’t much louder but it upset Marilyn and sent her into a fit of tears. Great. “See what you did?” Patience huffed as she walked around to grab the pacifier from the floor.

“Are you really going to put that back in her mouth? You know, most mothers comfort their babies when they cry.”

Of course, at that moment, Marilyn began to wail louder. “Mrs. Coombs,” snapped Mrs. Marks, “You’re upsetting the child.”

Patience brushed the pacifier off and although she was tempted to push it back in between her daughter’s lips, she put it in a side compartment and unstrapped her baby. Shame had crept back into her body with the woman’s comment so she reluctantly took Marilyn out and settled her against her chest, patting her back and shushing her. Snot and tears began to stain her dress, and the loud wails pierced her ears until they were ringing. I hate this. I hate it. Stop fucking crying. Just stop. Just stop...Patience herself was starting to feel as miserable as her daughter who upon receiving physical comfort from her mother started to quiet down. It was always such a special treat for the baby that it immediately put her in a good mood.

By the time Marilyn’s cries turned into hiccups, Mrs. Coombs was gone. I don’t want to do this anymore. When Patience turned around, Mrs. Marks was still there helping put her items back into her basket. “You don’t have to-”

“No, it’s alright. I’m happy to,” Mrs. Marks said as she packed the items tightly.

“Thank you,” Patience said in relief.

Mrs. Marks attached the basket on the rack beneath Marilyn’s stroller. She didn’t hate Mrs. Marks. If she were honest with herself, she didn’t really know her or care to know her, but the woman had always been polite and gave her a genuine smile that was free of judgment. She leaves that to God. “Thank you for what you said,” the woman said quietly.

Patience resettled Marilyn on her hip. “Well it wasn’t any of her business,” she said frankly, “She’s too nosy for her own good.”

She found that description quite generous given that there were other adjectives she wanted to use that was inappropriate to say in front of a pastor’s wife. “Poor little girl,” she cooed.

Marilyn blinked tiredly. She was always tired after a big cry and would fall asleep quickly. A redeeming feature. “I see she still has the little lamb,” Emilie smiled and picked it up.

Marilyn made a grabbing motion and clutched it tightly in her chubby little hands. “She really likes it,” Patience noted.

Conversations about baby toys were never really what she pictured herself talking about in this stage of her life, or in any stage really. Motherhood may have been her reality but it was never a topic she wanted to discuss. “Thank you,” Patience added, “But we-,”

“Oh, I’ll leave you to your shopping, but it was lovely to see both of you. You and Marilyn, obviously,” she smiled, sending a veiled insult towards Mrs. Coombs but paused before she pushed her cart forward, “The church has a free nursery if you’d ever like to drop her off. We’re open from eight in the morning to five in the afternoon on weekdays. I run it and would be happy to look after her during the week.”

The news almost made Patience sob with relief. She had to return to work soon and had taken on a second job to get by, but neither made her stay past three. That meant she could have two hours, two blissful hours to myself on her workdays and a day off when she wasn't working. “Oh thank you,” she said with a watery voice.

“Of course. Like I said, I’d be happy to. She seems like such a sweet baby,” she smiled at Marilyn, “You can drop her off next Monday.”

“Next Monday,” Patience nodded as she plopped Marilyn back into her stroller, who thankfully was too tired to protest being buckled in.

With a last smile and farewell, Mrs. Marks disappeared down the next aisle. Patience took a shaky breath and finished her shopping as giddiness rose into her body at the thought of a break from her daughter. She’d have two hours to herself every day, and then an entire day off on Wednesday. She knew Marilyn wouldn’t like it at first but it’d be for the best. As she put Marilyn in the car, she said with a smile in her voice, “It’ll all work out.”

Whether it was to Marilyn or herself, she didn’t know. But that hardly mattered.

[skvaderarts]

Hiraeth Chapter 34: Atelier

Masterlist can be found Here!

Chapter Thirty-Four: Atelier

Notes: Ah, it is so good to be back writing this fic! I have some important info at the end of this chapter, so please check it out! I hope I haven’t lost any of you due to the pc issues I’ve been having! So sorry that I had to delay some chapters! GAH!

(-~-)

Heels clicked loudly, echoing through the sprawling open halls of the manor as Willow vacated the lounge and headed back towards the main hall, the rest of the group in tow behind her. She made her way over to the large staircase that filled the center of the room, a destination already in mind. She glanced back over her shoulder for a moment before stopping, her attention seemingly drawn to something that she hadn’t noticed before. She started up the stairs again for a moment, placing one foot on the first step, before stopping yet again. It seemed that whatever had been on her mind had been sufficient to stop her in her tracks for the time being.

“... Sirrus. I genuinely hadn’t noticed your presence until just now. Somehow I managed to look right past you. I’m sure that’s not something you experience very often.”

The Adjudicator stopped for a moment, pondering what to say next. There seemed to be something more that she wasn’t saying, and everyone in the room had picked up on that. A blanket of discomfort fell over the group as several sets of eyes glanced between the lady of the house and Sirrus, settling on the man with the red hair after a moment due to the unmistakable amount of discomfort that he radiated. It was abnormal for him. He was normally so relaxed and put together.

“Did you happen to be in town when that attack occurred about two months back? The one where the city east of here nearly burned to the ground? Or when that store was leveled by dark magic just a week or so ago?” Willow said, still not turning to face him. There was a knowing tinge to her voice that required little explanation. “I’ve not seen you in these parts for at least a decade. Curious that you should return so suddenly and during such an inopportune time.”

A subtle but unmistakably displeased expression slowly made its way onto Sirrus’s face as he seemed to register the implications of what she was trying to say to him. He folded his arms across his chest, tilting his head slightly to the side as he seemed to stare through her as opposed to actually looking at her. Magnolia seemed to go on high alert, her eyes widening slightly and her face turning noticeably red. She was clearly uncomfortable, but neither Nero nor V really knew what had caused this situation to escalate in the way that it just had, or what it might have to do with her. They were seemingly the only two who noticed her sudden shift in mood. What was going on here?

Vergil looked over at her a moment later, quietly taking note of how displeased and anxious she looked. There was clearly history between the three of them, and he didn’t care to get involved with it, but he would be lying if he said that he wasn’t somewhat curious. That being said, he had no tolerance for wasting time, especially given the circumstances. Sitting through a more than likely chaotic fight between the two of them wasn’t in the cards right now, as far as he was concerned. He would probably intervene if the situation called for it, if only to keep from having to actually sit through it or see them destroy the entire house. He had no desire to be rained on.

“If you're going to insinuate something, Willow, I’d appreciate it if you were less passive-aggressive about it and you actually said it to my face,” Sirrus said flatly, clearly unamused in regards to what she was trying to imply. He hadn’t come here to be insulted, and he had no plans to be. There was no reason that he should just stand here and allow her to accuse him of anything. He’d done nothing to earn that kind of response from her.

“Sirrus has done nothing wrong, and you know it. He’s not the only one in these parts with such power. Do not be so quick to jump to unjust conclusions based solely on what he is and not who you very much know he is. You and I both know he isn’t involved in those attacks.” Magnolia said, stepping forward and standing between her sister and her nephew. She was clearly just as unamused as her red-haired relative was, and she didn’t like where this was going.

“Rather ironically, I was actually present for the second attack. He and I were nearly killed. That’s why we're here today.” Sirrus said as he gestured towards V calmly, still very irritated, but more composed than he had been a moment ago. He couldn’t give her what she probably wanted that easily. He didn’t want to, nor did he need to, explain himself to her, but for the sake of keeping things cordial between them, he would do so. “As for the second attack, I wasn’t in the region yet. I arrived about an hour later. After the second attack, the decision was made for me to come and sort things out.”

Willow turned and looked at Sirrus, a cold, almost fearful look on her face. She seemed unsettled by the revelation that he was here on business. A moment of silence fell over the room as they locked eyes, intense but otherwise lacking hostility. Finally, she turned and looked up the stairs before speaking again. “Adjudication, then? That’s what brought you to town after all this time? And then you simply stumbled your way into… whatever this is? Once again you find yourself a victim of happenstance, caught up in the middle of something larger than yourself.”

Sirrus nodded in agreement despite the fact that he knew she couldn’t see him. He was fine with going with that assessment of the situation. It wasn’t inaccurate, and it kept him from having to say or do anything further. “For the most part, yes. That is correct.”

Nodding in acceptance, Willow quieted down before continuing up the stairs, saying nothing as she went. Hydrangea sighed quietly and shook her head, looking at the rest of the group. She then looked at her aunt and cousin before looking over at her mother again. She had continued down the hallway and into a room they couldn’t see, but they got the impression that they were probably still supposed to be following her in spite of it all. Hydrangea walked over to Sirrus and gave him a sympathetic look, allowing her regret in regards to the current situation to be seen easily on her face.

“Please forgive my mother’s less than hospitable personality. I believe she is intimidated by the presence of so many powerful beings in her home.” She said softly, clearly thoroughly embarrassed in regards to her mother’s behavior. Hydrangea knew full well that Sirrus wasn’t a threat to any of them. She had spent plenty of time around her older cousin during her lifetime. It was just her mother who didn’t. The young teen got the impression that her mother would do a massive double take if she realized how many times her daughter hadn’t been forthcoming about going somewhere or simply spending time with him. She enjoyed their conversations, and she didn’t want her mother to ruin that for her.

“Don’t apologize on her behalf. Please. It’s your home, too. Your mother is an adult. She has a responsibility to carry herself with the behavior expected of one. That is not your burden to bear. Trust me, I have experience with this.” He said, matching her tone as he took a mental note of the fact that Willow was ushering them up the stairs now, seemingly tired of waiting for them. Magnolia nodded in agreement in regards to Sirrus’s statement before heading up the steps. It seemed that she wanted to put space between her sister and everyone else present.

He closed his eyes for a moment and nodded once, slowly. After he had composed himself, he cleared his throat and patted Hydrangea gently on the shoulder. There was no need for him to make her worry. There was no way that he would dare to do anything to her mother, especially with her standing right here. He didn’t get along with Willow very well at times, but it wasn’t a killing offence, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to do that to his little cousin. Her wellbeing was important to him.

Sirrus had grown tired of the atmosphere in the room. He decided to change the subject.

“Where are we headed, then?” He said, starting up the steps as the group migrated towards whatever place they were being brought to. Willow had failed to actually explain what she had planned to do after Vergil had informed her that they were there because they needed assistance with something demonic in nature. There had been no time to truly explain the depths of the issue they had been presented with.

Glancing over her shoulder at him, Willow gave him a look that seemed to indicate that she didn’t understand why he had asked her that. “Why, to the Atelier, of course. Ours is a bit unconventional, but it’s still not nearly as opulent as the one at your mother’s estate. Something we have to fix in the near future.

“You’ve been there recently, then?” Sirrus asked, seemingly surprised by the fact that she had brought it up. It was rare that people visited his old home. His mother was not very accommodating to outsiders of any sort, so the idea that she had allowed anyone to come and visit her home was news to him. It didn’t affect him in any way, but it was indeed a fascinating turn of events.

“I just returned from there, actually. Aluta was requested specifically, but she’s been indisposed recently. And I don’t think she’d go even if she wasn’t. To my understanding, your mother makes her extraordinarily uncomfortable, and that place she calls home has much the same effect on her. She thinks it’s thoroughly cursed.” Willow rounded the corner at the top of the stairs, funneling them towards the door at the end of the hall that she had disappeared near just a short while ago.

Magnolia shook her head in distaste as they fell behind her sister and Sirrus slightly, allowing them to make idle chit-chat in the hopes that things would stay calm for now. The eyes of everyone besides Sirrus and her sister fell upon her for a moment as though to ask her what in the world had just happened. She sighed softly as she continued forward. “It would appear that there is still a bit of bad blood between our two families. None of that has to do with Sirrus, however. My sister needs to remember that. Sirrus is simply a child unlucky enough to be caught up in a double divorce.”

Nero piped up that time. “You mentioned something about that before. Or was that Sirrus? Anyway… What happened again? The details are kinda fuzzy. I was only half-listening at the time. Sorry.”

“There is no need to apologize, young one. Although it is a rather unpleasant story…”

Sirrus stopped as Willow unlocked the door again and entered, leaving it open behind her. He seemed to consider something as they entered the room, clearly displeased but otherwise fine. He had obviously overheard their conversation, though he didn’t seem to mind the fact that they had been having it in the first place. They weren’t exactly talking about him behind his back. 

“After my mother and father split up, he married Aluta. And then they divorced a short while later. Things have been… tumultuous since then. Despite the fact that my allegiances lie with house Ludwig in regards to what transpired, I don’t think that everyone here wishes me well.” He shifted slightly as he said this, clearly recalling something that he would have preferred to forget before continuing onward. “The very nature of who and what I am gives her reason enough to be wary of me. I can only imagine that you all have experienced something similar. Perhaps it is difficult for her to believe a son would go against his father’s wishes, but he was never much of a father to me. But then again, neither was my mother…”

Discomfort became evident in his demeanor for a moment before he simply stopped talking and made his way into the room, clearly unwilling to say anything more. Dante and Vergil exchanged a curious look for a moment, the eldest of the two then giving his two sons a lingering look that was hard to decipher. He said nothing, but something about what Sirrus had said had clearly piqued his curiosity. There was clearly more going on with him than what was immediately apparent, and he couldn’t help but wonder if that would become a problem going forward. While Sirrus seemed to have everything under control, the fact that this could introduce unknown variables into the equation was enough for Vergil to be somewhat uncomfortable with it.

Entering the room, V was immediately taken back by the sheer number of books on display. A two-story room with a balcony on either side greeted them from where they stood, tempting them with access to books that they otherwise wouldn’t have. A large window spanning both stories of the room and the vault in the ceiling above them would probably have let in ample light if not for the fact that the storm still raged just beyond the glass. It was the kind of space that V could get lost in and never leave, forever indulging in the vast variety of literary works that stretched out in front of him like an endless sea.

“I trust you remember this place, Vergil? There have been a few additions since your last visit, but even so, I can’t say that much has changed.” Willow said as she took a seat in the middle of the room, pulling her dress around in front of her. She seemed lost in thought for a moment, her gaze drifting lazily over towards the window. For a moment she looked over at Sirrus before turning back towards the window, a more sympathetic look on her face. It seemed that she didn’t know what to say to him. Or more likely that she knew what she needed to say to him, but just hadn’t yet. She had miscalculated, and she seemed to understand that.

Looking around the room, Vergil seemed to take in the space spread out in front of him. Yes, Willow was correct in that regard. Things had changed substantially since his last visit. This library hadn’t possessed that much of a second-story back then. Just a sitting area where at least 10 new bookcases now stood, filled to the brim with vintage books, journals, and artifacts. There was even a section for scrolls now. A work area took up the middle of the floor on the lower level where they currently were, a painting easel and several pieces of half-finished art and a stack of blank canvas sitting next to it. It seemed that someone had started painting something, but stopped abruptly, leaving their work just unfinished enough to be difficult to discern.

“Yes… that is clear to me now. You seem to have added a few new shelves during my time away.”

“Personally, I know very little about the Devil Prince Belial, but you may be able to find something of use in this room. There are texts detailing things from the underworld that pertain to those sorts of matters on the second floor next to the painting of the fountain. The Demonology section is a bit lacking, unfortunately.” Willow continued, standing up and heading towards the door. It seemed that she had somewhere else to be, and had simply intended to set them on the right path. “Otherwise, you're going to have to wait until Aluta returns. I would be willing to believe that she knows more about the subject than I do. Keeping tabs on his actions hasn’t been of much concern to me until recently. He was largely dormant for countless years. I believe that something disturbed him.”

Nero couldn’t help but think about the library in Fortuna as he took a seat at the table that sat in the center of the vast home study. There were so many priceless books that probably had tons of important information in them and they had just been abandoned and left to the elements… Maybe he should see if there was something he could do about that. He got the feeling that the Ludwig family (or V, for that matter) would take much better care of the books than they were currently experiencing. This place was immaculate. A great deal of time and effort had clearly been put into making sure that everything in this room had been treated with care. Maybe he’d mention something about it if he got the change. “You said he’s be “dormant” for a long time, hu? How long do you think? What, was he just gone the rest of the time?”

Magnolia sat down next to Nero, shrugging nebulously. “For the most part, yes. Belial just sort of didn’t do anything noticeable for the better part of about a century. Probably a little bit longer. I have no doubt that he was up to something, but demons that are this primordial tend to take breaks for hundreds of years at a time before becoming active again. Mundus did much the same after he lost to your Grandfather. Resurrections take time, and he bided his time for well over a thousand years until he felt that he was ready.” She looked over at V, taking note of the fact that he was listening intently to what she was saying. “He’s become increasingly active in the last few years. We were under the impression that he was after something, but now we know what that something is. And we can’t let him succeed. Not for our sakes, and especially not for V’s.”

Willow stopped dead in her tracks, turning around and allowing her eyes to follow her sister’s gaze. She stood quiet for a moment before speaking, seemingly taking in the fact that it was V who her sister had insinuated was the object of the Prince of Darkness’s fascination. To think that Belial wanted this child… it made her blood run cold. “Before you leave here… come see me. There may be something I can do. Trust me, it shall be worth your time. And if Belial is indeed after you, it may very well save your life. Nothing good has ever come from being the object of a devil princes’ obsession. The least I can do is slow him down.”

(-~-)

For next week I can unfortunately only do a chapter for Friday because I’m still recovering from the issues my pc had and just now catching up, but from there forward, I’m happy to announce that I’m back! I’m also working on something cool for you all, so I hope you like it! I’d love to see you all in the comments! Take care! I hope you're having a wonderful week, and I’m so sorry for all the delays I’ve had for the last couple of weeks! I seriously love writing this story, and I’m not going anywhere, but my pc just loves to hate me sometimes lol!

[raidbossmadi]

People Like Us Chapter 5

5.Settling In

Previous Chapter : Here 

Sloane awoke slightly surprised to be in a strange bed before she remembered where she was,  that this was home now. Tyreen was notably absent though the sounds of the television coming from the other room was enough of a reassurance that the other siren was still close by.  

She walked into the living room and found that Troy was sitting on the sofa scrolling through his echo-feed. She noted that he looked a little rough around the edges, well rougher, but he didn’t seem like a morning person to her anyway. Tyreen on the other hand clearly was, as she was in the kitchenette working away on breakfast.

“Morning Sloane, glad you decided to take us up on our offer. We were a little worried you just might decide to dash.” Troy purred as he set down his echophone to give her his full attention. “ C’mon sit down, Ty’ll be done with breakfast in a second and we can go over the plans for today.”  He patted the cushion next to him and smiled, his augmented canine teeth glinted as they caught the light making the smile seem more like a warning than a welcome.  

“Thank you, Troy...err...Father Troy…I um, how do you two want me to address you?” Sloane squeaked as she slid into the spot on the couch next to Troy.

“Just Troy and Tyreen are fine at least in private. You’re not one of the followers out there. You’re here with us.” The way he spoke about their followers made it seem like he sorted people into two groups, the people like them and the outsiders. Sloane was just  pleased to find herself included in the us.  

Tyreen finally stepped out of the kitchen carrying a tray with breakfast and coffee on it. Sloane noticed that two cups were marked with a specific symbol on each, one with the crown design that was painted on Tyreens door and the other the now familiar twin snakes that decorated all of Troy’s things, the other of course was just a blank mug.

“I’ll have your mug customized once Troy designs you an insignia, we all have one it just makes life easier when you're doing the dishes and laundry and whatever else needs doing around here.” Tyreen remarked, taking a seat on the other side of Troy.  

Sloane glanced at the plate that sat in front of her, a waffle and some eggs. She had been slightly nervous that the self styled twin gods would only be fond of eating foods she’d never heard of but the simplicity of the food in front of her put her at ease.

“You read the report about the fancy new tech Maliwan put out?” Tyreen asked her twin. Sloane noticed that while Tyreen was drinking coffee she notably was not eating anything. She filed that away under an ever growing list of questions she had towards the twins.

“Yeah, looks like some quality stuff, I’d like to get my hands on a gun and take it apart, see if I can’t learn anything.”  

“You like engineering then?” Sloane asked as she recalled what Tyreen had said about the ship being Troy’s baby.

Troy turned to look at her and quirked a brow pointing to his prosthetic arm. “Built this myself, and before we picked up the crew I did all the work on the old Centurion here. Still like to fix her up, so yeah it’s a bit of a hobby of mine.”

She blushed feeling a bit embarrassed, she supposed that should have been more obvious.  At least she knew a little more about him now though, she could start to read Tyreen but Troy was harder to get through to and not just because she’d spent less time around him compared to Tyreen so far. Both the twins were guarded but in different ways, neither of which seemed easy to crack.

“I’m gonna go take care of those things you wanted me to before the stream tonight Ty.” Troy stood and began to make his way out of the room before he remembered something and stuck his mechanical hand over the couch in Sloane’s direction.

“Give me your phone, gonna set you up with one of ours. Gotta monitor your activity and all to make sure you’re not sending unauthorized messages to anyone.” He demanded. She fumbled with her pocket for a moment before producing the phone and placing it in his hand. She almost expected him to crush it in his palm but instead he merely snorted as he looked it over before he left without another word.

“Right so while Troy’s off doing his chores, I need to head up to talk to some of the crew. I’ve arranged for the high priests to show you around the ship in the meantime. You’ll be meeting up with me on the bridge to take care of those biometrics after that.” Tyreen explained as she disappeared back into her bedroom to change into her usual attire.

Sloane finished her breakfast in the silence of the now empty room before a knock at the door interrupted the calm. She found Jaxon and Helios waiting just as Tyreen had said.

“Good morning Sister Sloane. We hope your first night aboard the Centurion was a restful one. Come along and we will show you the important places aboard the ship.” Jaxon said motioning for Sloane to follow.

“As I’m sure you’re aware this is the Centurion’s second level,  we’re just leaving the Twin Gods private wing and moving into the second floor common space.”

Sloane stepped through the doorway partitioning off the twins wing from the next area of the ship. The halls of the ship were a bit more busy now, with more of the hooded priests milling about though they quickly tried to look busy as the High Priests passed their way.

“The Bridge is located straight ahead, but you aren’t due until later this afternoon. This way to the lift, we have a lot of ground cover.” Jaxon gestured in the direction of the lift the three of them heading down to the lower level.

The tour was largely uneventful in Sloane’s opinion, they showed her the bar and the meeting space she had been brought into upon her arrival to the ship. The Priests had advised it was better to leave the engineers to their work so simply showed her the engine room from the viewing gallery. By the time they had made it back upstairs Sloane was ready to curl up and go back to bed but she was gently nudged in the direction of the bridge instead.

“And to your left is the infirmary, Dr.Spectra is immensely talented and will be sure to patch you up good as new.”If there was one thing that Sloane had learned in this tour it was that Jaxon had to enjoy the sound of her own voice. “Anyways, it is time we return you to the God-Queen. We wouldn’t want to keep her waiting.”  

Finally being led through the door to the bridge Sloane was greeted by the sight of Tyreen standing near the center of the room talking to the woman who had taken the Priests ID’s when they had brought her onto the ship, Lydia, she recalled, was the woman’s name.

“Oh good, Priestess Jaxon didn’t bore you to death.” Tyreen said with a smirk.

“I simply informed our newest Sister of the in and outs of the ship God-Queen.” Jaxon reassured.

“Yeah yeah, Sloane, this is Lydia. She’s the chief of engineering, she’s gonna get you all set up.” Tyreen beckoned Sloane forward and she stood in the  space between Lydia and Tyreen.

“Right first things first, let’s activate your medi-chip.” Lydia said, reaching around Sloane’s neck to remove the collar before sliding a small band over one of the sides then slipped it back around her neck.  

“It feels the same?” Sloane hazarded.

“That little band has a micro-needle on it, you can’t feel it but it’s reading your vitals and all that. Troy and I have them to keep track of each other, and now Troy and I will be keeping track of you as well.” Tyreen said as if it were something everyone did casually.

“Now I just need you to come over here and stick your hands on this screen. Need to get your hand-scan in the system so you can get in the doors.” Lydia said corralling her over to the aforementioned screen. Sloane was a bit surprised at how thoroughly the twins handled security on their ship, granted she had never been on a space faring vessel before now.

“How many people are on this ship anyway?” She asked looking over at Tyreen trying to pass time as the computer completed it’s scans.

Tyreen tilted her head, eyes narrowing in thought. “About a hundred and fifty at any given time, we swap out crew when we visit our hub worlds, keeps people from getting stir crazy. Though important folks like Jaxon and Lydia here are always on duty.”

“And it is a pleasure to be in your eternal service God-Queen.” Lydia said leading Sloane back over.

“Aw Lydia, you flatter me. ” Tyreen cooed clearly loving every bit of attention. “I’ll have to tell Troy I’m your  new favorite!”

“With all due respect ma’am, I don’t think the God-king would take well to such insinuation and I rather like my position… and my head attached to my body.” Lydia kept her tone submissive but absently rubbed at a mark on her neck that Sloane only noticed now.

“Hmm you make a good point, took us long enough to find you to replace the last head engineer didn’t it? That’s alright, it can be our little secret.” Tyreen’s playfulness seemed much more threatening now, it was obvious that she thought she was just messing around but she was also clearly reminding the other woman of just who she was speaking to.  

With Sloane now in the Centurion’s system it seemed Tyreen was antsy to get out of the ships bridge there was a clink of metal as Sloane blinked and realized the God-Queen had clipped a leash to the d-ring of her collar.  

“Come along now Sloane, Troy and I have that stream soon.” She said pulling on the leash as she began to walk away.  They walked back down the hidden set of stairs that Tyreen had first brought her up on, arriving in the Ship Cathedral only now instead of the dimly lit room it had been when she had been presented before Tyreen it was illuminated with stage lights.

“Well look who made it with more than ten minutes to spare.” Troy teased his twin as he approached.

“Yeah yeah, is Iris on set yet?” Tyreen replied giving her nails a once over.

“Of course, she’s over in the wings as usual.” Troy squinted up at something Sloane couldn’t make out before letting out a low growl. “Hey! Idiots in the box you’re gonna wash out the set, turn those damn brights down.”

Tyreen tugged in Sloane’s leash again. “Best to get out of Troy’s way during set up. He tends to be a bit of a perfectionist when it comes to this stuff.”

Off to the side out of the way of setup was a room set up with a hairdressers chair and makeup station, various pieces of clothing Sloane had seen the twins wear at one point or another were hung up on racks. In the center of the room stood a woman who looked about Sloane’s age, wearing a shirt with the CoV logo emblazoned on the front. As she looked up from the clipboard she was reading her purple hair fell in front of her face, which she brushed away before noticing her guests.

“Ah! God-Queen, is it time for your make-up?” She asked, her eyes flicking to Sloane.

“In a moment Iris,  first I wanted to introduce you to our new family member first. Sloane, this is Iris, she’s in charge of keeping Troy and I looking stunning. She does a pretty stellar job I think.” Tyreen praised with a smile. “Iris, this is Sloane, she’s the stray Siren Troy and found on Eden-4.”

“Ohhh,so you’re the one Father Troy was talking about.” Iris said looking over at Sloane. “You want me to watch her while you both are streaming tonight?”

“If it’s not too much trouble of course, I can always ask The high priests to handle it if you’re busy.”  

“It’s no trouble at all God-Queen. I’m sure we’ll get along just fine.” She said with a smile.

“Ty.” Troy leaned in the doorway interrupting the women’s conversation. “Get ready the boys want to push the screen test up a couple minutes.”

“Yeah yeah, I’ll be out in a minute.” Tyreen reassured rolling her eyes as Troy left. “Brothers am I right, when am I ever late for anything? Sloane be a dear and sit over there like a good girl while Iris and I do our thing yeah?”  

Sloane obediently went to the chair in the corner of the room and sat watching as Iris took Tyreen over to her work station. She zoned out for a bit until Tyreen walked over to her.

“Right, you be nice for Iris, one of us will come pick you up after the stream. Have fun you two!” Tyreen said as she headed out the door.  

“Sooo, how long have you been with the CoV then?” Sloane asked Iris, she was different from the other inner circle members Sloane had met so far in that she and the twins seemed to have a much less formal relationship.

“Around three years, wow I can’t believe it’s been that long already...They rescued me from slavers, Troy and Tyreen that is. Been a part of the family ever since.” Iris explained while she worked on tidying up her workstation. “What about you, I mean I know you’re new but what drew you to the twins?”

“They wanted my vault and I wanted to stay with them because, you know to be completely honest I don’t know how to put it in words, I mean sure there’s the whole thing of them being powerful and obviously knowledgeable about the whole siren thing.  But also there’s just something in me that saw them and wanted me to follow them, maybe it’s a siren thing I don’t know.” Sloane shrugged knowing she wasn’t being terribly helpful but it was the truth, something had magnetized her towards the twins, something beyond their charismatic smiles and smooth talking.

Iris paused for a minute seemingly processing some thought about what Sloane had said. “Hm you’re right, Sirens really aren’t in my wheelhouse. Don’t let that put you off though, why don’t we go grab something to eat, get nice and cozy in the media room and watch the stream?”

That was the first normal sounding suggestion Sloane had heard from one of the twins' entourage in her short time with them. She had a feeling that she and Iris would come to be good friends as they got to know each other.

“That sounds great honestly.” She agreed and was relieved when Iris made no move to clip a leash to her collar the way Tyreen did. Instead walking to the bar to pick up a pizza as if they were well established friends.

__

Tyreen leaned against the crate of weapons they had been  gifted by the citizens of Eden-4 before they left as the crew buzzed around her setting up lighting and positioning the cameras. They were unboxing them tonight and she planned to drop the announcement about the new family member. Not knowing how Sloane would take being put on the spot she had chosen to make this announcement without the other siren present. She and Troy would have to train her to get used to being on camera.

“Your head in the clouds Ty?” Troy teased as he took his place on the other side of the crate. “You ready for the show?”

“Aren’t I always Troy?” She returned and flicked him in the forehead as he leaned in her direction. They both snapped to attention once the crew gave the all quiet on set call. She straightened her cloak and adjusted her hair watching as Troy did the same as the countdown ticked off, showtime.

Troy took the majority of the night’s stream, he was way more competent when it came to explaining what exactly was so cool about different models of guns. He had tried just handing her a script he wrote once but once it got heavy into the tech jargon it had all gone over her head. It was definitely not her finest moment and it had definitely led to a squabble between the siblings.  

“So Ty, you wanna tell everyone about what else we found on Eden Four?” Troy asked as he set down the last of the guns on the table in front of him. She smirked as she watched the camera turn to focus on her. She pushed off the crate standing center stage now.

“That’s right brothers and sisters, not only did Troy and I get Eden-4’s vault, but! We also found a stray who offered herself to yours truly and how could I say no to a face like this.” Tyreen cooed as if she were talking about a small animal as a holo-Sloane popped up from her echo-device.  “As you can see, she’s a siren, she’s our siren. I have big plans for her so needless to say brothers and sisters, you should treat her with respect.”

Tyreen smiled again, her thinly veiled warning coming across loud and clear, a new member of the inner circle had been claimed publicly. She then wrapped the stream in her usual bubbly fashion,  persona not dropping until she and Troy were back in their hidden staircase headed back to their rooms.

“You take her tonight, remember to be gentle. We want her to feel safe here, and if we want to test our theory we need her to trust that we won’t hurt her.” Tyreen said, offering the leash to Troy.

“I won’t need that, trust me.” He said, giving his twin a smirk.  “I’m good with the ladies.”

Tyreen snorted and flicked his shoulder “Yeah, yeah, just don’t get over excited this time, there’ll be plenty of time for that later.”

—- A few hours spent on the media room couch talking with Iris and watching the twins stream was enough to make Sloane feel as if she truly did belong here, any lingering doubts about her life with the Children of the Vault fell to the wayside. It felt good to be around people who seemed genuinely interested in getting to know her as a person, not a siren.

When Tyreen stepped up to make her announcement Sloane blinked in surprise and looked over at Iris. “Should I be worried about that?”

Iris seemed to think for a minute before shaking her head. “What no, Tyreen does that for everyone she takes in.”

Sloane wasn’t totally convinced but she knew Iris had no reason to lie to her and she thought that whatever Tyreen’s ‘big plans’ for her were, she was sure to find out soon enough. She knew that the Calypsos expected something from her in exchange for being taken in by them.

Not long after there  was a warning knock on the door before it swung open, Troy stepped through the doorway and rested against it. “Looks like you girls had a good time, I had no doubts that Sloane was in good hands when Tyreen said she’d given her to you Iris.”

“You’re too kind Father Troy, I just wanted our new family member to feel at home the way you and Queen Tyreen did for me.” Iris said.

Troy then gestured to Sloane. “Come, it’s my turn with you tonight.”  She approached him and he rested his prosthetic hand on her shoulder, the metal appendage’s  grasp was  just forceful enough that she wouldn’t be able to wriggle out of his grasp even if she wanted to.

He led her down the hall past Tyreen’s door and into his room. Where Tyreen’s room had been neat and organized Troy’s was a mess; bits and pieces of various machinery were scattered around the room centralized around a work table in one corner of the room. Sitting out on the kitchenette counter was an intricately detailed skull shaped bong that caught Sloane’s attention, it would seem that Troy’s private life was harder to get a beat on than Tyreen’s as outside the tinkering she wouldn’t have expected any of this.

“Sit on the couch and stay put until I come back.” He said with authority, disappearing into the bedroom. She did as she was told, looking at the books stacked on the coffee table, histories of various planet systems and books with titles in languages she didn’t recognize.

“Good girl, you follow orders. I mean I figured when Ty didn’t have any complaints you must be competent but I wanted to see for myself. Then again you did offer yourself to us so you must have known what you were getting into.” Troy had silently slipped back into the main room having traded his open faced vest for an oversized tee shirt, his prosthetic arm noticeably absent as the shirt sleeve was tied instead.  

“Is there anything else I can do for you tonight Father Troy?”  She asked feeling a bit awkward seeing him so casual.

“Ah-ah, what did I tell you? It's Troy in private doll, but I’ll let it slip. This is our first time alone together isn’t it?” He smirked  his hand catching her chin and pointing it up towards his face. She caught sight of his fangs somehow they seemed more threatening in this context than they had when he’d been willing to kill her. “Anyway, as for what you can do for me; go ahead and get comfy in the bed. No funny business I promise.”

He tilted his head towards the doorway he had walked out of. Sloane hesitated slightly as she got up, she had never shared a bed with a man in any context before now and while she trusted Troy to be true to his word she couldn’t help but feel strange about it.

His bedroom was much like Tyreen’s, a bed large enough that three people could comfortably fit in it without hassle, yet Troy’s  bed was a nest of blankets and pillows piled up like a dragon's hoard. Sloane found a spot to get comfy before Troy reentered the room.

“Don’t you just look precious. Well, sleep tight, still a lot to be done in the morning.” He said curling up in what was very obviously his spot as shaped by the pillows.

It would take some getting used to for sure, but this was still better than the life she left behind.

[chubbyooo]

The Road to Redemption - A Blurred Lines Spinoff Chapter 1: Voss

hey all part 3 of my spinoff series that will focus on Kavaraa from her escape from imprisonment to the end of KOTET, it'll run alongside it showing her story where the main story stays mostly the same apart from the little moments where the stories inteact

Like the other spinoffs this aint necessary to understand the story of BL but it will add a little context for all yall who want it :D

With the Battle of Odessen finished and the Eternal Emperor missing tensions are high in a galaxy at war, Jedi Consular Kavaraa previous Basen'thor for the republic was recently broken out of jail after being locked up for five years by Arcann after an attempt to save her old sith rival Darth Nox went wrong (see part 2). After her escape she traveled to Voss and is trying to tow the line between helping the alliance and helping her old rival, but she is about to get stuck with a huge moral decision that will test her resolve and moral code. Will she redeem herself in the eyes of her old rival and will she be able to redeem others lost by the galaxies enemies

Kavaraa calmed her mind, she needed to be ready when Theron needed her, she sighed the last few weeks had been a blur after years and years of imprisonment on Belsavis he’d come and saved her. She was still surprised he’d managed it, she was positive they couldn’t be found but he’d managed it, he was the best person she knew she’d missed him so much and he’d done it out of the goodness of his heart. But she needed to collect herself on Voss and he needed to return to the alliance to help in the fight with the eternal empire, she’d have loved to have come but she expected if Nox saw her she wouldn’t last long. So for now she was treading water helping out where she could but she did feel a little directionless.

Either way she didn’t want to rock the boat and she felt right at home on Voss, she’d been anxiously waiting for a transmission from Theron with an update after the last couple weeks. There had been a big battle over Odessen and they were still collecting themselves after Emperor Arcann and his mother disappeared. She was still very new to all of this Eternal Empire stuff and a little out of the loop spending five years in prison would do that to you, still it’d helped her find center she was ready to help the alliance despite its difficult leadership. Apparently Nox was just as volatile as before having killed soldiers for insubordination, Theron had told her that despite her difficult and cruel nature she was fighting to stop the Eternal Empire so that was at least something.

Nox and her were old rivals and on many occasions had fought over an artefact or temple but that all felt so small now after the time she had to contemplate, she doubted Nox felt the same way but you never know. She hoped Nox would somewhat appreciate it when they tried to save her but getting captured may have made that ineffective, they were imprisoned quickly after that but she’d been unconscious for most of it. The prison had been anyone who could be considered a leader of Martyr for the republic or empire, the Voidhound, Cipher nine and the Commander of Havoc squad were captured with her but later the Emperor's Wrath was captured too after a failed attack on Zakuul. Kavaraa had made sure when she escaped to put an alarm on her cell just in case the Wrath ever escaped, she’d been even more dangerous than Nox so having that secure would help. There was only so long you could contain a rage machine like that, still she had to help make amends for her failure by helping the alliance take down the eternal empire.

She sensed someone come into the room and turned round to see Gaden Ko “I sensed you were troubled is everything ok Barsen'thor” she nodded at her long time friend as he stood in the doorway, when she’d arrived Ko had been more than ready to take her in as she found herself again.

She responded “no don’t worry Gaden I’m just waiting for a communication with Theron uh Agent Shan and I’m just a little tense” he nodded sitting down next to her

He gave a slight smile “do not worry things have a way of working out just follow the force and you and your partner will get through this��� Kavaraa’s eyes widened as Gaden spoke what did he just say?!

She went turquoise “wha um what do you mean me and Theron aren’t together that’s ah what, I’ve never even thought about that and it’s uh ridiculous you’d even suggest that i um ah?” Gaden Ko frowned clearly misunderstanding as Kavaraa continued to stammer

Gaden Ko held up a hand “my apologies I just assumed because of the way you too act you seem like two with a very strong bond” this was not the first time someone has insinuated this and Kavaraa wouldn’t be so opposed to the idea but there had just never had the right moment

Kavaraa shook her head “don’t worry about it, just a misunderstanding” she looked away trying to hide her embarrassment the Voidwolf Gacen had been telling her she needed to give it a go but there just wasn’t the right time during this war she may have to wait til it’s over

Gaden Ko nodded “nonetheless I’m sure the force has put you where you need to be and the path will reveal itself to you soon” she smiled at Gaden Ko, he truly believed in fate and our place in the galaxy.

She patted his back “thanks buddy, I really appreciate you letting me use the temple” he nodded getting back up

He responded “since you’ve been away I have gained significant influence so it’s the least I can do” Kavaraa nodded she was glad someone had benefited from her time as Barsen’thor 

Suddenly the comm sprung to life “Kavaraa come in are you there?” Theron’s voice rung out and Kavaraa quickly answered

“Hey Theron I’m here how’s everything” last she’d heard Nox had sworn death upon Senya and Koth so she wondered how she was doing now

Theron took a second before responding “well she’s not throwing a tantrum anymore” Kavaraa let out a sigh of relief “now she’s just fueling her anger into finding them and she is on the warpath” it was good to hear his voice again she’d been getting lonely with only Voss Mystics to talk to

Kavaraa frowned “so a bit of a mixed bag then?” she had to admit sometimes she did wonder if supporting Nox would be a huge mistake but it was better than the Eternal Empire right? “And the Eternal Empire? How is it back at full potential” it was a wonder without Arcann at the helm that it hadn’t fallen apart

Theron sighed “well it seems like Arcanns sister Vaylin is now in control and using the help of one of our former robotic friends” Theron had mentioned the AI SCORPIO but it was unfortunate to learn such a complex AI now controlled the fleet, Kavaraa shuddered last time she had seen Vaylin she got her ass kicked by her.

Kavaraa’s heart sank “so the wars gonna be going a while longer?” she’d hoped the battle at Odessen had made them some real headway

Theron confirmed her question “yeah unfortunately so, we gotta build ourselves up a little more and find the best way to cripple the Eternal Empires resources” that sounded smartest Theron had always know what to do 

Kavaraa sighed “well make sure to keep Nox under control Theron you know how she can be” very murdery was an accurate description 

Theron chuckled “yeah don’t worry me and Lana have her under control we can push her anger in the right directions” strategizing around the whims of a difficult leader must be frustrating

Kavaraa responded “ok just be careful and look after yourself I don’t want anything bad happening to you ok” there was a mumbled agreement response that Kavaraa couldn’t quite make out but assumed was a reluctant yes “and any update on Koth or Senya” Kavaraa frowned as she could hear a commotion coming from the main temple

She started to walk over as Theron talked “not as of yet Koth is good at avoiding us, scrambling our systems and Senya appears to be laying low” Kavaraa nodded as she walked into the main chamber to see some mystics rushing someone by

She responded only half listening “I still can’t believe he stole the Gravestone this is the first time Nox’s anger may be justified” Kavaraa frowned as she noted an older woman wearing Zakuul like armour with the mystics hair in a bun and some stones in her forehead “um Theron what does Senya look like” she hadn’t looked her up but as she got closer the person being rushed did look familiar to her

Theron responded quickly “uh tall, grey black hair and most notably two little stones in her forehead, why?” Kavaraa’s eyes widened as she saw the broken form of Arcann as he was rushed into the healing chamber

Kavaraa stammered “uh um because they’re here, I’m gonna have to call you back” she turned off the comm and rushed over to Senya

She walked up with purpose “um what’s going on here that man is wanted by literally everyone in the galaxy, and you’re gonna heal him?” she didn’t know if she’d turn them in or if she kinda already had telling Theron

Senya’s face was frightened and Kavaraa quickly lowered her guard “I know I know but please just let me heal him then we can face our crimes, I know there’s good in him I promise but unless he’s healed he’ll be lost” she grabbed Kavaraa’s hand “I sense you’re strong in the force please do this for me just let them heal him and then I promise I’ll do whatever you want” Kavaraa’s mouth hung open what should she do Senya was clearly being genuine but this would create an even greater rift between her, the alliance, Theron and Nox

She knew what she had to do, she took a deep breath “sure ok I’ll help you, maybe we can help him together” much to her surprise Senya pulled her into a tight hug, she wasn’t quite sure what to do but Gaden Ko had said she was here for a reason maybe she was here to help heal Arcann...

[monsterkinkmeme]

Betrothed

In response to this prompt https://monsterkinkmeme.tumblr.com/post/183478790523/on-your-18th-birthday-your-parents-inform-you-that Citrus 

Female x Male Spider-Monster

TW: Only slight for manipulation (on the part of the mother, not the spiderboi)

I’ve never submitted before or posted a story so I’m nerv-cited.

————————————-

“I don’t understand.”

“Acra, darling, I don’t know what you expected.” Mother’s voice is scolding, her tone disappointed. “You are the second born, you have three younger sisters. Your Father, bless his soul, died six years ago. How am I meant to support this family? What little we had is running out.” She tuts at me as she begins to carry clothes out to the line.

“I expected I’d get a job not…not be sold like some form of-of cattle!” I stomp after her, outraged.

She scoffs. “You’re so dramatic, darling. I’m not selling you. I promised your hand in marriage to a suitor.” She places clothes pins in her mouth and I already know this conversation is over.

“Yes, in exchange for money, Mother! Like promising a farmer a cow and then getting money for good breeding stock.”

She gasps at the insinuation, dropping the pins. “You watch your mouth. Your sister ran off, I could hardly promise her hand. The little ones are too young. Aelia is barely six. Would you rather I sent her in your place?” She turns and eyes me, the haughty expression on her face drives me insane. She always uses my sisters against me.

I’ve been essentially a second parent to them as she’s floundered and moped her way through our father’s money. She could have worked. She could have done any number of things but instead she’d sold me. She’d always been an immature and selfish mother but this was a new low.

I knew I’d get no further in this conversation. She’d start crying soon and accusing me of making her out to be the bad guy. Didn’t I know how hard she tried? How much she worked her fingers to the bone to care for us all? Did I want her to die too, like father had? He’d always been the favorite. Never her. It was disgusting. I didn’t want to hear it.

“Who did you sell me to, mother?” I said, my voice resigned. She brightened and turned back to the clothes.

“A nice young man, I’m sure.” She tittered, her voice almost excited.

“You’re sure?! You don’t know?” This brought her pause but she continued her chore, not answering. “Mother how do you promise me to someone you don’t even know the first thing about?”

“I’ll have you know, young lady, there is a service who does all the dirty work for you. You simply inform them of your child’s age and what you want in return. Whatever stipulations you have, and they search for others that match the offers.” Her tone was snippy, she’d start with the waterworks if I pressed her over this. Honestly I was a little relieved my mother hadn’t chosen the man, I shouldn’t have expected her to do the work, anyway.

“And what were my stipulations? The return?”

“Acra! That is enough! Stop pestering me with that ugly tone. I did what I had to for our family. I would think you could understand that. You should be more like your father.”

I removed myself before I could explode. Father worked himself to death at mothers bidding. Rather than a fair load, he had pushed himself longer and harder. She didn’t want me to know the return because it was likely money. I had a feeling my stipulations had been rather slim as well.

But I was promised. I was betrothed. I could only hope he wouldn’t be a complete monster.

A letter arrived not long after my birthday, from what I assumed to be my soon to be husband. The writing was elegant, flowing. Whoever it was had a better education than I did. He said he would come to pick me up in person and that we would travel by balloon back to his home. My mouth gaped. By balloon? Mother had suspiciously little to say on the matter.

When the day arrived my mother sent my sisters to visit with a friend in the village. I found it strange, but didn’t mind the quiet or the ability to have a clean home. I dressed in my best dress, which wasn’t saying much. I tied my hair back with the newest blue ribbon I had. Just before he arrived mother fussed over me and then excused herself. She said we should meet alone. Now I didn’t know what to think. Mother was avoiding my meeting with my fiancé. But I couldn’t imagine why. Well actually I could, and I was scared. She knew something. Something I wouldn’t like.

There was a knock at the door and I felt my body go cold. I had to answer. My feet moved stiffly across the floor.

I pulled the door open and blinked at the…man that stood before me. My eyes didn’t know where to settle, because I had six of his to choose from. Two that looked rather humanoid in placement and size, but yellow. Beside each human eye were two slightly smaller round black eyes. Three eyes on each side of his head. He had dark hair that was tied back similar to mine and seemed rather long. He had fangs that he bared at me in a nervous smile. His skin was a dark gray, though not sickly, and it darkened gradually from his forearms down to his nearly pitch black hands, of which there were four of each. Four arms on a very human top torso, connected to a very not human body. Eight legs, a large thorax. My mother had betrothed me to a Dryder.

My mouth dropped open. I stared at him with open surprise. In his top uppermost arms he held a bouquet of flowers, dark blues and purple things, tied together with a strong band of silk. His lower set of arms held…a cocoon? A blanket? Also of silk. Dryder silk. Gifts for me, I assume. He seemed to falter completely at my face and his own mouth dropped open in surprise.

“I…I’m here for Acra?” He said, his voice was deep and soft but definitely nervous.

I realized what a fool I must look and snapped my mouth shut. How rude of me. “I…I am so sorry. To stare. I…I wasn’t expecting…that is, I wasn’t sure what to expect. I’m Acra. You must be-“

“Vrachnis. Did…did you not receive a letter informing you about our match? And my information? I assume you must have because it was accepted.”

Mother. “Actually, my mother handled it. Poorly it seems. I didn’t know anything other than I was betrothed. And what your personal letter said. I didn’t mean to seem so…startled. I’ve never met a Dryder in person, I’m afraid.”

His hands fidgeted under the blanket. “Would you prefer we call off the agreement? I’m sure it would take some doing but I know it can be done.”

For a moment, the idea seemed so good. But one glance at Vrachnis saddened face brought me back. “Oh, no, it’s not like that.”

“I’ve had it happened before, you wouldn’t be the first. It’s alright if you’d like to.” There was sincerity in his words. Honesty that I’d never had presented to me by my mother. “Unsuspecting I imagine I am a lot to take in.” He forced a chuckle, he was trying hard to act as if he was alright. But there was a deep sadness to his eyes and his smile.

“It was surprising, I admit. But…I would like to know you.” He was handsome. There was no denying it. When he smiled at my reply I found myself grinning back.

“These are for you, by the way. I made them myself. Well, no, I picked the flowers. I made the blanket. It is customary with my people to present your mate with something you have made of your silk as a gift after asking them to join with you. I wove it extra tight. I heard that humans get colder than my kind.” He shifted the flowers into one hand and patted the blanket. When his eyes shifted back up to mine I could see that same anxiety there.

I reached for it and the softness of it surprised me. It was heavy like a woven quilt. I’d never touched the silk of the Dryder before, it was always far too expensive for us to afford. I adored it instantly.

“It’s wonderful, Vrachnis. Truly.” The blanket was large, probably made for someone of his size rather than mine. He noticed me struggling and carefully took it back, grinning wide. I reached for his one of his hands and took it in my own. He seemed surprised but grasped my hand back gently. His grey cheeks turned a little purple and I realized he was blushing.

Suddenly I couldn’t imagine ever saying no to our agreement. I couldn’t imagine living another moment here, discarded in both feeling and opinion, stifled by my mother. “Will I be able to see my family again?”

He chuckled a little, the noise a mix of a human laugh and a soft chittering. “Of course! You will be my wife, my mate, not a prisoner.” His hand tightened on mine and he bent low to stare into my eyes. “Whatever you want I will do my best to provide for you.” His lips brushed the back of my hand and I felt the touch of his fangs underneath. Now it was my turn to blush. He did not hide the excitement from his voice when he spoke next. “Does that mean…you would have me?”

“I would.” I smiled up at him and he blushed deeply again. “But I’m still confused how or why we are traveling by balloon.”

“Oh! That’s another custom of my people. Normally when mates have decided to tie themselves they will construct a silk balloon together. It carries them on the wind to a new place to settle. It’s more of a tradition now, most don’t really leave. In our case, I’ll construct it myself and we’ll be headed back to my land.”

The idea was so fanciful, so far removed from this reality, that I couldn’t help but laugh and shake my head. “That sounds insane, but I trust you. How will we ride in it though?”

Here he blushed again and cast me a shy look. “Normally, mates cling together with one side and share control of the balloon using the legs of the other side. It demonstrates their teamwork, keeping each other safe while embracing. In this case…I will simply be holding you.”

The idea of being held so close to his naked chest made me blush nearly as much as the idea of flying unsecured made me dizzy. He seemed to sense this though.

“I will never, never, let any harm come to you Acra. You can trust me. In all things but especially in this.”

How could I ever say no?

[probably-eating-poptarts]

His Cherokee Rose - Ch. 3

Here’s the second half of your BOGO deal! <3 Enjoy!

Part One | Part Two

Read on AO3 here

Word count: 3k

The next morning dawns quiet and somber. After the battle most of the survivors didn't even have the strength to move the dead that littered the ground, and instead slept fitfully for a few hours until the sun rose over the tops of the trees. Rory wakes before Carl, and she squirms her way out of the pallet they'd shared to exit the tent. Those left alive are mulling around the clearing, laying blows to the heads of the corpses and preparing to clear away the carnage, and she sets about to help. Her dad is nowhere to be seen, but she watches her mom kneel next to the blond woman who still holds vigil over the body of her companion. She stays there for a moment, murmuring quietly, and then rolls back to her feet to depart with a pat on the mourning woman's shoulder.

Nearby Glenn, T-Dog, and Daryl are busy piling the walkers into a pyre, and Rory finally sees her dad reentering the camp as she moves to her mother's side. The pair take a seat with Carol next to the campfire.

"Who are all these people?" she questions. "I already met those three -" she motions towards the trio she'd been with in Atlanta, "-but I don't know anyone else besides Miss Carol and Sophia."

Lori points out each individual to her daughter: Dale, the older white-haired man who greets her warmly; Andrea, who still holds vigil over her fallen sister Amy; Jacqui; Jim; Morales and his family.

"We all met up with Dale's group shortly after you… Disappeared," she summarizes, pulling her oldest child close. "Shane wanted to look for you so badly, but things were chaotic. We thought the worst when we couldn't find you."

Rory tells her mom about falling into the ravine, and her rescue in the city by Felipe and Jorge. About living with Guillermo's crew and the old folks at the center. And about reuniting with her father after Glenn's capture.

As she finishes, her dad speaks to Dale about Andrea.

"She still won't move?"

"She won't even talk to us," Lori answers. "She's been there all night. What do we do?"

"Can't just leave Amy like that," Shane speaks up from across the fire pit. "We need to deal with it same as the others.

Rory sees her father nod in agreement. "I'll tell her how it is."

He strides over to Andrea, calling her name softly, but is stopped in his tracks when the woman levels the barrel of a gun at him. She says she knows how the safety works. Rory tenses, ready to go to her father's aide if needed, but he wisely backs away with an apology.

"Y'all can't be serious," Daryl quips as he joins the group, slinging his pickaxe over one shoulder. "Let that girl hamstring us? The dead girl's a time bomb."

"What do you suggest?" Rick questions.

"Take the shot! Clean, in the brain, from here." Daryl places two fingers against his temple. "Hell, I can hit a turkey between the eyes from this distance."

"No!" Rory interjects harshly. "For God's sake, let her be!"

Both Shane and her parents remain silent, noncommittal in the wake of her outburst, but Daryl glares at them each in turn before walking away with a scoff. He strides past Jim, telling him they have work to do, and assists Morales with the next body. The corpse they begin hauling towards the pyre must have been another member of their group, because Rory watches Glenn become upset as the pair attempt to dispose of his body with the rest of the walkers.

"This is for geeks! Our people go over there!"

"What's the difference?" Daryl snarks in reply. "They're all infected."

"Our people go in that row over there," the Asian boy insists. "We don't burn them! We bury them. Understand?"

Daryl and Morales bend over to grip the body under the arms, and he repeats once more, "Our people go in that row over there."

"You reap what you sow!" Daryl suddenly hollers, ignoring Morales as he tells the redneck to shut up and releasing his hold on the dead man. "Y'all left my brother for dead. You had this coming!" He stalks away angrily, heading for the treeline, and Rory looks to her mom in confusion. As the rest of their group continues working, Lori quickly tells her daughter about Merle's unfortunate venture into the city where they first found Rick. How he'd been handcuffed to the roof for attacking T-Dog, and how they'd been chased out by walkers and forced to leave Daryl's big brother behind.

"When they ran into you, they'd originally gone back for Merle, but somehow he managed to escape the cuffs. I guess they never did find him."

Rory watches Daryl as he lurks at the edge of the camp, skulking and muttering curses under his breath, while her mother talks. She can easily imagine the family resemblance, with matching rough exteriors and volatile tempers, but at the same time she can understand how agonizing it is to lose a sibling.

Rising from her seat, she rubs her mother's shoulder comfortingly before braving Daryl Dixon's wrath.

"I'm sorry about your brother," she tells him as she pauses nearby, arms crossed over her abdomen in an instinctively protective stance.

"What the hell you know about my brother?" Daryl spits in response, leveling her with an icy stare.

"I know how tough it is to be separated from them, and you don't know if they're alive or dead."

"You don't know shit as far as I'm concerned, little girl. Why don't you run on back to your Mama before she catches you over here with the likes o' me?"

"I'm not a little girl," Rory retorts. "And I can talk to whoever I please. But if you're gonna be an asshole, then forget it."

"I'm pretty sure I don't give a shit, little girl. Now get the hell outta my sight, I ain't got nothin' to say to you."

She turns to stomp off in aggravation, but doesn't make it far before she hears Jacqui panicking.

"A walker got him. A walker bit Jim!"

The group moves quickly to surround the sweating man, who insists that he's okay, but the tension is rising.

"Show it to us," Daryl demands, brandishing his pickax.

Frightened, Jim snatches a shovel from the ground to defend himself. Rory tries to help calm everyone, working with Shane to keep the tenuous peace, but Daryl and T-Dog circle like wolves, fierce and ready to pounce. Daryl is yelling over and over, "Grab him!", and T-Dog edges in behind the panicked man before wrapping his burly arms across his shoulders, knocking the shovel from his grasp as he restrains him.

"I'm okay, I'm okay!" Jim insists pleadingly as Daryl yanks his t-shirt up, exposing the weeping, infected bite wound on his rib cage. The men release him instantly, moving away as he continues to murmur repeatedly beneath his breath, and everyone stands in a silent circle around him as he pants and sweats.

Eventually Rick moves to steer Jim to the trailer hitch of the Winnebago, sitting him down before rejoining the others in discussion.

"I say we put a pickax in his head and the dead girl's and be done with it," Daryl insists.

"Is that what you want?" Shane replies. "If it were you?"

"Yeah, and I'd thank you while you did it."

Dale speaks up, "I hate to say it, I never thought I would - But maybe Daryl's right."

"Jim's not a monster, Dale," Rick snaps. "Or some rabid dog."

"I'm not suggesting-"

"He's sick," Rory's father says over the older man. "A sick man. We start down that road, where do we draw the line?"

"The line's pretty clear," Daryl interjects. "Zero tolerance for walkers, or them to be."

"What if we can get him help? I heard the C.D.C was working on a cure."

"I heard that too," Shane answers his old friend. "Heard a lot of things before the world went to hell."

"What if the C.D.C is still up and running?" Rick pushes.

"Man, that is a stretch right there," the deputy replies.

"Why? If there's any government left, any structure at all, they'd protect the C.D.C at all costs, wouldn't they? I think it's our best shot. Shelter, protection-"

"Okay, Rick, you want those things, all right?" Shane interrupts. "I do too, okay? Now if they exist, they're at the Army base. Fort Benning."

"That's a hundred miles in the opposite direction," Lori finally says.

"That is right, but it's away from the hot zone. Now listen to me, if that place is operational, it'll be heavily armed. We'd be safe there."

"The military were on the front lines of this thing," Rick argues. "They got overrun. We've all seen that. The C.D.C. is our best choice and Jim's only chance."

Rory, standing beside Carol, sees Daryl glance over his shoulder to where Jim sits in the shade of the Winnebago.

"You go lookin' for Aspirin," he quips, turning his back on the group as he speaks. "Do what you need to do. Someone needs to have some balls to take care of this damn problem!"

He lunges for Jim, but Rory throws herself between the pair just as the hunter readies himself to swing the pickaxe he'd had propped on his shoulder.

"Hey, hey, hey!" Rory's father hollers, leveling the barrel of his revolver at the back of Daryl's head and cocking the hammer. "We don't kill the living."

After a moment's hesitation Daryl lowers his weapon.

"That's funny, coming from a man who just put a gun to my head."

"You put a single scratch on my daughter, and I may reconsider in your case."

"We may disagree on some things," Shane adds as he insinuates himself between Daryl and the younger girl. "But not on this. You put it down. Go on."

With a sour look he slams the pickax into the dirt. "She's the one stupid enough to get in my way," he mutters as he stomps away. "Ain't my fault she don't have a lick of sense in that pretty head o' hers."

"Well fuck you too," Rory snaps at his retreating back while her dad pulls Jim gently to his feet.

"Where are you taking me?" he questions fearfully.

"Somewhere safe," Rick answers. As the pair pass Rory, he pins her with a glare. "And you need to go to your mother. Now."

The younger girl huffs before obeying her father's command, and trudges back towards Lori where she stands scowling at her with an expression even more fierce than her husband's.

"I lost you once, Rory. I will not lose you again. What were you thinking?!"

"I knew he wouldn't do it," she grumbles to her mom. "Dumb hillbilly."

"Daryl is the one person you shouldn't rile up, baby. He may not be as bad as Merle was, but he's still dangerous."

"Mom, I'm not scared of him! He walks around like he owns this damn place. Maybe someone just needs to knock some manners into him for once."

"Watch your mouth, young lady," Lori warns, but that ire has faded from her voice. "You'll end up just like your father at this rate."

The two girls share a chuckle and Lori wraps her arm over her daughter's shoulders before asking her to go sit with the younger kids.

"Keep 'em occupied for a while so we can get the rest of this cleaned up, okay?"

Rory nods in agreement and wanders towards the tents, pausing only when she passes Daryl and Carol as they stand over Ed's mutilated corpse. She sees Daryl hand over the pickaxe, and watches on with a bit of smug satisfaction as the meek older woman splits her abusive husband's head in like a rotten melon.

A little while later, as she helps little Sophia draw a horse on some scrap paper, a single gunshot tears through the relative silence of the camp.

.

..

…

..

.

Rory grows restless very quickly, and leaves the kids with Morales' wife Miranda when she shows up with a load of clean laundry. She wants to help, and sees her chance as she finds Daryl loading up the last body into the bed of an old Ford pickup. Skirting past the rest of the group as they mull around the campfire pit on the other side of the clearing, she approaches the younger Dixon brother.

"Is my dad up on the hill with Shane digging graves?" she asks him.

"Yeah."

"I'm coming with you, then."

"Like hell you are!" Daryl snaps. "You can walk with the rest of 'em."

With a sly glance Rory leaves him to finish his task, sneaking instead towards the truck's cab. By the time Daryl hauls himself into the driver seat, she's already situated herself in the passenger side.

"Just what the hell do you think you're doing?!" he demands.

"I told you," she replies. "I'm riding with you."

"Get the fuck out of here, before I make you."

She cocks a brow and folds her arms across her abdomen stubbornly. "No."

He growls in frustration, fuming silently as he debates how much of a scene it would cause to forcibly drag her out of the truck kicking and screaming, and then twists the key in the ignition with much more force than necessary. The younger girl smirks triumphantly and buckles her seat belt just in time as her grouchy new companion stomps on the accelerator.

The drive up the ridge is silent and tense. Daryl makes no effort to keep his displeasure a secret, and Rory begins to second-guess her rash decision. Maybe her mother was right, and she shouldn't keep trying to poke the proverbial bear.

Lost in her thoughts, she doesn't notice when they crest the ridge. Daryl pulls the Ford off the road, and then pushes the gearshift into reverse.

But her head does shoot up when he turns his upper body around to look out the back window, laying his arm across the back of the bench seat. His limbs are so long that his hand brushes against Rory's shoulder, and she stares pointedly at him.

"Don't go getting' no ideas, little girl," he tells her as he continues to look out the rear window to guide the truck back onto the road. "I'm easily twice your age."

"I don't think age really matters during the apocalypse," she replies.

"What, you hittin' on me now? Not sure how well the Sheriff will take to that."

The vehicle slows to a stop, and Daryl gives Rory an obvious once-over as he parks.

"In your dreams, hillbilly," she quips before popping open her door and hopping out. He follows close behind, shaking his head with exasperation.

"I still think it's a mistake," Daryl tells Rick as the pair approach the two men still finishing the final graves. "Not burning these bodies. It's what we said we'd do, right?"

As he continues speaking, Rory turns to see the rest of the group walking up the path to join them.

"Burn 'em all, wasn't that the idea?"

"At first," Shane answers.

Daryl is less than pleased. "The Chinaman gets all emotional, says it's not the thing to do, and we just follow him along? These people need to know who the hell's in charge here; what the rules are."

"There are no rules," Rick says as everyone else finally reaches the top of the hill.

"Well that's a problem," his wife answers. Rory turns to look at her mother, wisely keeping her mouth shut. Being one of the newest members of this group, she knows her say won't hold much weight in a discussion like this. She listens, but makes no effort to join in the conversation.

"We haven't had one minute to hold onto anything of our old selves," Lori continues. "We need time to mourn, and we need to bury our dead. It's what people do."

No one seems to have any response to her words, and so instead they move to begin the ramshackle funeral. One after the other the bodies are laid to rest, until only Amy remains. Andrea refuses any offers for assistance, fussing at Dale each time he moves to help her, as everyone else stands off to the side in silence. Rory leans into her father's side when he drapes his arm across her shoulders, and holds her little brother's hand from where he stands within the circle of their mother's embrace. They watch on in somber silence while Andrea carefully places her sister's body within its grave, and after the men pile the soil back into their holes the group moves as a single unit back towards camp.

"Burying other people is bad enough," Rick murmurs to his wife as they trail at the end of the procession. "But the thought of one of us-"

Lori shushes him immediately, tugging Carl to a stop as the others continue on.

"Are we safe now, Dad?" the youngest Grimes child questions innocently. "Now that we're together?"

Rory watches her father kneel before her little brother.

"I won't leave again," Rick tells him. "I promise you that. Not for anything."

Carl nods with a sniffle, and manages a tiny smile.

"Now give me a chance to discuss some things with your mom, okay? Can you go with Rory back to camp?" Rick looks between his two children, who both nod before Rory takes Carl's hand to lead him on down the hill. She hears the mention of Shane's name before they're out of earshot, and it makes her wonder what's been going on during her absence.

[wewillwriteyou]

Friends Will Be Friends || Chapter 29

A few elements from the main plot: A very special group of friends: early days, drama, laughter, booze, success, rock stars life, girl power, friendship, love, sex, music, misunderstandings, some more drama, family. Pairings in the tags

Summary Chapter 29: The group tries to patch things up: John and Freddie are looking for Roger, while the girls talk about everything they’ve been through.

Word count: 6.3 K oof this is a long one. But believe us, you’ll wish it never ended *sobs*

Warnings: some of the drama from the previous chapter, a HUGE amount of FLUFFINESS, some language and mentions of sexual times eeh what’s new?

A/N: Folks... this is almost the end. We are not ready to see this story go. It means so much to us it really is crazy how far we’ve come. For now, just enjoy this long chapter and we’ll see you on the other side 💖 If you like what you read, comment, like, reblog and share this with others! For everyone who follows and supports this story, thank you guys (you know who you are)! You are real stars!⭐💗

Freddie was dragging him out of the house by his wrist, with a strength that John did not imagine he had.

“I’m right beside you, you don’t have to pull me Fred” John mumbled, but Freddie wouldn’t listen. He spotted Brian and Chrissie sitting on one of the sunbeds by the yard and sped up his pace.

He stopped once they were in front of them, then stepped aside and gestured John to say something.

John looked at him, narrowing his eyes, then sighed and looked back at Brian and Chrissie: the girl had crossed her arms and she was tapping her foot nervously on the ground.

John sighed “Look guys, I’m genuinely sorry for this whole… thing” he couldn’t sustain Chrissie’s angry look so he searched for comfort into Brian’s eyes. The curly boy sadly smiled but did not say anything.

“I mean it” John continued “I should have talked to Roger face to face or to you-” he glanced at Chrissie “-beforehand. Bursting out in front of everyone was definitely not my smartest move” he let out a shaky laugh.

“It wasn’t” Chrissie spoke up and met his gaze at last. She sighed and got up to stand in front of him “I want you to know I was deeply hurt by your insinuation of me being a whore”

The guys widened their eyes and John rushed to say “Chris, you know that’s not what I meant, I thought-”

“Yeah I know what you thought, let me finish” she sighed and softened her tone “I can see how from your point of view things did not seem… good, let’s say good…” she brought a hand on his shoulder “but in the future, please talk to me, alright?”

John nodded and shyly smiled “Alright”

Chrissie allowed herself to smile back and pulled him in for a hug. Brian and Freddie exchanged a look and a small smile. The girl added, “Besides, I’m easiest one, you have to spare your energy for the other two…”

John chuckled “You’re damn right” he pulled away and turned to Brian, who smiled and patted him on the shoulder.

“I’m sorry Bri” John said placing his hand over to Brian’s shoulder “I got you in trouble too”

Brian chuckled “It’s alright, Deaky… I’m ashamed to admit I would have done the same…”

They all chuckled and John felt some kind of relief, knowing that they were okay after the thunderstorm that had spiralled on the group. He immediately felt anxious again at the perspective of a confrontation with Roger. Freddie caught him changing expression and patted him on the shoulder

“C’mon darling, we have two more to go”

John sighed, nodding along and Freddie smiled “Now then, where could we find our dear drummer boy?”

John was looking at his feet and smiled to himself “I think I know…”. He started walking across the yard, towards the edge of the garden.

Brian and Freddie exchanged a confused look and stepped on to follow him, when Chrissie halted them “Leave them some time alone. I think they need to sort it out by themselves”

They regretfully nodded and sat back on the sunbeds, waiting for Chrissie to do the same “I’m gonna go find the girls” she said instead, and she started walking fast towards the house.

The guys exchanged a look and instantly got up and rushed in the direction they had seen John disappearing.

John followed the bricked path until the small gate in the green fence and turned the corner to find Roger sitting by the pool, moving his hand back and forth in the water to create some small ripples.

He gathered all the strength and courage he had and approached him quietly.

“I hoped I’d find you here” he said, sitting beside him on the grass and looking for some reaction.

“How did you find me?”

John smiled “You’re just like your sister… the water is a safe, quiet place to you”

Roger snorted “And yet here you are, disturbing the quiet”

A small smile appeared on John’s face as he looked down at his hands resting in his lap “I’m sorry Rog” he said quietly and with a seriousness in his voice that surprised the drummer.

He slightly lifted his eyes to glance at John “Are you now?”

“Yeah… I’m deeply sorry, Rog, I should have never called you out like that” he fidgeted with his rings “without any proof, at that”

“That’s better…” Roger uttered, but he still couldn’t look him in the eyes.

“…but?” John attempted: it was like he was about to say something.

Roger huffed and retracted his hand from the water, turning to look at him upfront “But I still can’t believe you have such a low opinion of me…” he admitted. He regretted immediately exposing himself so much, even if it was Deaky he was talking to, and he turned to the water again.

John was taken aback by his confession “Rog that’s not-”

“That’s not what?” Roger burst out “I know you think I’m a man-slut, but I fucking love Chelsea and I thought you knew I was being serious with her! … God, I even trusted you with the whole apartment thing and that’s what you think of me?” he was practically yelling and John couldn’t bear to disagree with him.

Roger had indeed proved to be serious but John’s poisonous mind had insisted on identifying him as a threat to Chelsea. He didn’t blame him for being that angry.

“I don’t blame you” he interrupted the blond’s rambling.

Roger stopped to catch a breath and turned to give him a confused gaze. John was sitting by his side, crossed legs, hands in his lap and eyes fixed on the ground.

“What?” the blond asked, flustered by having been interrupted.

John sighed “I know you’re mad at me and I don’t blame you for that” he stopped for a second “I deserve it all… and more.”

He waited for a reaction that didn’t come. He continued “But Rog, I want you to know I have the highest opinion of you and that’s why I was so angry about the whole damn thing!”

The drummer was looking at him intently, as he went on “I couldn’t stand the idea that you of all people had confirmed Chelsea’s worries over Chrissie and I was so fucking angry that you would jeopardize your relationship with her like that”

Roger looked down and John was surprised to not hear any sarcastic response from him. He sighed “I know, I should have trusted you or at least I should have come talk to you, but – and that’s not an excuse – I always felt like it was the wrong time! I kept on waiting the right moment but it never came and ugh! the struggle and pain of seeing Chelsea and Brian unaware of everything, it nearly drove me crazy!…”

Roger let out a shaky laugh that startled the bassist.

“What’s funny?” John asked, surprised by his reaction.

“It’s painfully ironical” Roger replied, “that you were waiting for the right time and I was looking for the right time but it all ended in disaster…”

Roger looked up, half a smile on his face. John replied with a small, spontaneous giggle “I s’pose that is funny” he said “it’s even funnier if you think that both disasters were caused by the same mentally disturbed person”

He locked eyes with the drummer, waiting for him to react, fearing he had taken it too far. Roger just smiled and giggled a little, followed by John.

John glanced over to him: Roger was smiling to himself and staring at the still surface of the water.

“I really am sorry, Rog” he said once again “and I want you to know I already made up with Chrissie and Brian, so the ones left for me to apologize with are Chelsea and… well, you…”

Roger huffed and turned his head to face him again. He raised his hand from the ground and placed it on John’s knee, a small smile creeping up on his face.

He sighed, before voicing his thoughts “I guess I didn’t look that good from you point of view, did I?”

John chuckled “No, you didn’t”

Roger breathed out loudly, shaking his head and looking down “It’s really a mess, isn’t it?” he groaned, already regretting what he was about to say “…but I guess, if I must say, had I been in your place, I probably would have done much worse”

John widened his eyes, evidently taken aback, and Roger frowned “Okay okay, don’t get too excited, Deaky, you’re still at the wrong end of the table here”

John giggled and the blond went on “But I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don’t wanna kill you anymore… at least not as much as I did before”

They both cackled and John took a long breath before asking with a smile  “So, we’re fine now?”

Roger grinned “We are quite not”

Confusion clouded John’s mind as he narrowed his eyes “But you just sa -“

“I know what I said” Roger went on “I just have one more, little thing to ask you”

John gulped and sat back, waiting for him to drop the bomb he knew he was holding.

Roger took a breath and locked eyes with him “WHEN THE HELL WERE YOU THINKING OF TELLING ME THAT YOU HAD KNOCKED UP MY SISTER?” he yelled out, not as loud as he had in the kitchen, but he surely did put all his heart into it.

John jumped a few inches back hearing his pissed tone, raising his hands to protect himself “Okay, I was afraid you might bring this up-”

“Might bring this up?” Roger interrupted him, swiftly standing on his feet “What were you thinking, Deaky? She’s my little bloody sister, for fuck’s sake! I cannot believe you…”

“She’s not a child you know, Rog?” John started to raise his voice again and stood up so that they could face each other “She’s a fucking adult, Roger, and it’s not like we planned all of this to happen but we’re happy it did and we’re gonna make it fucking work”

He panted through the end of the sentence, Roger stared at him blankly, his jaw slowly unclenching and his fists closed by his sides.

John went on “Roger, I fucking love your sister with all my freaking heart and I can swear to you this is going to be fine!”

He knew he sounded desperate and that he had literally just made up with Roger, but the fact that his friend even doubted his commitment to the pregnancy, had driven him back over the edge.

Roger was looking down when John finished talking and he quickly looked up to him under his lashes.

In a blink of an eye John found himself wrapped up in a tight hug, as Roger practically threw himself at him. They nearly lost balance and John bopped on his feet to maintain stability.

“I know it is” Roger whispered on John’s shoulder “And I know you love her, but when it comes to Melissa’s feelings and the chance of her getting hurt, something inside me clicks and I turn into a big-brother-y jerk. I’m sorry”

“Yeah I know, I know” John smiled on his shoulder “But I swear she won’t get hurt. I won’t let her”

Roger nodded and John continued “And if I do, I personally allow you to punch me”

The blond broke off the hug to look at him with a surprised face. He reached out his hand “Deal”

John chuckled “I knew you’d be up for it”

Roger smiled and patted him on the shoulder, a look of sincere love in his eyes.

“Are we fine now?” the bassist playfully asked. Roger nodded “We are”

“Finally!” a voice startled them both.

They turned around and saw Freddie and Brian just behind the fence, huge smiles on their faces “I’m so glad you children made up in the end” Freddie added.

The two boys giggled softly, Roger rubbed the back of his neck, while John widely smiled and mouthed a ‘thank you’ to Fred.

The boy shrugged and smiled back, before approaching Roger and encircling him with his arm “I think you have something to do”

The blond smiled and looked around to the other guys “I do. And I need your help”.

***

While Freddie was dragging John through the yard, Mary and Melissa searched the house looking for Chelsea. They found her in her bedroom, laying still on the mattress, her hands rested on her stomach and her eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Mary opened her mouth to say something but Chelsea was quicker.

“I’m not dead, I’m just meditating” she said without moving “Please leave me alone”

Melissa glanced over at Mary, who scrolled her shoulders.

“Can I lay down here as well?” Melissa asked, approaching the bed and kneeling on its side.

Chelsea slightly nodded, scooting to the centre of the bed so that she could lay down next to her. Mary soon followed “Hey count me in”

They stayed there for a while, before Melissa broke the silence again “If it’s of any comfort, I can assure you Roger had really no fault. You can absolutely blame it on my hard-ass boyfriend”

Chelsea chuckled softly “Oh, that’s exactly what I’m doing”

They all laughed.

“I told him he was seeing things that were not there, but he wouldn’t listen” Melissa confessed, becoming serious for a moment.

Chelsea turned her head to face her and Melissa mirrored her.

“You knew he had doubts about Roger and Chrissie?” the brunette did not know how to feel about that. “Why didn’t you tell me”

Melissa scoffed “What could I tell you? ‘Hey, my boyfriend thinks my brother is shagging one of my best friends behind your back. But don’t worry, it might also not be true.’”

Mary cackled and Chelsea fulminated her with a look, even though she couldn’t hide the smile forming on her face.

“Yeah, well, I would have appreciated” Chelsea stated, crossing her arms on her chest.

“Bullshit!” the blonde cried out laughing and the other two swiftly turned in her direction.

“Melissa!” they screamed in shock.

She had already lost it and was laughing, curling up on the bed “You should see your faces!”

Mary and Chelsea looked at each other and started laughing as well.

“Do you realize what you have just said, don’t you?” Mary asked amused.

Melissa recomposed herself “I do and you should not be surprised, I learned from the best” she raised her eyebrows and blew them a kiss. The other two gasped theatrically, before again bursting out laughing.

When they stopped, they were all sitting on the bed: they looked at each other smiling.

The door opened and Chrissie made her entrance, a confused look on her face seeing all those smiling faces.

“What happened here? Did you smoke without inviting me?” she asked, making them all laugh again.

“Melissa just said ‘bullshit’” Mary explained and Chrissie widened her eyes, emitting a small laugh.

“Damn girl! You spend way too much time with us” the redhead commented, earning a soft laugh from Melissa.

Chelsea smiled to her friends, before looking away to the ground “In all seriousness, I kinda still blame it a bit on Roger. We’re supposed not to have any secrets and he still shouldn’t have said … those things in front of everyone”

Chrissie smiled and placed a hand on her shoulder “Chel, he wasn’t keeping secrets, he just wanted my advice on something, that’s all”

“And you cannot tell me what it is, right?” the brunette attempted, but Chrissie shook her head, still smiling.

“Trust me, you don’t want me to” she said.

Chelsea brought her hands to cover her face and groaned “Ugh, I’m gonna go crazy trying to figure it out… Just think I even considered the chance of a proposal” she laughed out loud and the three girls froze for a moment, exchanging glances trying not to spoil anything.

They tried to laugh as well. Chrissie spoke up before Chelsea could get suspicious “Then don’t try to figure it out and just wait for him to tell you what it is”

She patted on her shoulder and Chelsea let her hands fall in her lap, her eyes fixed on the ground and a smile popping up on her face “I know you’re right, but I just can’t stop my brain”

“You’ll just have to try” Mary jumped in.

“Yeah and, for what’s worth, I think you’re absolutely right about the Roger-not-sharing-your-sex-life thing. I could absolutely live without knowing what my brother does behind his drum set” Melissa added to lift the tension, blushing a little thinking of what she was implying. They all chuckled and Chelsea’s jaw dropped, her cheeks flushing red.

“Don’t be such a goodie-goodie, little miss Taylor” Chrissie raised her eyebrows “we know you’re just as kinky”

Melissa gasped theatrically and punched her on the shoulder.

“Maybe it’s a Taylors’ thing” Mary suggested, earning a fiery but amused look from the blonde.

“Yeah you’re right!” Chrissie exclaimed, making the others chuckle again “But do tell us, Mel, have you discovered any other… exotic places to do it in?”

Melissa was more and more shocked by their audacity. She resolved to giggle a bit and shake her head, carefully avoiding mentioning the attic. She simply smiled to herself remembering it.

“Can I ask you something, Mel?” Chelsea jumped in, a little smirk on her face.

Melissa furrowed in confusion “Anything, doll”

Chelsea widely grinned “Does it feel weird?”

The blonde was still confused “Does what feel weird?”

“You know… fingers… touching your… sweet spots…” Chelsea did not know how to phrase her question, even though Melissa thought she had got where she was going to.

Chelsea sighed “Oh for fuck’s sake, I was trying to ask gently… Does it feel weird shagging while you’re pregnant?” she blurted out.

Melissa loudly cackled, partly to cover up the sudden redness of her cheeks. Chrissie and Mary were practically rolling on the mattress.

The blonde recomposed herself and looked at her friends with a huge smile.

“I thought it would be…” she admitted and she gathered some courage before dropping the next sentence. “…But if I have to be honest with you it really is not. Everything is just more… intense”

The others were all giggles and smirks; she added “The things you usually feel in those moments…” she paused, hoping they would get where she was aiming at “you just really FEEL them wash over you and wreck you and-”

“Okay! That’s quite enough! Please spare us the details” Chelsea begged her and they all laughed.

“You sure? I have a very long list of-” Melissa continued, but the others screamed and Chelsea threw a pillow to shush her.

Melissa acted like she had hurt her “You don’t wanna start this war”

Chelsea shrugged and grinned “Maybe I do”

The blonde threw her back the pillow and picked another one from the headboard. In a matter of seconds the four of them were armed with pillows and they were throwing them at each other, laughing and jumping back and forth on the bed.

It was a good way to get rid of all the tension and anxieties they had got from the huge fight in the kitchen a few hours before.

In the middle of the ‘fight’ Melissa suddenly stopped to sit on the bed and Mary’s pillow inevitably hit her on the face. She massaged her face with a hand, the other was already placed on her belly.

The girl noticed immediately that she had stopped and rushed by her sides to check if she was okay.

“I’m sorry I hit you, Mel, are you okay?” Mary asked, worried.

Melissa nodded, her right hand still on her stomach “Yeah I’m fine, it’s just…” she closed her eyes and sighed, a smile opening on her face “…I felt a movement and I froze immediately”

“YOU WHAT?” the other three yelled out.

“I can hear you guys, I’m right here” Melissa mumbled, covering her ears.

Chelsea had a dazzled look on her face “You really are pregnant, uh?” she commented, knowing that it was an obvious sentence to say. She realised she hadn’t really taken in the news yet: she felt it was real for the first time.

Melissa let out a small laugh “I’m afraid I quite am, Chel” she said, her eyes closing and trying to concentrate to understand if she could feel another one.

“Can I…?” Chelsea asked and Melissa turned to her with a smile.

“Of course” she guided her hand to her stomach.

Mary was covering her mouth with her hands, her eyes watery and adoring. Chrissie was sat right beside Melissa, the blonde could not see her, but she had the proudest look on her face and a tear escaping her lashes.

Melissa turned to the two of them, gesturing for them to join in with their hands. She knew they would probably not feel anything because it had been a very brief sensation at the stomach and at that stage of pregnancy movements were random and very rare, but the fact that her girls were there for her, filled her heart of joy.

They were quiet for a moment, exchanging glances of adoration and sniffling away a few tears.

“I cannot believe our family is expanding” Chelsea broke the silence. The others nodded.

“It’s pretty tough to believe, yeah” Melissa sniffled and wiped away a tear “And here I am crying again, gosh I hate being oversensitive…”

They giggled.

“I’m so happy for you, doll” Mary said “You and John are gonna be so happy… And I already know you’ll be an amazing mother”

A sob escaped from Melissa “You can’t tell me those things, while I’m in this state” she reached over and hugged her, letting her tears fall freely “Thank you”

When they parted, Mary was sniffling too and a few tears escaped her eyes “Oh God, now I’m crying as well”

They softly giggled, knowing that as long as one of them was crying, the others would have always been on the verge of it.

Mary knew she was being selfish, but her mind instantly brought her to think that that could have probably never happened for her and Fred. They were not broken up and she was sure she still loved him and he still loved her; however, something didn’t feel quite right to her lately and she couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever have made it to the point of starting a family.

The others understood something was wrong, cause they practically saw the spark of joy fade away in her eyes, to leave its place to a sad smile.

“Is everything okay?” Melissa asked, brushing a hand up and down her arm.

Mary nodded, but then started to shake her head “Not quite” she said with a husky voice.

She sniffled and rubbed her eyes to wipe away the tears. She turned to her friends, her girls, and started her confession. She told them how she had felt lately and how she was actually worried that she and Freddie were about to break up. They were quick to soothe her worries, but they all felt shocked by her confession and didn’t know what to say to make her feel better.

Melissa decided to break the silence “Mary, I won’t tell you everything is gonna be fine or things are gonna get back to normal, cause we are never sure of that” she stopped to look at her in the eyes “but I’ll tell you this: we will always be here for you no matter what. Whatever happens, we’ll be there for you, to rejoice with you or pick up the pieces to put you back together”

The other smiled and nodded.

“And if Freddie wrongs you, just tell us and we’ll destroy him” Chelsea added, making Mary chuckle and wipe away a few tears.

“I’m sure you would”

“You can bet your ass, doll. Us girls have to stick together, right?” Chrissie added.

The four of them chuckled softly, each glancing to the wonderful women they were sat next to and mentally thanking the universe for the gift of their friendship.

“I love you gals” Mary concluded.

She opened her arms and the other three jumped into the hug, nearly falling off the bed for the tidal-wave-like move.

They landed with their backs on the mattress, Mary at the centre with Melissa and Chrissie by her sides, Chelsea on top of them. They laughed out loud and tried to untangle from the strange position they had landed in.

They had just the time to recompose themselves, when they heard a soft knock on the door. Freddie stepped in slowly, putting first his head inside, hoping he wasn’t disturbing. He cleared his throat before speaking.

“Ladies, the assholes have made dinner. And they also cleared everything up. And I’m not obviously part of the assholes, if it wasn’t already evident” the girls giggled at his words and they all got up from the bed, smiling at each other as they left the room.

When they reached the kitchen they found all the food ready for them, but the boys weren’t there. Interrogative glances flew from one face to another.

“Oh, I forgot to tell you. There’s a little surprise outside” Freddie said chuckling and waving his hand he invited the girls to follow him. They stepped out in the garden and they were all left with their mouths opened: the boys had arranged some tables all together to create a bigger one and, all around, they lighted some candles to create an intimate atmosphere.

Brian and John were setting up the last things, but when the girls reached them, they stopped and Chelsea found the eyes of her best friend. Slowly and goofily, he approached her keeping his eyes on the ground beneath his feet.

“Chel, I’m sorry. Like, very sorry. Immensely sorry” John giggled, dragging the girl with him, as he sighed relieved seeing her smile back “I’ve been a total prick and I think words can’t express how bad I feel for what I’ve done” suddenly Chelsea hugged him tight, cutting off his speech.

John smiled and chuckled to himself, realising how similar she and Roger were and how cuddling they became when they wanted nothing else but make it up with their loved ones. He hugged her back, encircling her waist with his arms.

“You will always be my favourite troublemaker, Deaky. No matter what” Chelsea said, pulling away and looking at him directly in the eyes. John was all smiley and felt the knot around his stomach finally disappearing. A voice behind her back called their attention.

“Hold up the excitement, that is not the surprise I was talking about” and with saying that, Freddie gently tapped on Chelsea’s shoulder and gazed at John “Am I right, Deacon?” he added, gently squeezing on her skin, as she was interrogatively looking at both of them. John nodded along.

“Yes, ‘m sure someone else has to tell you something now” and with those words, he turned around and, moving away from Chelsea’s view, he patted on Freddie’s shoulder as they reached the others. She was left confused, but when she looked at Chrissie and she indicated a point behind her, she instantly turned around to see Roger’s silhouette walking towards her.

Chelsea couldn’t stop her heart from beating faster, as she saw him getting closer with a “handmade bouquet”, but on the outside, she tried to look resolute and angry at him; she crossed her arms on her chest and waited until he was close enough to sassily raise an eyebrow, meeting his gaze.

Roger noticed as he stopped just a step away from her. He giggled and his eyes met the grass beneath his feet while his free palm was nervously caressing the back of his neck. He handed her the flowers and Chelsea recollected all her strength to contain a big smile, as she wrapped her fingers around the thin stems of the roses and violets freshly plucked from the garden.  

She caressed a few petals, before raising her head to meet his eyes again; a colourful, bright red painted on the pale skin of his cheeks. Chelsea cleared her throat before speaking up.

“So, were you going to say something or?” she teased him, taking a little step forward. Roger looked in her eyes and took a deep breath, before getting closer.

He let his palms travel down Chelsea’s arms, goosebumps grew on her skin in the exact moment his hands touched her softly. He reached her hands and took them in his, forgetting about the flowers that fell on the green grass, as he started massaging her fingers and her knuckles.

“Actually, I have so many things to say that I don’t even know where to start” Roger giggled and let his thumb ran up and down Chelsea’s cheek, before intertwining a strand of her hair with his index finger.

“You could start with something like I’m sorry for what I said before” Chelsea whispered, but she was chuckling as well, as she lowered her sight just for a moment. Roger lift her chin so that they were staring into each other’s eyes again.

“I’m sorry Chel, for real, but …” and he lowered himself to retake the flowers and giving them back to Chelsea, who allowed a little laugh to escape her lips “I’ve waited for this moment to come so desperately that the idea of screwing everything up was hunting me!” he let out in a rush and Chelsea furrowed her eyebrows, stretching her arm towards the table to leave there the bouquet and finally free her hands, being able to caress his face and hair.

“What moment Rog?” she curiously asked him, letting him rest his face on her palm. Roger took another deep breath and looked over her shoulder to look at his friends. He looked at John, who was sincerely smiling to him and inhaled sharply, before carrying on with his discourse.

“Okay, here we are … I’ve tried to picture this moment many times in my mind. I’ve practised all the perfect words to say to you. But the reality is that I will never be completely ready to say to you what I’ve been rehearsing for ages” Roger said, making his eyes jump from hers to the ground, nervously.

“C’mon” Chelsea said under her voice, nodding at him to inciting to go on with his speech.

“Chelsea Parker, you are the love of my life, and that’s no secret. You’ve been the only girl I’ve ever loved in my life actually and I wouldn’t change a thing. Yes, you’re stubborn, moody, you love to play the victim and sometimes you’re just annoying” she laughed as she felt the tears watering her eyes, not being able to stop her emotions anymore “but I swear to God I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re just … you’re perfect to my eyes Chel and I was sure you were a special thing from the first time I met you. When you escaped my apartment stumbling on your own feet” they were both chuckling and Chelsea found herself throwing her arms behind Roger’s neck to pull him close.

“I love you Chel and I mean it. I mean all these three fucking words every time I say them to you” he mumbled, leaning his forehead against hers.

“Never in a million years I would’ve expected to hear such words leaving your mouth” Chelsea hummed back, touching his nose with her own.

“Not bad for someone who doesn’t even write a love song for his girlfriend, right?” Roger joked and, rolling her eyes, Chelsea put herself on her tiptoes to kiss him.

“’m sorry, but I need to finish or I’ll lose the thread of words. Then you can kiss me all night, I don’t care, but don’t distract me now!” Roger muffled, interrupting their kiss. Chelsea laughed softly.

“Okay, okay, I’ll be good, I promise” she giggled and raised her arms in the air, hearing the others giggling as well behind her back. She had completely forgotten about their presence, but didn’t have the time to think about that, because Roger started to talk again.

“So, I have officially run out of words to say and, I know this is indeed the worst proposal ever, because I’m not good with this kind of stuff”

Saying that, he distanced himself from her to get down on his knee.

Chelsea widened her eyes and covered her mouth with the palm of her right hand, as she looked at him searching for something in the rear pocket of his trouser.

“Chelsea Parker, I fucking love your full name, but I would like to know if, from now on, you’ll give me the chance to call you Chelsea Taylor” he stopped for a moment and breathed heavily, while Chelsea was now shivering and crying, incredulous to what he had just said out loud in front of her “Damn! There are so many things I would like to say right now, but I hope you will be content with these four words I’m going to ask you right now”

In his hand now there was a little, velvet box and she couldn’t still believe her eyes, as she felt the blood pumping hard in her ears and her sight got blurred because of the tears that were raining from her eyes.

“Will you marry me?” Roger finally said, opening the box and revealing a beautiful ring that shined under the dim light of the evening around them.

Chelsea admired the beautiful ring as she was left speechless; around her complete silence, as everyone was waiting to hear her answer. She looked down at the man she knew she loved more than anything else. His big blue eyes were reddish because of the tears that were falling on his cheeks, his lips clenched as he was trembling a little bit to keep the pose. Chelsea found herself slightly nodding and Roger’s face lit up.

“Yes, oh my God, Roger! Yes!” she finally said and in a moment he got up to take her in his arms to spin her around. The others were clapping and shouting all in chorus, as Roger put Chelsea again down on the ground to kiss her passionately. He pulled away and took her left hand in his, he softly caressed her wedding finger before putting on it the ring. Chelsea looked at it astonished, while Roger kissed her cheek.

Soon everyone joined them and both, Roger and Chelsea, couldn’t tell who the pair of arms that were hugging them belonged to.

“You’re going to be my sister in law!” Melissa shouted, basically crushing Chelsea, that laughed out loud with the tears that were still streaming down her face.

“And I’m going to be an auntie!” she softly replied, gently positioning her palm on Mel’s belly. They were both a crying and cuddling mess when Freddie reached them.

“Chelsea Taylor! What a beautiful bride you’ll be!” he said, raising her from the ground as Chelsea hugged him as tight as possible. John soon joined them and gently wiped away a tear from her cheek with his thumb.

“We want to see this bloody ring!” Mary shouted, making everyone laugh. Chelsea was strutting her ring to all her friends, Roger finally by her side again kissing her temple. Brian patting proudly on his shoulder, as the girls were all screaming and admiring the jewel on Chelsea’s finger.

In that moment, Mel’s eyes met Roger, who was just a step away from her and he pulled away from Chelsea just to take his sister in his arms and hug her tightly.

“’m sorry Mel” he said, breaking their embrace to look at her in the eyes; his palm still pressed on her shoulders “I’m sorry for a lot of things, but I love you and after all you’re still my little sister, so you know how these things go”

Melissa was smiling from ear to ear and John reached her side, putting his arm around her waist.

“No problem, Rog. And…” she looked over his shoulder, to admire Chelsea who was still smiling and crying, showing her ring to Brian and Freddie, while Chrissie and Mary were happily chatting with each other “Congratulations” she then added.

Roger followed her gaze and found himself mesmerized by his fiancé. She was so happy and being the reason behind that smile was making him feel so in love, that he felt like he was looking at her for the first time.  

Chelsea’s eyes met his and she immediately approached him, pulling him down to kiss him again. When their lips parted from each other, Roger looked back at his sister and smiled at John.

“No, congratulations to you guys” he said, caressing the bump of his sister for the first time. Melissa placed a hand on his brother’s and fondly smiled to him, mouthing a ‘thank you’.

“Look at all my darlings! What a beautiful, fucking family we make!” Freddie shouted, clapping his hands and making everyone smile.

They all found each other standing in a circle and they couldn’t agree more with Freddie’s words: they were indeed a family.

“A strange family, but yes, a good one” Brian wisely said, pulling Chrissie so close that she snuggled her nose against his chest. They all stayed quiet for a moment, until Roger broke the silence with his squeaky voice.

“I’m going to be the best, fucking uncle of the world!” he screamed and everyone started to laugh out loud again, while the sky above them was finally completely chill and dark, as a beautiful summer night was slowly hugging them all.

-

Chapters: ⤎ previous | next ⤏

A/N: Are you still alive after this? If you are, good, hope you’re not ugly crying as we are. Sad note addition: the next one is the last one 😭💗 we’re now gonna tag the lovely people who read, liked and commented the previous chapters. If you want to be tagged in the next one, comment under this one or leave us a message. Our inboxes are always open for you beautiful people

Tag list: @littledarlingwellaway @its-nxt-living@bohemiandelilah@onevisionliz@misshystericalqueen @loki-lover095@deakysgurl@inthelapofthe39 @starsoflovingness-wq@minetticatinwonderland@cairdes20@friendswillbefriendsblog@o-holynight @trash-record-collection@please-stop-me-now@theappleofmybri@marvelsbunch@imgonnabeyourslave @babygotblueeyes@mi55chanandlerbong @deaky-with-a-c@luckytrashgooprebel @luvborhap @thosequeenboys

Cheers, folks! ✌

[oveliagirlhaditright]

Happy Travels - A Noctella and Noctluna Story

Summary: AU. A story that's a mix of Final Fantasy XV and some Versus elements, that tries to make fans of both happy. For instance, this story will be half Noctella and half Noctluna. Half Noctella until Stella eventually dies (and yes, I'm warning you now that that will eventually happen), and then it's half Noctis and Luna after that (and Stella, in the grave, would be happy for them). And there's no love triangle. While Luna does have a crush on Noctis when he's with Stella, Noctis and Stella don't know it's more than that and Luna doesn't press the issue because she wants them both to be happy. And it's in mourning Stella so much--a pain that really only the other understands--that sort of brings Noctis and Luna together.

As ridiculous as it was to be focusing on such trivial things right now, Stella stared down at the brown dress she was wearing and wondered if it was the best idea to be presenting herself to Prince Noctis in it... As a summer, she wasn’t exactly sure that chocolate was her color at all. But what could she say? She was tired of wearing white around him—and didn't want him to think she was still so naive and innocent... but black was too much for her, because she wasn't a dark-spirited person at all… She also very much didn’t want to be accused of being a harlot by wearing pure red, so perhaps she'd found a happy medium between ebony and crimson. But Stella could only hope that that was the case. Stella was welcomed into King Regis’ throne room by Ignis (though they were here for Noct and not Regis)—who bowed and was polite as always, if not a little flustered given the enormous situation. "It's good to see you, Lady Stella," Ignis whispered, as he took the blonde's arm in his own and led her to a secret passage behind the throne, which was where Noctis was now hiding. "And I trust that Prince Ravus and Princess Lunafreya are doing well?" "Luna," Stella urgently but kindly corrected Ignis, as she patted his hand. "My little sister goes by 'Luna'. I have no idea why our mother, Sylva, gifted her with such a mouthful of a name, when Ravus and I were both coined something simple. But all of us hate Luna being the outlier there—so ‘'Luna', it is. “But I, of course, didn’t expect you to know any of this, Sir Ignis! You'd no way of doing so, since you've never met my little sister personally and since the media refers to her as ‘Lunafreya’." Ignis slightly giggled and smiled at Stella after her tirade, and she could only guess that it was done so in approval—since Noct himself didn't speak so normally, even though Stella had heard that Ignis wanted him to. "And how I very much wish to meet Lunaf—Luna—in person one day, my lady. The world only has great things to say about the Oracle—as does Noct, from the little bit he seems to know of her. And your sister seems very... sweet, if you don't mind my saying, with how she apparently loves stickers so much, that all of Eos knows it. No doubt she bonds strongly with the children she heals that way." This was all very true, and Luna to a T. It was why Stella and their family loved the youngest Nox Fleuret so much, since she had a child’s soul and it was clear for the public to see, too. And Stella would have told Ignis all of this, if they hadn’t finally made it to wear Noctis was in the passage. And Ignis must have noticed the looks that Stella was giving Noctis and him her, because he very quietly and gracefully departed. And the moment he did, Stella was in his arms. The pair did not kiss. Rather, Noctis ran a soothing hand through Stella’s hair as she cried into his chest. "Noctis," the rapier-wielder sobbed, "I'm so sorry. I had no idea that the prophecy had that in store for you. We must fight it!" Which was what they were doing now, somewhat, with Noctis hiding away in his own home until he could eventually escape his father. But Stella feared that it wasn't enough. "Shh," Noctis replied, almost seeming to be somewhat chuckling while he did it—something that made Stella so mad, she could've punched him and nearly did. "It's fine, Stell. Look: I'm not going to lie and say this all isn’t a nightmare, but I'm pretty strong… I should be fine." And there was that arrogance he'd displayed right after he'd thought King Regis had been murdered and wanted to avenge him--before they'd all learned what a slithering snake the man was—and Stella might have been impressed by it, if she wasn't also so scared for it. "So, what's your plan to get out of here, then?" Stella asked incredulously, with an eyebrow raised. "Your father has the whole city looking for you. And while he hasn't found this secret passage yet, when Insomnia shows no sign of you… he might come back here and see you escaping. I'm also genuinely baffled that he hasn’t found out that Ignis is on your side." Thankfully, Regis still thought Stella was against Noctis—because of the time that she had been—since most of the countries hated Lucis for having the only crystal left… Not understanding that that meant Noctis had to die in using his crystal to end the Starscourge: something Stella would stop him from doing, if it killed her. Noctis winked at Stella, as he leaned his face so close to hers that she thought he might kiss her. "Fortunately, there's a pretty girl here who I kind of look like. And if I dress like her when I leave, the media may just think I'm Stella Nox Fleuret, doing my sworn duty to end the prince." Stella sighed. And not for the first time, she regretted that Noctis had recently dyed his hair to be like hers. But as she really had no other plan to get her love out of Insomnia and to Galdin Quay, like they needed to go, Stella summoned her rapier to hand—still wondering how she was even able to do that, when she wasn’t of the line of Lucis—and gave it to Noct… And she selfishly prayed that as he did this, he didn’t make “her” look fat on camera. … A few days later, Stella, Noctis, and Ignis made it to Galdin Quay without too much preamble. Annoyingly, Noctis' plan had gone off without a hitch, and now all Stella had to do was convince this dodgy Dino character to help them and not alert to the world that he'd just seen the crown prince of Lucis. But Stella had this. She, after all, was the Nox Fleuret that no one had known what to do with, and thus had been sent to journalism school and she prepared to make full use of that fact now. "You won't say anything, Dino," Stella said, as she leaned towards where Dino was sitting on his bench and looked at him threateningly… something that Noctis seemed to approve of, as he wolf-whistled. "If you do, it'll cause a war and you know it. And you wouldn't want that. If a war starts, no one will be able to buy your newspapers." "And if you let me rot in jail, Miss Fleuret—because I don't think you're going to let me walk away like you say you are—you won't be able to get all of the pretty jewels that you love so much. And I’m responsible for their existence in these parts, don't you know?" The three friends collectively sighed, but Stella could tell it was Ignis who was the most perturbed. This had all started when Dino had recently tried blackmailed them into finding gems for them, and now they were just going around in circles. And ugh! The nerve of this jerk, in insinuating that she was materialistic just because she was a princess and loved fashion!- Stella was so angry, that she was about to pick Dino up by his collar and slam him into something—already forgetting that it was partly because he thought they'd be violent towards him that he was now acting the way he was—but thankfully, Noctis seemed to guess what she was about to do and put a reassuring hand on Stella's shoulder to halt her. "Bribery isn't a thing we've tried here? Right, Stell? Right, Iggy? Anyway, I see you eyeing the Ring of the Lucii here, Dino... What do you think about me letting you borrow it?” Stella and Ignis blanched at Noctis’ words. And while Stella had thought that Noctis had had some street smarts to him in the past, now she reallyhad to wonder. "Noct!" Ignis protested, seeming like he was about to steal said Ring from his prince's careless hands if he wasn’t careful. "Having the Ring may be the only way to undo your hideous fate. Why would you ever give it up?” But apparently Noctis had sized the situation up better than the other two had. Sighing, as he ran a hand over his face, Noct answered: "Because I saw the glint in Dino's eyes here when he first noted the Ring. My guess is that he at least wants to try and copy it right now. So if I go so far as to lend it to him, he won't stab me in the back or not give it back. Will you, Dino? Not when I’m letting you make a copy of the Ring, to do with what you will. Right?" "No, boss," said Dino, as he gleefully scratched his nose now—something that Stella rolled her eyes at, as he seemed to be trying to be a cool anime character—"I have no reason to betray you at all, do I ?" And before neither Stella or Ignis could say anything to still try and cautious Noctis, he was giving away his precious cargo and securing them passage for the next day... Though even if there being two Rings of the Lucii would mean that Noctis could fight back against his eventual fate, she still thought he too easily gave away a possible bargaining chip for other parts of his journey. ... There was electricity in the air, as Noctis and Stella stood in a room in Galdin Quay’s leville together. And while there was a large part of Stella that wanted to jump Noctis’ bones—she wouldn’t deny it—she didn’t, for right now they needed to talk about things like responsible adults. "Noct… I do get what you did with the Ring, but what are we going to do when we get back to Tenebrae now? As Oracle, Luna could’ve looked at the Ring and found a way to free you of its curse, but now-“ "…It was our only chance, Stella, and you know it. You too heard the footsteps of Niflheim soldiers coming up behind us, didn’t you? Soldiers and MTs that would have been too happy to deposit me back on my father’s doorstep. Only my putting the Ring in Dino’s hands that exact moment, allowed him to put us in his ship that circled us around Galdin Quay until they disappeared." Noctis had a hand on Stella’s cheek now, and it made her feel so loved. She got the sense that he was saying that—even though he didn’t want it—he’d made peace with the idea of his death… and it was mostly her that he didn’t want to see die, which was why he’d acted as he had. "Also, Stella… not that I doubt Luna. You know I don’t,” Noctis said with his lips so close to Stella’s now, that it was positively sinful that he didn’t just give in and stop torturing her. “But isn’t her duty as Oracle to fight against the Plague of the Stars no matter what? So why would she help me if I’m doubting my own role in that all now?” Despite the electrical current that had been passing between Stella and Noctis so readily here, she felt it give away some—and the old “enemies walls come back up—when Noct began doubting her little sister’s heart some. "…Because you know what a humanitarian Luna is, Noctis... And even of her crush on you, don’t you? So of course, she wouldn't want you to die to save the world and would rather look to find another way." Outside, it began snowing of all things—something that never happened in Galdin Quay, or so Stella was told—and it fit perfectly what Noctis said much, that restored the mood. “I guess… I guess I shouldn’t doubt her, huh? When I was trying to convince your family that you weren’t crazy for coming over to my side again, I bought Luna a white puppy to go along with her black one. And I know how much she loves Pryna…” But it wasn’t only Luna who loved Pryna. Pryna had been a blessing in Stella’s life, too, and she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss the man who had brought so much good to her life, honestly, and that who hopefully the gods would not take away from her. “Thank you for that, Noctis,” Stella whispered as she leaned in and kissed the back of Noctis’ neck now, with tears in her eyes. ... The next day—as the trio prepared to go to Altissia and then Tenebrae—Stella expected a bomb to go off… or something worse, since she couldn’t help feeling that they were getting off too easily lately. But no such thing happened. Instead, she found herself enjoying the breeze as she stood on Dino’s ship, but wishing she had a hat to wear to keep her hair from flying all over the place. And eventually—surely after he’d woken up more—Noctis stood behind Stella with his arms wrapped around her waist and his head buried in her hair, as they both stood there solemnly. It was clear to Stella that Noctis had feared last night that he’d also somehow lose her—as Stella had worried for him—and that feeling hadn’t disappeared yet. But halting the young adults’ depressing thoughts, was Ignis. He stepped towards where they were at in the center of the boat and cleared his throat. "Not to intrude on your moment, Highnesses, but we need to talk about who we can trust." This made Stella grimace: She knew well how Gladio’s recent betrayal had cut Noctis to the quick… and now everyone was unsure of Prompto since he was from Niflheim (that was why he wasn’t here now). And while Stella of course understood why Ignis was bringing this all up now—because they needed a game plan—there was a part of her unfairly mad at him for bringing about all this pain for Noctis again, when he was already feeling down. "…We can trust Vyv… Well as much as we can trust Dino, anyway. He’ll help us if we promise him good pictures of us to put in his articles" Stella muttered, surprising even herself that she was saying this and not mentioning her own siblings first. But that was obvious, so Stella had then chosen the only other person she could think of. “And wouldn’t you know that he’s also going to Altissia for some photography?” Ignis seemed like he had a lot to question about this, if Stella was reading his face right, but he didn't press the issue right away. Instead, he went over to the captain and told him to head back to Galdin Quay?! Stella couldn’t make sense of this, even though she didn’t doubt Ignis at all, when this was perhaps saying she should. What had he thought that she was wrong, and that Vyv was still in Lestallum? Right away, the captain seemed to try and follow Ignis’ request. But since he’d already been pulling the ship away from the port, he had to force it into a rough halt to try and getting going back the way they’d come. And this sent saltwater upon saltwater spraying into the ship, that poured into the captain’s bloodied hands and had him hissing in pain. And seeing this as the bad omen it surely was, Stella rushed over to the man’s side and ripped part of her shirt off so she could bandage his hands and apologized profusely. “I’m so sorry about what just happened here, Sir. I think- I think my friend was confused. We’re going to Altissia. And I’ll help you spin the wheel to get us there, if you’d like. I’ll also compensate you for your injuries.” And Stella made sure to show him her royal seal, just so he knew who he was dealing with and could believe her words. “I- I’m so sorry,” Ignis spoke brokenly, as he came to the captain himself now and rubbed the man’s back to try and make him feel better thatway. “I have no idea what came over me to tell you to go back to Galdin Quay. I’ve heard of daemons being able to confuse their targets before, but I-“ “It’s alright, Ignis. Don’t worry about it. The way you’ve taken care of me my entire life—and had to remember so much—… well, anyone would be tired from that.” This was Noctis, of course, saying what Stella felt… but she wasn’t entirely sure she believed it, either. Could it have been that Ignis was secretly keeping up correspondence with King Regis to throw him off, and was now getting confused? Or worse… could he have been on Regis’ side himself? Summoning her rapier to hand again, but trying to be discreet about it, Stella promised herself that she was going to work to strengthen whatever magic it was that allowed her to do this. … Stella saw the ocean city of Altissia beginning to show up before her very eyes seven hours later, and it was a sight to behold. It only came second to Tenebrae in her opinion, since she preferred floating plants to water in the sky, but it was still gorgeous. Once they were getting out of the ship, and showing their passes to some Altissian figureheads—Stella found herself asking Noctis something she really should have from the get-go: "I assume you set up a secret P.O. Box here, and that's where Dino's sending the Ring to when he’s eventually done with it?" "...Y-yeah. That was the plan," Noctis said in an almost embarrassed manner, with his hands in his pockets and a blush staining his cheeks as the three friends walked on the dock into the city. "Then I suggest we find it now, and whisper even quieter about it," Ignis quipped, with a hand on both Stella and Noctis’ shoulders both as he looked at them as though he was scolding children. So they took off to do exactly that.: after a near hour of trying to figure out the map and the streams, the trio found themselves in a gondola—ending up at the basement of a restaurant with a pinball machine in it, that Stella knew both Noct and Ignis were itching to get to. But in the back of the basement was a secret passage that led to the storage locker, rather than a P.O. box, where the Ring was. Noctis twisted the tumbler to the storage locker in an agitated manner, but it opened with a loud CREAK and there the Ring was: proven by the fact that Stella thought she could already see Noctis aging the moment he put it on. "Noctis," Stella said, kissing his cheek as she spoke, so he would know the love she felt for him when she said these next words. "Now that you know it's truly the Ring of the Lucii, and that Dino didn't pull a fast one on you... take it off. None of us want you to start dying." Noctis didn't have to be told twice. He had a faraway look on his face, as though he was remembering the Ring stealing his father's life force away, back when he cared, and then he ripped it off--putting it into the pocket of his jeans. "”Good, then,” Ignis smiled now: clearly as eager for Noctis to be rid of wearing the Ring as she is. “Things are actually going swimmingly right now, I think. Now all we need is to meet Vyv, like Lady Stella suggested, and head fo-“ But Ignis didn't get to finish that sentence, for at that exact moment a sentinel stabbed him through the shoulder with a flag. As brothers who had fought together so long, Noct was by Ignis’ side at once—stuffing a potion down his throat, that brought some color to his cheeks again—before using his arminger attack to send numerous of his weapons at the MTs. And while Stella wasn’t quite as skilled as Noctis, she tried to be fast and fluent—so that her blade was leaving sparks in many enemies’, too, and causing them to fall—but what actually did make them fall in the end, was the leader of Accordo, Camelia, coming their way with her lover Weskham hot on her heels. And she looked at Noctis as though she wanted him to prove to her that he wasn’t like his father… and yet the MTs obeyed her every command, because she was clearly in bed with Niflheim the way that even King Regis was now. “Camelia, speaking as someone who was once hoodwinked from Niflheim… how could you eve-“ But she wasn’t listening to Stella at all, and instead telling Noctis, “As petty as it is, my dear Weskham wants revenge on King Regis for being a terrible friend. So tell me your plight, oh prince of Lucis, and I may be willing to help in your cause.”

[idonia-dovahkiin]

Starting With A Kiss Meant To Be Gentle, Ending Up In Passion, for your choice of pairing!

Another request for a prompt list!? I’m positively giddy! This comes from @blog-of-a-multitude-of-fandoms’ Prompt List; #70.If you don’t mind, this prompt will be for DA2′s Cullen and my OFC Juliet. I hope you enjoy reading it. It’s a type of…AU to my fanfiction “Sunflowers of Kirkwall.” 

 Be careful, the phrase was a constant reminder whenever Juliet stepped foot outside. Be careful not to anger that magister; be careful when speaking to a trader; be careful of whom you call friend; be careful of how you use or conceal your magic; but, above all else, she must be careful around Templars. An old friend once told her, Those Southern brutes could taste magic in the air.

It all seems so long ago now.

“You aren’t nearly as careful as you say you are,” Anders once growled through grinding teeth, Juliet was smiling as she jogged up to him, Garrett, and Aveline. The sun was beginning to set, casting the skies overhead in violent oranges and reds, with Kingpin smelling no Circle Mages turned abomination.

“Of course I am, you just can’t see it through that lightening blue haze over your eyes.” The closer she got the more she skipped with her nose up in the air. Her mabari stood between the two with his tongue rolled out.

“You were laughing! You touched the Knight-Captain’s arm!”

“Do you want the entire city to hear you?”

Kingpin growled lowly, with his ears tucked back, at the abomination. Anders clutched onto to his staff, tense all over, and took a step back. Other words died at the back of his throat. He was careful not to upset the beast.

“I can’t believe I’m saying this, but Anders is right, Juliet,” spoke Aveline, following the younger woman who walked beside the eldest Hawke. They had to leave the Gallows now; needed somewhere else in Kirkwall. “You speak to the Templars far too casually to be careful. You take them on as clients, too. You will slip-up.”

“No, I won’t.”

When Garrett stopped, almost in the tiny boat that would lead them back to Kirkwall’s docks, the world around them paused. His shoulders heaved up and down—slowly, deeply, trying to untangle jumbled up thoughts and concerns.

Behind tinted, prescribed glasses, Juliet’s eyes widen when he placed heavy hands on her shoulders. Blunt nails almost bit crescent moons in her flesh. Garrett once had a younger sister, a thought that still hurts him years later, and knows that little can be done to sway Juliet’s mind. He simply warned her, a whisper between them, “Be careful, please. Knight-Captain Cullen is…he’s—”

Juliet placed her hands over Garrett’s. “Right under Knight-Commander Meredith, some say her Fist, the most unhinged, crazy Templar Knight-Commander. I know, I know.” A gentle pat. “I’ll be careful. Trust me.”

The Templars haven’t caught me yet.

 However, being careful is not necessarily equal to being gentle.

Her touches, rare as they are with Cullen, are always gentle. Brushing. Nearly ghostly along his armored bicep. As exhausted as he must be from spending hours under the sun, in his heavy uniform, he still escorts her and Kingpin home most evenings. The first time he entered her new home was simply to show-off what she earned, to share her plans for the then empty mansion. The second time was to be kind. Third time was to break in the King’s Gambit set he had gifted her; “A housewarming gift,” he claimed with a shade of pink dusting his cheeks. The seventh time? They had developed something that they chose to ignore.

She should have been more careful.

Yet, his eyes are so golden…. And tired. The bags under them look like bruises. She traced the pads of her fingers under them, listing the non-Orlesian ways to get rid of them. Sleep being the number one way. How could anyone sleep when the mages—apostates, abominations, maleficar alike—grew tiresome of the power Templars have collected? Even she was tired. Here, within these walls, or in the Blooming Rose, Juliet can help those who wish to escape such gruesome realities. The harsh lines on Cullen’s face ease away with every gentle brush of her finger. Despite growing tired under such ministrations, Cullen keeps his eyes open staring at no particular spot before him.

Belly full of victory cookies, ears lulled to the constant sound of firewood crackling and two mabari sleeping, Cullen’s attention drifts to the woman before him. Brown eyes concentrated on where her fingers go on his face, but full of concern. Her fingers coated in an aroma of sugar and butter. Lips rosy pink….

“Cullen?” A soft-spoken, concerned word when his thumb brushes against her cheek. The sharp metal of his gauntlet runs along her cheek; never enough pressure to cut her, but enough to send prickles down her neck.

His eyes glance down and his face goes red at a thought. The hand that was caressing Juliet’s face falls with stuttering words from its owner. A sort of apology of how he should not have been so forward. “I must go back to my post—the Gallows. I should not have wasted your time. It has been a long day; you must be tired.”

“Cullen, please, wait.” A hand holding his elbow stops him. She always knew where, and when, to touch. Her fingers rest under a buckle, worrying the muscle. “You—it—it looked like you—that you wanted to say something. Is there something you wanted to say?”

When Cullen turns around, he does not expect to see her blushing so much. She looks down when he turns toward her. The grip on the inside of his elbow tightens. “You never waste my time, and I’m—I’m not tired. Pretty sure Garrett—Hawke won’t need me tomorrow, so I…I can sleep in.  N-n-not that I-I’m insinuating anything! It…it’s just that…with everything that’s happened we’ve, um, we’ve, yes?” Juliet took to speaking to the flaming sword on his torso; a far easier thing to look at than his eyes.

He holds her face with his free hand.

He leans down, as she pulls herself upward.

A pause between the both of them. Hearts and thoughts racing—Be careful; this isn’t right; what’s one kiss—with sweaty hands. Glancing at the other person’s eyes before darting down to the person’s mouth.

Juliet stops just a breath away from Cullen’s waiting lips; leaving him to decide whether they kiss or not. And, oh, how he wants to…. Thoughts of this nature, of such daring innocence, only just started to blossom at the forefront of his mind whenever he sees her enter the Gallows. It is always her. Her standing by his side, holding his hand unafraid of the sharpness that surrounds them, talking with him like an old friend, and a companion guarding his back. Here, with her (and Kingpin and Goliath), there are no demons or maleficar. A sanctuary (that he does not deserve).

Cullen dares to kiss her bottom lip; feeling warmth spread throughout his face and down to his toes. The hand that is on her cheek knits its fingers in her soft hair of their own accord. The other rests on her hip.

He kisses her lip again and, seeings how their lips overlap, Juliet gently kisses his upper lip. Noses softly bump into one another, smelling the other person, her hands lay on his chest. Just at the hilt of the Sword of Mercy insignia. Both parties have their eyes closed; drowning in the others’ presence. Listening to every breath, every sigh, and shutter. A fleeting smile crosses someone’s face before they kiss once more.

Another kiss, but this time it is Cullen’s bottom lip being kissed and Juliet’s top. The red lipstick she wears marks Cullen’s slow moving mouth. His lips aren’t dry anymore, and he tastes of those Ferelden sugar cookies. His short, stubbly beard bites around her mouth.

The Knight-Captain is the first to pull away—heart pounding so hard, he fears that Juliet can hear it echo under his breastplate—with a soft sound of detachment from her lips. He keeps his eyes closed. Her hands hold onto the collar of his armor; her brow presses against his, glasses uncomfortable on her face now, nuzzling him. Silently begging for just one more kiss.

“I…I…,” he swallows a lump in his throat. Tongue heavy and not knowing how to work to help form words.

A warm, wet appendage lazily traces along Cullen’s upper lip.

With great difficulty, he peels his eyes open to see a half lidded gaze staring back at him. She travels with Hawke and his gang, even lived with him for a few years, he should not be doing this. Not when mages could be making deals with demons or performing blood rituals. This is a distraction. He should—a fleeting kiss on his lower lip.

“I’m sorry,” a whisper, “I shouldn’t’ve done that. It-it isn’t—caref—” Teeth clank together in a hungry, devouring kiss; capturing a gasp.

Then, between gliding lips and nibbling teeth, someone is moaning. Or is it a groan? Tongues dance together, wrapping and unwrapping around each, before hiding away in frantic, passionate kisses.

A body dressed in cotton and leather presses up against steel. Metal fingers weave into auburn tresses; giving the head freedom to move as needed, but being sure to keep her close. Another set of hands hold onto a neck, playing with golden curls at the base of a skull. The very tips of their ears are dark pink and chins are wet.

Juliet pulls away, gasping for air, and nibbles just under Cullen’s jaw. His stubbly beard tickles and hurts her softer expression. She nips and sucks along any part of his neck that she can, reveling in the sounds he makes and how he tugs at her hair. One of his hands lies at the top of her rear. There is a slight lift of her skirt.

She flicks her tongue on his earlobe, smiling at his full-body shutter, and carefully takes his earlobe into her mouth. A gentle suck has Cullen hugging her body to him. She couldn’t help but smile.

A voice is breathless when she says, nearly begs, oh-so close to his ear, “Cullen.”

Next, there’s a shout and she is thrown to the ground with a yelp. Her head would’ve met the hard flooring if not for Goliath dashing behind her to catch her in time. Kingpin stands between her and the Knight-Captain, snarling.

Scrambling to sit up, Juliet watches Cullen back away from her. Red stained lips move in what she knows to be the Chant of Light. He stares down at her with wide, wild eyes. A hand finds the hilt of his sword. She will not pull at the Fade. She will not call to her staff. Both mabari are snarling and snapping at the Knight-Captain. Could any of them hear her erratic heartbeat?

Clearing her throat, a hand rests on her upper torso; she calls to him in her most normal, concerned tone of voice. “Cullen, are you alright? Do you need help?”

While he whispers the Chant, his golden eyes frantically move about the room. The shadows play tricks on him; he sees familiar shapes falling before him, blood-curdling screams, hears it calling out to him. Touching him.

“Cullen!”

A bark.

He’s back in Kirkwall. Back in a room cast in an evening fire’s glow; smelling of sugar cookies, mabari, and flowery perfume.

Kingpin and Goliath sit on either side of Juliet—a young woman, who works with Hawke and at the Blooming Rose, which is a place frequented by his Brothers and Sisters, she uses a bow and arrow to fight and sometimes a dagger, and she helps the Order track down abominations. She likes to wear skirts and red lipstick. Carver speaks fondly of her.

“Cullen,” she speaks to him firmly and gently, hands barely shaking, “you know there are no demons here, right? That I am not a demon?”

Kingpin remains motionless. Intelligent, dark eyes staring back at the Templar.

“I must leave,” he says, wiping away any evidence that may be on his mouth. A red stain smears itself on his armor. He walks to her front door and walks out. The door does not slam behind him, but it shuts firmly nonetheless.

Juliet stands still in her spot. He might come back, realize that magic coats along his tongue or buzz at the air around him, steal her to the Circle. Lock her away in the darkest cell for months on end. See to it that the other Templars—her clients—get their revenge for being toyed with. Kill Kingpin and Goliath! Realize that Garrett is an apostate, too, and do the same to him!

Her legs give out.

And she’s sobbing in her study.

The youngest mabari pushes at her glasses to lick away her tears, whimpering earnestly, while Kingpin nuzzles at her chest with a massive paw on her knee. She hugs them both.

“Don’t—” she chokes on her words, removing her glasses, “don’t t-t-tell An-And-d-ders or Av-Av-Aveline. Please!”

They gently bark their promise to keep silent.

Goliath continues to lick away the tears that come, whimpering his pleas for her to feel better. Juliet’s breath isn’t easy, and her face is quickly gathering mabari drool, but she still has to clean-up around her mouth. To only hide messy lipstick and wipe away Templar saliva.

She’ll have to be more careful.

[hagenmacy]

“But I saw you do it!”

Been obsessing over the Mary Poppins Returns soundtrack, and randomly thought I'd write this little one-shot. Inspired by my musings for just how does Mary Poppins operate? Obviously she arrives more to save the parents than the children. Does she only work with middle-class city kids? How does she sneak her way into homes that can’t even afford a nanny?

            When she came down from the sky it felt like the world itself had slowed down. You were sitting on the porch, watching the fireworks billow over the tree line. When Mother told you she hadn’t been able to save enough to go to the carnival this New Year’s, there’d been a fight. You both shouted. You watched them alone this year.

           But then, as those fiery tendons of light and color exploded over the horizon, one in particular caught your attention. From the burst of colorful violet flames, one stream of fire soared higher and higher, farther out from its sisters. The show went on. You realized this one errant flame was flying in the direction of your farm.

           This purple beam of sparks and smoke didn’t fling itself in the direction of your home, but glided smoothly. You thought of the egg races the children at the carnival were playing, trying to balance a delicate egg on the edge of a spoon. What’s more, and this was the most abnormal detail of all, there was a person being carried along by that flame—a lady, dressed elegantly and with a proper floral hat perched upon her head.

           You shot up. Yes, the fire was finally fizzing out. The purple streams crackled and hissed. The lady---she was still quite a bit up from the ground. Would she fall? No, suddenly she took hold of something to their side and raised it up.  An umbrella whisked through the air, carried only by the breeze. The lady glided until she reached the ground on the other side of your gate.

           “Your mother is home, I trust?” said the woman as she walked towards the home. “Do go on, fetch her for me.”

           “I, I…I…”

           She looked to you with a cocked brow. “Eye?Eye? Nose? Mouth? That’s quite enough of that. Spit-spot!”

           Something in the woman’s assertive tone made you leap back. You turned and rushed through the front door, almost afraid to look back. Mother was slumped over a cutting board looking exhausted. When you told her there was a fancy lady at the door who wanted to speak with her, there was a tired groan. When you’d both returned to the front door, you saw this beautiful woman had already let herself in.

           “You are the lady of the house, yes?” she said, setting her garish carpet bag onto a nearby chair.

           Your mother brushed a hair from her face. “Y-yes?” she shifted uncomfortably “Are you…here about my bills, because—”

           “Heavens no.” said the lady, looking over the messy home with a scrunched nose. “I’ve come to look after your child.”

           Your mother looked agape. “I beg your pardon?”

           The beautiful lady had begun removing her gloves, which she placed in the carpet bag. She turned, looking your mother in the eyes for the first time.

           “You did advertise for someone to mind your child, did you not?” A hand reached back and dipped into the bag, pulling out a single small piece of newspaper clipping. “I have the article in question here, just as it was published—”

           “Oh that, yes…” Mother was quick to interrupt, though the breathy turn of her voice showed this was a topic she’d rather not like to vocalize. “That was when I still had my job. I haven’t been working for almost six months now.”

           “I see.” came the reply. “In any event, having to look after a child as well as search for employment are, at times, competing interests, I should suspect.”

           “I know, I—”

           “You can’t possibly do both all at once. Hence I’ve made it a point to answer your advertisement.”

           “You don’t understand—”

           “It is essential that I have my own accommodations in the house. I shall also require every second Tuesday off.”

           Your mother stepped forward, as though closer proximity would make her words tougher to ignore. “I cannot afford to hire anyone right now! I barely have enough to provide for just me.”

           While the two ladies spoke, you had slunk out of their way towards the corner. While your mother spoke, the proper-looking woman had moved to a mirror on the far wall, where she patted an errant hair into submission. Your eyes fell on the chair where she had placed her carpet bag…and something else? Yes. An umbrella—what’s more, an umbrella with a fat, green carved parrot’s head for a handle. How curious.

           Your attention was brought back by the harsh, practical footsteps the lady made as she walked towards your mother. She regarded her with stiff lips and halfed eyes.

           “Indeed.” came her first response. “In any event, I’ve come all this way and I shall see if there’s work to be found here yet.”

           “I can’t—"

           “Speaking of work, I’m going to put you under a trial period. If you’ve not found a job by the end of the month, I’ll be on my way.”

           Your mother’s mouth searched for the words, and her eyes fixated on this strange, eccentric person. “You mean, without requiring pay…?”

           The lady began undoing her dark, crisp coat. “First thing’s first, I’ll see to the chores of the house. Namely, dinner.”

           “Oh, I’ve already started that.”

           “Really!Outrageous. A tired and ragged person like you cooking dinner while your child sits and watches fireworks on the porch? Honestly.”

           Your job dropped at the insinuation. Mother didn’t want your help cooking! And besides, it was tradition for you and her to watch the fireworks every year. Her deciding to stay in and cook instead wasn’t your fault.

           Still, you lowered your head. You thought of how hard your mother sighed any time she had to clean up, or make the meals, or remind you of your own tasks. Sometimes you were upset that Mother didn’t play with you as much or talk with you before bed the way she used to. A year ago she was always excitable and fun to be around, but lately she’d slown down. Maybe you should have offered to help with dinner. Maybe you should’ve been offering a lot more than you had been these past few months.

           Suddenly, the beautiful woman tossed her coat over to the chair, where it landed just beside the carpet bag. You saw the beautiful detail of the design, and just how clean and well-made it was.

           “Now,” continued the lady. “before dinner is ready, I should think you’d like to take a nap. It’s awfully late and you look exhausted.” She said her words bluntly, with no care as to how they came across.

           Mother grimaced just a tiny bit, but a flash of something shimmer across her eyes. Was it relief?

           “That would…be lovely. Thank you, yes. I’d like that.” Her words came quietly, a great relieving exhale. She turned with her arms raised, almost swimming towards the stairs. When she’d trudged up to the landing, she looked back to you. Her eyes seemed questioning.

           The proper lady was also looking at you. Her eyes moved from your top to your bottom, then back again, and again. With each scan her frown drooped deeper.

           When she broke her gaze she did it by turning back to your mother. “We’ll call you when it’s ready.”

           Mother nodded and returned to her trek. You were left alone in the living room with the eccentric woman.

           Then, from somewhere beside you:

           “The looks of this one! Chews on their sleeves and won’t help with the housework! Oy, help us!”

           “Yes,” said the woman. “We’ll have to see what can be done about them.”

           You jerked to the side. Who else was here!? You nearly fell the floor in shock when you saw the jaw of the little green parrot begin flapping.

           “Well you sure have your work cut out for you, Mary Poppins.”

           “Indeed.”

           You jerked again, looking back at the beautiful woman. “Mary Poppins? Is that your name?”

           Mary Poppins did not answer. Calmly, she walked over to the chair where she folded up her coat and placed it within the carpet bag. You crossed your arms, annoyed at having been ignored.

           “It sounds very silly.”

           Mary Poppins stiffened right up, giving you a look that was clearly collected, but quite possibly the coldest and most condescending expression you’d ever seen a person make.

           “I am very silly.” she responded.

           Now it was your turn to look her up and down. She looked like a normal, pretty lady. Still…there was something off about her. You reached your hand up to scratch your head. It boggled your mind how many strange things had somehow happened to you in a span of nearly ten minutes.

           “Where did you come from?” you asked her. “Do you live in the sky?”

           Mary Poppins gave you a quizzical look. “What a strange and ridiculous question.”

           “I saw you fly up to the house, though. You came down with the fireworks.”

           “Honestly, the very idea of it.” Mary Poppins rolled her eyes.

           You stomped your feet in frustration. “But I saw you do it!”

           “Come along, please. It is time to start dinner.” She turned away and started for the door to the kitchen. You began to follow before stopping about halfway.

           “Why did you come here, Mary Poppins?” you asked.

           From behind you came the voice of the parrot: “Mary Poppins doesn’t explain anything! That’s something you’d better learn quick.”

           “Honestly, when did you get so chatty?” she responded with another eye roll.

           “I’m tired of keeping my beak shut. I want to know what you have planned for this family! I know there’s a painting of the beach hanging in the bedroom, so I’m sure you’ll have an outing with a talking dolphin or something like that. I’m sure you’re going to take the child to that circus in the sky instead of that ruddy carnival down the street. Oh, and please tell me we aren’t going to all four corners of the globe with that infernal magic compass of yours, I can’t stand all that travel at once. Oh! And I’m certain while everyone’s been out of the kitchen a great big restaurant staffed by animals has taken up shop just behind that door hasn’t it?”

           By the time the parrot had finished talking, you realized your mouth was hanging wide open. Your head darted around to look at Mary Poppins, whose face was as still as stone. Once again, she rolled her eyes.

           “I am merely here to provide a service to a woman who advertised that she needed the help. I’m sure I don’t know what you’re talking about. Besides, all of those were entirely incorrect.”

           A noise broke out from behind the kitchen door. It was a long, sonorous noise that rattled the whole house—you recognized it immediately as the vibrating sound of an elephant trumpeting. You looked to Mary Poppins. For the first time, she made a smile.

           “Well, almost all.”

[jacksonroseroth]

Actions Speak Louder Chapter I

Hey, guys, this is one of my first attempts at doing a Vikings fic. I’ll be posting the chapters on Tumblr every now and then to update them, but feel free to check out my AO3 with the other chapters and other Vikings fics. Please let me know what you guys think!

(Mad thanks to @tephi101 for support and beta reading! Love you babe!)

Words: 1,884

Warnings: None

She came with the rest of the slaves taken from the raid. A young, timid girl of merely 4 years, she clung to a neighbor that was also taken. As the loot was divided up, so were the slaves. A middle-aged Viking ripped her neighbor away from her and her lip trembled, trying to will herself not to burst into tears and fight back. It was the one thing her mother told her to do before she was taken and killed, ‘Don’t fight back, let them take you. Live.’

“You’ve brought back a child, Ragnar?” A woman asked, making her turn. She looked up at the man called Ragnar, who had appeared by her side. Ragnar chuckled and nodded, casting a glanced down at the young girl, whose eyes brimmed with tears.

“She was alone and helpless. I thought it better mercy to save her then kill her.” Ragnar said, taking her by the hand and leading her up to the woman who spoke.

“And you wish us to raise her as our own child? This Christian ?” The woman asked, disgust dripping off the word Christian. Ragnar chuckled.

“No, Aslaug. I wish us to simply raise her.” Ragnar said to the woman, Aslaug. “She is about Ivar’s age. He shall have a playmate.”

Aslaug gave the young girl a long stare before turning and leaving the room. Ragnar chuckled and knelt down to her as Ivar wheeled over to them.

“Do you understand what I’m saying, child?” Ragnar asked in a soft tone. The girl stared at him and simply nodded. Ragnar chuckled. “You are going to stay with us. We will protect you and keep you from harm. Do you understand?”

Again, she only nodded.

“Does she speak?” Ivar asked, slightly annoyed, watching the young girl. She glanced at Ivar, looking over him and his cart. Again, without speaking, she nodded in response to Ivar’s question. Ragnar smiled, softly and put a hand on his son’s little shoulder.

“She is in a new land. She doesn’t know anyone here. How would you feel, Ivar?” Ragnar asked him. Ivar shrugged and said, “I would fight my way back to my family. Not let some foreigners steal me away.”

“Well, she didn’t have much choice in the matter,” Ragnar said. He turned to the girl and asked, “What’s your name?”

The girl was silent for a long while, causing a worried look from Ragnar, wondering if she did in fact speak. Finally, like a whisper of wind, she said, “Tora.”

~

It was one of the only words Tora had ever spoken since she first came to Kattegat, 14 years ago. True to his word, Ragnar kept her safe and raised her alongside his sons. They all came to think of her as a little sister of sorts, all except Ivar. He loved testing her and teasing her, seeing how far she would go before erupting in a fit and try to fight him off, which was easy enough when fighting against a cripple. He thought of her as the plaything given to him by his father, though Ragnar meant for Tora to lift Ivar’s spirits and be a good influence on him.

Tora had spoken no more than 6 words in her 14 years in Kattegat, but that did not mean she didn’t listen and learn about the things going on around her. She communicated with her ‘brothers’ through writing and a series of hand signals they had developed and learned over the years. Though she did not speak, the Lothbroks still managed to teach her, as best they could, their Norse language. While Tora told them she understood, they were never sure, because she never spoke their lessons back to them.

As the years passed, Tora became more and more comfortable with her new family, Aslaug softening to her and raising her as she would a daughter. Still, even with surprises or magnificent gifts, anything that made her face light up in pure happiness, she never spoke a word. The only time she did was when she was angered into yelling one or two words or frightened into it. As she grew, she became a lithe, beautiful young woman, long black hair, an angelic face, innocent, blue eyes. She was often stared at by the young men in Kattegatt, but there was never anything more than looks. She was mute and no man wanted a woman who wouldn’t speak.

~

Tora wandered through Kattegat, stopping at a few places and conversing, in her own way, with the friends she had made. The cold wind whipped around her, making her pull her cloak tighter around her. The first signs of snow had begun, the mountain tops beginning to turn white. Within the next day or two, the first snows of winter would surely begin. As Tora made her way back to the Hall, she realized she was being followed. She cast a glance behind her and sighed as she turned forward, making Ivar smirk and chuckle.

While Tora wanted to speed up her pace and avoid him, she wasn’t in the mood to deal with the wrong side of him. Ivar limped a little faster to catch up with her.

“Well, well. Little Tora.” Ivar teased. Tora glanced at him then pulled up her hood to block her sight of him. Ivar snickered and said, “Not so much as a squeak from the mouse.”

Tora sighed and trudged forward, but not before Ivar hobbled in front of her as she reached the doors to the Hall.

“Why is it you never speak, Tora? I’ve always wondered.” Ivar said. Tora, of course, said nothing, and only glared at him, making him chuckle even more. “Come now. You’ve spoken before. Do not make me push you to a fit.”

Tora shifted her weight and continued her stare.

“A simple word and I will do as you ask,” Ivar said, reaching up a hand to touch her cheek. Tora moved her head away from him before shaking it. “You cannot go your entire life without speaking, Tora. Someone will make you speak and it won’t always be me…”

Tora shot him a death glare as if she was insinuating he was threatening her. Ivar chuckled.

“It’s no threat. It’s fact. If we cannot find you a suitable husband that will abide by your silence, we have no control over the men who take what they want.” Ivar said. Tora’s death glare faltered into worry and slight fear. “I won’t be able to protect you. My brothers won’t. And Ragnar won’t either. If you would just speak to me, I can help you.”

Tora knew this trick. He had done it before when she had turned 10 and made her utter a very frightened ‘No’ that made Ivar laugh with delight. But she wasn’t falling for it this time. In fact, Tora reached out a hand to touch Ivar’s arm, making his eyes widen in surprise; Tora never touched him so tenderly before. But the tenderness soon faded as Tora’s fingers gripped his arm and forcibly pushed him away, making him stumble and fall backward over the fence where the pigs were kept. As Ivar’s arms flailed to try and grab onto something to catch himself, Hvitserk and Ubbe walked out of the Hall. They turned just as Ivar’s legs, bound in those metal contraptions, went up and over the fence, making Tora smirk in satisfaction. The brothers laughed as they joined Tora and watched their little brother pick himself out of the trough of water.

“Perhaps you should stay in your chair next time, brother.” Ubbe said, laughing. Ivar glared up at him as he shouted for a servant to help him to his feet.

“You know, this is what you get for trying to tease her.” Hvitserk said, chuckling. He put an arm around Tora’s neck as she glanced back and smirked at the fallen Ivar, still struggling to stand.

“If she would only speak, it would give me less joy to tease her.” Ivar grumbled.

“Let her stay silent if she pleases. It doesn’t bother us.” Hvitserk said. Ivar growled at his brothers as a servant boy helped Ivar up and back over the fence. “Come, Tora. Mother’s asking for you.”

Tora looked at Hvitserk, shocked, confused and slightly worried. Hvitserk chuckled and said, “Don’t worry. She told us it is good news.”

Hvitserk led her back into the Hall, Ubbe staying behind to help right his little brother and followed them into the Hall.

~

Tora stood in front of Aslaug, wringing her dress in her hands. She had never really spoken to Aslaug like this before and was worried she would send Ubbe and Hvitserk away and wouldn’t allow them to help her communicate. After staring at the floor the entire time since Aslaug entered the room, she slowly raised her eyes to look at Aslaug.

Aslaug smiled at her, making Tora feel a little better, but not much.

“I’m sure you’re wondering why I’ve asked you here, Tora,” Aslaug said. Tora glanced at Hvitserk and Ubbe and then nodded. “Well, I have some news for you.”

Aslaug stood from her seat and stepped down to Tora. She took Tora’s hand in her own and gave her a warm smile.

“Ragnar has just informed me that one of the men from King Horik’s court has asked to marry you,” Aslaug said, softly. Tora’s eyes widened as Hvitserk and Ubbe shuffled, glancing at each other, and Ivar straightened in his chair, surprised and slightly saddened. Tora opened her mouth, wanting to speak, but stopped just short of a soft whimper of confused emotions. Aslaug patted her hand and continued, “Don’t worry, child. I’ve told Ragnar that this man must come here to Kattegat and meet you in person. You and you alone shall decide your fate.”

Tora pressed her lips together and nodded, her face starting to go white. Aslaug kissed her temple and turned to her two eldest sons. “Boys, take her to her room. Let her rest until supper.”

“Yes, mother.” Hvitserk and Ubbe muttered, escorting Tora out of the room. Aslaug watched her leave, giving a soft sigh, then turned to her youngest.

“You are afraid she will accept this offer?” She questioned him. Ivar looked at his mother and gave a soft scoff.

“Please. Be rid of her and possibly never have to see her in her silence again?” Ivar said. He held out his hands and said, “When’s the wedding?!”

Ivar slumped back in his seat and sighed as Aslaug went to him.

“You may fool your brothers, your father, even Tora. But I am no fool.” She said.

“Of course not, Mother.” Ivar said.

“You admire her. Adore her. Take your pick.” Aslaug said, watching her son. “Either way, she holds meaning to you.”

“She holds no meaning other than a plaything.” Ivar hissed. Aslaug chuckled.

“So you say. But you will see. She is a beautiful, young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her for a wife.” Aslaug said. “And if you continue down this path, you will regret losing her.”

Ivar rolled his eyes and looked away until Aslaug left his side, leaving the room. Ivar sighed and called for a servant for a cup of ale.

~

Next Chapter

If you’d liked to be tagged in future fics/chapters, let me know!

[thecloserkin]

Short Story Review: “A Love Match” by Sylvia Townsend Warner

Genre: Literary-ish

Is it the main pairing: Yes

Is it canon: Yes

Is it explicit: No

Is it endgame: Yes

Is it shippable: Eminently so

Bottom line: Read it and thank me later

Praise be, it’s a published story about a pair of happily married siblings! Not legally married yet it’s a nonetheless a successful decades-long relationship with its ups and downs. And they ain’t even fresh young things experimenting with their sexuality! They stay together through midlife crises and menopause and eventually die in each other’s arms.

Celia and Justin Tizzard live openly as brother and sister and privately as husband and wife. It started back when he was on leave from the front lines during WWI and his PTSD was so bad that he woke up screaming in her bed— she flew into the room to comfort him and they “rushed into the escape of love like winter-starved cattle rushing into a spring pasture.” She had just lost her fiancé, you see. Justin notes that the welcome she prepares for him — the drawn bath, the hot supper, the real bed — was all meant for the fiancé who was blown to smithereens in the killing fields of France. By the end of his furlough, of course, Justin has slipped seamlessly from the role of “brother” into the role of “lover.” It’s cute because people in London see a conscription-age young man accompanied by a young woman and assume, quite reasonably, that they are sweethearts:

many people glanced at them with kindness and sentimentality, and an old woman patted Celia’s back saying, ‘God bless you, dearie! Isn’t it lovely to have him home?’

But Justin doesn’t have a sweetheart, and Celia’s is dead, and with their mother having remarried they are now the most important person in each other’s lives, and that’s who you want to spend your leave with, right? When the incest happens they don’t even make a big fuss about it:

‘Now we’ve done it,’ he said; and hearing the new note in his voice she replied, ‘A good thing, don’t you think?’ … They were mated for life, that was all … At the end of his leave they parted in exaltation, he convinced that he was going off to be killed, she that she would bear his child, to which she would devote the remainder of her existence.

Well he doesn’t perish in the war, and she’s not pregnant. The story opens with Celia and Justin moving to a sleepy little village where they proceed to settle comfortably into boring, unremarkable routines and tread “hand in hand down the thornless path to fogydom”:

Never again did Justin see Celia quivering with beauty as she had done on the day she came to him in hospital. But he went on thinking she had a charming face and the most entertaining eyebrows in the world. Loving each other criminally and sincerely, they took pains to live together happily and to safeguard their happiness from injuries of their own infliction or from outside. It would have been difficult for them to be anything but inconspicuous, or to be taken for anything but a brother and sister—the kind of brother and sister of whom one says, ‘It will be rather hard for her when he marries’. Their relationship, so conveniently obvious to the public eye, was equally convenient in private life, for it made them unusually intuitive about each other’s feelings. Brought up to the same standard of behaviour, using the same vocabulary, they felt no need to impress each other and were not likely to be taken aback by each other’s likes and dislikes.

This is such a perfect paragraph that I had to quote the whole thing. It features one of my favorite aspects of incest-shipping — they know each other’s foibles inside-out. Also, there’s a difference between developing feelings and making a relationship work and it’s great we get to see Justin and Celia doing the latter. The hospital visit Justin refers to is when he was sent home with a wounded leg that festered into gangrene:

I shall be a peg leg, he thought. It’s not decent for a peg leg to make love; even to his sister. He was ravaged with fret and behaving with perfect decorum when Celia was shown in—dressed all in leaf green, walking like an empress, smelling delicious. For a moment the leaf-green Celia was almost as much a stranger as the Celia all in black had been.  When she kissed him, he discovered that she was shaking from head to foot. ‘There, there,’ he said, patting her. Still holding his hand, she addressed herself to charming Nurse Painter. Nurse Painter was in favour of sisters. They weren’t so much trouble, didn’t upset a patient, as sweethearts or wives did—and you didn’t have to be hanging round all the time, ready to shoo them off.

Two things: First, bystanders taking pains to draw a distinction between mere sisterly affection and romantic attachment is a running gag in this story, even as the narrative clearly demonstrates that Celia loves him because she’s his sister, not in spite of it; it’s just that society at large has this wrongheaded idea about what love looks like. Second, I want you to conjure up the leaf green dress Celia showed up in, the dress that took Justin’s breath away and laid his gnawing self-doubt to rest. I’m thinking Keira Knightley in Atonement - not because it was green, because it was i c o n i c. No, of course Celia would not have worn anything nearly as revealing, but the feeling you get from seeing her in it for the first time? That is what must have come over Justin.

There are a few hiccups as they settle into village life. Their decision not to hire a live-in servant—from whom their sleeping arrangements could hardly be kept secret—is met by general consternation until Justin hits upon the brilliant tactic of pleading straitened circumstances. Poverty is an ungenteel subject and well-bred people give it a wide berth. That takes care of one line of potentially damaging inquiry, but the imperative to behave inconspicuously remains uppermost in their minds:

Celia grew alarmed; if you make no friends, you become odd. She decided that they must occasionally go to church, though not too often or too enthusiastically, as it would then become odd that they did not take the Sacrament. No doubt a great many vicious church attenders took the Sacrament, and the rubric only forbids it to ‘open and notorious evil-livers’, which they had every intention of not being; but she could see a scruple of honour at work in Justin, so she did not labour this argument.

Is that not the sweetest thing! Celia knows Justin would feel weird about taking the Sacrament, what with the two of them living in sin, thus she is careful to calibrate their church attendance such that they fall within the category of “casual” churchgoers. And it pays off! At church they are recruited into a weekly whist club, and pretty soon the Tizzards are throwing dinner parties. Everyone finds them “agreeable, if slightly boring.”

Returning from their sober junketings Justin and Celia, safe within their brick wall, cast off their weeds of middle age, laughed, chattered and kissed with an intensified delight in their scandalous immunity from blame. They were a model couple, the most respectable couple in Hallowby.

That’s definitely part of the thrill of it, pulling the wool over their neighbors. Both the ones who pity him for being under her thumb, and the ones who pity her because it’ll be hard on her when he marries: they’re all projecting their own preconceptions onto this couple. Well, maybe there’s a grain of truth to it — Celia is three years older and she has always taken the lead when it comes to most matters, and Justin has been happy to leave them in her capable hands. Then comes a series of nasty, insinuating, anonymous letters, calling Celia a “hag” and accusing her of “keeping such a tight hold on him.” At this point she and Justin have been living in Hallowby for over a decade. The most upsetting aspect of the letters is how vague they are in their denunciations. There are no open threats or demands for hush money, just a list of people in the community who “know all about your loathsome performances.” The letter-writer “taunted Celia with being ugly, ageing and sexually ridiculous … ripped through her self-control and made her cry with mortification.” Guys, this is awful. It’s the worst thing that could happen to them, to be exposed and have the life they’ve built together burnt to the ground. Celia stoically determines to keep the matter from Justin, which is a mistake because one glance and he tells her exactly who sent them:

‘Justin! Have you been carrying on with Mary Semple?’

‘No, I wouldn’t say that. She’s got white eyelashes. But ever since she came home Mary Semple has been doing all she could to carry on with me.’

So this girl half Justin’s age carried on a one-sided flirtation until it got on his nerves. She was soundly rebuffed, and decided to deal with her rejection by sending Celia hate mail. It doesn’t matter if she thought the rumors of incest were true; the point was to hurt Celia and through her, Justin. That’s the kind of threat the Tizzards will always be vulnerable to, unfortunately.

Whatever danger might lie ahead, it was the thought of the danger escaped that made her tremble. If she had gone on concealing those letters—and she had considered it her right and duty to do so—a wedge would have been driven between her and Justin, bruising the tissue of their love, invisibly fissuring them, as a wedge of ice does in the living tree. And thus a scandal about their incest would have found them without any spontaneity of reaction and distracted by the discovery of how long she had been arrogating to herself a thing that concerned them both. ‘Here and now,’ she exclaimed, ‘I give up being an elder sister who knows best.’ Justin, on his way to the Semples’, was muttering to himself, ‘Damn and blast it, why couldn’t she have told me sooner? If she had it would all be over by now.’ It did not occur to him to blame himself for a lack of openness. This did not occur to Celia, either. It was Justin’s constancy that mattered, not his fidelity.

I know I’ve quoted at length from what is really not a very long story but I felt justified in doing so because it is objectively such a well-constructed story, all about finding happiness where you can and accepting love as it is, in whatever guise it comes to you. Celia could have thrown a jealous fit over the Mary Semple incident—or any number of other incidents, Justin’s considered quite a catch by the single ladies—but she chooses not to. It’s not like their relationship is all smooth sailing; the regretful decision to forego children is a painful one for both of them. The Tizzards just truck along into middle/old age, and keep on loving each other, and once in awhile there may be a big shift like the above where Celia decides to cast off the mantle of Big Sister Who Knows Best, but these are merely different seasons of love (like the night they first became lovers) and they’ve successfully weathered them together. I want to end by quoting a line from near the beginning, where Justin returns to England on leave from his regiment and Celia meets him at the station:

a strange woman in black came up to him, touched his shoulder, and said, ‘Justin!’ It was as though Celia were claiming a piece of lost luggage, he thought.

Celia is both a stranger and as familiar as a long-lost personal possession. This right here is what I love about incest shipping. Part of what makes her “strange” is being dressed in full mourning, but now that the fiance is out of the way she belongs to Justin again — except he’s forced to view her as someone’s potential romantic partner, and seeing her in a new light his eyes are opened. There shouldn’t, in the normal course of things, be anything particularly romantic about reclaiming lost luggage, but for the two of them it’s such a relief to fall back into the familiar rapport of two people who’ve known each other all their lives, it really is exactly what they need. They are exactly what the other needs.