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creative-caramel-coffee · 8 months ago

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Actually Asthmatic

Summary: Reader comes to work despite being sick and pepper makes sure you’re ok.

TW: asthma, fever, overworking, sickness lol

Pairing: pepper x Platonic!Reader

Words: 2.5K

A/n Part two coming soon (part two will have natty and wands >:). Also, so much has happened since I posted last and I’m so sorry it’s taken this long. I’ve been super busy with uni. But… I got a girlfriend :) I also have a ton of uni work I have to keep up with and I have like no time for anything now. But I will do my best to keep writing. So expect my updates to be a bit more spaced but I’m NOT giving up on this account :)

Living in a dorm was an interesting thing. You had a room, kitchen and bathroom to yourself, but it was lonely.

You knew you were in for a rough time when your lab partner came to a lecture sick. Not only that, but they were coughing … a lot. You knew no matter how hard you tried you were bound to get sick and mentally you resigned yourself to your new fate.

Lo and behold the next day your throat hurt, but it was manageable. Another day passes and your head had begun to feel like it was stuffed with cotton. A truely lovely experience. To make matters even better, you had three classes and work today. Your shift at stark industries was something you couldn’t miss even if you wanted to.

Pepper was coming to check on your branch of the company and you needed to be able to show her the numbers at the meeting you were both attending. You needed to prove it hasn’t been a mistake to hire a collage student with crippling debt and insomnia to run a branch of what was probably the most successful company in New York if not the world.

You flipped the page on your textbook and bit back a sigh. There was still an hour left of class and the world seemed to be against you, time was moving slower, and it felt rather personal.

You rested your head on the table and tried to block out the droning of your collage professor, he was a great guy, but your head felt like it was being run over by a bus and your cheeks were warm and your fingers cold.

You must have drifted off at some point because before you knew it someone was nudging you. You groggily sat up and squinted into the light, a frown marring your face.

“Y/n/n, get up. Class is over.” It was one of your friends, you gave a half grunt and looked around.

The lecture hall was quickly emptying out and so you grabbed your bag and textbook and stood, swaying slightly.

“Whoa. You good?” Your friend asked and you nodded mumbling something about standing up too fast before beelining for the door.

You bid goodbye to your friend at the train station and boarded the tube that would take you to work.

It was about a five-minute walk from the train to stark industries, but the cold weather that threatened your lungs working in tandem with your asthma and what you were now beginning to think was the start of a nasty chest infection, made it seem like hours of hiking through the amazon after dark.

You adjusted the backpack on your shoulder and waited for the train to slow, the next stop was yours and despite it being the quiet carriage there was still the loud sound of train tracks passing under making your head feel like a drum being beaten by a tone-deaf monkey on steroids.

The train almost had pity on you as it slowed just as you thought the monkey had found an amp to make his music ‘better.’

You stumbled off the platform and hurried up the steps to the footpath. The crowd jostled you and you felt more than desire to just let the ocean of people sweep you out with the tide.

But you forged on. So did the monkey.

You must have looked like death incarnate by the time you arrived at the lobby. You were flushed at the very least and you could hear the wheezing in your breath as you took in air by the lungful.

You scanned your keycard once you had located it in the mess that was your backpack. Stepping into the clean white walls of stark industries made you feel like a racoon in an upper-class neighbourhood.

You made your way to the elevator that would take you to the board room and finally paused to catch your breath which was now just a string of wheezes. You knew that because the look the lady at the reception shot you was one that was a mix of concern, confusion and pity.

Your throat was raw, and your face was congested as well as your chest. You sounded like you swallowed a frog, and the frog was also now sick and subsequently congested.

When the lift arrived you thanked Stark, who was your own personal god that there was nobody else in it. You stepped in and lent against the railing after thumbing the button for your floor with what was probably more force than necessary.

You sat back against the cool metal bar and watched the numbers climb higher and higher as you approached the master board room which was also the same floor as peppers office. A place you rarely visited except when you had the quarterly board meeting like today.

As the lift pinged and the doors slide open smoothly you stepped off and gathered your bearings.

You caught sight of a door at the end of the hall with peppers name on it and smiled. She was also one of your own personal heroes. She worked like a horse and kicked ass like an avenger all while wearing heels and a smile that said, ‘don’t fuck with me before I’ve had my coffee’.

You navigated your way to the board room and cracked the door a bit. So far there were a few people in there and it was still early. You smiled at the unfamiliar faces and sat down.

You didn’t know any of them yet and so you kept to yourself as you and the others waited for pepper and the rest of the companies branch managers and board members to come in.

After a bit pepper entered looking as swauve and elegant as ever. She took her seat at the head of the table and took note of the empty chairs with a small frown.

“It seems some people are still absent, so we’ll wait for a bit until the numbers are more … concrete.” She said with a smile drawing a few laughs from around the room.

You kept your head down, but your eyes kept straying back to pepper.

After a few minutes of you being sat there doodling in your notepad, the meeting started.

You paid attention to most things but once you had presented your numbers you had more or less zoned out. At one point you caught pepper looking at you closely and decided to try and pay attention again.

But the meeting droned on and soon your chest felt tighter and tighter. Your face flushed with the effort of suppressing a cough. The wheeze that had left you in the elevator had seemingly returned and you were doing your best to keep it quiet.

Your eyes looked around the room for an escape and you caught pepper looking at you again. She looked worried.

‘Are you ok?’ She mouthed and you nodded but she looked unsure.

You decided to leave, just to step out for a moment to get some air and let your lungs do their thing.

You waited until all eyes were back on the man presenting before slipping out the door.

You beelined for the bathroom which were luckily empty with everyone currently on the floor in the meeting.

You braced yourself by placing your hands either side of the sink and let out a string of deep chesty coughs. The wheeze got worse, and you cursed yourself for leaving your asthma inhaler in your backpack in the board room.

The coughing still hadn’t ceased, and it seemed the attack was making it harder to catch your breath than normal.

You barely registered the door to the bathrooms being opened and the sound of high heels click across the floor in hurried steps.

You felt a hand press between your shoulder blades as someone drew slow circles on your back. Someone was telling you to breathe and you recognised the voice.

Pepper.

You felt something being pressed into your hands and looked down to find a glass of water.

You gratefully took a sip and found it soothed your throat pretty well.

After a second, the fit ended and you just had the wheeze to worry about.

“Are you alright?” Pepper asked looking worried and trying not to fuss over you.

You shot her a weak smile.

“I’m ok.” You grinned unconvincingly. She gave you a look you assumed tony often received and caved. “I’m sick.” You rasped.

“I’d have never guessed.” Pepper joked rolling her eyes and guided you by the shoulders out the door.

“Where are we going?” You asked still holding the water.

“Well, you need to rest, and the board can handle the rest of the meeting. I want you to get that cough looked at and i have some emails to check. So, we are going to my office, you are going to lie down and I’m going to get some work done.” Pepper said with a smile, and you looked at her like she had hung the stars in the sky.

“Thank you.” You mumbled.

“That’s quite alright honey.” She smiled and then her brow crinkled as if she just noticed your wheezing. Which spoiler alert… she had.

You avoided her eyes as she scrutinised you closely. After a second her pace slowed and yours matched it before she stepped in front of you and placed a hand on your chin. She tilted your head back to look at her and met your gaze with a motherly worried expression.

“You’re wheezing.” She noted.

“And you’re pepper potts.” You said back looking nervous.

“Yes.” She deadpanned in response. “Y/n, are you … asthmatic?” She asked and you looked away.

That was enough of a response for her as she sighed. “Wheres your puffer sweetie?”

“Back in my backpack in the meeting room.” You mumbled.

“Alright here’s what we are going to do. I’m going to get you set up in my office and then go and get your bag for you.” She said and resumed her pace to her office.

When she arrived, she scanned her keycard and opened the door. It was an amazing office. Floor to ceiling windows in a corner room made the whole space perfectly lit with natural light.

You stepped inside in awe, and she guided you over to an expensive looking blue couch with a fond smile.

“You stay here, I’ll be right back.” She said and you grinned and nodded still star struck.

You could see the New York skyline from up here, the city bustling below.

You had barely blinked by the time pepper had returned.

She handed you your bag which you took and thanked her again.

“Now take whatever you need to and try to get some rest, I’ll be at my desk just there if you need anything.” She said with a smile, lingering to make sure you took your inhaler.

After you had uncapped the small blue device and administered the medicine, she gave you a curt nod and headed to her desk.

Almost as soon as your head hit the soft fluffy throw pillows on the couch you were out.

The next few hours were spent toeing the line between sleep and wakefulness. At one point as you dozed you heard pepper talking to someone on the phone before you returned to sleep.

Pepper had sat down to get some work done but had barely typed out one email before her eyes were back on you. You seemed so small in this moment. Just a young adult, you reminded her of peter. She wanted to make sure you were ok and the small wheeze coming from your lips made her worried.

Your face was slightly flushed, and pepper was sure nobody had been messing with the room temperature controls. Feeling maternal, she picked up her phone and punched in the number for Bruce’s lab. Better safe than sorry.

After a short conversation with Bruce in which she relayed your symptoms, he decided he wanted to see you to run further tests and rule out pneumonia. Pepper had looked over at you and agreed, you had been sleeping for nearly four hours now and seemingly weren’t doing much better, and including your asthma she didn’t want to risk anything.

Bruce and pepper agreed to bring you to the avengers' tower to check your lungs and maybe put you on a nebuliser to be safe as the wheeze was still lingering.

When the phone call ended pepper stood from her desk and walked over to the couch, gently she sat down beside you and nudged your shoulder. You groaned and rolled over trying to escape.

Stifling a giggle pepper placed her hand on your arm, frowning when she felt heat radiating off you. She paused and then lifted her hand to your face, laying the backside of her palm to your forehead and feeling for a fever.

Finding what she was looking for, pepper gently rubbed your arm again.

“Y/n? Honey, you have to get up. We’re going to the doctor sweetie.” She said softly and you whined and buried your face in the couch.

“Tired and don’t wanna move.” You mumbled into the cushions.

“You can lean on me the whole way to the car, alright?” Pepper said carding her hands through your hair.

“Okay.” You mumbled and blinked your eyes open to look at her. The haze of fever was settled in and the pink hue of your cheeks made you look both dazed and cute.

With peppers help you stand up and lean into her side. She had already called happy to bring the car around and he was going to meet you both out front.

With your bag slung over one shoulder and you curled into her other side, pepper slowly began the trek back to the lift. The board meeting had ended hours ago so it was just the two of you left on the whole floor.

After a slow and sleepy trip down to the car pepper got settled into the backseat with you so she could keep an eye on how you were fairing.

Your cheeks had darkened slightly, and she felt your forehead again as happy peeled out of the car park. Your fever had definitely risen, and she frowned as the glossy look in your eyes was increased ten-fold.

Part two coming soon :)

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idalenn · 3 months ago

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Lillian Kyo - OC Smash or Pass

Rules: pretty self explanatory. Include physical descriptions and/or pics, and propaganda. the "other" label can be used for "sexuality misalignment" (ie: OC is femme and you're gay, vice versa or you aren't into smashing but a specific thing you wanna do with them like perhaps hug or study them under a microscope idc)

Quick Facts:

Height - 6'2" / 188 cm

Age - early 30s post DT

Gender - Trans Woman

Sexuality - Pansexual

Pronouns - She/They

PROS:

Accomplished White Mage. You'll survive just about anything.

Need someone to find a rare or specific plant for you? A toxin to be ground, mixed, and splashed onto your weapon? She's your girl. (Just don't ask her to do any preparing. That's a botanist, not an alchemist)

Oodles of physical contact. Nature is healing and so is she. Will carry you bridal style.

Practiced flutist.

Chases the thrill of combat. (This is a pro)

CONS:

Will actively discourage you from going out into Keeper-unfriendly sunlight.

Selfish with her time and person from years of giving all and never having a choice in matters.

Incredibly petulant at times. (Heal-ING not Heal-ED)

Easily stressed by events out of her control and by her own perceived failings. If she trips too much, for example, she will kick a hole in the earth.

Has to constantly remind herself to forgive others and herself.

Not straightforward with her feelings, becoming frustrated when a decent way won't present itself leading to further frustration, which is why she treasures the Echo as she does; one can understand her implicitly through it, or at least witness the events that made her some way and from them draw their own conclusions.

Needs others to be direct and to the point with emotions and feelings. Oftimes more dense than a black hole.

Chases the thrill of combat. (This is a con)

DETAILS:

Whether or not Lillian is wearing gloves remains a reliable indicator of how close she wishes to be with people. Gods help you if she starts wearing gauntlets again.

Excellent wilderness survival skills. Before a Keeper tribe sends their child out into the cold, cruel world, they make sure their child will be able to live without them.

Had to be taught Ishgardian table manners and to bathe more often. If she can get away with forgoing either, she will, but does know which plants she can rub on herself to cover up musk.

Will put weird things in her mouth all the time. Colorful leaves, edible soaps, sour-smelling rocks with familiar looking moss, etc. Which are poison? Which taste good? Which are edible? It's a Keeper trait exacerbated by years as a botanist, so don't think too much about it.

Romantically: Bitingyoubitingyoubitingyou. On a more serious note, she has a lot of love to give, and does so more freely as of late, but her struggle with building meaningful connections and being honest does hamper this. If you do manage to forge this bond and navigate hazy, unchartable waters, she'll want to keep you around for as long as possible, much as she does with the Scions.

You cannot fix Lillian; she can only fix herself. But she is better now than before.

Sexually: Switch, but prefers to let others take the lead if possible. Not entirely comfortable with being pushy or demanding. Try not to give her too much power, though! Take heart in knowing she's an accomplished healer. You will survive. But do keep whining - she likes it.

Tagging: @zoroarkthief (because I want to see a Faren one) but I got to this super late so if you see this and haven't done it already OR want to do it again then take this as your sign to do so!

#gpose #gposers #ffxiv gpose #ffxiv #ffxiv screenshots #miqo'te #wol oc #ffxiv wol #lillian post

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bloodycassian · 3 years ago

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Cauldron Damned.

Reader x Cassian + Feyre BFF

Prompt - bestie bestie bestie a cassian x reader fic where reader helps feyre with the cauldron - not rhys and she ya know like rhys did and cassian basically breaks down and it’s super angsty but rhys lives so the reader gets to aswell ig tag @ bellefleurs and @ eerievixen

Her hair was a mess and painted to her neck with sweat but you still held her. Still gave and gave, until you were out of breath. Until you could feel yourself slipping. "Keep going.... You're doing so good." You panted out, trying to put a smile in your tone. She was the Mother herself, forging that cursed Cauldron back together. Rhys was breathing heavily behind you after being knocked out by Lucien. You had given the Autumn court son a look and he had known what you needed him to do. Rhys would be snarling mad when he woke, but you knew what you had to do. To save your home, to save the entire world. Feyre was ready to risk it all, fearless and full of hope. You had to save that hope for your Court. Better you than her, better the high lady and lord survive than just an officer. You smiled at the thought of what you'd told Cassian before this final battle. Before you knew it would turn into saving the entire world from the Cauldron's vengeance. "You better make damn sure my memorial statue looks fantastic. No priestess, though. Make sure it makes my wings stand out." You joked on the flight to the base camp. Cassian danced around death like he was it's balancing point. Like he was in tune with each and every death or life dealt. He laughed at your abruptness on the subject. After months of skittering around each other, of trying not to stare too long or acknowledge that pull you felt towards him... It was nice to finally be alone. To let that tension ease out with a few jokes. It was too easy to be with him, like you'd known him much longer in the year of preparation for this battle. "And you better make sure my wings are bigger than yours on that sculpture." He banked around a large cliffside and you followed, like a magnet. Like you could read his mind, you turned when he did. He rose with you, compensating for the cool mountain wind. You rolled your eyes dramatically, flapping a bit higher than him for emphasis as you drawled out "Poor War General, his wing size matters so much to him." He shrugged, circling lower and lower with you until you were on the ground together amid a clearing. The grass was soft, covered in early morning dew. "Some say wing size dosen't matter, you know." You said with a wink, making him double over with laughter. It made you begin laughing too when he started running out of breath. Once you had both collected yourselves, You began building a fire together. Rather, a massive bonfire that was to act as the signal to the army for where to move. His face was grim when he threw the last of the logs together. You understood why. "The Kings army will be here before us." You said, voice low. He only nodded. You kneeled in the wet grass, one knee down the other one supporting your wrist bracer. He followed you silently. You spoke in unison, the ancient words from all the Illyrian warriors before you: "Name me God of Death today. Let us bring that name to those who do us wrong." + Feyre muttered something you couldn't hear. The darkness crept further in on you. You could see some light between your blurred vision. You could see how her hands lit up the cracks in the ancient stonework. You could feel her practically vibrating with the strain. Your tears dribbled on to her shoulder, knowing these would be your final moments with her. Your final moments in this world. There was no better way you'd spend it than saving her. Spending those last few minutes being able to tell her how amazing she was. You felt her smile when you leaned your head against hers. Your heart ached. You whispered what you hoped were encouraging words in her ear. A rupture of sound- a crack fully mended -and your chest filled with blooming pride at your friend. There was something crackling, ripping. You weren't sure if it was inside you or if it was the magic Feyre was performing. There was a gasp behind you and rustling, but you dared not take your concentration away from her. Away from how she leaned back into you. Dared not speak a word to distract her other than giving her those little jabs of confidence when she started to shake. "You got it, Feyre. You can do this." You managed, before that caving feeling in your chest seemed to give in. You were breaking, you knew that much. But she wasn't done yet. Your breath leaked out from you, like you were being squeezed. "Make it all worth it, Feyre." You managed to whisper out before you could no longer hold yourself up anymore. You laid back, your legs wrapped around her, mirroring her own. You hooked a foot on top of hers and gave her what you could from where you crumpled. Death was easy, slow. Like a soft lullaby taking you away. You knew what lay before your body, and only hoped you were enough to get Feyre to where she could mend the rest on her own. You gave her all of your soul, all your being. She had to make it. You let the wave of that soft lullaby take you under. + Cassian didnt think before shoving his way through the crowd into the tent. Didnt consider what he might find there, and how his heart may be ripped from him at the sight of it. The death that crept at that tent was a feeling he wouldnt forget in a thousand lifetimes. His best friends lying unconscious on the floor before the cauldron. He went numb, still like a cold glacier. Lucien frantically shook Rhys, attempting to wake him. Cassian's head roared and he was falling to his knees at your side. He took your head in his lap, gently. As if he could still hurt you. He didn't notice he was crying until he saw the fat teardrops on your cheek. He wiped them away, leaving dirt smeared there. Another yell of anguish, and Rhys was coming to. From the sound of the yelling or from Lucien shaking him. Azriel entered the tent then, solemn. Then his eyes widened. Those shadows darted around the room, taking each member of the court into account. The shadowmaster rushed to Feyre, checking her pulse and sighing. He noted the way your leg tangled around hers. His heart gave a painful squeeze. He saw both his brothers in agony. And he swore on his life there would be no place for the cauldron to be found again. Cassian cradled his mate's head in his lap, rocking gently. Rhys' dark power cracked the sky outside the tent once he was conscious. Rhys rushed to Feyre, scooping her in his arms. He brushed her hair back from her face. Azriel could practically hear the mental screaming coming from both of them. The shadowmaster laid a hand on top of yours, closing his eyes and letting his tendrils of power, of those whispering shadows reach out. They circled your head, slowly like a snake. He felt that song then, singing back with his own. The essence of your soul, dancing around your aura. His eyes flashed open in surprise, then a manic laugh rumbled from his chest. "Rhys-" He breathed, pulling his attention away from a waking Feyre. Cassian looked up in a flash at his brothers, watching them exchange looks. "Bring my mate back now." Cassian growled at Rhys. The tone was utterly deadly. Promises of death from the Lord of Bloodshed if his command was not answered. Azriel's eyes darted between his brothers. As if he was expecting Cassian to attack. The high lord would have been gaping at him if he hadn't experienced the same pain of almost losing a mate. He nodded, pulling himself together long enough to enter your vacant mind. Then the cauldron was humming, as he dipped a mental hand into it as well. + Rhys' commanding voice rang out over your land of lavender and sunshine. "She will miss you." His voice was soft, but the attention it drew was still there. The meadow you laid in was softer than any silk in Velaris. More luxurious than any chair made to accompany your wings. You sighed, taking in the sweet scent before he spoke again. "Too much, I believe. Especially when she hears about what you did to save her." He appeared at the edge of the soft meadow, the grass around him waving like the sea. You sat up, dazzled at the sight of him here. In such a bright, lovely place. His tanned face seemed to glow with the smile he held for you. "I'm tired." You said, voice groggy. You wanted to lay back down. You closed your eyes, for just a second and when you opened again he was in front of you, crouched. He held a tattooed hand out, giving you a nod. "Just come with me and you can nap all you want." His eyes sparkled. Not with that starlit power, but with tears ready to spill over. You took that hand and closed your eyes. + Feyre's warm hand in yours was the first thing you felt when you woke. Rhys held her in the corner atop a pelt rug beside you. The brothers leaned against each other. Rhys played with Feyre's hair as she rested. The sight of them together, him protecting her so well made your heart sing in approval. you knew she always deserved someone as good as Rhys. The fire where the Cauldron once was made the tent cozy. There were no sounds other than the soft breathing and the occasional pop of wood on the fire. Azriel sat at the door, sword on his lap. Ready to kill if anyone dared enter. Then, you looked to the softness that cradled you. Cassian's face was covered in dirt, blood and more. He looked exhausted. Like he had been beaten, lost and beaten again. You tried a weak smile at him. Clean rivers ran down from his eyes, revealing the dark skin underneath. "I couldn't let you get a statue without me." He said, voice trembling. You smiled the best you could and reached a hand to stroke his cheek. "How-" You began, but he shushed you. "Just..rest for now. We can talk in the morning." He brushed a thumb over a silent tear that trickled from your eye. You nodded, and let him pull the blanket more firmly around you. Lulling you to sleep with soft humming.

#cassian x reader #cassian #acotar #the cauldron #acotar fic #bellefleurs #eerievixen

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bevvydraws · 4 years ago

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Kwami Exchange Students

This might be a mini-fic, I’m not sure yet, but for now just consider anything I post for this AU connected one-shots.

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Marinette knew that the world was full of more odd and mysterious things than she had previously thought. She was a highschool super hero going after a butterfly themed maniac who wore a wrestler’s mask with a suit, after all. But somehow, despite the craziness she constantly experienced in her life, she still managed to get caught off guard.

Because one day, after weeks of Tikki making sad comments about wanting to experience life as a “modern human” (accompanied with longingly watching dancing videos), Marinette woke up to find Tikki missing. But more alarming than that, was that now there was a teenage girl curiously inspecting everything in her room. Thinking it may be an akuma, she looked around frantically for her tiny spotted friend in hopes of defeating it without waking her parents. She tried not to make any loud noises as she shuffled around in her bed.

It didn’t work, however, and the intruder turned to look at her with wide eyes that were somehow familiar, “Oh, Marinette! You’re awake!” The voice was even more familiar, soft and gentle while slightly squeaky.

“Wh-who are you?” Marinette tried to ask calmly, although the stutter betrayed her.

The girl gasped, her hands quickly flying to cover her mouth, “Oh gosh that’s right!! You’ve never seen me like this before.”

Marinette did a once-over of the girl. Her hair was long and bright red, with black roots. She was wearing a long white dress that looked more like a sheet and no shoes. Her eyes, somehow even wider, were bright blue, and held a wisdom that wasn’t normal for someone who looked so young. Then again, nothing was normal about this teenager who radiated energy and power even while looking like she had just been caught in the cookie jar. Wait... cookie jar?

“Tikki!?” Marinette asked, “Is that you?!”

Tikki nodded quickly, “Yes!! I’m so sorry I didn’t mean to startle you!”

“But you— You’re so small but now— huh?!” Marinette couldn’t find the words to express her confusion as to how the little creature that could fit in her purse was now the same height she was.

“Well, you see...” Tikki fidgeted with her fingers, “It’s been a while since I’ve walked among humans, and I thought it would help better understanding modern society if I could experience first hand...” She looked to the side, then her eyes widened as if coming to a conclusion and looked back at Marinette, “...that way I could help track down Hawkmoth easier. Mmhm, yep!”

Marinette didn’t bother questioning Tikki’s logic, since she had more pressing questions on her mind. “How are you able to turn human?”

“I’m a god, Marinette,” Tikki said matter-of-factly, “I existed far before ladybugs were even a concept. I can take many forms, just like the other kwamis.”

“So why stay so little?”

Tikki smiled, although it seemed sad, “Easier to help, easier to hide, and it’s an easier form to hold. Especially since our energy is so heavily changed to the miraculous stones now.”

“Oh...” Marinette whispered. “But wait how are you gonna blend in?”

“The same way you and Chat Noir have all this time,” Tikki grins, “Hiding in plain sight!”

“It’s one thing hiding you as a kwami from my parents, but I can’t hide a whole human!”

“You won’t have to, silly.” Tikki smiles, “I have it all under control. We kwami are very good at convincing others that typically abnormal things are something completely normal. It’s how so few know of our existence.”

“Okay…” Marinette said, unsure, “But it doesn’t matter how convincing you are, no one is going to think walking around in a bedsheet is normal.”

Tikki blushed, looking down at her dress, “It’s not a bedsheet, Marinette. It’s a dress. It’s just something simple so I don’t stand out.”

“You’re going to stand out if you go anywhere like that.”

“Well you’re the fashion designer,” Tikki huffs, cheek still blazing red in embarrassment, “What should I wear?”

Marinette grinned wickedly and dashed to her closet.

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An hour later, Marinette stepped back to admire her work. She was very glad that she had been working on some clothing she had kept under wraps from everyone, it would be a little too suspicious if Tikki showed up in some of her very-Marinette clothing. Tikki was now fitted with a white tank-top, the words “Lucky” embroidered across it, and light-washed blue shorts. Her hair was tied up to the side and decorated with a black ribbon. Because Marinette didn’t have time to teach her how to tie shoes with fingers, she was wearing simple black flats.

“Oh, Tikki, you look so cute!” Marinette fawned as the cherry-red-head tugged at her clothes self consciously.

“I feel so… exposed,” she frowned, looking at herself in the mirror.

“Tikki,” Marinette said, deadpanned, “you don’t normally wear clothes at all.”

“You know what I mean,” Tikki huffed, “I’m less comfortable in this form… and it’s so cold.”

Marinette smiled sympathetically and went to her closet, pulling out an old generic black sweater, “Here, maybe this will help.”

Tikki slipped it on, and a smile stretched across her face, “This is perfect! Thank you so much, Marinette!”

“I’m just thankful that we’re similar sizes,” Marinette laughed, “otherwise this would have been a lot harder. Now, how are we going to explain you to my parents?”

Tikki grinned, “I’ll take care of that! Just be down in the bakery in a few minutes.” She playfully winked at Marinette before snapping, shrinking in a flash of light before revealing a little ladybug. Marinette shook her head, convinced she had seen everything at this point, and opened the window and watched as Tikki zipped out of the window.

Marinette quickly finished getting ready, grabbing her book bag before running downstairs to the bakery.

Sabine and Tom barely had time to give their daughter a warm greeting before their bakery door swung open and Tikki shyly stepped in, looking very lost.

“Good morning!” Tom greeted heartily, “What can we get for you?”

“Good morning,” Tikki responded, a kind but shy smile on her face, “I’m looking for a Mme. Sabine Cheng and M. Tom Dupain.”

“That would be us,” Sabine smiles, “What can we help you with?”

“Um, I’m the exchange student from the program through Francoise Dupont,” she says, producing a flyer Marinette had never seen before as well as some paperwork out of her back pocket.

Tom and Sabine shared a confused look before Sabine read over the paperwork and flyer.

“I’m sorry…” Sabine says, reading the paperwork to find Tikki’s name, “Mlle. Tikki, but we never signed up for a program like that.”

With acting skills Marinette had no clue Tikki possessed, tears began welling up in Tikki’s eyes, “Oh, I see… today has been quite trying,” she dabbed at her eyes lightly with her sweater sleeve, “first, my luggage went missing, and now there’s been a mixup with the paperwork. I have no idea what to do..”

Marinette stepped forward quickly, wrapping an arm around Tikki’s shoulder. “Mom, Dad, I have plenty of room upstairs. The paperwork all checks out, right? Maybe you signed up on accident or don’t remember, but we can’t turn her away.”

Marinette and Tikki both gave Sabine and Tom their best kicked puppy looks.

And that was how Tikki became a temporary member of the Dupain-Cheng household.

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

Convincing the school apparently wasn’t necessary, as Tikki had already handled all of that the night before without Marinette’s knowledge. A few forged emails and “Kwami magic”--as Tikki worded it--and all Tikki had to do was stop by the principal's office to get her necessary books and materials. Marinette wasn’t sure whether she was thankful or concerned that everyone was so easily influenced and convinced by Tikki, but decided not to think about it too much.

“Oh, I should mention…” Tikki said softly to Marinette as they walked to class, “I’m not the only new student.”

“What do you mean…?” Marinette had a bad feeling in her gut at the guilty expression on Tikki’s face.

“Well, I talked about my idea with Plagg,” Tikki said softly, “And he ‘didn’t want me to have all the fun’.” Tikki made air quotes, rolling her eyes.

“But Plagg needs to stay with Chat Noir,” Marinette hissed.

“That’s the thing…” Tikki said, wincing slightly as she walked into the classroom with Marinette.

Marinette wasn’t sure what she was expecting, but it certainly wasn’t seeing a guy she’d never seen before bickering silently with Adrien Agreste.

The bickering stopped when both caught sight of Marinette and Tikki.

The new guy, with wild black hair and even wilder green eyes, lit up and a catty grin spread across his face, “Sugar cube!” he said excitedly, zipping away from Adrien at inhuman speed to drape an arm around Tikki’s shoulders, “Didja miss me? It’s been far too long.”

Tikki grimaced, “It hasn’t been that long, Plagg,” she said, “We were on the plane together just this morning.” The undertone of scolding in her voice made it clear that who Marinette was seeing was, in fact, Chat Noir’s kwami.

Marinette looked back at Adrien, who was looking at her with wide eyes. Well, more specifically, he was looking at her earrings. Marinette’s eyes went to the ring he was wearing, before looking back up at him.

Oh.

#bevvywrites #bevvy writes #my writing #mywriting #oneshot #one shot #miraculous ladybug oneshot #miraculous ladybug one shot #miraculous ladybug fic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #miraculous ladybug #miraculous ladybug au #my au #kwami exchange students #human tikki #human plagg

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dystopiandramaqueen · 4 years ago

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what's your view on Nick using his status to be a hero?

Nick Blaine is a hero.

Etymology: The word hero comes from the Greek ἥρως (hērōs). Literally "protector" or "defender"

Definitions: Wikipedia, Dictionary.com and Merriam-Webster say a hero is:

(Continued Under the Cut!)

A real person or a main fictional character who, in the face of danger, combats adversity through feats of ingenuity, courage or strength.

A person who is admired or idealized for courage, outstanding achievements, or noble qualities.

An illustrious warrior.

A classical hero is considered to be a "warrior who lives and dies in the pursuit of honor"

One who shows great courage.

The principal character in a literary or dramatic work —used specifically of a principal male character especially when contrasted with heroine.

The original hero type of classical epics did such things for the sake of glory and honor. On the other hand, are post-classical and modern heroes, who perform great deeds or selfless acts for the common good instead of the classical goal of wealth, pride, and fame.

Another term associated with the concept of a hero, includes "good guy.”

The antonym of a hero is a villain (Fred and Serena Waterford).

What are Nick’s “feats” or “accomplishments?”

He had the commander who thought up the Handmaid program arrested for corruption. Nick did that. By himself. The man who came up with it is dead because of Nick Blaine. Full. Fucking. Stop.

He got June out of the Waterford House at the end of S1.

He stopped June from burning the letters from Jezebel’s. He kept them safe and smuggled them to Canada, giving them to Luke and striking a MAJOR blow to Gilead. Providing evidence of their human rights atrocities.

He forged documents and had Commander Cushing arrested, sparing June interrogation. Sparing himself unspeakable torture when Cushing found out he’d helped June escape. Making the Waterford house as safe as he could for June and Serena.

He smuggled words of love and devotion between June and her husband across international borders, though it broke his heart to do it. All of the time taking no credit for this. No glory. He did it bc it was the honorable thing to do.

He helped Rita smuggle June and Holly out of the house at the end of S2. The bigger feat? Letting June go. Knowing he’d never see her or his daughter again. But making that sacrifice so that they could be safe.

He restrained Fred Waterford at gunpoint while June and holly escaped. @aniray , @skyshipper and I agree that in Atwood’s World, Nick would have been severely punished, if not killed for emasculating Fred like this. It was super fucking dangerous. He was willing to die, putting his own body between Fred and his family. Like a stone cold badass ALPHA male rebel KING.

Also just being literally the only male in Gilead who consistently treats all women like human beings.

If Nick’s a hero, what is his quest?

S4 has made it very clear that Nick Blaine’s quest is to keep June Osborne and their baby Holly Alive.

Holly is safe in Canada.

If June makes it to Canada safely? Nick will have COMPLETED his hero’s quest.

Done. Check mark, A+, Gold Star, roll curtains.

So yes, even though he doesn’t know it, Nick IS a hero.

He’s the central male to June Osborne’s heroine. The hero of her story. He is noble. He is admired for his courage and outstanding achievements in the face of danger.

Already in S4, he’s nearly completed his self proclaimed hero’s quest: To keep June alive.

But cut my son some slack. He’s not a superhero!!!

Nick doesn’t have magic spells or potions like the Witcher. He doesn’t have money or contraptions like Batman. He doesn’t have superhuman strength. He can’t fly. He has no fangs, no special training. No special weapons or allies. He is completely alone. He’s lost everything.

So ease up on my son, he’s doing his best.

Also. If he completes his initial goal in S4, he may go on to do more in S5.

But if he doesn’t? If Nick chooses safety and love and family, like Janine wanted to? That’s A-ok in my book.

#nick blaine #nick x june #osblaine #meta #mine #100% fits the definition #definitions matter #nick's a hero in this essay i will #rae knows the things i like to talk about #thanks for the ask

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godsofhumanity · 3 years ago

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Headcanons about Hephaestus' golden chair incident? And his reaction when Hera was chained after her failed rebellion?

okie so i don't really like this myth because it implies that this is the version of events where Hera was so disgusted by Hephaestus' appearance that she chucked him away :// and as i've already said before on this blog, i REJECT this version of events >:(

nevertheless, let's stick with this version for this ask:

i think Hephaestus, in this version, is incredibly cunning and also pretty cold tbh.

i'd imagine that he put a lot of careful thought into the mechanisms of the chair, and he'd make it look super pretty and aesthetic looking.

for Hera, i think in this version, she's very vain and arrogant and pretentious. this is the myth that makes Hera seem true to her typical characterisation as a cold-hearted bitch.

i can imagine that when Hephaestus presented the chair to her, he did with extremely good acting-skills (which evidences Hephaestus' devious nature)... i think he'd be the kind of person to observe everything about his opponent so that he knows their weakness.

and for Hera, i think her weakness would be being flattered, and admired. so when Hephaestus gifts her this beautiful golden throne she accepts it without hesitation.

the fact that Hera accepts it immediately, despite she knowing that it was Hephaestus, the son she abandoned for superficial reasons, tells me that Hera is not one to show remorse.

it doesn't make her seem very kind or maternal at all.

similar to when Ares and Aphrodite got caught by Hephaestus' net and put on display for everyone to giggle and hoot at, i think Hera probably got a good dose of public humiliation as well.

i'm not sure about the details of the myth, but i'd like to imagine that Zeus just wasn't there in Olympus that day, which is why he didn't order Hephaestus to release Hera himself.

i can imagine Hera looking really frazzled and embarrassed as she sits, strapped to this throne, and she's just seething... i don't think she'd be screaming or crying, she'd just be hissing like a cat at everyone.

Dionysus, in this myth, comes across as a kind god,, maybe a little sympathetic. so when he comes across Hera in such a humiliated way, i think part of him is like "well, she had this coming", but the other part of him is like, "when Zeus comes back, Heph is gonna get in trouble" which is why he goes down to the forge and convinces Hephaestus to release him.

i like Pausanias' account of the myth because he writes:

"Hephaestus refused to listen to any other of the gods except Dionysus – in him he reposed the fullest trust..." (Pausanias, 1.20.3)

so, the dionysus-hephaestus brotp is REAL!!! and i just like the idea that Hephaestus wasn't actually completely outcasted from divine society.

i think Hephaestus is a bit of a crying-drunk... which is why he's easily persuaded by Dionysus to release Hera, but only after he gets drunk.

after Hera gets released, i don't think she ever apologises to Hephaestus, and i think in some versions of the myth, if i'm remembering correctly, this is what prompts Zeus to give Aphrodite's hand in marriage to Hephaestus- since Hera wouldn't apologise, and Hephaestus was still pretty pissed,, but he could be appeased by having the prettiest girl in Olympus as his wife.

but that's a whole other story!!

about Hera being chained up after her rebellion- personally, if Hephaestus hated his mother so much that he chained her to a chair, i honestly can't imagine that he felt particularly sympathetic after her failed rebellion.

honestly, in this myth, i don't think that Hephaestus cares for Zeus or Hera.. as far as he's concerned, they are not his family,, just the means by which he came into the world (which, tbh, is fair!).

so, i think he might take Zeus' side, only because he knows that Zeus can get pretty mean when he wants to... but Hera? yeah, i don't think that this version of Hephaestus would feel sorry for her.

he'd probably offer to make the chains that hold her in place, i reckon.

#hephaestus in this myth is great as long as you're not in his bad books #anon #anonymous #asks #hc #opinions #hephaestus #hera

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shyinadarkplace · 4 years ago

Text

Bucky are you still there?

Summary: When their Soul bond is broken, the reader unable to bear the pain tries to end it all. The only question is will Bucky make in time to save her? (Please be kind this is my very first time publishing a work)

Pairing: Bucky x reader. *I do not own Bucky Barnes or Sebastian Stan or any of his works*

Word count: 5k (I am sorry I might have gotten carried away)

Back ground info: This is an AU where there are Soulmates. If the connection between soul mates is somehow broken the mates have usually at max four years before everything gets unbearable. Also Tony is alive.

Prompt: Mountains/Forest and the song “Jealous” by Labyrinth. I also included another song “Dark side of me” by Coheed and Cambria. There is also an original poem by me in there. *I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION TO USE ANY OF MY WORK AS A WHOLE OR IN PART, IN ANYWAY, ON ANY PLATFORM. *

Warnings: Proceed with caution. TRIGGER WARNING: There is mention of blood, extreme depression, suicidal thought and tendencies. That’s all I can think of, but please if you need help with any of the above mentioned things https://suicidepreventionlifeline.org/ 1-800-273-8255. Please please reach out.

Title: Bucky are you still there?

Outside a winter storm raged deep in the Taiga, and while you were warm physically inside you felt just like that storm. You felt like the swirling mass of ice and snow, like the -54° C that currently raged outside your home. The added fire that sat blazing in front of you did little to assuage the pain that wracked through your chest. The ring on your hand glinted in the firelight. A familiar wave of heartbreak began crashing through you, even after all this time. When the much too familiar tears fell, another layer of ice layered around your heart. You stared into the fire and let your mind wander where it would, allowing your grief take its course.

Memory of your first meeting:

There was a pull in deepest part of your being. A tingling in the back of your mind. He was close. You could feel him brush across your consciousness like a gentle rain, and you returned the gesture. The room seemed to full of people why did Stark tower feel so crowded today? All you could do was stand frozen where you were running up a metaphorical flag screaming here I am. Your eyes quested searching desperately for someone doing the same, for the one who turned your spark into a firestorm. Suddenly there he was. Your eyes met and suddenly it was like you were falling, but gently, into warm blue eyes, into dark strands of hair and stubbly jawline. In man and muscle. Falling into him. Your feet were moving before you even realized it. Standing face to face with him, you felt like your heart was going to beat out of your chest “Hello, I’m (y/n). I have been waiting for you.) Your voice barely above a whisper almost afraid that if you spoke to loud it would somehow be just a dream. “Hello doll, my name is James Buchanan Barnes. I am so glad you waited.” Thus began your world wind love affair with the Winter Soldier, Bucky, White Wolf. And it was perfect. You two were perfect for each other been through so many of the same things. It was like you had discovered the theory of everything right then and there.

“6 years ago. Can you believe it Benji. Just six years ago Earth was upside down as a planet, but personally I was in heaven. I had met my soul mate.” The big wolf hound/wolf mix just laid his big black head on your lap, offering the silent comfort he always did. “We were married for three years. It was like magic.” A fresh batch of tears ran down your face. It had been 3 excruciating years. 3 years of feeling utterly alone. You had heard what it was like when someone lost their soulmate, it was like they were a zombie. They lost some of their humanity. It was like when a clinically depressed person masked, they looked and sounded fine for the most part but something was just off. Most of the time when one lost their soul mate they died too, unable to carry on without them or unwilling too. So many times you had been tempted to walk out in weather like this and let the Taiga take you. So many times you sat staring into the flames and thought about ending it all. After all there were thousands of ways to die. It had been 6 years since what the world came to call the Endgame. Since something had snapped inside Bucky during that battle and he had vanished. The end of the third long and bitter year was coming up, a person can only take so much.

Memory: You were probably 100 yards away from him when it happened. You could feel something wrong with Bucky, you had to get to him and help him. You got distracted next thing you knew a long thick metal rod had you staked to the ground. You couldn’t move it was embedded too far in the ground behind you. So you fought on like that, on the ground taking blasters and weapons from anything you fought with as the Super serum running through your veins kept you alive, easing the bleeding. You kept fighting hoping somehow you would be able to get up to get to Bucky. Hot tears streamed down your face and a scream ripped savagely from your throat as suddenly the constant connection that you had with Bucky was gone. It was like it had never existed. All you could feel was an iron wall. Utterly impenetrable. You couldn’t tell if it was just the limit of your consciousness or if it was him somehow cutting you off. Or if the worst had happened. Then the world went black.

When Steve found you, you had passed out from blood loss. You were in a coma for a week due to the severity of the wound but you remembered your dreams and they were sweet.

In your dreams it was just after you and Bucky had gotten married. A week to the day actually. You had curled up beside him and asked you could read him something you wrote. He didn’t need to say anything. All of his attention focused on you. A blush crept up your neck as you read what you had written.

“You always looked like trouble but the very best kind.

Even before I knew what you looked like.

You looked like everything I wanted at 16.18.20.26.

You looked like whiskey and smoke before I even knew the taste.

You looked like a hot rod idling at a stop light.

You looked like my addiction before it developed. Like my favorite kind of pain.

I don’t know how but I always just knew, that your eyes where blue. Blue. Such a cool tone. The kind that reminds you glaciers or ice cubes against passion heated skin. Like Blue flames, that seemed to sear clothes off with a glance, and pool fire in my belly. And when you smiled I really knew you were trouble then. But the best kind. The kind I couldn’t live without. The kind that kept me breathing. When you smiled at me the first time, I was yours.

The first time with you…oh god it was like nothing before. I had spent so many hours over the years before I met you, day dreaming about my fingers in your hair, your hands blazing trails of fire against my skin. Your lips crushed against mine…

By the time you placed your hand against my cheek and started kissing me, it was like you had kissed me a thousand times before. By the time your hands caressed my skin in expectant reverence (a shock to my system) it was as though your hands had always known my skin.

When I touched your skin, I was in awe at the newness of the sensation and yet it was so familiar. As I felt like your hands had always known my skin, I felt I had always known yours.

That first time didn’t feel like the first time. It felt like we had been together since the beginning of time. I didn’t need to question anything, because we knew each other so intimately words were not needed.

No need for words because I knew where to kiss you, as if some instinct worked within me. Knew where to touch. Knew how to kiss you wherever my lips landed. Knew when to bite and when to soothe. I knew it because you had always been mine. I was made for you.

No need for words because you knew, knew when to be gentle, when to be firm, knew everything you needed to get me high. With you it was natural as breathing. You brought me back to life the way a smith does a cold forge. With you it was the first time but it felt as though we had been there a thousand, thousand times before.

When I first saw you it all became real, I had already spent years falling in love with the idea of being with you. In the ease and comfort and debauchery of your presence. Suddenly every dream I had ever had about my soul mate blazed into existence.

You looked like my addiction when it formed, like my favorite kind of pain. You looked like someone I had loved a thousand, thousand times. “

You two had been so tangled up in each other it was hard to tell where he ended and you began, the line between him and you blurred. You were in complete bliss. At least while you were sleeping.

Steve was there when you woke up. As soon as you saw him and not Bucky your heart began to fracture. It looked like he had been crying, like he had not been to slept. Everything inside you went cold. Your mind reached out for Bucky, for the comfort of your soulmate and touched…nothing it was like he was dead. But he couldn’t be right? Even though you felt like you were dead, with the only sign that you were alive being the beeping of the monitors in the room, he couldn’t be, right? But that is what it felt like because there was just…nothing like the connection had never been. You tried again and again to push past whatever was stopping you but it was no use because there was nothing for you to grab on to. “(y/n) you have to stop pushing against that wall. It won’t help.” Steve’s voice broke and he took your hands. “It won’t help, he’s gone and…and we don’t know where he is or if he is gonna come back. So you…you have to stop pushing and focus on you right now.” He wiped the tears from your face and gave his best smile, though it did little to ease the pain “You have to be stronger than ever. I know that I am asking a lot. But you’re his best girl and you gotta be ready to kick his ass when he comes back.” All you could muster was a small twitch at the side of your mouth. “If …I was his best girl…why’d he leave me Stevie?” you whispered so softly he could barely hear but damn if it didn’t break his heart.

Then it was dark again. This time there were no comforting dreams. Steve sat there by your bed and let his chest heave as he cried quitely. He cried for a lot of reasons. After a while he stood up, and left the room for the first time in days. He knew he would have to be there for you if you were gonna make it so it was time to get cleaned up and eat something, maybe try to catch some sleep. There was a long road ahead.

It was a whole day later when you woke up again. Steve was sitting in the window of your hospital room. “Hey Stevie… see anything good out there?” He jumped at the sound of your voice and grinned at you. “Hey there sweetheart, how are you feeling?” he said softly coming to sit next you once again. He took your hand and when he squeezed gently, you squeezed back. You closed your eyes and took a few deep breaths. “Honestly? I feel like my insides have been scrubbed with sandpaper. I feel raw and bloody…I feel the most incredible pain and yet completely numb. But…” You paused trying to steady the sick feeling in your gut. You looked directly in Steve’s soft blue eyes and they offered a little comfort in their familiarity. “But…” you continued “I know I need to get out of this hospital bed. I need to regain my strength and take care of myself, because I know he is out there. I have to find him Stevie. Now I need you to tell me everything.” Steve nodded a slight grin coming to his face “I knew there was a reason you were meant for that punk. I will tell you everything but how about you shower, get changed and we get you some food first huh?” You sighed, it bothered you to put off the inevitable but you knew you probably smelled like a trash truck and you were hungry. So you did what Steve asked and you two had lunch together. For a couple hours you both pretended like all was right in the world.

When Steve finally started talking it sounded more like a debriefing and less like his best friend was missing, honestly though it was almost easier that way. Thinking of it like another mission rather than losing your soulmate. “Well, to be honest I can’t tell you a whole lot. All I know is that Buck and I were maybe 10 feet apart. Everything was fine. Everything was fine until it wasn’t. I can’t say what happened, one second I looked over and he was fine. He was Bucky. The next he was Winter Soldat. Then Tony snapped and the fighting stopped, but I lost sight of him. I guess once there was no enemy he just took off. We do know that he stole a Wakandan air ship, but he must have damaged enough of the important components to make it untraceable. We don’t know where he is. I can guarantee though that he learned from last time, we won’t be able to find him if he doesn’t want to be found.”

You took a deep breath eyes closed. The urge to just give up right then and there was almost overwhelming. You knew there were ways to kill a super soldier. Hell you had come pretty close to it in the past. “Sweetheart, don’t go there. We both know it won’t it won’t work.” Steve’s voice yanked you sharply from the dark thoughts that crept into your mind. You sighed “Yeah, I guess you are right Stevie.” There was nothing either of you could do, except move on. Survive.

After that you and Steve were as close as could be. When you couldn’t sleep you it always seemed like Steve was up to. If you needed comfort he was there. You did everything together. Both of you knew it wasn’t really healthy but at the same time it helped with the healing. You went to therapy and got mental help. You stayed combat ready. You continued blowing minds working with Tony and Shuri on tech. You picked up new hobbies like gardening, and painting and drawing. You did everything you could to keep yourself somewhat distracted from the hollowness that ate at you.

You never cried in front of anyone but Steve, but everyone knew. Even if they couldn’t hear the crying they could hear the music that came from your room. No matter the tune no one knocked when the soft static of your record player was on. You were living in the past, trying to cope the best way you could dancing alone to songs that you and Bucky loved. Listening to your past and his with every pop of the speaker. Sometimes Steve would stand outside your room with his head pressed against the door and just listen. He’d sway along with the music because it brought back memories for him too. Eventually he would feel guilty because he wanted nothing more than to go in and take you in his arms. Kiss you. Comfort you. Part of him believed that Bucky really was gone. Part of him didn’t think he even had a soul mate and he was so fucking lonely. But he never did. If anyone ever noticed, they never said anything.

A year had passed since Bucky left. A year you spent in therapy, spent pretending every god damn day that you didn’t want to just die so the pain would stop, clinging to Steve like a fucking life raft and Steve clung back. You both knew it wasn’t healthy but you needed each other in ways that other people couldn’t understand. Steve was the only other person who really knew Bucky. Who could understand the things that you had went through. Who was just as lonely as you. Steve was your best friend. The day after the one year Painaversary, something incredible happened. Steve finally met his Soulmate. It hit you like a slap in the face from Hulk. You had already lost your Soulmate but now you had to lose your best friend too.

Steve sat on the edge of your bed staring daggers in to the floor. He kept his eyes down when you came out of the bathroom. “Hey there (y/n/n). You wanna tell me why you have what’s the word ‘ghosted’ me for the past week.” His voice was cold and harsh. Not what you expected. Not that you had been expecting Steve to be sitting on your bed when you came out of the shower but the tone he used was the more shocking thing at the moment. “You know why Stevie.” You said moving quietly to get dressed, unable to bring your voice above a whisper. He didn’t look up until he heard a soft sob. You were standing fully clothed in Bucky’s sweats and a worn t-shirt, with your head against Bucky’s dresser. “You know why. Just because Soulmates can’t be unfaithful doesn’t mean this is okay, Stevie.” In his heart he knew you were right but it killed him, gently he picked you up, turned off the lights and tucked you into bed. Then like most every night before he climbed in behind you. His body heat a silent invitation more of a pull like a magnet, one that you couldn’t resist right now. So you snuggled into his arms your back against his chest. As he wrapped his arms around you, he whispered voice rough with emotion, “This doesn’t have to end (y/n/n). “You knew what he was trying to do. “Stevie. It’s okay. We’ve been holding on to each other so tightly because we both were drowning. You can’t make Janey hurt. It’s okay. We will still hang out, but no more late nights like this.” It hurt to say. If it was possible he pulled you closer and held you closer. His heat wrapped you up like another blanket. You sighed. He just nodded and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. He could feel your tears on his arm as he held you. Why did it feel like his heart was getting shredded? For a while there was silence. “Stevie?” “Yeah sweetheart.” “I miss him so much, this hurts so fucking bad. Why did he leave me? I wish I would have just died there. It would better than this.” You curled up in a ball, trying to make yourself as small as possible, hoping somehow it would help. Steve sat up, propped all the pillows behind him, picked you up like you were a child and tucked you safely against his chest. The sobs and half screams that tore from your throat brought tears to his eyes. All he could do was hold you, stroke your hair, kiss the top of your head and whisper “I know sweetheart. I know. I’m here. I got ya. We’ll find him I promise. We will make all of this right. I promise.” Eventually there were no more tears to cry and you relaxed. Your voice was hoarse when you whispered “I was to move to the Taiga.” “Alright sweetheart we will make it happen.”

A month later you had everything you needed to move. Tony had help you engineer a sort of mini arc reactor that supplied your home with 100% clean energy, and all of the wood used to build your house and furniture (which admittedly was a lot) was sustainably farmed, all of the pipes that brought water to the house from the lake had all been lain with minimal disruption to the landscape.

Stevie was the one who came along and helped you actually build the little house. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen and living room. It was a cozy little place, all the modern amenities but an old time feel. Plus you had your 1945 Jeep and a snowmobile. You had everything you needed.

You and Steve held hands as you stood back admiring the house one last time.

“Looks good sweet heart. You sure you are gonna be okay out here?” His voice was light but the concern was evident by the gentle squeeze he gave your hand.

You heaved a deep sigh “Yeah. Yeah. I think I will be fine. I feel better here and now than I have since he left. I promise I will keep in contact. I mean how could I not according to Tony I have my own satellite.” You returned the squeeze of his hand to reassure him. Gently he pulled you into a great bear of a hug. You were pretty sure if you hadn’t been a super soldier he probably would have broken you, you just laughed and hugged him back. “I want you to know I love you (y/n/n) and hell I’m going to miss you. So please be safe and if you need anything call, okay?”

“I love you too Stevie, I will miss you too. I promise I will call okay. Hey you better get going you got places to be.” He held you for a moment longer, kissed the top of your head and said “Yeah you are probably right. But before I do I have one more thing for you.” He goes over to his jeep and pulls out a box with holes in it. As soon as he sets it down you open it, to be greeted by the most adorable ball cute you had ever seen in your life. You picked it up finding that it was a puppy. “Janey picked him out for you. He is probably going to be huge, but she thought he would be perfect to keep you company out here.”

“Tell her I said thank you. I think this is just what I needed.” You said cuddling the sleeping puppy to your chest. Steve nodded and smiled. You watched as he went and started his jeep and drove away. You felt as close to content as you could with your heart in ribbons.

Present

By the time you snapped back to the present the fire was low. Benji was asleep at your feet and the howling outside had stopped. You decided to grab some coffee, bundle up and go outside to watch the night sky. It was breath taking. The Northern Lights danced and swayed shifting colors as they went. The stars shone brilliantly uninhibited by light pollution. You sipped your coffee and mindlessly started to hum as you watched the night.

No one knew you could sing. All evidence destroyed from your operative days, no one knew except Bucky. Your heart swelled and your eyes closed. You lifted your face toward the sky and started to sing and you thought it was fitting when the words only came to you in Russian, while the one person you wanted to hear was god knows where. Still he was the one you sang for…or perhaps you sang for the memory of him.

“Я завидую дождю. (I envy the rain)

Он падает на вашу кожу (It falls on your skin)

Он ближе, чем мои руки.(It’s closer than my hands)

Я завидую дождю.(I envy the rain)

Я завидую ветру (I envy the wind)

Она течет сквозь твою одежду (it flows through your clothes)

Он ближе, чем твоя тень. (it’s closer than your shadow)

О, я завидую ветру(oh I envy the wind)

Я завидую ночам. (I envy the nights)

Которые я не провожу с тобой (which I can’t spend with you)

Интересно, с кем ты лежишь рядом? (I wonder who you lay next to)

О, я завидую ночам. (oh I envy the nights)

Я завидую этой любви (I envy this love)

Любовь, которая была здесь. (this love that was here)

Осталось поделиться с кем - то еще (left to share with someone else)

О, я завидую этой любви (oh I envy this love)

Потому что я пожелал тебе всего самого лучшего. (Because I wished you all the best)

Все, что может дать этот мир.(all this world can give)

и все же ты меня бросил. (still you left me)

но мне нечего прощать.(but there’s nothing to forgive)

Но я всегда думал, что ты вернешься и скажешь мне, что все, что ты нашел, это ...

(but I always thought you would come back and tell me all you found was…)

Горе и страд��ния(grief and suffering)

Мне трудно сказать, я завидую этому пути.(its hard for me to say, I envy the way)

Ты счастлива без меня (you are happy without me)”

Your voice broke as the last note sounded. Subconsciously you reached for ghost of the connection you shared with Bucky. For a moment you almost thought you felt something brush back. Tears welled up as you fell to your knees in the snow. You couldn’t take it anymore. A scream of pure anguish ripped through your body.

After a moment you collect yourself and took the knife you always carried from its sheath. You stripped off your coat and laid it on the ground. Rolling up your sleeves you smiled softly thinking that maybe once you were gone in a way you would be with Bucky again.

There was no hesitation as you drove the knife blade into the pulse point of your wrist and slashed up, not waiting to repeat the process to the other side. You lay on your back and gaze up at the sky. In the distance you hear a motor. No it couldn’t be. Felt something brush against your mind. You smiled at the thought of your brain trying to make you fight. You knew it was going to take a bit longer to bleed out since it was so cold. You didn’t mind it would be over soon anyway.

You weren’t sure how much time passed, but your eyes started to feel heavy. Black started creeping into the edge of your vision. You let out a sigh finally.

“(Y/N/N)!!!!!!!! NOOOOOO (Y/N/N) PLEEAASSEEE!!!”

You could see a blurry figure coming toward you. You knew that voice. It was like they were moving in slow motion and talking underwater. But that couldn’t be right.

Suddenly you heard that stupid motor again. Then something touched your skin. For a moment you felt fireworks. You opened your eyes. “Fuck (y/n/n) please hold on. I am so sorry doll. I’m so sorry, please don’t go. Please.” Bucky’s voice rang in your ears like a call to prayer. “Baby girl please.” His voice was hoarse and choked up. Barely able to speak through the lump in his throat at the sight of you.

You forced your eyes open and took in the sight of him for what would probably be the last time and whispered “Buck?” Then the world went dark as a scream that was like the torture of a thousand hells ripped and tore through the landscape.

In the aftermath a melody played

"In those discouraging days

I always missed the mark When we were comfort and close I would neglect to keep

Oh, you safe and unexposed A portrait of time repeats This moment now replaced With an empty wish to give I give, I gave

I gave my everything For all the wrong things In this cold reality I made This selfish war machine

Oh, this has become hell How can I share this life With someone else? I promise you There is no weight that can bury us Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt

Here in the dark side of me Here in the dark side of me

Now in your absence I wade Through the coursing, lonely, lost And in this tragic dismay I never could believe what I became

I gave my everything For all the wrong things In this cold reality I made This welcomed war machine

Oh, this has become hell How can I share this life With someone else? I promise you There is no weight that can bury us Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt

Here in the dark side of me Here in the dark side of me Here in the dark side of me Here in the dark side of me

Oh, I couldn't give you What you needed It's all my fault Too coward to believe I lost it all

I gave my everything For all the wrong things In this cold reality I made This selfish war machine

Oh, this has become hell How can I share this life With someone else? I promise you There is no weight that can bury us Beneath the ghosts of all my guilt

Here in the dark side of me Here in the dark side of me"

"Buck are you still there? I don't want to die."

#@imanuglywombat #@littlefreya #first ever posted fanfic #please be kind #would love feedback #bucky barnes x reader

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sullustangin · 4 years ago

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Satele and Theron: "Not Mother” and Son

Note: As always, fan fiction is everyone’s sandbox. I may disagree or critique them, but it’s not personal. I’ve been through ship wars, characterization debates, and ‘author intent’ arguments since the days before AOL and IRC chatrooms. I’ve seen a lot, and I tend to take a detached view toward fandom. It’s not my intent to kill anyone’s joy.

Sometimes, when I think about SWTOR fandom and pro/anti Satele factions, I can’t help but remember this reddit thread:

I got a girl pregnant and she wanted to get an abortion but I didn't want that. She ended up not getting one but now she is not involved at all

Shorter version on upworthy for TL;DR.

Basically, Dad is resentful of child he wanted because, after requesting that the mother not get an abortion, she gave up all custodial and parenting rights to him. Now he doesn’t like being a single parent and refers to her as a “deadbeat mom” because she’s not involved with the kid....even though she told him up front she wasn’t going to be involved and didn’t wish to be involved. Satele is sometimes villainized because she made this decision -- and stuck with it.

I don’t think Satele is a good mother or a bad mother. She didn’t want to be a mother at all, so I won’t label her that way. Biological fact: yes, she is a mother. However, that’s not the role she has chosen to fulfill for Theron; she opted out on Day 1.

Based on what we read in Annihilation, Satele gave up Theron at birth. Zho became his father. She never had any intent of raising this kid. Satele did not wish to become a mother, but as a Jedi, from the second she felt his presence in the Force (because all life has a Force, whether or not they can sense it or use it), she felt obligated to have him. I don’t know what, if any, canon references are made about voluntary termination of pregnancies in the SWTOR universe. Maybe more people than just the Jedi hold the belief that termination is unacceptable, maybe not. I don’t know. That said, Satele made her choice at Theron’s birth not to be a mother. She did visit him until he was six months old (Lost Suns comic), which might be interpreted in a few different ways.

Is it regret? Thinking about changing her mind? Or is it that continued obligation? I might speculate that she was sending/bringing breast milk, since for the first six months, children rely on their mothers’ immunities until they can get vaccinated; it’s part of why it’s recommended to try to breastfeed if it’s possible for the mother. This is SWTOR so for all we know, sci fi space magic means that babies can be vaccinated once they pop out. Then again, maybe it is like it is in our world. Still, Satele can be a decent human being and not want to be a mother at all.

Also, just because she wasn’t pregnant anymore doesn’t mean that the symptoms magically disappeared; even if a child is a stillbirth, the mother still produces milk. Often, they are suppliers for hospital milk banks because they still have milk production even if they don’t have a baby. Satele likely had to cope with this and avoid being detected by the Jedi Order; it had to go somewhere! Satele was ultimately unwavering in her belief that giving up Theron was the best decision for him and her.

Remember too that Satele’s mother Tarsiele got pregnant with no publicly known father. There are good odds that Satele doesn’t know who her father is, and it didn’t bother her. So she didn’t tell Theron or Zho who Theron’s father is, because she assumed Theron would be Force-sensitive and join the Jedi order. Satele wouldn’t have wanted him to have the connections to Jace since that would complicate his Jedi training; it’s ok to know who your Jedi parent is, since you both exist in the Jedi order with limited attachments -- you’re both on the same page. Adding a non-Jedi father to the mix complicates things and feelings, especially given Satele’s concerns about Jace falling to the Dark Side -- and potentially dragging a Force-Sensitive child with him.

The only thing I think I can fault Satele for is not informing him or Jace, after finding out Theron was not Force-sensitive (which she knew after the kid was left at Haashimut). Theron totally struggled with his identities when younger: he was raised to be a Jedi like his mother before him, but it turns out he’s like that nameless Force-null father. Whoops.

But Satele made her choice not to parent this child. She may have felt that coming back to tell him about Jace would be meddling or giving Theron false hope that one or both parents would swoop in and save him. We’ll get back to that in a second.

Cut here so it doesn’t eat a dashboard: below is some critique/analysis about the padawan system and how it may have fed into Theron’s expectations of a relationship with his mother before he was found to be not Force-sensitive and after.

As for Satele and her padawans, I’ve never been a huge fan of her being a “surrogate mother” or “cool aunt” in fan fic. It’s not my cup of tea, personally. In part, it’s because I stick to the idea that Jedi don’t want people getting attached and hesitating about doing the right thing; that includes masters and padawans. Masters don’t raise padawans like children. Based on what we see in the films, they’re raised in the creche with other younglings. It’s like boarding school or an orphanage in the sense that there are staff and people who care for the kids, but they are not parents; they don’t form those connections. The Master then picks the padawan when they’re ready. We don’t have apprenticeships in the modern world like we did in the pre-modern world, but when someone was apprenticed to someone else as a blacksmith or a tailor, they knew they weren’t their kids. There was a relationship there. There was a care system there. But that didn’t replace a parent-child relationship, nor did it supply the attachments in such a relationship. In terms of masters and padawans, sometimes attachments and relationships happen, and we hear about a Master falling to the Dark Side and taking all their students with them. Ideally, attachments and inappropriate relationships do not happen.

This ties back to Theron’s hopes for a relationship with Satele and what they were/are/will be. Theron probably hoped to become her padawan one day or encounter her as a fellow Jedi; not being Force-sensitive killed that dream. If Satele had gone to him after Haashimut, she would be adding insult to injury by meeting him or writing a letter to him, telling him about Jace... and then walking back out and going radio silent, not taking him home with her.

If she had told him, that might lead to Jace being the dorky dad we all love to imagine, but what if he didn’t? I love Jace!Dad headcanon, but that’s all it is -- headcanon. He might have ‘noped’ out of the situation. He might have said “Here’s a trust fund, I’m busy.” I want Jace to be Super!Dad and I’ll write him that way when it comes to grandkids and stuff....but I won’t ignore the other possibilities that exist (and may exist in fics that are not mine!). Given Satele’s original thoughts about telling Jace about Theron and vice versa, she may have considered this too. Also, telling Theron about Jace may have been the equivalent of dumping a baby on his doorstep with no escape route -- that’s not fair to Jace, no matter how much we like to believe Jace would have been “w00t!!” over it.

Theron and Satele worked together several times. Theron told Satele and Jace and the Pub player in SWTOR that he understands her choice, and he’s not angry. He’s dedicated his life to SIS and the people of the Republic; personal stuff comes second (which is why he’s the emotional disaster we know and love, but also one of the best agents the Republic has).

That doesn’t mean he doesn’t worry about her or care about her. Feelings are hard to deal with for Theron, but he still has them. That was evident from his reaction to the Tython raid (because he did not know that she was not on Tython at the time). Also, his first impulse thereafter was to give her a Holo call; the player walked in on the end of that on Pub side Forged Alliances. Theron Shan cares about people; he’ll do a lot for them even if they don’t like him back, as we see with Teff’ith and (pending game choices) the player character. However, that doesn’t mean that he’s clamoring for a full-fledged relationship with Satele as mother and son.

Rather, Theron is bothered by the fact that Satele never acknowledges him; we saw that on Rishi and Yavin, especially on Imp side. He’s "her agent.” Even Jace acknowledged Theron on Iokath, as unhappy as Theron was about the staging of that proclamation. He does seem bothered by Satele’s disappearing act after Eternal Fleet with no notice to him (and still no word nearly 10 years after that event in-game).

I don’t think Theron, who is now approaching 40, wants a parent-child relationship with Satele; that ship sailed. He just wants to be acknowledged as meaning something -anything - to her. It’s not unlike adult adopted children finding their birth parents and wanting some acknowledgement of existence and connection, even if they had the best adoptive parents in the world and neither party wants to be besties. That sort of acknowledgement would have eventually come if he had been her coworker as a Jedi or padawan...if he was Force-sensitive.

That twist of fate affects Theron more than his lack of relationship with either parent; he got dumped by “his father” Zho for that. His bio parents didn’t do anything to “punish” him for turning out the way he was -- Jace didn’t know, and Satele already made her choice, regardless of how Theron was going to turn out. She hoped and predicted he’d be a Jedi. She didn’t change course, because she accepted the consequences of her decisions made 14 years before.

As a result of this, I don’t write Satele as a cold or cruel human being. I’m more inclined to go on a “wtf Master Zho” crusade; Theron calls him his father and hopes he would be proud of him, but I blame Zho for Theron’s attachment and emotional issues (whatever labels you assign him; I go for avoidant). Satele made her choice and stuck to her guns. She never wanted to be a mother, and she’s never pretended to be otherwise. Satele never offered Theron false hope about their relationship. She can’t be a deadbeat mom if she never committed to being a mother at all; she gave him up. She gave up the relationship. That did not exclude the possibility of becoming colleagues or friends as adults, which we saw progress toward. The relationship between a mother and child compared to that of colleagues/friends is not the same.

Satele’s departure after Eternal Fleet hurt Theron, because as adults, they did have a relationship, as professional as it might have been. People feel awful when they get ghosted, no matter how brief or deep the relationship was; from what we can tell from his mail, Theron referred to it as caf and lunch a few times. Theron still experienced a feeling of loss when she was gone, evidenced by the cantina scene on Odessen, and concern for her well-being after that camping trip in KotFE Ch. 12.

That did not mean Theron mourned her like a child who lost his mother; it may have simply been the death of another dream of a relationship, not unlike the alienation from Jace and (pending headcanon and in-game choices) the loss of the player’s character after Eternal Fleet. We’ll see how Bioware continues/finishes that relationship between Theron and his “not mother”, likely at the player’s choice (just like the relationship with Jace on Iokath and with the player).

#theron thursday #theron shan #satele shan #jace malcom #swtor #headcanon #analysis

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tilltheendwilliwrite · 5 years ago

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Not Another Mummy!

Chapter One

First Chapter will be on Tumblr only until more can be written. Story originated thanks to this thread. One hundred percent @magellan-88 ‘s fault.

Pairing: Stucky | Word Count: 2001

Warnings: Language, mild angst, takes place after CA:TWS

Rick O'Connell was a mummy hunter.

It hadn't always been his job, but he fell into it rather naturally. Well, Evie fell into it by way of raising Imhotep from the dead, damn near dying as the sacrifice to return his dead lover Anck-su-namun to the living, and then banishing him to the underworld.

Twice.

As he was the (often) put upon hothead Yank to her more stoic (stiff upper lip, Chaps) British ways, her colleagues rolled their eyes at her but always out of Rick's line of sight. Still, there was no one better when it came to weird, ancient woo-woo crap.

So when a telegram came from a woman named Pegs, Evie had dropped everything to run to her side.

It didn't matter they were crossing warzones or dragging their seventeen-year-old son with them to occupied France, Evie was going.

That was how Rick O'Connell met Steve Rogers, the Captain America, and his best friend, Bucky Barnes, and learned there was such a thing as kindred spirits.

Because Steven Grant Rogers was a punk with balls the size of Texas and no sense of self-preservation, and while Rick would never comment on the size of Evie's metaphorical brass bangers, the first time Bucky Barnes groaned with all the dramatics of a putout housewife and screamed, "Steven Grant Rogers! What the hell are you doing? Get down from there; you shit little punk!" Rick knew he'd finally met someone with his own Evie.

For Barnes, Rogers was a bit like watching Evie, Alex, and Jonathan all rolled into one, but he at least had Peggy and the Howling Commandos as backup. Rick only had himself - and occasionally Ardeth Bay - to keep his troop of walking disasters from falling into pits, and waking the undead.

In France, the Howlies helped them clear out the spookables in the castle where Pegs had found the books she knew Evie would want to preserve, and the O'Connells and Howling Commandos had parted ways.

Over the next few years, they occasionally crossed paths, and Rick developed a lasting friendship with Bucky Barnes built on saving their idiots and loving them with their whole hearts.

So when the news came that Barnes had died, Rick took it hard. He tried to find Steve, but the war was too hot, and any commiseration of grief would have to wait.

Still, he drowned himself in liquor for a week straight, and Evie, lovely, wonderful Evie, his very own Steve Rogers, poured him repeatedly into bed, where if Rick cried out his grief against her, she never told a soul.

Then, with the news about Steve, Rick was both saddened and a little at peace. At least they were together. They could spend their afterlife as they had their life. Together. Best friends and, if Rick wasn't mistaken, something a little closer to what he had with Evie than either man shared publicly.

Rick didn't mind. He'd seen them together. Love like that, what did gender matter?

Decades later, when the news splashed across the screen that Steve Rogers was alive, Rick again cried for Bucky Barnes. Seventy years apart. How cruel was this world?

Things had changed by then, some for the better, some worse, but when Steve Rogers once again took up his shield and defeated the enemy falling out of the sky, Rick knew the world hadn't lost both heroes. Steve was still there, still fighting, still a symbol of hope to a nation desperately in need of it.

When the giant of a man showed up at Rick's door, after the Battle for New York, Rick was one hundred and ten years old. The look of surprise on Steve's face made Rick chuckle, even as he welcomed him inside and shuffled back to his recliner.

They didn't talk about Bucky, though they did chat about Peggy, and Steve asked after Evie, gone now almost thirty years. A long time to be without his soulmate. They'd lost Jonathon before Evie, surprisingly to something as benign as a heart attack, not the loan sharks Rick always figured would do him in. Alex was eighty-six, but that hadn't stopped him from continuing the family business, hunting down artifacts and saving them and humanity when such was required.

Steve smiled softly before saying, "Thank you. People always know what I do or what I've done. They see me as a hero, but you and Evelyn, Alex and Jonathon? You saved the world a couple of times yourselves, but no one knows."

Rick shrugged. "I didn't do it for the world."

Two years later, though Steve didn't visit much, he kept in touch via email or text, which both surprised and touched Rick. He'd moved back to the States after Evie's death, mostly because he couldn't stand to be where she wasn't and had made a life there with Alex hovering.

Then one night, Steve showed up on his doorstep in the pouring rain, still healing from the bruises and broken ribs.

"He's alive."

Rick didn't need to ask who. Just led Steve into the house where the man fell to his knees beside Rick's chair and cried against his thigh like his soul had broken.

Or maybe it was like the broken bits were slowly forging back together, a beautiful work of Kintsugi, his fractured soul now filling with golden lines of hope.

When Steve left, it was with determination and purpose Rick hadn't seen on him since the forties. It was like he became a man possessed, determined to find what he'd lost, and Rick wished him every bit of luck. If Rick had the chance to get Evie back, there would be no stopping him.

Two more years passed, Rick aged a little more, and finally, a knock came at his door. He was one hundred and fourteen when he saw Bucky again. One hundred and fourteen, when he opened the door to a man haunted by trauma Rick couldn't even fathom.

Still, he opened the door to a grinning Steve, but it was the scowling Barnes he looked at.

"Jesus fuck you got old," Barnes muttered.

"Bucky!" Steve gasped.

Rick laughed so hard he made himself wheeze and waved them in. They joined him in his living room, where he sat, unable to stop smiling. "Good to see you haven't lost your sense of humour."

"Lost some good chunks of memory, but some nice people helped stuff them back in."

The harsh, cold blue eyes weren't the ones he remembered, but Rick could see him in there. He knew the stories, had heard all the reports. Longest living POW. Assassin. Killed JFK. Some said, war hero. Others cried, villain.

Rick knew it was likely a little of both in Barnes' mind.

But Steve still looked at Bucky like he hung the moon, and Bucky occasionally linked his pinky finger through Steve's when he thought Rick wouldn't notice.

"It's nice to see you boys back together." He jerked his chin at Steve. "That one mopes around something fierce."

"We're figuring it out," Steve said, enough force in the sentence to make it clear he was tired of Bucky running. It had taken two years to get the man to stop. "We've worked things out with Stark. Tony's a hothead, he's angry, but he gets Bucky wasn't in control as the soldier."

Rick watched Barnes' flinch. "No, but it was still your hands, right, Buck?"

Blue eyes darted to his and then away. "How the hell are you still alive?"

"Jeez, Buck!" Steve growled.

Rick chuckled, enjoying the role reversal. "Clean living."

They both snorted.

"Clean my ass. I've never seen anyone out drink Dum Dum before. What gives, O'Connell?" Barnes muttered.

Rick glanced at Steve. There was a pink flush to the man's cheeks, a clear indication this was something they'd talked about, but Steve had never asked. Rick had always wondered if it was out of self-preservation. Maybe he thought asking would jinx whatever link Steve had left to his past.

"Alex?" he called out. "Could you come in here?"

"You sure, Dad?"

Steve and Bucky both stiffened and exchanged a look, likely surprised they hadn't known Alex was there.

"I thought you said Alex was still in London?" Steve frowned.

"I lied," Rick smirked. "Yeah, boy. Get your arse in here."

He trotted down the hall and into the living room. "Highya, fellas!"

Bucky and Steve stared, gaping from Alex to Rick and back.

"Shit," Bucky hissed. "They got you too? How come no one knows?"

Alex leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, grin wide, his face as smooth and unwrinkled as it had been at twenty-five, the year he stopped ageing. The bright, burnished blond of his mop of unruly curls, something he'd inherited from Evie and only recently allowed to grow out, fell over his forehead and into his eyes.

"He's not a super-soldier," Rick explained before either man could have kittens. "Seems there was a side effect to the Bracelet of Anubis no one knew about."

Alex spread his arms and gave a cheeky grin. "Looks like I'm immortal."

Rick slapped a hand to his face. "Unageing is not immortal. You can still die, dumbass!"

"That explains him, but what about you?" Steve asked.

"Something to do with the temple." Rick shrugged. "I went through the door with him. Some of the power rubbed off. I age, just… slower."

"Hence the reason you look a spry eighty?" Barnes mumbled.

Rick chuckled, reached up, and pulled the prosthetics from his face. "More like a spry fifty."

"Jesus!" Steve's eyes went wide. "I never even guessed!"

"Alex is good with the face paint. We've had to be. And that's another reason we moved back here. People were starting to remark on the uncanny resemblance of my grandson to my son."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look.

"What?" Rick murmured. "Surely, this isn't too much after witches, aliens, and giant green Hulks?"

"No. No, it's not that," Steve said, quick to reassure them. "It's just…"

"Punk had a second reason for coming today. The Avengers found some woo-woo shit. He wanted you to take a look at it. Stark's fancy AI can tell us lots, but she ain't you."

Rick leaned forward, his back cracking, thankful to be straightened. "I'm no Evie, but squirt over there took after her for smarts. She was always the brain. I was just the muscle."

"Come on, Dad." Alex sauntered in and nudged him. "You learned loads from Mum. Plus, that Warrior for God thing comes in handy on occasion."

"Warrior for God?" Bucky asked.

Rick worked the cuff off his right arm, showing them the tattoo hidden beneath it. "Sorry, fellas. Didn't tell you everything that happened with the Scorpion King."

"Yeah. Like how we used the Book of the Dead to bring Mum back to life," Alex grinned.

"I'm sorry. You did what now?" Steve asked.

Rick laughed and shook his head. "All in good time. Alex, get the whiskey. Let's see what you've got."

Steve rose and returned to the door where he'd left a backpack, while Alex grabbed four glasses and a bottle and dumped an unhealthy amount into each one. The bag clanked when Steve set it on the floor between his feet, and Rick arched a brow.

"This is what we found." He placed the golden box on the coffee table.

Rick gave a low whistle. "Jonathon would have liked the look of that."

"It's really brilliant, isn't it?" Alex mumbled as he crouched to take a closer look. "Look at the way the rubies are inlaid. It's like someone wanted it to appear as if it were dripping blood." He spun it slowly, taking in the images and raised glyphs. "Shite, Dad! Do you know what this is?"

Rick didn't get a chance to answer no as Alex was already running out of the room.

"So, is he as reckless as Evie?" Bucky asked, the first semblance of a smirk since his arrival twitching the man's lips.

"Worse. He's got a nose for treasure like Jonathon and my stubbornness," Rick chuckled. "Then, there's his mouth."

"Which he definitely got from you," Steve chuckled.

Rick didn't dispute it.

Alex returned and dropped a book as thick as Steve's arm on the table, causing it to jump, the chest to skitter across it, and only the reflexes of two super-soldiers to keep everything from going sideways.

"Alex! Calm your enthusiasm!" Rick barked.

"No! No, calming!" The manic gleam in his eyes never boded well for any expedition. "Look!"

He wrenched the book open, sending dust and the scent of musty pages spinning, but it opened on an illustrated page of a female warrior standing over the bodies of the slain.

"Ah, no," Rick groaned. "Not another mummy!"

#the mummy #the avengers #crossover #coming soonish

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artificialqueens · 4 years ago

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Not Nineteen Forever (21) (Branjie/Scyvie/Ninex) - Ortega

a/n: omg i’m emotional. guys, welcome to the last chapter of n19f. this fic has been the absolute best fun to write and i truly love these girls and the journey they’ve been on so much. big big huge thanks and love to every single person that’s ever left a note, hit reblog or left me lovely anons, DMs, comments or tags, they’ve all meant the absolute world to me and i love u so much. obviously i can’t let things go, so keep an eye out for some form of sequel coming in the next few months or so (patience is a virtue xo). for one last time…….let’s go, lesbians!!!!!!!

please note: this fic contains young adults often behaving in irresponsible/unadvisable ways with regards to alcohol, drugs and sex. if you are someone who feels as if they could be heavily influenced by fic and incorporate what happens in the plot into ur own life, pls steer clear!

tw: bit of weed in this one. no zoos, dw xo

summary: Brooke, Yvie and Nina are three flatmates who forged a friendship in their first year of university and picked up some other waifs and strays along the way. Now in their final year, there are feelings that need to be unravelled and confessions to be made whilst navigating drunk nights, hungover mornings, takeaways, group chats, library meetups, cafe gossiping, and the small matter of getting a degree.

last chapter: the girls all went to the beach, Scarlet and Yvie made plans for after uni, and Scarlet got the degree classification she so desperately wanted.

this chapter: it’s Brooke’s graduation day.

***

Brooke looked around at the chaos that was their kitchen. The kitchen utensils (which were all Nina’s that she and Yvie had shamelessly used as if they were their own over the 2 years they’d lived together) were wrapped up in bubble wrap and packed neatly into cardboard boxes which sat on top of the dining table. Yvie’s kitchenware- a blue bowl with a chip out of it, a huge white plate, a Tigger mug, and a mismatched fork, knife and spoon- had been inelegantly packed into an orange Sainsbury’s bag and left on the counter. Brooke had already packed up her own belongings and had moved them into a corner of her room so they wouldn’t take up space in the already-tiny kitchen. All their store cupboard food was in the process of being packed up for the foodbank, which was inevitably going to be flooded with the discarded super noodles, tinned soups and flavoured teas of the migrating tenants of student flats.

Yvie let out a snort from her position in front of their food cupboards, and Brooke’s heart gave a twinge at seeing them so empty. Top shelf had been hers: pasta, rice, stock cubes, and emergency maple syrup tin. The middle shelf was Nina’s: loaf of white bread, tins of tuna, ryvita, breadsticks, crisps. And Yvie’s food had occupied the bottom shelf: chocolate digestives, Ainsely Harriott cous cous, peanut butter, and sour patch kids. All gone. Except, Brooke noticed, for a jar of Marmite which had sat on the middle shelf and that Yvie was holding in her hand.

“Whose was the Marmite?” she asked, an amused tone to her voice. Nina shrugged from her position on the sofa.

“I’ve never once eaten Marmite.”

“It’s on your shelf, girl,” Yvie shrugged, her eyebrows questioning. Nina gave another shrug.

“I know. It’s always lived there. I swear to God it just turned up one day and I left it there. Thought it was one of yours because Christ knows you’re both too lazy to put it on your own damn shelves,” Nina reprimanded them both. Brooke laughed.

“You know you’re going to regret being so mean to us when you don’t live with us any more and we’re adults and it takes 9 months to clear our schedules for one singular coffee,” she raised her eyebrows at her flatmate as Nina pouted and let out a groan, held out her arms for a hug which Brooke fell into.

“Don’t! This is already too heartbreaking, I can’t believe we only have two days left here.”

“I can’t believe we’re actually organised with this moving out process.”

“I can’t believe we have a phantom jar of Marmite that nobody’s claiming,” Yvie piped up, peering at the jar with interest. “Brooke, you like this shit, right?”

“Marmite is Satan’s black fecal matter and I’m offended you think I eat it,” she deadpanned, shifting to get comfy in Nina’s lap whilst attempting to be as inconvenient as possible to her friend.

“Get the hell off me. Only my girlfriend is allowed to sit on me for so long that I lose feeling in my legs,” Nina huffed, shoving at Brooke until she relented and sat beside her. It didn’t stop her from putting her cold feet on her bare thigh though, and Nina hissed and jumped away. “I take it all back. I’m not going to miss either of you idiots at all.”

“You’re a crap liar,” Yvie smiled smugly, binning the Marmite and joining the two girls on the sofa, squeezing in between them both. “Awh, guys…it’s the end of an era.”

Brooke suddenly felt tears prick at her eyes out of nowhere. “Shut up. We’ve still got tomorrow and the next day.”

“Yeah, but tomorrow you’re gonna be doing graduation-y shit and then it’s moving day!” Nina protested. Her voice grew small, dropping to a murmur. “It’s kind of like it’s our last day.”

The girls fell silent. Yvie let out a huge puff of air from her lungs. “Don’t tell anyone I said this but I’m gonna miss you girls so fucking much.”

“Awh, Yves. I’ll miss you too,” Nina sighed, burying her face into Yvie’s shoulder and curling her arms around one of Yvie’s. “But this is good! Change is good, even if it’s scary and different. And you’re gonna be living with Scarlet! That’s exciting!”

“How’s the flat hunting going?” Brooke asked Yvie, who had a little smile on her face. Brooke didn’t know if Yvie knew that she always began to smile a little whenever Scarlet was mentioned. She wasn’t going to mention it to her. She would maybe mention it to Scarlet.

“Like I’d rather shit in my hands and clap,” Yvie groaned, running her hands down her face. “It’ll be fine, though. We’ve got a while. Her lease isn’t up until August so we’ve got a few weeks to keep looking and in the meantime I’ll just stay with her in that Dickensian death trap she calls a flat.”

The girls let out a laugh, Brooke resting her head on Yvie’s shoulder too. There was a small silence.

“At least you and Monet are sorted,” Yvie spoke again, Nina nodding in agreement. Buoyed by how well Yvie’s suggestion to Scarlet had been received, Nina had been determined not to fuck up another relationship milestone with Monet and had asked her to move in with her as well. The answer had been an emphatic yes, and the pair of them had used their terrifying teacher-levels of organisation skills to find a cute two-bed flat in a nicer, only slightly more expensive part of the city. They both knew their relationship was still new and fragile, so they’d agreed a room each was a good idea to give them their space when they each needed to work or wanted a bit of time on their own to simply do nothing. Brooke knew the two girls were joined at the hip though so they probably didn’t need that sort of contingency plan, but it was a sensible decision nonetheless.

“I can’t wait to get the keys and just vomit up a bunch of fairy lights and candles in every possible room,” she beamed, excitement radiating out of every pore. “It’s going to be so fun- we’re going to take turns cooking, and build pillow forts, and blast our songs on a Sunday morning and clean the whole place-”

“Fuck. Adulthood’s fully got you. Brooke, quick, if we run we can still save ourselves,” Yvie deadpanned, Nina giving her a whack as Brooke laughed.

“I personally can’t wait to go round and visit at every available opportunity. I’m going to move in,” Brooke smiled, and Nina gave another sad kicked-puppy pout.

“I wish. Canada is so far away,” she sighed, a little knife going through Brooke’s heart at the thought of moving back. She didn’t want to think about it, but it was just inevitable. It was happening, and it was fact. She was going back to Canada. She didn’t really know what she was doing, she hadn’t found herself a flat, and she didn’t have a job to earn money and pay the rent with even if she had, so she was flying home.

She really didn’t want to think about leaving. She didn’t want to think about leaving the city, constantly busy with tourists and families and drunk students and Very Important Working Adults. She didn’t want to think about leaving the park, with the cherry blossom trees that lined every path and fond memories of barbecues and picnics and drinking in the sun with the girls. She didn’t want to think about leaving uni- because as stressful as all hell her degree had been, she’d loved studying fashion design, loved making prototypes, loved learning about something she loved, even though her degree was fuck all use to her trying to get an actual job. She didn’t want to think about leaving the flat: the shower with its drippy head, the hob with the one gas burner that didn’t work, the carpet in her room with the incongruous red faded stain, the fucking Sports Direct mug. The girls that she loved so much her heart felt sore if she thought too much about it: Nina singing obnoxiously early as she got ready for placement, Yvie making the kitchen into a war zone trying new recipes, the ridiculous squabbles they got into about the washing up, pre-pre-drinks where they shared a bottle of pink Gordon’s and splashed mixers into their mismatched glasses and sang along to Ariana Grande at the top of their lungs.

Tears stung at her eyes again, and she swallowed the big lump in her throat to shoo them away. It was too late though, as Nina had seen her glassy eyes and reached over to hug her. Her own voice was thick with tears as she spoke.

“Oh, girls,” she let out a shaky breath, Brooke giving up the fight as she felt her own tears drop down onto her hoodie. “Change is good…but it’s shit.”

“Fuck you both, I’m not crying,” Yvie said, her breathing all shuddery and letting them both know that was a lie. The girls all sat and held each other as they wept quietly, mourning the death of their student careers and this life they’d lived for three years that they’d all too often taken for granted.

Brooke was the first to dry her tears, giving one decisive sniff and sweeping under both her eyes with determination. “Right. I’m putting a stop to this, we’re not spending our kind-of last night in the flat sitting crying like a bunch of babies. We’re going to order food, get high as St Peter’s balls and watch shitty game shows that make us yell at the TV. Okay?”

She was happy that Yvie and Nina both snorted a weepy laugh and nodded at her. “Okay.”

And the three girls did just what Brooke had suggested. There was, however, bickering about where they should order from. Yvie wanted sushi from the tiny little place tucked away in a back street that did bento boxes with prawn katsu and salmon maki which were like little rice parcels of heaven. Nina wanted Chinese from their favourite takeaway that delivered from out in the suburbs and where, for about fifteen points all in, you could get a banquet of sweet and sour chicken in sticky red sauce, crispy golden salt and chilli chips with huge red jewels of chilli and slices of garlic, chicken fried rice in a rich Cantonese gravy which bound everything together and chow mein with soft spring onion slices and huge chunks of onions all tossed in soy sauce. Brooke’s selection won in the end though as her argument was the strongest- “I might not taste any of this again, Canada is a long fucking journey, okay?!”- so they ordered burritos and chips and salsa from the incredibly-overpriced-but-worth-it burrito bar on campus. They finished the last of the weed that had been wrapped in tin foil and cling film and shoved to the back of the broom cupboard along with the bong, and they made horrifying cocktails from the dregs of their leftover spirits and mixers. The burritos arrived and they stuck Challenge TV on and shouted at the Catchphrase contestants who couldn’t get the most obvious fucking catchphrases Brooke had ever seen in her life.

The evening was perfect.

They talked about Brooke’s graduation tomorrow, Nina and Yvie both saying how proud they were of her. Brooke was glad she had the girls, since her Mum’s flight over to see her graduate had been cancelled because of freak winds back in Canada. Brooke had already cried to her over facetime about it, but Yvie had managed to find the link to the livestream that was only meant to be shown on campus, and she’d sent Brooke’s Mum the link so Brooke knew she would be watching even if she couldn’t properly be there. As soon as they’d heard the news, the girls had all agreed on the group chat to set up camp in the union and watch the livestream (as Brooke and Plastique would be graduating at the same ceremony) and then take photos with them both afterwards outside the great hall as if they were a gaggle of proud Mums. Even though it wouldn’t be what she’d planned, Brooke was still looking forward to it.

It was around midnight before Brooke took herself off to bed, and just as she got cosy underneath the duvet her phone lit up with a notification. She couldn’t help the smile that involuntarily shot to her face when she realised it was Vanessa.

V: hey what’s ya fav Kanye West album mine is GRADUATION!!!!!!! How you feelin about tomorrow boo? xxxxxx

Brooke let out a laugh, muffling it too late with her hand when it came out louder than expected. Christ, she loved the girl so much.

B: Kanye West is a misogynist pig and i won’t stand for him xxxxxx

B: Stronger is a bop though xxxxxx

V: You got that one right xxxxxx

B: And I’m good! Big jumble of feelings. Big happy/sad vibes xxxxxx

V: I know it’s bittersweet af xxxxxx

V: Me n Scar just held each other and cried once the ceremony was over xxxxxx

Vanessa and Scarlet had graduated last week, as had their other friends. Brooke and Plastique’s graduation date was the latest and so they were graduating last. She didn’t mind that, though. The longer she could stay being a student the better.

B: Lol we just had a big cry as a full flat xxxxxx

V: Don’t lmao idk what we gonna be like when our lease is up xxxxxx

Brooke scrolled up and looked at all the texts they’d exchanged from the past two months, the same signature of six kisses at the end of them all. They hadn’t really spoken about where they were relationship-wise since the night in the library. Maybe Vanessa didn’t want to. Maybe it was for the best. Brooke’s heart hurt as she realised she was going to be on the other side of the world in a matter of days, and maybe Vanessa didn’t want to see her ever again. She frowned at her own thoughts before tears had a chance to start welling in her eyes again. It had been good to truly get back to where she’d been before with Vanessa- just texting random garbage, having deep chats about the future, being ever-so-slightly flirty with each other. She thought about confronting the issue head on over text, but it wasn’t the medium through which to have that kind of conversation.

As if Vanessa could read her mind, however, another text came through.

V: When do you fly back again? 20th? xxxxxx

Brooke’s heart felt sore.

B: 12th xxxxxx

V: oh right

Brooke’s pulse froze at the lack of kisses. Her fingers ghosted over her screen, trying to figure out what to type. Vanessa sorted the problem for her.

V: fuck I wish you weren’t leaving xxxxxx

Brooke’s heart swelled up then popped. Was this the time? No. But their time was running out, she knew that much. Maybe she could see her before she left. She’d see her after her graduation anyway.

B: I wish I wasn’t either xxxxxx

B: But you’re coming tomorrow yeah? Xxxxxx

V: Wouldn’t miss it for the world baby xxxxxx

Fuck, she would miss her so much. She’d already told Vanessa how much she meant to her, just how fucking incredible she was in every way, and yet Brooke felt like doing it again.

She didn’t, because it would be too weird. But she wanted to more than anything.

V: You gonna look so beautiful and clever tomorrow I just know it xxxxxx

Brooke smiled to herself, blushing on her own at the compliment. Vanessa seemed to be firing risky texts to her left right and centre, so Brooke took a risk of her own.

B: Not as beautiful as you xxxxxx

She almost threw her phone away once she’d sent it. A reply came back almost instantly.

V: Stop with the lies xxxxxx

She was leaving in two days so she sent another risky one, caution truly pissed into the wind.

B: You’re honestly the most beautiful girl in the world xxxxxx

At that point Brooke put her phone face down on her bedside table and decided to sleep, her heart full of butterflies and her thoughts filled with the ridiculously massive crush she had on the girl she’d been idiotic enough to let go the first time.

When Brooke woke up, her phone was blowing up with messages. The one she checked first was from Vanessa in reply to the one she’d sent last night, and was simply a series of heart eye emojis. The next one she opened was a text from her Mum, paragraphs of pride and love for her daughter that made Brooke want to cry already. The others were all from the chat- Silky, Akeria, Vanessa, Scarlet, Yvie and Nina all spamming it with messages of luck and love for her and Plastique, and promising they’d be watching the screen and waiting outside for them when the ceremony was done.

Brooke got ready in a dream-like haze. She took her smart black tailored dress out of the cupboard where it had been hanging for the past month, the garment more ready for graduating than she was. She showered then dried her hair, curling it and brushing out so it made waves down her back. She put on her makeup- browns and nudes with only the tiniest bit of highlight. When she stepped into her dress and heels and looked at herself in front of the mirror, she hardly recognised herself.

She looked like an adult. A woman with her life stretching out in front of her, ready to be whatever she made of it.

Brooke phoned a taxi- it was raining just a little, even though it was already July- and pulled on a smart black coat when she saw it pull up outside, dashing carefully down the steps of the stairwell and out into the new day.

Graduation wasn’t til 11, but Brooke had arranged to meet up with Plastique beforehand anyway, just so they could be excited together. When Brooke pulled up at the taxi rank outside the square and the huge ceremony hall, she could see Plastique and her Mum there already, standing bickering amongst the growing gaggle of students and families. The sight only hurt Brooke a bit, until she remembered the girls would all be watching, and her Mum would be watching too no matter how far away. It would, after all, be about one and a half hours of waiting for Brooke to walk across the stage, take a scroll and shake a hand, and then it would all be over.

It was scary to think that that was all that was separating her and the adult world.

Trying not to get too deep and to instead just enjoy the day, Brooke excitedly paid the driver and dashed out of the taxi, Plastique spotting her running towards her and giving an excited squeal. She opened her arms out for a hug which Brooke crashed into.

“Bitch! How are you!” Plastique cried, Brooke only squeezing her tightly in response. “I’m so excited! And sad. And excited! And emotional.”

“Yeah, I can tell!” Brooke teased, Plastique laughing as she stepped out of the hug and gestured to her Mum, dressed very glamorously in a blue dress, blue heels and a pink fascinator. The occasion didn’t really call for it but Plastique’s Mum was always one to embrace the potential glamour in every situation, and so she had gone all out.

“You’ve met my Mum, right?” Plastique smiled. Brooke nodded and waved her a hello. She’d met her once at their second year showcase, the woman keeping her in stitches with her hilarious stories.

“I have! Nice to see you again, Alyssa.”

Alyssa, throwing formalities out of the window, instead pulled Brooke into a crushing hug. “And you too, my angel! Awh, Lord, ‘Tique told me all about your Mama’s flight. My heart is absolutely breakin’ for you, honey. I would’ve sent a plane over for her but nobody’s flying out of there come hell or high water.”

Brooke suppressed a laugh, finding it unbelievable that “I’ll just get her a plane” was on Alyssa’s list of options. “It’s okay Alyssa. Thank you, though. She’s going to watch the live stream, Yvie hooked her up with a link.”

“Well I’ll be your Mama just for today, girl. I am so proud of you both!” Alyssa cried, putting both her hands on Plastique’s shoulders and sighing. “Look at my intelligent daughter, out here gettin’ degrees and lookin’ so beautiful at the same time.”

Plastique smiled at her Mum lovingly, the two of them sharing one last hug before she and Brooke took themselves off to pick up their robes. It was surreal actually wearing the gown, all billowing and black, and helping each other fix their hoods, light blue with fringes of pink. They went to get their graduation photos taken, Brooke surprised that they were given a prop degree to hold as she’d always thought it was her actual degree she’d be holding. She laughed as Plastique moaned to her about not being able to see the photo until it got mailed to her, and the fact that her Mum ordered about twenty four copies so even if it was horrible she wouldn’t ever be able to escape it. Alyssa texted Plastique to tell her she’d gone into the hall to get a good seat, so her and Brooke decided to just go and sit ready anyway. They had to say goodbye to each other briefly until the end of the ceremony, as everyone had to sit in alphabetical order. As she waited for the ceremony to begin, Brooke scanned the huge crowds all seated in the hall’s three tiered levels. Her eyes fell on each empty seat and her heart broke a little more each time she saw one.

Nobody she truly loved would see her graduate in person. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t absolutely gutted. But at least she had Plastique, and of course, Alyssa.

Before she knew it, the ceremony had begun. She tried to pay attention to the Dean’s address and the chamber choir singing in Latin but she couldn’t help feeling like a 16-year-old in her school assembly, bored and just full of anticipation. Eventually, the awards began. Brooke clapped for all the other students crossing the stage, her eyes trained on the way they walked. She swallowed down the panic she felt, banished the thought of tripping over to the back of her mind. It reached Plastique’s turn, and she gave a huge cheer as her friend walked across the stage with all the grace and poise of a supermodel. She could hear Alyssa’s voice shouting from the balcony- “That’s my baby! That’s my girl!”- and, for a moment, she thought she heard the yell of a voice she knew all too well.

No. That was crazy. She must have imagined it.

E in the alphabet turned to F, then G, and eventually, H. Brooke didn’t have many others to sit through, and eventually there was only one girl separating her and her degree. The moment these three years had led up to, finally being lived out.

“Brooke Lynn Hytes.”

She heard her name and smiled as she walked carefully across the stage, shaking the Dean’s hand tightly and collecting her scroll all wrapped up in its little embossed tube. She couldn’t wipe the smile off her face as she walked to the other side, heard the claps, heard the cheers, and heard…

“Love you, Brooke Lynn!”

Stop.

“Go Brooke! Love you, girl!”

It was her. It was actually her. Vanessa’s voice, soaring above the crowd and reaching Brooke like an arrow.

What the fuck was she doing here, at her actual graduation ceremony? As Brooke dismounted the stage she scanned the room like a meerkat, the place far too packed to distinguish Vanessa from any other of the little blobs of people sitting in each row. But she knew it was her. Vanessa had seen her graduate, had seen her collect her degree and had cheered for her.

Brooke didn’t know how she’d managed to get a ticket - they were all reserved for families- but she suddenly couldn’t wait for the ceremony to end.

She didn’t have long to wait, as time flew by and everything was over before it could all sink in. Brooke and Plastique emerged from the hall to the crowds outside and, just as they had promised, the girls all rushed forward to crush them in ridiculously tight hugs, Silky yelling at the top of her lungs how proud she was of them both and Akeria shaking a bottle of five pound cava until the cork opened easily and sprayed the fizz all over the two girls. Brooke clung to Plastique and laughed, unable to stop the smile that was plastered on her face.

“I can’t believe it! You both did it, congratulations!” Scarlet cried cheerfully, Brooke pulling her into another hug.

“Did you see me shaking when I walked across the stage? I thought I was going to trip and fall off the damn thing!” Brooke laughed, the other girls all laughing too.

“You looked like a confident, graceful, successful queen,” Nina told her, Brooke wanting to cry at her friend’s compliment. “And you are all of those things! Fuck, I can’t believe we’ve all graduated now. What the hell are we going to do?!”

“Aw, let’s not think about that,” Akeria shushed her, a proud smile on her face. “Well done, ladies. We’re all proud of you. You did that shit.”

Plastique hugged and thanked them all again before making her excuses, saying she’d be right back, and dashing off to Alyssa. As she left, Yvie took Brooke’s hand and squeezed it.

“So, have you not got some big, teen-movie speech to make, or something?” she quipped. Brooke frowned, looking at her with confusion. The rest of the girls all waited for the penny to drop excitedly, and Brooke saw Akeria’s eyes land on someone just over her shoulder. Brooke turned around and, through the crowd, saw Vanessa waiting beside the hall. Their eyes met, and Brooke could see her try and then fail to suppress the smile on her face. Brooke turned back to the girls, pointing over her shoulder at the girl waiting for her.

“How did…you were all-”

Akeria rolled her eyes, gave her a gentle shove. “Go get your fuckin’ girl, idiot.”

Brooke hardly had to be told twice. She turned around, took two steps, then three, then four, until she realised she was almost jogging over to where Vanessa stood. And suddenly she was in front of her- her hair wavy and falling over her shoulders, her outfit exactly what any graduation guest would be wearing- a smart red dress that accentuated Vanessa’s collarbones and dark eyes and the bright white of the smile she was flashing Brooke’s way.

“Hey,” Brooke began, faltering slightly. She didn’t know where to start, so she chose the obvious. “You were there.”

“Yep!” Vanessa smiled at her proudly.

“How did…how?” Brooke stuttered out, still completely at a loss. Vanessa let out a laugh, charming beyond anything Brooke had heard before.

“I messaged your Mama. Got her number off Yvie after she sent her the link for the livestream. Basically said “hey Ms Hytes…can I grab your ticket and see your daughter graduate so I can surprise her”?” Vanessa grinned, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. Brooke couldn’t believe it. Her own Mum had been in on the whole thing and hadn’t let on. She was going to kill the woman the moment she touched down in Toronto.

“Oh my God. You’re amazing,” Brooke gasped, taking a little step forward so they were closer. She felt like crying. Vanessa was here, in front of her for what was maybe the last time. She had to do something. She couldn’t lose her. Not again.

“Amazing, huh?” Vanessa asked shyly, looking to the ground. They both knew the question meant so much more than simply what it was, and Brooke, without knowing where her confidence had emerged from, took both of Vanessa’s hands in hers. Vanessa’s gaze shot up, and their eyes met.

“Can I kiss you?”

“God, please.”

Without waiting a second longer, Brooke tipped her head down and met Vanessa’s lips. It was somehow just like the first time, even though in many ways it wasn’t at all. This time, Brooke knew every single inch of Vanessa’s body, she knew her ambitions, her fears, she knew what it was like to have almost lost her and be lucky enough to have her come back again. But most of all, Brooke knew that she was in love with her, so fucking in love with her, this one of a kind girl who she was desperate to keep in her life no matter if Vanessa chose her to be hers or not. Their kiss was gentle and urgent and passionate all at once, and Brooke wanted to hold onto the moment forever. When Vanessa’s lips were gone and Brooke was all at once looking at her again, she had tears in her eyes.

“Hey, hey, ‘Ness. Come on, this isn’t…don’t be upset.”

“I am, though! I’m an idiot. These past two months we could’ve been kissing like that and going on cute dates and planning the future and having fuckin’ insane levels of sex but I left you hanging like boo boo the fuckin’ fool when I knew what my decision was the moment we had that conversation in the library, because it’s you, Brooke, fuck, it’s always been you. I love you so much,” Vanessa sniffed, frantically wiping her tears away as Brooke pulled her against her chest. Vanessa’s voice murmured against her, the most hopeful, plaintive question. “Do you still love me?”

“Fuck, Vanessa, of course I love you. You’re just…the person I was meant to meet, you’re the person I’m meant to have in my life. I love you so much.”

Brooke felt like an idiot as tears began to well up in her own eyes. She looked down at Vanessa and she looked back up at her.

“You’re leaving,” Vanessa let out a tiny sob, her forehead hitting Brooke’s chest again.

“I’ll come back,” Brooke said immediately, meaning it. “Honestly, I will. I’ll book my flights as soon as I’m home. I’ll look for flats and jobs and we can start again. We’ll make it work. I want to be with you.”

Vanessa looked up at her, her happy, grateful smile at Brooke’s words all she needed. She let out a tearful laugh. “Brooke Lynn, will you be my girlfriend?”

Brooke laughed too, taking her both her hands and squeezing them. “Hey, fuck you, I wanted to ask first!”

They both laughed then leaned in for another kiss. Brooke didn’t need to answer. Vanessa hadn’t needed to ask.

As they broke away and wrapped their arms around each other, Brooke felt the tears spring up in her eyes as she looked over at the girls. There was Akeria, making some quip about something, and Silky howling at whatever it was she’d said. Monet had joined them all and was swigging the cava out of the bottle, an arm around Nina who was looking at her with adoration. Scarlet and Yvie were telling them both a story, their hands intertwined and their bodies close. Plastique had dragged her Mum over to meet them all and her face was animated as she spoke to her, so full of happiness and excitement.

“Fuck, Vanessa, I can’t believe it’s all over,” Brooke let out a small sob. Vanessa reached up, swept her tears away with a gentle finger.

“Hey. Don’t cry because it’s over. Smile because it happened.”

Brooke smiled down at her girlfriend. Her girlfriend. There was nobody she’d rather have spent the past three years with.

“You wanna go steal that cava back from Monet?”

Brooke giggled and nodded. Joining their hands together and giving them a little squeeze, they walked back over to be with their family.

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xbellaxcarolinax · 4 years ago

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Forging A Heart (Ivar the Boneless) 26- The Feline King

Pairing: Ivar x Artemis (OFC)

Word Count: 7903

Warnings: None. Ivar is bad at apologies.

AN: I like to imagine Ivar likes Cats. Also, this cat GIF is super cute. Longish chapter. 2 more chapters left and an epilogue.

25- Trust Issues

...

"Honestly, must you both make a fool of me?" Ivar barged into the Great Hall, shooing away the mewling cats that sauntered over to greet him. His limping was more prominent than usual, as his anger encouraged the pain in his bones to flare.

Both Artemis and Hvitserk glanced at each other, surprised at the lack of anger he expressed. Ivar was angry, but it was a silent anger, and somehow that made it much more frightening.

The King carefully sits on his throne, his fingers twitching over the armrests. His eyes were sharp, a deadly blue that pierced both his wife and his older brother, but the latter merely shrugged it off, collapsing on the steps at the foot of the throne without a care in the world.

"Well?" Ivar demands.

"You are the only one capable of that, brother, not I, nor your wife." Hvitserk replies nonchalantly, bending his head back to peer at Ivar, "Who are you to stop me from seeing my brothers, hmm?" Ivar's nose flares and he sucks his teeth in displeasure.

"Brother or not, I am still your king." He growls.

"Traitors or not, they are still our brothers," Was the simple reply of the older Ragnarson. Artemis so wished she had the patience Hvitserk had. While she stood there silently fuming, Hvitserk was already brushing off the accusations. Her brother in law calls Geirdis over, who was hiding in the shadows just behind Heahmund.

"Mead." He tells her, and she immediately begins to pour him his drink from a near by pitcher. Heahmund's eyes catch Artemis, a frown forming on his lips in disappointment, whether it was in her or in the king, she didn't know.

"What do you have to say for yourself, wife, hmm? Proud of what you've done?" Ivar's tone was already accusing.

"My king, I don't think-" Heahmund begins to defend her but stops immediately when Ivar lifts a hand in silence.

"Stop talking," Ivar says, not bothering to look at his commander, "I was speaking to the Queen," his eyes focus on Artemis as she glares at him with arms crossed, "Planning my demise?" He offers.

"Are you mad? Do you even know what you accuse me of?" She says with a scoff, "You are implying treason."

"What other reason would there be for you to run off to their cabin?"

"What other reason?" Artemis felt the anger bubbling within her, threatening to spill over in a fury of harsh words. Her hands shook at her sides and her stance was threatening. Heahmund sees this and steps forward, placing his hand on her shoulder.

"Keep calm." He speaks low enough for only her to hear, but she only shakes his hand off of her, moving forward to point an accusing finger toward her husband.

"You must think so little of me if you believe I would be conspiring against you," She spits through her teeth, "All I've been working towards is establishing your rule and being a proper queen."

"Proper queen?" Ivar scoffs, "You haven't behaved as such." Artemis lurches forward as if to pounce on him and immediately Heahmund reaches for her before she could attempt anything, pulling her back easily. Heracles begins to growl at his mistress's distress, though he doesn't move from her side.

"You've gone too far, Ivar," Hvitserk barks out in a rage, jumping up from the steps to turn and glare at his younger brother, "Artemis has been nothing but loyal to you, we all have," He throws his hands up in exasperation, "I only went to greet our brothers, but she went with the intentions of negotiating."

Ivar sucks his teeth and waves his hand about, dismissing the comment.

"You must understand how that appeared, both of you with those traitors," He mutters, shooting a glare at Artemis as if she were the cause of all the trouble.

"If you wish to be angry with me then so be it," Artemis says, stepping closer to him, "But I refuse to apologize."

"You went against me! My own wife!" His voice rose but she did not flinch nor make any other movements. He wouldn't dare hurt her.

"I did no such thing!" She spits right back, "Nor did I disobey you. I was given no orders to stay away nor would I abide by them if such orders were given," He narrows his eyes at her declaration but let's her continue, "I wished to speak peacefully with them, which is more than you could accomplish." There was a silence that resonated in the hall, a tense silence that had everyone present in the hall on edge.

"So now you resort to insulting me." Ivar states, cutting through the silence, now resting his chin on his leather covered hand. Artemis sighs, defeated. She lets her shoulders drop for a moment before getting herself together and gathering her thoughts.

"I think you've insulted me enough for one night." Lifting her skirts, she storms past him and into their chambers before any other word could be uttered. Geirdis skitters past to follow her Queen, Heralces trotting beside her.

Hvitserk stands awkwardly, not exactly sure what was happening, but sensing there was something more going on than the obvious.

It was a lover's quarrel.

"Right," Hvitserk begins, lifting his horn and gulping down the remainder of his drink, "Either way brother, another meeting must be arranged." He turns round, scratching at his light colored hair, "I agree with Artemis. We should negotiate." Ivar scoffs, turning his face away from him.

"I wish to be alone. I will call upon you in the morning." He mutters after a moment. He turns his eyes toward his chambers and he lets his gaze linger there for a moment as if his Queen would come back out.

"If you will permit me to say one thing, My King?" Heahmund asks, ever the most loyal soldier. Ivar let's out a harsh breath through his nostrils but nods at the commander's request.

"Do not make an enemy of the Queen," He begins, "She has a good heart. Do you not believe your god favors her?" Ivar looks away from him, eyebrows arched and frown plastered on his face. He makes a low noise in his throat before speaking.

"She is not my enemy."

"Then I advise you do not treat her as such." Ivar sucks his teeth, knowing Heahmund spoke truth, but they were not words he wished to hear. He wanted to nurse his anger a bit more. He raises his hand, flicking his fingers.

"You may take your leave."

"As you wish, My King." Heahmund bows, taking a few steps back before disappearing further into the hall. Hvitserk's green eyes watches Heahmund go before turning them back to his brother.

"And whatever that was." He points towards their chambers, "Fix it," He says, before walking away.

...

It didn't take Ivar long to enter their chambers after a long session of brooding alone in silence. He finds his wife seated on the floor at the foot of their bed, giving all her attention to her hyper beast. Ivar was hoping she would look up at him with those eyes of hers, but all she does is ignore him. His eyes fall on Geirdis, who seemed to be preparing a satchel.

"Geirdis, get out." He commands, and the blonde immediately drops what she was doing, running out the chambers like a frightened animal.

"You scare her." Artemis mutters, running a hand over Heracles wrinkly face. She still refused to look at him.

"I don't care." He replies, hobbling over to his desk and plopping down against the chair. Usually their chambers were warm and welcoming, but now, it was cold and uninviting. The heat of the passion they created hours ago had dissipated like a dying ember. "Do not make this sneaking off a habit." He mutters, and Artemis finally turns her eyes to his form, watching Ivar slump over the desk with angry eyes. He begins to play with the wick of a candle, passing his fingers through the tiny flame.

"Do not make insulting me a habit." She barks back, arms crossed and a sneer plastered on her face. Ivar wasn't use to such looks from her, only usually receiving the lovely ones. He sighs, sitting up straight and rubbing a hand down his face.

"You had me worried," He says quietly, turning his body slowly to face her, "You could have endangered yourself being with them." Artemis chuckles sarcastically while shaking her head at the sheer irony. It was only a few hours ago that Bjorn had voiced out his concern for her well being.

"I thank you for the concern, but I now see the only danger I have placed myself in was leaving my heart and feelings open to you," She scoffs, "But you do not worry for my feelings, do you, husband?" It took all her power not to grit her teeth, her fingernails digging painfully into her palms, "After all, I'm just a pretty face to you with no substance beneath." Ivar frowns, though he remains quiet. He allows her to berate him.

"I may not be so well versed in the ways of politics and diplomacy, but I am trying, for the sake of being your queen, Kattegat's queen, I am trying."

"I know you are, baby bird." Ivar speaks gently, though he had no other words to offer. The term of endearment he always used irritated her in that moment.

"No, you must not know, King Ivar," She spits out, and he winces at that way she uses his title, "But I do not have to explain myself to you. You want a docile, quiet woman? You should've overlooked me and found another."

"Do not say that!" He slams his fist against the table, causing the candle stick to shake, "Do not say such ridiculous things!" It was almost dawn and neither of them slept a wink, but that didn't seem to bother her in the slightest, not in that moment.

"I do not wish to pester you any further," She stood, grabbing the satchel and slinging it over her shoulder. She snaps her fingers and Heracles was by her side in an instant, "I suggest you get some rest, and I will get mine." She turns to leave but Ivar calls out to her.

"Wait!" He says with a wavering tone, "Where are you going? You sleep here." There was confusion in his voice, his eyes now filled with a child like sadness.

"I think it is best to have my rest elsewhere. I thank you for the concern, though there is no need. I will see you later." And she leaves him alone to his thoughts for a second time.

...

Thick, bristle-like hair brushed against Ivar's nose, rousing him out of his terrible sleep. His eyes crack open, confused by the unfamiliar warmth, scrunching up his nose at the ticklish sensation. Turning his head slightly, he was met with the tail of a furry creature. He swats the bushy tail away with a frown.

It was one of the cats, Siggy, who had taken advantage of the mostly empty bed to enjoy a few moments of sleep with her favorite human. She curls against his side, content in his company. At least she was happy to be around him.

Ivar sighs again, lifting a large hand to place it over the purring felines head, stroking through her fur in more of a comfort to himself than for Siggy. He stares up towards the ceiling, eyes stinging from lack of sleep. The beginnings of a headache was blooming on the side of his head, fueling his irritability.

Then he noticed the silence. The chamber was far too quiet, not at all like the usual mornings when he awoke to Artemis's gentle breathing. He never realized how much he found those moments to be endearing now that he was surrounded by silence.

Ivar hadn't slept alone for quite some time, and he decided that he didn't like it. He'd grown accustomed to her body beside his own. They were both troubled sleepers, but they had gotten better in the last few months with such things, with the exception of last night of course.

The King had not slept so much as a wink, tossing and turning under the furs, wondering if Artemis was doing the same. He assumed so. She was angry with him, beyond so.

He sighs, pushing little Siggy away. He yawns, stretching out his movable limbs before gripping the leather strap that hung over him, hoisting his body up into a sitting position. His muscles ached and protested against his movements. He had to call for a thrall to help with his braces, much to his embarrassment.

Ivar would gently wake Artemis in the mornings and have her cage his legs in the metal contraptions she created. But she wouldn't mind, popping her big eyes opening before yawning and catering to him. He'd plant a kiss on her brow, setting her back to sleep and watching her nod off before beginning his day.

Now it was just him and the male thrall, who struggled with the metal, driving Ivar's foul mood further into destruction. He barks at him until he scurries away, leaving Ivar alone to deal with the braces that only Artemis seems to know how to handle. He kept his braids in from last night, not bothering to have a thrall refresh them, and within the hour he was ready to face his kingdom, except, he felt completely off.

He was tired, that much was obvious, but he felt a bit melancholic really, and angry at himself for driving his wife away. Leaving his lonely chambers he enters his hall that was already buzzing with activity. The morning meal was being prepared and placed on the table, and the thralls quickly stopped what they were doing to acknowledge their king. He grunts, ordering one to fetch his brother and Heahmund before plopping down against his usual chair.

He keeps his head low, avoiding the brightness of the candles that affected the pain in his head, and drums his fingers against the wooden table. He counts the minutes slowly in his mind, wondering if Artemis would come to him. Once his brother and Heahmund sat with him, he gave up all hope that his Queen would join them.

"You look terrible," Comments Hvitserk, already reaching for the dried fruit bowl placed in the center. Ivar glares at him but says nothing, only heaving a sigh, resting his head against his hand. He nurses water in his cup, for he couldn't stomach mead at the moment, "And miserable." His brother says as an afterthought.

"And the Queen?" Heahmund asks, quickly trying to diffuse whatever altercation would stem from the comment.

"Clearly not here," Ivar answers irritably, gripping the bone cup tighter in his annoyance.

"So I take it you didn't fix it?" Hvitserk smirks, clearly in much better spirits than his younger brother. He chews on a piece of fruit, watching Ivar lift his head from his hand to shoot another glare at him.

"What do you think?" Ivar spits out, slamming his hand down atop the wood, "I don't wish to hear any of you speak." He mutters, closing his eyes. Perhaps he should have remained in bed with Siggy.

"Bjorn and Ubbe are here. They request an audience with you and the Queen," Heahmund comments, sipping at the contents of his drink.

"This early?" Ivar groans, "I do not have the grace to deal with them now. Send them away,"

"They wish to discuss the terms the Queen had suggested," Ivar perks up at this, his eyes revealing his interest. He ignored the wave of pain in his head from the sudden movement, leaning forward for a better understanding.

"Terms?" He asks, "What terms?"

"If you would have just listened to Artemis," Hvitserk heaves a great sigh, "You would know what she has proposed to them."

"What terms?" Ivar repeats more forcefully.

"She means to take one of Bjorn's and Torvi's children as a hostage in order to force their loyalty," Hvitserk answers with a shrug, "I believe it cruel but she thinks it may be the only way you would accept aligning with them." Ivar processes the idea, mulling it over in his mind for a moment. He takes a sip of his water before ripping at a piece of freshly baked bread. He remains quiet.

"With their child under your care, they would not dare make any moves against you, My King," Says Heahmund, "Such things are done in England."

"England?" Ivar questions, "So I have you to thank for this?" Ivar asks with brows raised.

"The Queen has a thirst for knowledge, something you should be proud of," Heahmund replies with a shrug, "She wanted to learn the politics of England for any future audiences you might have with the King regarding York." Ivar sighs, rubbing a hand down his face in frustration. Artemis was much more involved in Kattegat's foreign affairs than he thought. And he was an idiot, may Odin help him.

"Which child?"

"The youngest, Asa." Hvitserk answers wearily.

"I'd have Bjorn under my control, lest he risk his daughters life," Ivar says, "The idea is tempting, but there would still be much to discuss," A small smile made it's way over his lips before he let's out a chuckle. Had his wife always been this brilliant?

"How stupid do you feel, little brother?" Hvitserk asks with a roll of his eyes, "Go mend things with your wife. I will arrange a meeting for this afternoon." Ivar's smile falls. He was not yet ready to face her. He needed time to think on how to mend the heart he had wounded.

"Do what you must." He grunts out, standing abruptly and making his way to his council chambers, "One of you ask Artemis to join us for the meeting." He slams the chamber door, signaling the end to their conversation.

...

"Artemis?" Aria's voice was gentle, as if speaking to a babe. Her green eyes held many questions.

"Hmm?" The Queen responds, her attention taken up by the loom for once, taking the comb from Geirdis's hand and passing it through the colorful threads. She was getting better despite her lack of practice, even Geirdis would say so, but she would need to improve if she intended to weave new banners for Ivar's ships. She immediately grimaced at the thought. How unpleasant it was to think of him even in the most miniscule ways as banner making.

"You look exhausted," The red head says to her, "Perhaps you should get more sleep?"

"I'm fine." Was the stubborn reply. Her small hands continued to work, threading the flax threads with the shuttle. Geirdis remains quiet, but focused her attention on what Aria proposed to say.

"You know, you can always confide in me," Aria continued, moving forward to place a hand on the queen’s shoulder, "You should not have to carry burdens of the heart alone."

"I've no burdens," Artemis replies immediately, but she turns her head slightly to look at her with the smallest hints of a smile, "But thank you. You are far too loyal." Aria smiles sadly.

"The thralls are talking, you know."

"Oh? I'm sure they do,"

"They say you're angry with the King, and that is why you slept in a different chamber and had your morning meal alone." At this, Artemis turns to look at Geirdis for confirmation, and the blonde sadly nods in agreement.

"She is right."

"Nothing gets past them, does it?" The Queen sighs, placing down the shuttle. There was a time when she would hear the gossip of Lagertha and her female lover or of Ivar and his impotance. Now the prattle was of her. "Let them talk," She says with a shrug, "It is their way to pass the time." Aria frowns but nods.

"Is there anything else you need me to do?"

"No, you may take your leave," Aria goes to bow but was cut short by Artemis's words, "Do send Dafi my regards," Aria's eyes seemed to bulge out from their sockets before letting out a nervous laugh.

"How did you...?"

"Nothing gets past me either," Artemis says with a smile. The truth was that she had caught sight of them giving each other tender kisses out by the docks one day. It was nice to see them happy, especially now that Dafi was not in favor with the King. "Have fun." Aria's smile was blinding, reaching over to give her Queen a hug before scurrying off to wherever her heart desired.

Artemis decided it was too cold that day to go out. Snow covered the ground and she preferred to stay beside the warmth of the fire. She stayed this way for a while, working at the loom with Geirdis until they were interrupted.

"Queen Artemis," Heahmund enters, giving a slight bow, "Geirdis," He let's a smile slip before continuing, "May I speak with you? It is about the King." She gives an exasperated sigh but nods, handing the threading comb back to Geirdis before heading off with the bishop.

"What is it? Is he brooding more than you?"

"Your humor never ceases to surprise me," He comments dryly, "But yes, he is in a foul mood. He's locked up in his council chambers and refuses to see anyone."

"Poor thing," She responds sarcastically, and shrugs when Heahmund raises a brow, "He is the King, he cannot continue in this way."

"You must speak with him."

"No."

"As Queen, you must put your differences aside."

"As Queen, I should not be subjected to such treatment from my husband."

"Queens must endure the hardships that come with the crown," Heahmund sighs, crossing his leather covered arms over his chest, "The Queen of Wessex had gotten her ear cut off-"

"What?" Artemis scoffs, her hand automatically flying to her disfigured ear out of habit, "Stop talking nonsense!"

"To be fair, it was no battle wound. She was an adulteress-"

"Heahmund," She punches his arm rather hard in his opinion, "Whatever council you are attempting to give me now is not working." Heahmund scratches at his hair.

"He refuses to trust his brothers."

"I understand, and I do not blame him," She mutters, casting her eyes away for a moment, imagining Ivar’s pouting face before bringing them back to Heahmund, "Remember what we've studied of Wessex? The taking of a ward?"

"Hvitserk has informed me of your plan."

"What do you think?"

"It has worked before, I don't see why it wouldn't work now." He replies.

"I wanted to discuss it with Ivar, but he refused to listen."

"Hvitserk has arranged a meeting for late this afternoon, you can discuss it with all of us then." Artemis shakes her head.

"No, I'm done involving myself in this. Ivar can decide whatever he wishes. I've done what I could for them." Heahmund raises a brow but says nothing more about the subject.

"The servants are talking," He says instead, watching how quickly her features twist in displeasure, "Of you sleeping in separate chambers and not joining us for morning meal."

"Ugh, not this again," She crosses her arms, "Why does everyone wish to intrude?" She scowls, looking away from Heahmund's questioning look.

"Because a King and Queen's private life is never private." He comments.

"Do not question me about it, Ivar is the fool in all this."

“These gods you now worship,” Heahmund begins in a tone of contempt, “Was it their plan to have children run the kingdom?" He asks, pinching the bridge of his nose in a show of frustration. She would have laughed at any other given moment, but she had no desire for humor. Instead she scowls again.

"Tell him to come speak with me when he is ready to apologize." She turns on her heels and returns to the loom with Geirdis, the blonde maid's sight lingering on Heahmund before giving her full attention to the Queen.

...

"My wife seems to have a softness in her heart for you all, though only the gods know why." Ivar mutters with slanted eyes. He sat leaning back against his throne, one hand set flat on the armrest while the other was twitching over his lap, hovering over his axe. Siggy makes herself comfortable beside his bound legs, purring in content, watching the humans with eyes similar to the King's.

"I wonder where she might be?" Bjorn inquires, noting the empty throne beside his brother's, as well as the sharp axe on his lap.

"Indisposed, I'm afraid," Answers Ivar, turning to glare at Hvitserk who let's out a scoff. Ivar knew she refused to attend, which hurt him more than he thought it would.

"What, did you kill her?" Bjorn scoffs, managing to hold onto a teasing tone. Ivar releases a guttural noise, glaring fiercely at his oldest brother as he fights to keep his anger at bay. He’d been on a journey to learn patience, but Bjorn was threatening to break that dam he’d struggled to build.

"She is not feeling well." He bites out the lie.

"What a shame." Says Ubbe. They were all expecting to see the Queen, and they were disappointed in her absence.

"But I've been informed on these matters you wish to discuss," Ivar continues, "We are to take my niece as a ward, yes?" Torvi remained quiet until then, glancing at her son and daughter that played with both Geirdis and another thrall before turning her sharp eyes to Ivar.

"Believe me, Ivar, this is not something I wish for my child."

"Did you have something else in mind, shieldmaiden? Hmm?" The older woman glares at him before looking away, but she continues.

"We spoke, the Queen and I."

"Of?"

"Kattegat's gains. Men for raiding and war, trading, and a marriage alliance if you see fit, if heirs are produced." Ivar scowls at her taunting tone, "But that was before she offered such a plan. You must understand how I must feel, being Asa’s mother."

"Oh yes, of course," Ivar replies, leaning his chin on his hand as if bored, "These are the terms Queen Artemis has set forth, and I approve them. You give your youngest daughter to us, and we help you gain control of Hedeby. You will have the alliance you all so desperately crave along with your mother’s old kingdom, and in turn, my kingdom will flourish. We either take the child, or you can fend for yourselves. The choice is yours." Ivar says to Bjorn, a smirk falling on his lips. He could tell Bjorn was far from pleased with the outcome, and that delighted Ivar very much.

"You will not hurt my daughter, Ivar." Bjorn speaks quietly.

"You have no reason to fear, unless you provoke me. So, don't provoke me," He says with a shrug, "The only reason you are all still living is because my wife wills it so. She has a much softer heart than I, you see. You all must thank her for her mercy. I have none to give."

"You've made that quite clear, brother," Bjorn says, crossing his arms and keeping his sight steady on Ivar, "How am I to trust you will not break your word? You could easily take control of Hedeby for yourself." Ivar scoffs.

"You think I care for Hedeby? The town reeks of your mother." He growls out.

"Ivar," Ubbe warns, "You've always been a most...presumptuous child. You were quick to take York-"

"Which is still under my control," Ivar reminds him, impatiently. Old wounds were opening, and he still held resentment towards Ubbe.

"Right," Ubbe replies patiently, "So what is stopping you from taking Hedeby?"

"The Queen," Torvi answers her lover, "Artemis would be against it, I'm sure. Christian's are weak. She still holds onto their morals."

"Do not presume you know my wife," Ivar spits, leaning forward, "And do not attempt to insult her in my presence." There was truth to that statement. Artemis would never allow him to do such a thing if he had truly wanted Hedeby, but for now, it was not a desire of his. Kattegat was his main concern, along with York.

"I'm sure that Torvi meant no disrespect," Hvitserk interjects, "She knows better than that," He says, turning to look at the blonde with pleading eyes. Heahmund too was led into a sour mood at the comment, but remains quiet.

"I do not wish to take Hedeby for myself," Ivar says after a moment, "If I did not want it before, what makes you think I want it now? I've other plans across the seas, but I do intend to partake in Hedeby's success, of course, due to my services." He then smiles at them ominously. "This arrangement will take place after winter passes. Until then, you are to remain in your cabin under house arrest. Try anything, and I will kill you with no hesitation. Are we clear, brothers? Torvi?" Ivar's smile did not falter, mentally rejoicing in the glares his brothers shot at him. Bjorn, Ubbe and Torvi all glance at each other, worry now etched on their faces.

"Give us the night to deliberate it, Ivar. It is a very painful decision." Ivar shrugs, but nods in agreement.

"Granted. You are to have your decision come morning."

"Fine." Was all Bjorn says, whipping round immediately to walk out the hall, Ivar's guards following close behind them. His tone was enough to show he might have regretted his decision asking his youngest brother for help. His pride was wounded.

Torvi glared at Ivar signaling to the children to come to her, and Ubbe had sad eyes. He always had sad eyes.

"It has been a pleasure!" Ivar calls out to them mockingly, grinning at their retreating figures. He leans back against his throne with a sigh, dropping the facade and running a hand down his face once the large doors are closed.

"Let this not be a mistake." He mutters to himself, turning over to glance at Hvitserk. His brother bore the smallest hints of a smile, one that he hadn't worn in quite a while.

...

The day progressed uneventfully and by afternoon there was still no sign of Ivar. Not that Artemis was complaining. All the men were probably in the hall negotiating while she remained in her new chambers wallowing in her misery. She wondered what they spoke of, and whether or not Ivar had made any decisions, but she supposed it didn't matter anyway. She just hoped he wouldn't decide to kill them out of irrational thinking.

She held a resentment for Ivar's words still, and she felt she could be angry with him for a lifetime, but the more the hours passed, the more she felt sadness rather than anger.

And sadness felt much more agonizing to her than anger did.

There was only so much the loom could do to distract her, and so she decided to take a stroll outside despite the unfavourable conditions. The cold air nipped at her nose and cheeks, already putting her in a foul mood, but it was better than locking herself away.

She heads towards the market with her usual companions, Tordis and Heracles, entering the forge where she makes small talk with Master Hagen late into the night, helping him and his apprentice with their duties until nightfall. She sat on her own after the men left, letting the candles burn and keeping to her thoughts.

Ivar enters the familiar forge, and already Heracles circles his body, sniffing at his lifeless legs. He turns to Tordis, who stood leaning against the entrance, signaling for her to give him and his wife privacy.

"I figured you'd be hiding from me in here." He startles her, his voice laced with a hint of chill from the cold. He cracks the smallest of smiles at how distracted she was, in her own thoughts as usual.

Ivar takes his place beside her on a stool by the flame. Though she was properly groomed that day, hair in very neat plaits and skin smooth to perfection, the exhaustion was apparent in her face. He also assumed that she would be hammering away at something, but he was surprised to find her sitting perfectly still. Instead, she was staring intently at something small in her hands.

She makes a noise of annoyance before answering him.

"I wasn't hiding." She mumbles, keeping her eyes focused on her fingers. Ivar realized it was a silver ring that she was turning over and over, watching it catch the colors of the fire.

"I haven't seen you all day," He comments, "I was beginning to miss you."

"I doubt it." She answered stubbornly, looking at him from the corner of her eyes until she decided to fully face him. He looked terrible. Dark circles rest under his eyes and his braided hair was not as neat as it usually was. He looked completely disheveled.

"You haven't slept," She says, reaching out to place a hand upon his cheek, but pulls back, realizing her movements. She was still angry at him. He immediately grabs her hand, placing it on his cheek before she could pull away completely. She could feel the little hairs of his sideburns tickling her palm, and how warm his skin was despite just coming from outside.

"No, I haven't slept, how could I?" He says quietly, "And by the looks of it, neither have you." He traces a calloused finger under her right eye and down her cheek before pulling back.

"It's my fault," He sighs, letting go of her hand, but keeps his eyes on her, "Do not be angry with me." She looks away from him, disappointed. She remains quiet, continuing to twist the silver ring between her small fingers.

"Artemis." She turns to look at him, not because he called out to her, but because of how broken he sounded. It was desperate and grief stricken, and not at all like himself. How could he pour out so much emotion into saying her name like that? Ivar struggled with himself as if he were having an internal battle. He took a deep breath and exhaled, gently taking her small hand into his larger one before speaking.

"Ivar?"

"I-I've spoken to Bjorn, to all of them." He says, though that was not what was truly on the very tip of his tongue.

"Oh," Artemis deflates, "What has been decided?"

"I have considered your plan." He says, watching her nibble fingers.

"Hmm?" She perks up, not hiding away from him anymore, "My plan?" Ivar nods, bringing an arm over her shoulders to bring her closer to him. He places a kiss on her temple and she lets him, her eyes closing at the familiar flutters in her abdomen.

"We will take on his youngest daughter as a ward once winter comes to an end. That is when we will take Hedeby." She blinks, not exactly sure what to say, so he continues. "You've been studying with Heahmund," He comments, brushing his nose along the top of her hair before giving a sigh, "I should have known better, my love." Artemis sucks her teeth, pushing his face away playfully.

"You underestimate me."

"Indeed." He says, looking down at his leather gloves to pick at a frayed thread, "It was wrong of me to say such things to you." Artemis says nothing in return, only cocking her head to the side with a brow raised. She crosses her arms and looks steadily at him, waiting for him to continue in his struggle to apologize.

"I know how painful my words can be," He continues to say, his voice holding that uncharacteristic gentle tone he used with her on rare occasions. He was remorseful, that much was evident. "And I only said them in frustration. I was angry because you so easily accepted them, knowing their faults." He mutters, finally bringing his eyes back to gaze at her.

"We all have our faults,” She says quietly, “ And I sympathize for them as I do you. You all should have the love of a family, as you once did."

"You are my family now," He says to her quickly, "You are the only one I need." She lowers her head, letting a little smile tug at her lips, but it disappeared as quickly as it came.

"Yes, we are family now," She agrees, "But, you need them, and they need you. Family will always have each other. If you cannot put behind your differences, then at least do it in the interest of Kattegat." Ivar blinks, licking his lips in thought, "Kattegat will gain immensely."

"An alliance with Bjorn while keeping his loyalty through a ward," He voices out her plan, "I've given them the night to deliberate and come to a decision by morning."

"I did not want to take her daughter from her," Artemis sighed, "But it would be the only way to ensure they will not think to betray us."

"You've a powerful mind, baby bird." Ivar smiles, pulling her close once again to show his appreciation, "I do not doubt you."

"Oh? So I am more to you than just a pretty blacksmith?" She peers up at him, a pout already forming on her lips.

"Much more," He says with a sigh, "You are indeed invaluable, and no doubt placed in my life for a reason." When she says nothing, he grips her tighter, fighting once again with himself to release the words that fought to leave his lips. "Artemis...I am sorry." He immediately feels her shift in his arms, her shoulders caving in as if she were releasing a great breath she fought to hold in.

"Are you truly?" She asks him, though she did not look at him. He supposed he deserved that.

"Yes, my love, a thousand times."

"You've a sharp tongue." She mutters.

"As do you," He retaliates, feeling her shift again so that she may properly look at him. Her eyes wander from his defined chin to his pink lips, lingering there for a moment until she finally meets his eyes.

"Do you remember what the seer said to me?" She comments quietly, "That I would find hardship being your queen?" Ivar says nothing, but nods slowly, focusing his gaze on hers, though her eyes shift away from his for mere moments.

"What is it?"

"I think..." She sighs before summing up the courage, looking directly at him, "I think you are part of that hardship, Ivar." He blinks, frown already settling on his lips. He closes his eyes, placing his brow against hers in silence, her words affecting him quiet deeply. Perhaps she was right, but he had no desire for that to be the truth.

"I do not wish to demean you, nor hurt you. I've done enough of that in the past." He says softly, his eyes shooting open at her when she says her next words.

"Do not insult me again, Ivar." There was a sternness in those words, very commanding. Like a Queen.

"I wouldn't dare," He stares back down at her, noting the apprehension in her eyes, "Come back to our bed."

"It's only been a night." She finally cracks a smile, reaching up to place her fingertips onto his stubbled chin.

"And how torturous it has been." He says comically, reaching down in an attempt to steal a quick kiss, but she turns away, his lips caressing her cheekbone instead.

"Then let it continue. I believe you should suffer for a while longer." She innocently flutters her lashes and breaks from his embrace, attempting to leave him there.

Ivar reacts quickly, yanking her from the back of her cloak so that she may fall against him. She lets out a yelp as he turns her round in his lap, immediately capturing her lips in a kiss. He places a hand on her cheek, drawing her closer, breathing her in, and he could already feel her smiling, kissing him back just as fervently.

So it seemed she missed him as well.

...

"Who has offered you marriage in my absence, hm?" Ivar questions looking down at the shining silver on her forefinger, and although he knew it came from no man, he was still curious.

"Bjorn." Was her immediate response, and she burst into a fit of laughter at Ivar's unamused look. "I jest." She says, grinning fiercely. She turns her head to give him a quick peck. It loosened the angry arch of his brow. He grabs her hand, holding on to her finger where she had placed the ring, inspecting it further. It was simplistic, a small silver band with tiny patterns etched within. Artemis snatches her hand back and turns over, burrowing herself into him.

"It was given to me by Torvi, in an act of loyalty. She desperately wants our help." She mumbles into his naked tattooed chest, closing her eyes and enjoying the heat of his skin, "For the sake of her children."

"She believes you still have a heart for the Christian ways," Ivar muttered, "She thinks you are weak in character."

"That does not surprise me," She answers with a sigh, moving to rub her eyes, "Kindness will always be viewed as a weakness."

"I wanted to kill them."He reminds her, and she rolls her eyes at how easily he speaks of murder.

"The fate of their child rests in our hands," She mumbles, tracing a finger over the lean muscles in his arm, "Whatever Torvi believes does not bother me in the slightest. But she has given me her word to be trustworthy, and I do expect her to keep it."

"So you were doing your own negotiating, hmm?" She could hear the smile in his voice, "You are resourceful."

"I am trying my best."

"I know," He mutters, "Such is the life of royalty." Artemis makes a noise but says nothing more, closing her eyes as sleep came to claim her. Ivar stares down at her, using a finger to poke at her flushed cheek. He was tired, exhausted actually, but he was not yet ready to fall into the trap of unconsciousness.

"Ivar," She whines, fighting to slap away his persistent fingers, "Let me sleep. You exhaust me." She did not see the smirk curling on his lips.

"Do you forgive me?" Her eyes crack open in confusion.

"What?"

"Do you forgive me?" He repeats, brushing aside the unruly hair across her brow. She blinks slowly. She never voiced her acceptance of his broken apology. "I wish to hear you say it." Ivar says, as if reading her mind. He had gotten very good at that.

"Not yet," She says stubbornly, the exhaustion irritating her further. "Mind your words. I may not be as forgiving. Now go to sleep." She turns away from him, getting comfortable under the furs. Ivar pouts, but let's her turn over, watching her bury her face into the linen pillow.

"You're worse than Loki." He mumbles, wrapping himself around her.

"Shut up. You accused me of treason. Go to sleep."

He snorts, shaking his head with a sigh, but places a kiss against her bare shoulder.

He'd let her berate him till the end of time if that was what it took.

...

A shadow looms over you, whether good or bad, I cannot see.

She had replayed the words in her head over and over, dissecting the seers words. It is a wonder why the people went to hear the old creature of a man, as his words only caused one to think of their fate more than they should and allowing fear to creep into their hearts,

Honor the gods, invoke the All Father, and you shall be blessed.

The sun had barely risen when she slipped out of bed, the warm colors of orange and yellow just surfacing over the horizon. She did her best not to awaken Ivar, creeping back and forth within the chambers to gather the items she would need.

Beside the corner of the bed she raised a small altar. It was nothing special, just a small wooden box she had attained with a smooth surface. She kneels before it, placing an old black cloth over it. She heard he liked black.

Digging into a small pouch, she pulled out dried herbs provided to her by Geirdis. Her shaking hands work to pull apart the stems, placing them in a small bowl along with some elm leaves. She then lights 2 candles, placing each one beside the bowl, and finally, she takes a deep breath, placing her hands over her lap.

This...was different. Strange.

Geirdis had showed her what she needed to do, the proper ways to invoke Odin, who she so desperately needed wisdom from, only, she was completely new to this and very much afraid. She concentrated on the small flames, taking in another breath and releasing it. She had learned that the gods preferred flattery, and she supposed she had to start there.

She closes her eyes, but before she could do anything, she hears the shuffling of the sheets. Ivar had woken. She hears him roll over, and she looks up to see him peering over the bed with a curious look.

He huffs out a tired chuckle before bringing his arm up to pull at the leather strap beside him, hoisting himself up. He swings his legs over the edge, struggling a bit to land beside her. When he adjusts himself comfortably, he grabs her hand, placing a kiss on her knuckles.

"I love you," He says sincerely, his eyes scanning over her makeshift shrine before turning his eyes to her, "Truly." She smiles, instantly becoming shy at his declaration. Of course, she knew Ivar did despite his tough exterior, but it always made her melt whenever he did say those words. She falls completely open to him.

"I love you too." She says to him, lowering her head to hide her burning cheeks. He chuckles, hands going into the bowl to touch the dry herbs and leaves within.

"What do you wish to ask of the gods?" He questions.

"I wish to ask for guidance," She says, "And wisdom." Ivar hums in understanding.

"You're worried about Bjorn?"

"I'm worried of making the wrong choices." Artemis speaks quietly into the darkness, remembering the last item in the pouch. She digs around, fishing out a small figurine, about the size of her thumb. It was suppose to be in the likeness of the All Father. She runs her thumb over the grooves of the wood before placing it in front of the bowl.

"I wish to make you proud." She says, turning to him with those eyes. He grins, drawing her close.

"You already make me proud. You have nothing to prove."

"But I have something to prove to them." She motions her chin towards the figurine, illuminated by the candlelight. Ivar nods, rolling his bare shoulders to eliminate the sleepiness before turning to look down at her. He grabs her hand, lacing his fingers with hers.

"Then let us ask this together, hmm?"

...

@heavenly1927 @didiintheblog @leilabeaux @jzr201 @inforapound @a-mess-of-fandoms @rastakami23 @ostra814 @zumzum96

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wangxiangiftexchange · 4 years ago

Text

Winter Solstice Gift for lanerose23

This is super self-indulgent but hopefully entertaining too. I’ve tried to not stray beyond the cultural lanes established in the drama, but if I’ve erred or overstepped, please let me know so I can be better. Also, I obsessively watched the show on, like, five different platforms with five different sets of subtitles, so this is sort of a medley of names/translations that seemed to flow best in this tale.

For @lanerose23 for the Wangxian Winter Solstice Gift Exchange. I tried to come through on bunnies, fluff, happy endings, and "safe, sane" sexy times! Happy holidays! <3

Read On AO3

*****

The Great Bird's Promise

Inside his shell, he heard the promise. The great bird said that she would deliver them to families who would love them.

Her wings spanned the width of the sky, beak as large as the sun, as she flew with a basket in her talons. Within the woven bamboo jostled the eggs of every living species on Earth—humans, still new and learning to walk upon the soil; fish and lizards and snakes and the old species who had made this world their own.

A heavy wind blew from a mountain that had not been so tall the day before, for they were growing, too. It shook the bird’s massive feathers, shuddering her expansive wings. She dodged the gust, greeted the new mountain, and didn’t notice when a single egg dropped from her basket.

This one lonely egg plummeted through empty sky and landed in the thatch of a pine tree. The branches reached out from the cliff, sparse and cascading. The egg trembled and began to hatch.

The creature inside, naked, blind, heart beating fast with what could be called excitement and what could be called fear, was called a rabbit.

The huge unblinking eyes of a snowy owl watched the eggshell fall away to expose the fragile form inside. The tiny hairless thing that was called rabbit did not, right now, look like one. He shivered in cold mountain breezes. “Will you love me?” the rabbit asked, for he had heard the great bird’s promise.

The snowy owl pondered this. “If you’re silent,” he answered, fluttering on his perch, “and always stand tall and elegant and do just as I do.”

He would, the rabbit vowed inside. He would forever and ever.

___________

The silences of Cloud Recesses were all wrong. Wuxian turned fitfully on the fine bed with its fine pillows and missed the sounds of Lotus Pier, the insects chirping and fishermen casting nets with soft splashes. Plus, he wasn’t tired. It was barely night and already everything had been shut up tight. He was tempted to break out, perhaps sneak to Nie Huaisang’s quarters and invite him into some mischief, but thoughts of Shijie’s disappointment kept him inside this time.

He wondered where Lan Zhan slept; he was probably already deep asleep in twenty layers and rigid from head to toe, pretty and perfect as an ice sculpture. He’d heard that Lan Zhan played guqin and he’d heard Lan Zhan was already one of the best. Wuxian wanted to hear him play and see what he could learn from the methods. Or maybe he just wanted to watch him play, elegant and handsome and stone-faced.

Wuxian turned onto his back with a groan. It was annoying that Lan Zhan was so attractive. It was annoying that Wuxian couldn’t stop thinking about him. Surely, Lan Zhan would be so boring to touch, he thought, surely it would be like kissing a dead fish, but he couldn’t really believe it because he’d seen Lan Zhan fight. He was fierce and intense and intelligent and appealing, so obnoxiously, effortlessly appealing. If they could have fooled around weeks ago like he’d wanted, Wuxian wouldn’t be in this situation. He grumbled and turned onto his stomach again.

“Wei Wuxian! Go to sleep,” Jiang Cheng growled from his bed. “I can’t sleep with you flopping around!”

Wuxian pouted at him in response, but he tried to lay still. He closed his eyes, settled his head on his pillow, and tried to sleep. He tried to not think of Lan Zhan.

Courtyards away and hours later, Wangji sat poised in meditation, incense a lazy curl of smoke around him. Today’s lectures would begin soon. Today, as every other day, Wangji vowed to be the example Uncle expected of him.

Back straight, hands atop his knees, he breathed evenly, a rhythm as familiar as Inquiry. He appeared as placid as a frozen lake in winter.

Inwardly, he thrashed. He tried to focus on the thrum of his golden core, but instead thought of a bright toothy smile and a laugh that echoed off the Cloud Recesses quiet walls. Wei Wuxian, who broke all wards. Wangji wanted to fight him. He wanted to kiss him. He wanted to silence him. He wanted to hear his every thought. He wanted him to leave and never come back. He wanted him to stay and never go. He wanted to avoid him. He wanted to find him.

He wanted. He wanted. He wanted and he hated wanting. Wanting opened a cavern inside him that he couldn’t fill. Wanting stoked hungers he had no intention of feeding. He would extinguish them forever if he could. He wanted to look upon Wei Wuxian, his smiles, his talents, his body, his brilliance and rebellion, and feel nothing. Instead, the gaping wound of want split open inside him, spilling desire all through him, melting the ice of him. Filling him with want.

Outwardly, Wangji’s little finger tremored on his knee.

___________

The rabbit felt so proud when his fur grew in white and downy as owl feathers. With the owls, the rabbit stood as tall as he could and thought how striking they must look together, though he was still quite small.

But when the owls took to the air, he couldn’t follow. When they returned with beaks full of creatures that were no bigger than he, the rabbit felt queasy. The elegant snowy owl blinked knowing eyes at him and the rabbit understood.

He carefully descended the towering pine tree, the only home he’d known, and began searching for where he belonged.

Soon, the rabbit found a little gathering of field mice. Hope bloomed inside him. They were even smaller than he was! They couldn’t fly through the air and wouldn’t return with beaks full of meat.

“Will you love me?” he asked, gazing into tiny black eyes. The mouse’s nose twitched a little like his, whiskers bouncing as she looked him over.

“If you stay small,” the field mouse answered, “and you never scare us and you never, ever get angry.”

The rabbit eagerly nodded. He never felt anger and he was so little, with no wings or beak, so how could he ever be scary?

___________

Wuxian felt pride and embarrassment in equal measure as he led Lan Zhan around the settlement built by Wen hands and the wards forged with his blood. He’d seen the difficult scrabble of pulling together even these comforts, to make gardens of graveyards and homes among bones. But with Lan Zhan, Hanguang-Jun, beside him so bright and so beautiful, it was impossible not to see it through new eyes. How gray and horrible all this must seem to one raised in the glorious Cloud Recesses. How repulsed Lan Zhan must feel, he thought.

Wangji was not repulsed, but his heart ached, for this did not seem a way for anyone to live. Yet the grayness of the landscape did not scare him like the grayness of Wei Ying’s skin.

“Let’s go,” Wei Ying said, voice on the wind. “I’ll walk you down the mountain.”

They moved side by side back toward the crumbling entry enforced by fearsome power. The infrequent bump of their shoulders reminded Wuxian of happier days spent pretending they were like Song Lan and Xiao Xingchen, bound only by their shared ideals. He wondered, though, if they shared ideals anymore. No regrets, they’d pledged; to live with a clear conscience. Wuxian had no regrets, not really, and he felt cursed by that. He was rigidly ruled by his own unflinching moral compass. He longed sometimes to be someone who could turn away. Life would be simpler, he was sure, if he could only close his eyes and fall into the shared delusion of clear lines, protect our own and only our own, and the black/white thinking of others. Instead, he felt trapped awake, eyes open, poisoned by the horrors hidden within those comforting platitudes. He felt terribly, achingly alone.

“Is there anyone who can give me a bright future path that is easy to go on?” Wei Ying asked and Wangji had no answer. He didn’t understand why Wei Ying had abandoned the sword, but he could recognize now that the power granted him by this disturbing path was immense, more immense than even a prodigious swordsman like Wei Ying could accomplish with Suibian. And immense power was needed to protect the Wen against the clans.

“Let yourself judge what is right and what is wrong, let others decide to praise or to blame, let gains and losses remain uncommented on,” Wei Ying said sadly, certainly. “I know what I should be doing. I also believe I can control it.”

Behind his eyes Wangji felt the press of tears. He wanted to weep in a way he’d not done since he was a child and had never done with any witness but his brother. That radiant, infuriating boy who had lodged himself in Wangji’s heart was bleeding himself dry for others and Wangji could do nothing but admire him for it. It felt thick in his throat, like any word out of his mouth might come carried on a sob.

“Brother, Brother.” A weight, now familiar, crashed against his legs. “Brother, are you not going to stay and eat with us today?”

Wangji looked down at A-Yuan’s bright eyes and soft cheeks. How could he argue with anything Wei Ying did to protect this boy? How could any action to that end be wrong? The questions burnt and knifed inside him against 3,000 rules he knew like his heartbeat. Three thousand rules that conflicted with one another and yet screamed that he should not be here and he should not care for Wei Ying.

Wei Ying lifted the boy into his arms, making Lan Zhan’s excuses for him. “A-Yuan, this brother here already has food waiting for him at home. He won’t be staying.”

“But I heard a secret earlier,” A-Yuan said. “They said that there was lots of good food today.”

“A-Yuan,” Wuxian scolded, but then fell silent. He had never given much thought to being a parent, but the weight of a child in his arms resonated with something primal inside him. It made him feel gentle and fierce. And to see A-Yuan take to Lan Zhan stirred something else inside him, something he was scared to name because he could never deserve it.

Wei Ying turned to him. Wangji expected him to repeat his explanations, give his silence words as he so often did, but instead, Wei Ying looked at him with an expression he’d never seen before. He wasn’t joking, flirting, arguing, or cajoling. He was just...open, holding a child and looking at him, hopeful.

“I’m leaving,” Wangji said and pulled himself away from that look on Wei Ying’s face. He would wonder until the end of his days what might have been different if he’d stayed.

___________

The field mice adored him, for a time. That he was small made them feel safe. That he ate only green things gave them comfort. But not always, and not enough. They were afraid because he was still bigger, mistrustful because he’d lived among owls, and it wore on the rabbit. He tried to never be angry, even when their suspicious looks made him feel that way.

“You have to leave,” the little mouse told him one day, the same one who’d once allowed him to stay. “Your jumping is too scary and we told you not to be scary.”

He only jumped like that when he was happy, but the rabbit didn’t try to explain; he just left.

After days alone, the rabbit awoke to a vibration, like the world might split open beneath him. It came in slow, steady beats—thump...thump...thump. He hopped to investigate and saw enormous grey-bellied elephants with long trunks and huge flapping ears that swatted the flies away.

They’re so big, the rabbit thought with joy. They’d never be frightened of me.

The elephants settled around a watering hole to drink their fill. Some lounged in the water, washing away the dust coating their thick hides, and the littles ones who were still so much larger than the rabbit played silly games that made him smile.

He politely ventured close to an old matriarch with wise eyes. “Will you love me?” he asked.

She turned in his direction, searching the empty air until she found the tiny origin of the tiny voice. She took in his twitching ears and quivering whiskers. “If you don’t get scared,” she said, “and you help us to lift big trees, find tall grasses, and always stay loyal.”

The rabbit nodded because he wanted to be and do all those things.

___________

Uncle saved his life with his punishment.

He was meant to suffer and reflect on his wrongdoings. And Wangji did suffer. He did reflect. But the flayed flesh on his back was nothing compared to the flaying in his heart. In fact, it was comforting, somehow, to hurt as much on the outside as he did inside. It put Wangji’s pain somewhere it could bleed.

The Yiling Laozu fell with only one hand reaching out to him, and that hand reached out too late. Too late. Too late to change anything.

He cared for A-Yuan, but selfishly the boy wasn’t enough. Wen Yuan had a clan now, he would be safe and fed without Wangji around. Wangji didn’t want to be around. He wanted to be free of this hurt, of this loss, of existing in a world without Wei Ying, surrounded only by those who had betrayed him. Including himself, including the beating heart in his chest.

The pain gave him focus. He read the rules and found those he’d violated. He found those he wished he had. He reflected. He reflected. He reflected and accepted that he was in love with Wei Ying, he always would be, and he should have been by his side. The recognition came in a wave, followed by a soul-deep exhale, like the release during meditation or a gasp after almost drowning.

The Cold Pond Cave cooled the fires of him, but not the way Uncle intended. Wangji didn’t regret his misbehavior, only his inaction. He didn’t regret his words, only his silences. And when he accepted these truths, the turbulence in his mind froze clear and solid. He’d loved Wei Ying. He’d failed Wei Ying. He’d wanted to protect Wei Ying. He could protect A-Yuan. He could love A-Yuan.

As the truths solidified in his heart, power thrummed in his core like a yoke had been thrown off. Energy filled him from toes to fingertips to the ends of his hair. The world perceived his affection for Wei Wuxian as his only weakness. Wangji learned in that moment that his love, immortal and infinite, was his strength.

___________

The rabbit had promised to not be scared, but he felt so afraid dodging heavy elephant feet that could crush him. When he rode on their backs, he felt scared to be so high for he remembered the flying things that ate little things like him. He couldn’t help lift big trees, or even the small ones, and they lost him when they strode in tall grasses. The matriarch scooped him up in a mouthful and nearly ate him, even though elephants don’t eat rabbits.

He didn’t stay long with them, though he loved the silly games of the babies and the huge flapping ears of the elders.

He wandered and soon met a tortoise, its thick skin familiar from the elephants, its size just right—not so big as the elephants, not so small as the field mice. “Will you love me?” he asked the tortoise with his hulking shell and narrow eyes.

The tortoise sniffed at him. “If you can keep up,” he said, and continued on his path.

The rabbit happily hopped beside him, only to discover he’d left the tortoise far behind. Oh, dear no, thought the rabbit, this won’t work at all. He thanked the tortoise for his kindness and continued on alone.

___________

When he left the cave, having lost three years with A-Yuan, he let the regret scatter like leaves in the certainty brought by this new, engulfing spiritual power. Three years earlier, he would have met the boy full of ferocity and self-destruction. That was no way to love a child.

Wangji had been raised beside someone’s anger; he would not wish that for A-Yuan, his Sizhui, who looked plump-cheeked and happy in his pale Lan robes. In the mornings, Wangji combed his hair and helped him fasten his ribbon across his smooth forehead. Sometimes, tongue poking out in concentration, Sizhui helped Wangji with his in turn.

Wangji couldn’t decide if it was blessing or curse that Sizhui, Xian-gege’s A-Yuan, had no memories of him. It left Wangji alone to grieve the dreaded, well-dead Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian. But left him alone to bear that bittersweet pain, too. To wish memory on a boy who’d already suffered felt selfish. Better that Sizhui start here in the embrace of GusuLan, in Wangji’s embrace.

Sizhui sat on his lap, even when he was too old and too tall for it. Wangji allowed it. The boy tugged on the strings of his guqin and giggled at the trembling twang. It seemed they both needed this, an extended autumn of youth after a parched summer; forging—or perhaps re-forging—a bond made one magical afternoon that only one of them remembered.

At 12, Sizhui was proper, good looking, and hard working. His aptitude with the guqin gave Wangji stirrings of fate—would this talent have been discovered in a Wen? he wondered. Wangji traveled often, on quests he could barely admit to himself, and when he returned, his first visit was always from Sizhui, even before his brother or his uncle. The boy would seek him out, no matter the hour he returned. It was an indulgence Wangji couldn’t deny either of them.

The sun had just crested the horizon, spilling into the rebuilt shadows of Cloud Recesses.

“I don’t know how we’re meant to obey all of them all the time,” Sizhui admitted softly. The steam from the teapot caught the sunlight like smoke around his young face, carefully schooled to hide his agitation. Wangji knew Sizhui’s face better than his own.

He thought of the platitudes he was told when he’d made the same observation as a child. That the conflict was in him, in the human heart; the rules were to tame the conflict. That cultivation means control and great spiritual strength can only be achieved through harnessing one’s nature.

That is not what he told Sizhui. “They conflict with one another because they are not of equal value at all times,” he said, pleased by Sizhui’s steady hands as he prepared their tea. “Like strings on the guqin, from thick to thin, they can be played separately or together, depending on the melody of a moment.”

“So...we learn the rules so that we may know all the principles that should guide our actions.” Sizhui carefully extended his teacup toward him and Wangji felt a rush of affection for his perceptive, soulful boy. “Just as we learn all the notes we can play, even though not every song requires them?”

“Mn.” Wangji gave a slight nod and lifted his tea, breathing in the floral scent. “And indeed, not only do some songs not require them, but the wrong note—even when beautiful in another melody—would ruin the one before you, and to play every note at once would only create discord.” Wangji knew that discord well. He’d grown up in it.

Sizhui let out a relieved sigh that gave Wangji a tremulous feeling of success, like he’d done a bit of good parenting, even when he barely understood what that was. “That makes sense,” his lovely boy said. “Thank you, Hanguang-Jun.”

Wangji didn’t respond. He simply drank the tea prepared by his son, his Lan Sizhui, Wei Ying’s A-Yuan, and let himself feel a rare moment of peace in the sunrise.

Years later, in Yi City, Wangji would see himself in Xiao Xingchen, who died rather than continue in a world where he’d hurt his beloved—and also in Song Lan, who soldiered on, a ghost carrying memories of dead love close to his heart.

___________

In his travels, the rabbit soon came to wide water, so expansive he could not see its end. It rose and fell like great moving mountains. On the gray-sand shore were seals with big limpid eyes and sweet round bellies. “Will you love me?” he asked one, feeling so scared and so hopeful.

“If you stay close and always share your food,” the seal answered.

___________

Wuxian felt the pleading weight of Zewu-Jun’s words.

He walked in to see Lan Zhan with his hair down, sleeves held back gently as he prepared tea and poured wine, and he understood why Zewu-Jun told him more than he’d asked. Lan Zhan was a warrior, Hanguang-Jun, Lan Wangji, a jade of Gusu, and one of the most powerful cultivators of any generation. He was also a man in love. A man so deeply in love it had burned—burned him—for almost two decades.

Wuxian trembled beneath that weight.

“I don’t need anyone to save me,” he’d said years ago in the Burial Mounds. It took dying and coming back to understand that what he’d meant was I’m not worth saving. Lan Zhan had never agreed, no matter how Wuxian tried to convince him.

The plink and shiver of the guqin brought the tingle in his limbs to his awareness, like the growl in his empty stomach breaking through the excitement of an invention. That physical attraction he’d had to Lan Zhan in their youth had never gone away. It had just been papered over by battles, separation and second lifetimes, unworthiness and the paradoxical belief that he could not love someone so profoundly and also desire him. His eyes trailed over Lan Zhan’s long fingers on the strings, his soft mouth; his eyes, those remarkable, unforgettable eyes, and—

“I want to kiss you,” he blurted out.

Lan Zhan’s playing stilled and he looked up. They stared at each other in silence. Lan Zhan’s expression was gentle, accepting, and silent. Wuxian laughed—the silence should be no surprise; this was Lan Zhan, after all, who would answer direct questions with silence, who would offer no information, even when it was demanded. Wuxian had no intention of demanding. “Oh, Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” he said, entering the room. “I want to kiss you, but do you want to be kissed?”

Lan Zhan simply nodded, as if Wuxian had asked about getting dinner. But the rosy tips of his ears gave him away. “Only by you,” he added. And oh, Lan Zhan’s other great skill: to say so little and still say more than Wuxian knew how to believe.

Wei Ying lowered himself to the floor, sitting cross-legged to Wangji’s left where he still sat rigid, back straight, hands flat to still the long-gone vibration of his guqin. He’d imagined kissing Wei Ying—and more, so much more—for so long. The passion inside him felt always dammed behind an insufficient barrier. So, to release it...he imagined embracing Wei Ying like a tidal wave, overwhelming, undeniable, claiming him with lips, tongue and teeth, smashing their bodies together with the force of his want.

The reality was somewhat different. Wangji’s passion was no less extraordinary, but the dam restraining it now was love, not self-domination. What did Wei Ying want? How much did Wei Ying want? His passion could be like a wave gently lapping shore, if that’s what Wei Ying needed.

Slowly, Lan Zhan turned to face him, fingers moving to rest in his lap. Their knees touched as Wuxian scooted just that small bit closer, movements young and eager. Lan Zhan looked up to meet his eyes and once he’d done that, Wuxian could almost never look away. He reached out to close a hand over Lan Zhan’s, heart thumping and feeling 16 years old with his mind full to brimming with the most beautiful boy he’d ever seen.

For once, he did look away from Lan Zhan’s eyes. Away from his eyes to his mouth, lips plump-pink and tempting. As soon as he looked, he touched, before the courage left him. The tension melted from Wuxian’s shoulders at a kiss returned.

Their hands bumped when they both reached for each other at the same time. Wuxian laughingly yielded, letting Lan Zhan cup his jaw and direct the kiss. It was honey on his tongue, a mouth moving against his, a pleasant buzz through his body. He let his own hand drop to Lan Zhan’s knee, the curve firm and intimate through layers of linens.

Hai hour settled heavily on Wangji’s shoulders. Childhood routine made his mind shift into a quieter state, lending a dreamy mist to the minutes spent blissfully kissing as the snow blanketed the world outside. “It’s time to sleep,” he said. He didn’t much care for himself, but Wei Ying was wounded, and battles loomed still to be fought. Wei Ying needed his rest.

Wuxian wanted to tease Lan Zhan like he used to, mock those rigid GusuLan traditions—if they weren’t going to defy them for this, then for what!? But Lan Zhan, his Lan Zhan; he’d spent so much time worrying and caring for him, he had to be exhausted. “Okay,” he relented.

But neither of them moved to stand or stop. They just kept trading kisses.

Wuxian laughed against Lan Zhan’s mouth and felt an answering smile that made his heart throb. He decided a few moments more couldn’t hurt. For a few moments more, they could be the lusty, carefree boys they could have been 20 years ago, if war had not arrived so early and maturity so late.

“Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying whispered against his lips after several molten minutes more. He felt hot all over, from his knees tight against Lan Zhan’s to his throat where guqin-skilled hands stroked his skin and caressed his jaw. “We should sleep.”

“Mn,” Lan Zhan agreed, but only kissed him again.

Wei Ying laughed and Wangji loved the sound. Loved the sound of him, loved the feel of him, loved the life in him. Wanted him endlessly.

“Lan Zhan, Lan Zhan,” Wei Ying pouted sweetly, “who’s been taking care of me, hm? Who will take care of me if Hanguang-Jun is asleep on his feet?”

When Wangji opened them, his eyes were unfocused. He felt drunk, though he’d had no wine but what he could taste on Wei Ying’s lips and tongue. “Sleep with me,” he said.

Blushed cheeks and well-used lips complemented Wei Ying’s features well. He looked young and healthy. “Yes,” he answered, adding sternly, “but we have to sleep.”

Wangji nodded his agreement, amused to have Wei Ying making rules now.

They stripped to their underrobes and climbed into the bed, each fully intending to sleep as agreed, but the room had grown cold with the frost outside and there was so much warm skin, so many hot kisses still to give, so much uncharted territory on this path they’d just begun to walk together and now single layers that could be opened to allow palms to feel the firm planes of stomach and the exquisitely narrow rise of hip.

But they each had secrets, too: a boy asleep not far from where they lay and a golden core warming someone else in Yunmeng.

Lan Zhan felt so good and Wuxian didn’t want to stop even as his heart thumped for the wrong reasons when Lan Zhan’s fingers grazed his wrists. If they were to do the things he’d seen in Nie-xiong’s books, then surely Lan Zhan, the great Hanguang-Jun, would sense what he was missing. He wanted it as much as he feared it.

“Lan Zhan, is it okay – if we – if we don’t go any further – tonight – just not tonight,” Wuxian gasped, each phrase punctuated with more kissing, his hand tangling in Lan Zhan’s hair, his knee sliding over Lan Zhan’s hip.

Wangji gripped the knee curving around him to bring their bodies closer. He wanted to pull it firm against him and take this pleasure he’d been dreaming of for decades. But Wei Ying’s words. He was forever reckless with himself and he would keep going if Wangji pushed it because they wanted each other. Even that thought was a thrill. Wei Ying wanted him, and Wangji wanted to tell him.

But if Wei Ying approached Sizhui with the familiarity and fondness he almost certainly would if he knew, what terrible memories might that disinter? For as much love as had surrounded little Wen Yuan, he’d been living on a mountain of the dead and all his family had been slaughtered. Would returning those memories to his sensitive, happy boy be a kindness or a cruelty?

Wangji still wanted. He wanted to tell Wei Ying the one good thing he’d done, kiss him, hold him, cry with him, make love in a happy haze as though all the painful years had never happened, but no. No, the note he must play strongest now was for Sizhui, and he did not want his first joining with Wei Ying to be shrouded in secrets.

He called upon his Lan reserve to drag himself away from the delicious warmth of Wei Ying’s mouth. “We can stop,” he said, startled by the lust-roughness of his voice.

Wei Ying’s eyes drifted away from his lips. Wangji felt his steadying exhale against his skin. “You’re right, Lan Zhan, you’re right,” he said. “We should stop.”

“You said it first.”

Wei Ying let out a loud laugh, rolling away to throw his head back. Wangji wanted to cover that smooth neck with bites and kisses. When Wei Ying curled toward him again, his eyes shown with fondness and he reached between them to link their hands together, bodies at a safer, less enticing distance.

They talked, then, how they did any other night they’d shared a room in their travels. They compared thoughts about what they had discovered, expectations for what lay ahead, but it felt so new, whispering face to face, lips kiss-tender, voices crossing not an empty room but only the small expanse of the bed.

Wuxian wasn’t sure when they finally fell asleep. He remembered dawn peeking through the screens at the window and it seemed only seconds later that they had to wake and get dressed. He wanted to curl up and sleep for a day, but a wicked, immovable deadline hung over them for soon a murderer would come to Cloud Recesses.

___________

The rabbit had a delightful afternoon in the seals’ company. Their bodies bounced like his and they had whiskers like him and they bounce-bounce-bounced together, but then all the seals bounce-bounce-bounced into the waves where the rabbit couldn’t follow because he didn’t have flippers and his feet were not shaped like a paddles for pushing through water.

He stood alone on the beach for a long, stunned moment, then he turned and began searching again.

In the silent grasses, the rabbit came upon a leopard, its sleek, spotted body low to the ground, eyes peering straight ahead. Its backside wiggled the way the rabbit’s did sometimes. “Will you love me?” the rabbit asked.

“If you can keep up!” the leopard replied, bounding off on strong back legs after a sprinting deer.

The rabbit tried to keep up, but he lost her before the leopard’s voice had even faded from his ears. He continued on alone.

___________

The moment he saw that broken look on his brother’s face at the Guanyin Temple, Wangji knew his daydream of traveling by Wei Ying’s side had died.

To live with a clear conscience, without regret. An easy phrase that provided no guidance in how to weigh regrets against one another. He would regret watching Wei Ying walk away again. He would regret leaving GusuLan with one leader heartbroken and another too unyielding for the complex days ahead. He would regret forsaking a generation of Lan juniors to that unsteady guidance. He would regret abandoning the cultivation world to a power vacuum where evil and self-interest could so easily gain dominance. He wanted to be Lan Zhan. He wanted to be Wei Ying’s. But the world, for now, needed Hanguang-Jun.

But like so many deaths around the Yiling Laozu, Wei Wuxian, this death was not forever. One day, Wangji sat reading in the jingshi when a flute’s notes drifted in with the breeze. He heard a song he knew well and knew Wei Ying had come home.

It was strange to walk the paths of Cloud Recesses and realize it had started to feel like home. Wuxian found comfort in the routine, and could maybe—maybe—understand the appeal of a clearly defined schedule, up to a point. His 16-year-old self would never have believed it, but his 16-year-old self hadn’t yet had to survive in the Burial Mounds. His 16-year-old self hadn’t yet died for his convictions and mistakes.

Wuxian let out a breath as the sorrow passed through him, a familiar companion after all these years. Even that felt at home in Cloud Recesses with its stillness and meditative spaces. Here, Wuxian could grieve and find solace. He’d found love here. He’d found purpose and family. Even Lan Qiren surrendered some of his vitriol when he’d realized that Wuxian would not steal Lan Zhan away. At last, the old man recognized that Lan Zhan was the wise and filial leader he’d been trying to raise all along, even if they disagreed on the details.

Lan Zhan looked as beautiful as an art print among the rabbits in the back hills. The pure white fur and Lan Zhan’s robes, the earthy brown and green—it made Wuxian’s fingers itch for brush and parchment. Perhaps he’d do that tonight...or maybe tomorrow because he’d learned the expressions on the face so many others thought immobile. All morning, Lan Zhan’s eyes had been lingering on Wuxian’s throat, his lips. Their few touches outside the jingshi had been lingering.

The first night Wuxian returned to Cloud Recesses they’d had no early appointments and no deliberate secrets between them, only stories not yet told and endless days to tell them. That night, they discovered new things they could do together that were even more satisfying than fighting side by side.

“Lan Zhan,” he said casually, scratching a rabbit between its velvet-soft ears. “What do you want to do tonight?”

The rabbits on Lan Zhan’s lap were calmer, almost sedated by his familiar and predictable stillness. But then, rabbits couldn’t really read the way his eyelashes slowly lifted over a heated gaze.

Wuxian grinned as a lovely anticipation started to pool in his limbs. He’d always been attractive, but it wasn’t until all this started with Lan Zhan that he’d felt desired, even seduced. “Ah,” he said, and stretched out on his back, hands folded beneath his head. Leaves and sticks crunched beneath him and a few rabbits darted away, but Lan Zhan’s eyes traveled the length of him, just as he’d wanted. One day, perhaps, Wuxian would try to tempt Lan Zhan into kissing him here the way he did in the jingshi, all devouring and unrestrained.

“I want—” Wangji began, then silenced abruptly. He found himself disinclined to speak most of the time, but rarely did he want to express himself more than in these moments with Wei Ying, these rare moments when the intimacy of their relationship was in the fore and not buried beneath life-or-death politics and layers of the mundane. Wei Ying had gotten so good at reading him, but sometimes Wangji wished he didn’t have to.

“Yes?” Wei Ying curved toward him, head propped up on his bent arm. “What do you want, Lan Zhan?

In that eagerness, Wangji saw that sometimes Wei Ying didn’t want to have to read him either. He swallowed and tried. “The book you had.”

“Which book?”

“During the lectures. In the library.”

Confusion clouded Wei Ying’s handsome face and Wangji worried this would fall prey to his poor memory, but after a few seconds, clarity spread like a sunrise. “In the library. When I was having to copy all those rules and you were being so mean and ignoring me.”

“Mn.”

Wuxian smiled brightly. Funny how those days had a rosy shine to them now. Lan Zhan, his beloved Lan Zhan, his sweet stick in the mud who defied nearly every one of those rules for him. He’d been unimaginably attractive in that library, so cold and untouchable. How badly he’d wanted to touch. “What about it?”

Wangji swallowed. He turned his attention to the rabbits in his lap. They dozed, their red eyes closed into gentle lines on their white faces, noses twitching with dreams. They clearly didn’t sense the rapid heartbeat in the body beneath them. “The picture. I would do that with you.”

Wuxian’s mouth twisted. “Which picture?”

Lan Zhan looked up at him, exasperated.

“Ah-ah, Lan Zhan,” he sighed, one hand lifted in defense. “That book was full of pictures. I don’t know which one you saw. I gave it to you to tease you and you ripped it apart so quickly.”

Wangji looked back to his rabbits. One blinked awake and he slid a finger along its forehead as it yawned, cute big teeth on display. He let the subject drop. He would not be able to find the words.

But Wei Ying sat up, excitedly crossing his legs beneath him. “Could you describe it to me?” he asked.

Wangji didn’t reply, neither by words nor a shake of his head. The tightness in his throat frustrated him. The sentence wouldn’t form in his mind, his tongue wouldn’t lift in his mouth, his lips wouldn’t part. That he had these desires, he had accepted. That they were not shameful, he had learned. But to speak them was still beyond his strength.

Wuxian scooted closer until his knees touched Lan Zhan’s. He loved the warm-pink of his ears, but not the storm clouding the features beneath his pale blue ribbon. He reached forward to join Lan Zhan’s hands in petting the rabbits in his lap. “Maybe you could show me,” he said, letting his fingers glide over Lan Zhan’s in a way he was certain could be called shameless. “Tonight, Lan Zhan. You could show me what they did in the picture. You know how smart I am; I’ll figure it out.” Lan Zhan didn’t answer, but the pink of his ears deepened to red, the storm cleared in his expression, and Wuxian grinned. His clever mind liked a mystery and the rest of him liked touching Lan Zhan, so these evening plans were very welcome indeed.

But being Wei Wuxian they also slipped his mind. That Cloud Recesses felt like an embrace would have shocked his 16-year-old self. That he’d become a teacher would not have. Oh, he dreamed of being a rogue cultivator, and that lifestyle suited him quite well on his not infrequent night hunts, but Wuxian had always been someone who loved being surrounded by youth and happiness, laughter on lotus lakes and meals made by someone who adored him.

Those days couldn’t be recreated, not after so much damage, but with the Lan juniors, with Lan Zhan, and A-Yuan, visits with Wen Ning and even slowly, slowly something better with Jin Ling and Jiang Cheng... It suited Wuxian quite well to be Wei-laoshi. He liked guiding disciples in archery and sword forms. He liked the spark of delight in their eyes when they first mastered a talisman.

Wangji liked that others saw His Excellency in the company of the Yiling Laozu. It killed off the rumors explaining Wei Ying’s absence and their hopes that Wangji had “come to his senses.” He preferred when they could tell by sight that the cultivation world was now guided by a mind that had not been tamed. If they felt fear, Wangji assumed they were right to do so. Those who gave him small, secret smiles—they were right, too.

That evening, Wuxian sat on the edge of their bed and barely seconds later found himself with a lapful of Lan Zhan. He instinctively gripped him and blinked, confused, at the broad expanse of a silk-covered back before his eyes.

“It was like this,” Lan Zhan said, a low whisper.

Wuxian blinked once, and then once more. “Ohhh,” he breathed, as every piece of their earlier conversation came back in a rush. “Oh. Yes, Lan Zhan, we can do that.” And really, they’d already started. Lan Zhan’s hips circled in a way that made Wuxian shiver and forget everything else. He swept Lan Zhan’s hair over his shoulder to bare his neck to his kisses and reached around to start pulling the robes from Lan Zhan’s body, sliding his hands up the strong thighs parted atop his. “Did you want to do this that day in the library?” he asked.

“No... and yes.”

“Yeah,” Wuxian agreed. He remembered the messy jumble of yearnings back then. If they’d kissed as boys, Wuxian was sure he would have ruined it, laughing, callous and too scared to wade into the depths of his feelings for the boy who was everything he was not.

They kept small pot of gel by the bed next to a stack of bathing linens. Wangji still felt a bit embarrassed by the obviousness of these supplies, but it was worth it when he didn’t have to leave Wei Ying’s arms when the mood struck them.

When he was young and his body was rocked by desires he didn’t understand, he’d done what he always did: he studied, like curse victim seeking the counter-curse. And indeed, he’d felt cursed, the way his mind refused to stay on any topic but Wei Ying and his antics. He discreetly researched how men fit together, how they touched and satisfied each other. He believed knowledge would bring the counter-curse for surely he would see these acts were foul and undesirable. Instead, he learned, in detail, all the ways he could give pleasure to the vexing boy who had disrupted the peace of him.

The worst times were the fits of grief that took hold during those long years existing in a world without him. Even gone, his thoughts still turned to him. Even gone, he still wanted to touch him. In those dark hours, with smooth gel on his fingers, he’d give his body what it needed. He pictured the beaming smile that died long before the man, those clever eyes and slender hands full of power and strength. After the crest of climax, the tears would swallow him. He would cry into bed linens that would never carry Wei Ying’s scent, and search for the reasons to go on when all he wanted was to fall into darkness with him.

But his linens did smell of Wei Ying now, of his hair oils and the natural tang of him. His linens were their linens because his bed was not his alone anymore, would never be again, and that beautiful boy who had once vexed him let out a tense, blissful sigh when their bodies joined at last.

Wuxian touched his forehead to Lan Zhan’s warm back and tried not to move, though the pleasure made him want to. He kissed the juncture of neck and shoulder blade, gave a light scrape of teeth. “Is it good, Lan Zhan?” he asked. His voice and his legs trembled.

He didn’t immediately receive a response, not a verbal one anyway, but Lan Zhan shifted, adjusting angle and depth and clinging to Wuxian’s hands on his hips.

Soon enough Wuxian didn’t need his words. Soft sounds rumbled in Lan Zhan’s throat, small gasps of satisfaction that would, in anyone else, be loud wanton moans. Like the sort Wuxian muffled against Lan Zhan’s scarred skin, pressing hot, open-mouth kisses as they found their rhythm with one another. It felt so good, always felt so good to touch Lan Zhan, to have this closeness, this way to show with bodies the intensity of his feelings inside. Sometimes he felt obsessed; he wanted to breathe in Lan Zhan, drink him in, become one person and be done with this false separation, this ridiculous idea that there was a Wei Ying and there was a Lan Zhan when they were so clearly one soul, one heart, one person. Maybe if they had a hundred lifetimes together, they could cultivate a way to join their spirits and become one. But—gasping deep and human against sweat-damp shoulder blades as Lan Zhan rode him—Wuxian couldn’t complain about this method for now.

Finished, they collapsed to their sides on the bed, letting bodies cool and heart rates settle. Wuxian dropped kisses on Lan Zhan’s naked shoulders because the affection still bubbling from his climax needed somewhere to go.

After a few moments’ rest, Lan Zhan turned to him. Those who thought him beautiful had no idea, Wuxian thought. They’d never seen him flushed with color, limb-loose and sated, eyes cloudy with peaked pleasure.

Their couplings usually ended with whispered conversations and Wei Ying’s happy laughter, so Wangji didn’t expect the emotion clogging his throat. He didn’t realize tears had followed until Wei Ying’s thumb slid beneath his eyes wipe them away.

“Lan Zhan?” he asked, concerned. “Why are you crying?”

The cavern of want that once terrified him had expanded and burst, filled now with a shameful fantasy made joyful flesh; filled to brimming with a partner, a son, a healthy clan, a life he felt so grateful to be living.

“Thank you,” was all Wangji managed to say.

Wei Ying smiled, that achingly gorgeous smile that Wangji wanted forever. “For what?”

For killing my shame, he thought. For making Cloud Recesses feel like home again. For embracing my silences. For coming back. For staying. For—

“I love you,” Wei Ying said, when he didn’t get an answer, at least not one Wangji had consciously given.

For that, Wangji thought and welcomed his kiss.

___________

The rabbit traveled on, alone and desperately lonely, until he came upon a stranger munching green, green leaves. Hunger twisted in his tiny rabbit belly, but the ache in his heart was more.

“Will you love me?” The rabbit asked, but before the stranger could answer, he went on, “I may be too scary or too big or too small. I may not be elegant and I can’t help lift big trees, or even little ones. I may go too fast or I may go too slow, and I cannot bounce-bounce-bounce into the water. I jump when I’m excited, I sometimes get scared, and I may not be perfect at giving love back,” the rabbit said in a rush. “But will you love me?”

The stranger blinked with red eyes just like the rabbit’s after listening with long ears just like the rabbit’s. A whiskered nose twitched.

“I do,” said the stranger, for he’d been searching a long time, too.

___________

They stood together, watching the swirl of pale fabric as two juniors sparred. Blades glinted as they caught the afternoon sun. Wuxian couldn’t help smiling, feeling like a grandpa remembering his good old days. “Ah, Lan Zhan,” he said wistfully. “Do you think we’d still be equals if I had my core?” It wasn’t as hard to talk about now, between the two of them. It was a fact of Wuxian’s new body and his health; they had to talk about it to navigate a life lived together.

“We are equals.”

“Tsk. I mean with swords.”

“Still equals.”

“Ah, Lan Zhan, you know what I mean.”

Wangji did and he didn’t. “Wei Ying survived the Burial Mounds.”

Wuxian shrugged, feeling that ancient shadow whisper in his heart. “That’s just survival. If you’d been thrown there, Hanguang-Jun would have survived too.”

Wangji didn’t reply, but he also didn’t agree. He suspected that his unwillingness to use resentful energy—his fear of the discord already living inside him—would have meant his death. His spiritual power would simply have bled into the earth, more foul power leeching into the dirt. No, he was certain that none but Wei Ying would have emerged at all, let alone emerged more powerful than when he fell. “Wei Ying is gifted,” he said finally.

Wei Ying spun Chenqing in his hand. These days, it played music more than puppets. “Gifted in something evil.”

“That he uses for good.”

Wuxian snorted. “You have an answer for all of it, don’t you, Lan Zhan? You can’t clean me of all my mistakes.”

“I’m not trying to.” Lan Zhan turned to meet his eyes, countenance both stern and sweet in that way of his. “A golden core can be used for evil deeds,” he said. “You’ve demonstrated that resentful energy can be used for good ones. That is innovation. You saw what others could not. That is a gift. Core or no, you have always been my equal.”

“Lan Zhan.” Wuxian pouted. He’d wanted to flirt and reminisce about the days when an incredibly pretty fuddy-duddy had broken his bottle of Emperor’s Smile. Instead, Lan Zhan had cut at something naked and fragile inside him.

His eyes drifted from Lan Zhan’s, but he bumped their shoulders together to tell him that he wasn’t upset, not really. “Maybe,” he said. “But I want to know if I could’ve ever bested you and Bichen.”

Lan Zhan’s lips lifted in a sad, tiny smile. “Me too,” he agreed softly.

Wuxian wanted to kiss him. Instead—for the sake of the juniors—he just pushed their shoulders together more firmly, removing any lingering space between them. That sorrow could visit them, he decided, the sorrow of what could-have-been. It could visit, but not stay.

Wangji had more he wanted to say. Wei Ying was brilliant. The sort of brilliant that, at most, emerged once in a generation and sometimes not at all. Wangji felt gratitude to have met him, to have gotten him back after everything. But he could sense when Wei Ying wasn’t ready to hear such words. He would let his praise and admiration out in bits and pieces for the rest of their lives. He was okay with that, he decided, and let his weight lean just as firmly against Wei Ying’s as they watched the next generation fly.

#lanerose23 #wangxiansolstice20 #*fic20 #*gifts20

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cranehusbands · 4 years ago

Text

love, or lack thereof

pathfinder/wattson | natalie paquette; requited crushes; soulmate au; apex rarepair week; 1520 words

a/n: two for two, though this was posted a little later than yesterdays due to technical difficulties! sorry about that ^^;;

i have been really excited to write some wattfinder for a little while now, and this was the perfect opportunity to do so! we as a fandom need to treat them both as characters with their own autonomy and not infantilize them, and i think they could come to really understand each other! i wanted to show that through this fic, as well as throwing around the idea that soulmates aren’t always destiny - they’re people you find and bonds you forge through your own love and efforts. <3

once again for @apex-rarepairweek as the day 2 prompt, soulmates!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror in the reblogs!

Preview: And then there was Pathfinder, the happy little MRVN unit that brought that home to her in a totally different way. Ever trusting, much like herself, expressive in himself but never losing that happy tone in his voice. He cared for his friends - his family - and talked of travel and dreams, but never really knowing who he was, or why he was here. But despite that, he carried on with that in stride, forever blind to the future. [...] He treated her with kindness and love, and it came to the point that sometimes she missed his company and high fives, though this was… a different kind of loneliness than that she had once experienced as a child, alienated from any other children that would pass through due to her intelligence and special position. She couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was, but there was just… something about Pathfinder that she didn’t want to lose, not for a moment.

Soulmates are found, not made.

That’s what she’s always been told. That she would find her soulmate, or they would find her, somehow, isolated in her work for the Syndicate, seemingly barricaded behind the ring she was trying to create. Natalie grew up with stories in her head, about how her papa met her mother, his soulmate, or stories of true love and happiness that was just… found. It was nice enough, but it never seemed logical, to her. Who was willing to take that chance? Couldn’t it go wrong? Even as a child that dreamed in fairytales, the idea of a soulmate always worried her. The mark on the inside of her wrist always haunted her, and she thought that she could not escape the inevitable.

But she wasn’t a child hiding in that shadow anymore - she was a grown woman, a professional electrical engineers, and an Apex Legend. She had lost her father so suddenly, but gained her new family just as quickly, making her home beside her own creation. And she loved her new family dearly - Dr Caustic was a reserved man, but he valued her intelligence, and did not object to her rambling and flapping of her hands. Elliott was funny, always telling stories of his family and life on Solace, and Anita was a hell of a shot, giving her pointers whenever she could, but not with her usual abrasiveness - she was kinder, self-aware of her own tendency to be quite scary at times. Makoa was caring to her needs, Octavio appealed to her curiosity and the tendency to be rash once in a blue moon. The Apex Games was her house, but the Apex Legends were her home.

And then there was Pathfinder, the happy little MRVN unit that brought that home to her in a totally different way. Ever trusting, much like herself, expressive in himself but never losing that happy tone in his voice. He cared for his friends - his family - and talked of travel and dreams, but never really knowing who he was, or why he was here. But despite that, he carried on with that in stride, forever blind to the future. It was a blissful ignorance that she could admit she was almost jealous of - he was not bound by such an innate concept as a soulmate. But he was still soul searching, and still so loving and kind to everyone he met, even if they didn’t return the sentiment, like the world was his soulmate and he was ready to give out as many parts of him until it loved him back, as he loved it.

She’d held this sentiment as the two worked with and against each other through the seasons, the two of them forming a bond quite quickly due to his need for the occasional repair and her curiosity with his components. He treated her with kindness and love, and it came to the point that sometimes she missed his company and high fives, though this was… a different kind of loneliness than that she had once experienced as a child, alienated from any other children that would pass through due to her intelligence and special position. She couldn’t quite place her finger on what it was, but there was just… something about Pathfinder that she didn’t want to lose, not for a moment.

There was a quiet night, after a game that day, when there was a familiar voice at the door to her room, littered with parts and unusually messy (she liked to work that way).

“Miss Natalie?” The robot had caught her as she was working on her gear, a malfunction with her fences had caused a firefight with an unfair advantage, which was something she didn’t enjoy.

She jumped a little, pulling up her safety goggles with a small smile. “Pathfinder, hello! You… didn’t knock.”

“Oh, I did knock, you were just busy working, and I didn’t want to just stand there and scare you when you looked up, so…” He trailed off and sheepishly tapped his fingers together, and it seemed whatever annoyance she once had eased a little.

“A-ah, well… sorry about that, my friend. Did you need something? Is your grapple acting up again?”

“Oh, no, you fixed it really well! Thank you, friend.” The screen on his chest flashed like sunshine, as he tapped a hand against where his grapple was hidden in his metal shell. “Well, I just… I had some questions, and Elliott is out doing a press release, so I can’t ask him…”

Of course, Elliott was always his first choice - that worried her, for as much as she loved the trickster, she knew that he didn’t treat Pathfinder the best, or at least, as a friend should. That was something someone should speak to him about. Natalie took her safety goggles off and placed them on her desk, giving the robot her full attention. “Well, what’s up?”

He paused for a moment, assessing whether that was a pun or not before he nodded, taking a seat on the stool beside her. “Well, I wanted to ask… what’s a soulmate?”

The mention of the concept made her freeze, before she looked away for a moment and fiddled with a few loose wires in the base of her pylon. “Well, that’s… why do you ask?”

“I don’t know… I have heard a lot of people say it and celebrate it, but I never knew what it meant. Is it like… a super best friend?”

“In… a way. It’s a lover tied to you by destiny. The one you’re supposed to be with all your life… identified with a mark, l-like this one.” Slowly, she pulled off one of her thick work gloves and showed Pathfinder the inside of her wrist, where she bore a small, glowing mark.

“Oh… that’s pretty.”

“Mhm.”

“...You don’t think so?”

“Huh?” Natalie looked up, at the optic eye now staring up at her. “Well, it is pretty, but…”

“...Do you think it’s silly?”

She didn’t reply, only looked away. Silly, possibly - suffocating, almost definitely.

The robot didn’t respond back for a moment, simply looking at her with a small tilt of his head, before he continued with a thought out loud. “I think you should be able to find your own soulmate.”

“What?”

“Well, if they’re destiny, there’s no point in waiting around - that’s why I’m looking for my creator the way I am. You have to make noise to be heard.”

“That’s… oddly profound, my friend.”

He smiled, or at least, his screen did, a bright beaming yellow reflecting on the LEDs embedded in his chest, beating as any real heart would do - full of love, and hope. “Bloodhound taught me that one, they’re very smart.”

The engineer paused, before she couldn’t help but chuckle. “I suppose they are.”

Silence fell between them for another moment, but they did not move. She watched the robot shift in place on the stool, and for once, his screen was blank, nothing shown. It was oddly unnerving.

“Miss Natalie?”

“Oui, Pathfinder?”

“Do you want to be my soulmate?”

She was almost taken aback by the question, looking up to him with a slight eyebrow raise. “Pardon?”

“Well, I… it’s silly, but… everyone has been so nice, and that makes me happy, but whenever you’re nice to me I get even happier, and I’ve been searching for so much for so long that I-”

“-want to embrace what you have found?” She finished his thought with her own, watching him look to her and nod slowly. Of course, this made sense - the emotional wanderlust he held was soul searching, but he never knew what it was like to have something - someone - that was his. They were kindred souls, in that way, at least. Natalie smiled to herself. Of course - the loneliness she felt was longing for that comfort of love that she found. She just didn’t realize because it wasn’t something that she had just found… it was a bond she had nurtured, and cherished. A bond she had found. “...I will, Pathfinder.”

He paused, sitting up a little straighter in surprise before clapping his hands together, his heart on the screen glowing a warm, loving pink, almost welcoming her in before he held out a hand to her, pinkie finger extended in a promise. “We’ll be best soulmates forever!”

The engineer giggled, taking her own pinkie finger in his own and curling it around the cold metal appendage, a light dusting of pink brushing across her cheeks. “Pour toujours et à jamais. Always and forever.”

Pathfinder reached out and pressed his head against hers with a gentle bonk, which made her laugh again, bringing up a hand to hold what would have been his cheek, pausing for a moment at the red light reflected onto her skin before kissing his optic with a gentleness and tenderness she didn’t know she possessed. And for the first time since she could remember, Natalie wasn’t afraid of the future.

Soulmates could be found, but they could also be made - both figuratively and literally, it seemed.

#apex legends #pathfinder (apex legends)#wattson #wattfinder #apex rarepair week #apex legends tag #dahl.doc

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antihero-writings · 5 years ago

Text

Stolen Sunlight (Ch2)

Fandom: Tangled | Tangled the Series | Rapunzel’s Tangled Adventure

Fic Summary: Arianna never thought she'd find herself afraid of a fourteen-year-old boy, but the events of Secret of the Sundrop won't seem to leave her.

She needs to talk to Varian in prison. Not for his sake...but for her own.

Character focus: Arianna

Notes: Oh my GOSH you guys, thank you SO MUCH for that incredible response to chapter 1!! My writing rarely gets into the double digits as far as notes go, and I'm lucky if I get one comment... You have no idea how happy it made me to wake up this morning to so many notes, including a bunch of super nice comments...I really can't thank you enough. I hope you guys like the second chapter too! ...I know it's pretty different from the first one, haha!

(Fyi, I'm not usually this fast in posting the next chapter of something, I just happened to have the two beginning parts all edited together XD)

Chapter 2: The Cracks in Their Hearts

Arianna’s eyes flare open, her heart firing and misfiring, taking its panic out on her own ribs. And for a second she can still feel the stone beneath her, the shackles around her ankles, can still hear his voice, feel the weight of his gaze.

The world behind his eyes then was so cold then: all hate and no hope. So different from the world she lived in. She didn’t want that world to infect her own view.

She clenches her fingers into the sheets.

It wasn’t a dream. That much she doesn’t have to question; at some point in a twisted history, it was real.

How the scene of the boy who smiled and laughed, helping Cassandra with her chores, making the library gleam for little recompense, and the scene of the boy who created a metal monster as a diversion, wrapped chains around her ankles, and teased death and amber before her eyes, could both exist in the same timeline…How the same boy who created machines and compounds to forge solutions, could turn around and use them to manufacture problems, could be played by the same actor, that the only thing that had changed was time…and, at the very end, the same voice that once laughed, and spoke so happily of alchemy and friendship in these castle halls could scream no and I’ll make you proud from a prison cart…she doesn’t understand. It all seems like some sick joke, played with a trick of the light.

The Queen tosses her legs over the side of the bed, pushing back her hair, careful not to wake Frederic, whose chest is rising and falling to the rhythm of uninterrupted sleep.

This isn’t the first time. That is, it isn’t the first time her mind parroted and parodied her memories as nightmares.

She tiptoes up to the door and slowly turns the knob, glancing back at Frederic to be sure he doesn’t wake, and quietly shuts it behind her.

She needs to walk the halls, clear her mind; if she lays back down to sleep now, her heart won’t be able to stop its war march.

She knows from experience.

The castle halls are quiet, doused in a blue-violet tinge, spilling through the windows. She steps up to one of these panes, sighing to the night sky speckled with stars.

The same stars she and Willow chased the sunrise under. The same stars she kissed Frederic under. The same stars, worlds she and Rapunzel gazed at, charted together, asking each other what was out there.

The same sky he kidnapped her under.

The same sky. The same boy. The same queen. The only difference is time.

Time is a funny thing, isn’t it? Likes to play pranks. Heals things. Makes you forget things too. Bad things, yes, but also good things; makes you forget what you lost…and consequently less grateful for what you have. And sometimes it only makes the bad things worse, when your mind won’t let go of them.

She glances down the hall—the same hall she had met that chipper voice and those eyes so full, so accepting of sunlight.

The same hall he captured her in.

She recognizes too, it’s the same window she was looking through that day, down upon the town square, watching those she loved be attacked by a beast of the alchemist’s making. The same window at which he threw sleep into her face.

He looked so different that night. He wasn’t the cute little boy with the gloves, and the apron, and the stripe in his hair, and the glint in his eye. This was a masked criminal in a large, dark coat, which hid weaponry. No boyish twinkle in that blue this time; now the goggles glowed green, like a demon, no soul or sunlight behind them. His raccoon wasn’t the only one he morphed into a monster that night.

How could a person so easily shut himself off from the bright light inside himself, and turn to such immense darkness? As if the shadows had been asking to play this whole time, and he finally accepted their invitation. That was the question she never could quite wrap her mind around.

How could he treat those he once loved like that?

Is that sweet boy still in there? Is he trapped somewhere inside the darkness, within that prison of blue, crying for mercy?

She couldn’t imagine any circumstances that could drive her to treat those she loved like that, no matter how angry she was, or how much she had lost.

Her heartbeat picks up the pace.

She knows she is safe. Her family is safe. Or at least, she has no reason to believe otherwise. They made it out of that lab, and Varian is just a boy swearing vengeance in the dungeons below her. She knows he cannot come back to haunt her. She knows she is safe.

He’s just a boy.

So why does she still feel so...uneasy? Why does the thought of him in the dungeon feel, not like the end of a story, the end of a nightmare, like justice…but instead like the beginning, like a crime in and of itself? Why does she still feel sick, and cold, and far too old thinking of him?

When Rapunzel was taken from them, so long ago—(though it always felt like yesterday)—sorrow was a constant reminder and companion. A quiet buzz of tragedy in the back of her brain. A crack in her heart, making it so she was never fully whole, never fully satisfied. Today’s melancholy, tinged with tomorrow’s hope, tomorrow’s despair. Now the tragedy, the threat, is over. Nothing is missing from their lives. Their hearts are whole again. And Rapunzel has faced many villains on her own, and defeated them with flying colors—him included.

But Arianna still feels something isn’t right.

Maybe it’s because this has happened before. Because she had spent so much of her life grieving the loss of their daughter, hoping in the deepest corners of her heart she would come running into the castle one day.

Maybe because, when her lost princess did come back there was this new thing in the back of her mind saying Maybe you don’t have her back forever. Maybe she’s not safe. Maybe she’ll be taken from you again. A part of herself she had to willfully soothe each day. …A voice Frederic was unable to quiet within himself.

Is it because Varian gave credence to this voice inside her? Because he took their own personal demons and brought them to life in a lab?

But it wasn’t Rapunzel he took…it was her.

Is that the point? Is it because she herself was the one who was kidnapped, for the sake of her daughter? That he used her to get to, to hurt, to in turn use, Rapunzel, too? Because she hadn’t anticipated that? Because the shock of it brought new ammunition to that voice? That now it was clear her daughter wasn’t the only one who could be taken, that any one of them could be stolen away, and used by the opponent? Was it that act of both of them being used as chess pieces in a grand game, instead of people with souls, who were hurting, that keeps her up at night?

It could very well be. But even so, together they had won against him. Arianna was confident that together—be it the three of them, or Rapunzel and her friends—they could face whatever came their way. She wasn’t afraid of him that night, when she was sitting handcuffed to his laboratory floor. She knew they would win. They always did.

Is it because he was one of her friends, a friend she thought could help Rapunzel face the darkness, a friend who had such light in him? Because he made it so terrifyingly clear that our worst enemies are not faceless monsters in the dark, not really…they are the friends we couldn’t save. His greatest offense was not treason against his kingdom, but against his friend. Is it that thought, that tomorrow’s villains are today’s heroes that sends her heart reeling?

But he is down there, in the dungeon, she repeats to herself, as she walks down the hall. She knows where he is; he cannot surprise attack her at any moment. He was not the first villain they faced, the first traitor, to Corona, nor will he be the last. That prison is filled with people who tried to take their sunlight away, and lost.

But she does not feel sick thinking of anyone else down there.

So why, when he is put behind bars—

Or says a voice in the back of her head, a very soft one she’s been trying not to listen to, maybe it’s because he’s down there.

…Because he’s down there, so close, and if he were to escape it would be so easy for him to strike where it hurt?

—(No, says the voice.)—

Or—(dare she admit it?)—Maybe it’s because he’s down there, when she knows he once was, and still could be, more than this. Because he’s down there, wasting away, repeating threats to empty walls, while she walks safely in her golden palace above, not caring what happened to him, what’s still happening to him, even now…how much pain he’s still in….

How much his mind is surely tormenting him.

(Just like her.)

Two scenes, one boy. But maybe it isn’t the way he turned to the dark…maybe it’s because she knows the dark isn’t all he’s made of.

Corona isn’t a place where villains and criminals are shut up, or beheaded for their crimes. It’s a place where they’re taught to be better.

She hadn’t given all that much time to mull in her head before, but now it gives her pause, sinks into her brain. Perhaps this unease is not entirely for herself, her family. Maybe its not fear…it’s guilt. Maybe some part of it, even if it’s small and cowering, is not for herself, but for him.

They all looked away. Frederic looked away when the rocks were destroying their kingdom. Rapunzel looked away when he came to her for help. They all didn’t go to him; looked away when the storm ended, assumed he was better, for fear of facing the fact that he wasn’t, that the storm had left wreckage behind after all, wreckage they would have to clean up. It was easier to look away.

Maybe this isn’t about the way he treated her…maybe it’s about the way they’re treating him, when she knows he was once a boy who cleaned libraries, fixed problems, helped people. When she knows he is still human…and they left him there to rot in the dark.

They’re still looking away.

What does she know? Maybe they’re right to leave him there. She doesn’t know him well. All she knew were the stories Rapunzel told, and the brief interactions they had. And the stories proved he was dangerous when good, and the interactions proved he was deadly when evil.

—(But…was he ever truly evil?)—

She met him twice, and their second, longer meeting was made of metal, and amber, and moonlight. If he could cross straight into the night without a sunset, then maybe she didn’t know him well enough to say they shouldn’t have looked away.

Still, even though she didn’t know much else, she knew—when she did look at him—the look in his eyes. She was certain that, though his gaze was harsh and unrelenting at those times…there was tragedy behind that ice, frozen in time. She could see the cracks in his heart. Could hear the voices in his head saying Maybe you can’t save your father after all.

A criminal was not all he was. A cell was not all he deserved.

He was just a boy, lost and hurting.

Like she was, once.

She paused, peering around a corner at two guards posted at a door. She knew behind it was the staircase to the dungeon. To …him.

She’s so close…

She could go see him right now. Sleep deprived and unsteady in mind she could march down there.

What would she do if she did? Yell and question him? Lecture him on the merits of a non-criminal life? Demand answers, or expect no answers, just want to see him hurt like he hurt her?

She tempers her breath. The thought fades quickly as it comes.

That is not who she is. That is not who she wants to be, to appear to him as; all fear and anger. If she does, if she wants him to hurt, she is no better than the darkest parts of him.

And it is not what either of them need.

She turns away, deciding the bed is more inviting now that her thoughts have coalesced into resolve, and her bare feet take her swiftly back to her room.

Not tonight. Not now.

She will talk to him again. She needs to, for both their sakes. She’s not going to look away anymore.

Because she knows they are the same.

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