#almost none of them are even COLORED its DISGRACEFUL

[bonetrousledbones]

saw some fanart that reminded me so very strongly of the mishap au that it had me reminiscing over it like a long lost lover. the one that got away..................

[acerathia]

pink camellias || Chapter 9: red chrysanthemum

Chapter Summary:

red chrysanthemum: i love you

Wordcount: 4.5k

Read on AO3 || Masterlist

Pairing:

Bakugou Katsuki / Reader

Tags/CW:

royalty au, inspired by Mulan, war and its consequences, violence, childhood friends to strangers to companions to lovers (i am sorry), Angst, Acts of Service, Character Death (Major, and Minor), swordfights, misogyny, f!reader, kidnapping, implied torture, let me know if I missed anything lol

Note:

honestly, let's get it over with LMAO, might post a lil bonus someday tho

Nothing was working out. You almost cursed, but you retained some sort of dignity and remained silent. The only thing leaving your mouth was a sigh, indicating your suffering. And immediately you got scolded for moving.

You pinched your face at that. Because you understood that they were taking your measurements, but were you truly not allowed to breathe? Especially if these were going to be your future dresses? You wished you still could wear your older ones.

But alas, your older dresses were outfashioned now, and pretty revealing. And not only that, but you also could not afford to arrive at the victory party littered with scars. You had them, but it would be a disgrace to reveal them like that. So, there you were, standing as still as possible for the seamstress to take your measurements to make you a proper dress for the upcoming ball.

Time already slipped between your fingers and you had no idea how long you had been standing there, but even after you were allowed to move, you couldn’t indulge and throw yourself onto your bed, at least you could sit down.

The seamstress showed you some of her designs and fabrics, and you choose a couple fitting for every possible situation you might happen to be in. And if there was a certain shade of deep red you had chosen, then it was simply because it was in fashion.

After making all these decisions, she handed you an already finished dress, because you had been summoned to the palace today. And despite your house arrest, nobody could refuse such a summon, so your father had to let you go.

The seamstress left, promising you your dresses in time for the ball. The moment the door closed, the maids swarmed around the dress, admiring it and its cut and color. And it didn’t take long until you felt their gaze upon you, and you shivered in premonition.

Still, they were good at prettying you up, so once again, you were left at their skilled hands. First, you slipped the bodice on, before the corset. You always hated getting it tied, but you didn’t complain when a maid pulled at the strings. After that were the numerous petticoats layered on top. And lastly, the adorned but simple dress.

The dress closed around your throat and had longer sleeves. Your hands were covered by elegant gloves. After everything sat right, the handmaids began to take care of your face and hair, making you fit for the occasion.

In the end, they handed you a parasol in the same shade as your dress. Still, you couldn’t help but look into the mirror before you left the room, making sure that none of your scars were visible. And you were glad that your face had remained untouched by any marring.

The way in the carriage between the mansion and the palace was smooth and didn’t take long. Soon you were leaving the palace gates behind you and a knight opened the door for you. The face you saw was rather unexpected, so you took a moment to take his hand to exit the carriage.

“Hello, lady knight,” Denki grinned, donned with the armor of the palace guards. Immediately he paled slightly as if someone gestured for him to not be rude. “I mean, greetings my lady.”

You grinned slightly at this. “Hello Sir Denki. I see you have climbed the ranks.”

“Uh, yeah! They were very pleased with my service, there’s no other reason of course.”

You patted his shoulder. “Sure, you were great. Now, I have to leave. Have fun with your new occupation.”

You then entered the palace where a maid greeted you and showed you the way to the garden, where the queen was waiting for you. Still, you took some time to look around the halls, at the art hanging on the walls and the carefully carved statues. And from time to time a memory of your childhood could be glimpsed inside your mind. The taste of these bittersweet. Especially with the current date.

You averted your gaze towards the ground, feeling a faint ache in your chest. And you wondered how long it would take for it to go away. Did you even wanted it gone? Now that you barely remembered her face?

Something caught in the corner of your eyes, and some reflex prompted you to turn slightly towards it. But once you looked, it was already gone. How silly of you, to think you had seen him again, in this very palace.

With a shake of your head, you entered the garden and greeted the queen with a curtsy. She returned the greeting with a chuckle and invited you to sit in front of her. Once you did, she took your hand in hers.

“How are you, darling? It has been some time since you had visited me last,” she asked, her gaze wandering over your face.

You squeezed her hand with your fingers. “I’ve been well, Your Majesty. I hope you didn’t get too bored in my absence,” you smiled cheekily.

Another chuckle. “Well, what can you do, I’ve been doing my duties. Only if my son would visit me also. But alas, he has been busy with the war.”

You nodded a bit absentmindedly, as you tried to remember if you had encountered any prince on the battlefield or at the base. But as much as you tried, you couldn’t, the only memory resurfacing was the way blood had felt between your fingers.

A shaky exhale and you turned your attention back to the queen. To the slightly rowdy hair underneath the crown. Yet, she looked majestic. You supposed it made sense.

After that, you both continued with light talk, as the reason you both were there in the first place didn’t have to be talked about. Even if you glanced at the flowers around you, remembering that these were her favorite. The ones she could never enjoy, unless someone put them on top of stone.

At their sight, you just stopped the conversation, unable to keep talking without any silent sobs escaping your lips. While you tried to stop your low hiccuping, she put a hand over yours once again, comforting you with her presence. She, too, was grieving in her own way. So, you both silently lamented the ones who had been taken from you too soon, leaving you without a mother, and without a best friend, a confidante of the heart lost.

This situation never changed, every year you joined her for tea until one's emotion finally broke through, leading to the memories falling from your lips, and hers. And you loved to listen about the youth of your mouth, something you could have never heard otherwise, something to connect you to her once again.

That was, until someone barged into the garden, words immediately directed at the queen in front of you in such a rude manner, you couldn’t help but gasp in surprise. Yet, she remained calm, so it seemed like that was something she had to deal with regularly.

Following the shouts you looked over, only to stop in your tracks. The sun was covering his golden hair and his eyes were focused on the woman sitting in front of you, not a glance in your direction. This time, his clothes were clean, a cape fluttering behind him. And for a moment you frowned at its color, orange, like the sunset, like peaches, like a warm bonfire, and like the royal family. Why hadn’t you noticed that earlier?

Your eyes glanced at the queen, and you suddenly noticed how eerily similar they look. The realization punched you in the gut, yet you refrained from saying anything, especially as he continued to give his mother an angry rant.

A sigh from her and she began to berate him in the exact same tone he had given her. You didn’t quite understand what was going on, but you still felt like you were intruding into this moment between them and sunk a tiny bit lower into your chair.

“… Now, you’re being rude, Katsuki. And you didn’t even greet our guest.”

“The fuck you mean, our guest, I didn–”, he turned around to face you, only to stop, as several emotions swiped over his face, his mouth slightly agape.

You tensed your jaw as you stood up to curtsy in front of him. “Greetings to the future sun of the empire, the Crown Prince.”

His whole body seemed to tense at your words, but before he could say anything, you turned towards his mother, the queen.

“Excuse me, I think it is time for me to go home. It was wonderful here, thank you for this invitation.”

She waved her hand slightly. “No need to thank me, dear, I hope you come visit me again.”

With another curtsy towards them both, you left the garden, intending on going home. While you were walking down the halls, you thought that your reaction might have been a little rash, as you had never asked him about his life outside of the battlefield, hell, nobody had even the time to think about anything else.

Still, he had made your life a little bit more difficult than it had to be, all because of your status, only for him to be relishing in a greater privilege than you. Even after you both had started to find comfort in each other's presence, he didn’t even try to look for you or even send you a measly little letter. Now, maybe you should write him one, two words would be enough, but in consideration, insulting the royal family did result in death, as much as you wanted to tell him what you think.

A hand grabbed your wrist with its fingertips, careful as if you were about to break. You turned around and pulled your hand away. The moment you looked at his face, you were really tempted to not curtsy, but maybe doing one would unnerve him.

But the moment you grabbed your dress, he spoke up: “Don’t! I mean– Fuck. You don’t have to curtsy or do any of that noble stuff in front of me, at least not when it’s just us…”

You raised your eyebrows. “No? Well, then, fuck you, Captain Katsuki,” you intoned his name sharply.

He let out a breath, his shoulders minimally slumping. “Shit, I deserve that… Listen, ugh, fuck, I– uh, I wanted to talk to you, but not like this. This doesn’t feel right. I mean, it does, just, just I was, fuckin’ worried.”

“Worried? About what? Oh, is it because it would be too embarrassing to be seen with someone like me? A disgrace to every noble woman?” you scoffed.

“Fuck, no. Argh, listen, I didn’t want you to think differently… of me…”, he mumbled, avoiding your eyes as if in anger, but you could sense the anxiety radiating off of his posture. “You… You used to call me ‘Kacchan, and, and I wanted to show you a different, better side of me. As a knight, as someone who can actually protect you. Not that– that brat I once was…”

At this, you sighed, closing your eyes for a moment. Of course, you understood where he came from, it didn’t make it much better, though. Still, you ought to accept his reasoning.

“I understand. But it doesn’t make it okay. You’ve been targeting me in the camp, making everything much more exhausting than it had to be. And then we connected, somehow. I thought that maybe we could move on, be friends, or even… more… But instead of being honest to me, like I was from the first day on, you chose to wait, while I was thinking of a way to contact you. I understand you, I do, but the disappointment runs deeper,” you explained. “That means I cannot forgive you that easily. At least not today.”

With those words, you turned around and walked towards the exit. All while you heard him grumble, but not follow you. Once you sat in the carriage, a sigh escaped you. You felt worn out by this revelation and his reaction, your reaction. And you were aware that you were bound to meet him again, at the latest at the victory celebration. But at least you still trusted him enough to not issue any order regarding you.

And as much as you wanted to worry about the whole situation between you both, there was barely any time for you to even have free thoughts, as you were suddenly busy with managing part of the mansion and the preparation for the upcoming celebration. All while you still weren’t allowed to train, and only leave the house if accompanied by someone else.

The mere days until the victory celebration went like a breeze, and suddenly you stood in front of the mirror once again. This time not in a proper dress with tulle and beautiful stitches, but rather in pants and a fancy jacket with so many glittering buttons, a cape in the color of your house hanging over your shoulder gave the look the final touch. Your sword was hanging on your belt, visible for once, you realized as your gloved hand subconsciously gripped the handle of it.

Looking at your reflection, you saw a knight, something you had worked towards for many years of your life. Yet, you didn’t feel as accomplished as you thought you would, your fingers feeling sticky in a used sensation, your tongue coated with a taste of the living, barely hanging on.

You turned around, shaking your head slightly, trying to drive these ghosts of memories away. Taking a deep breath before you left your room and immediately went outside to the carriage that was supposed to bring you to the hall.

This time, you were alone in the carriage, the first time in a long time, as your maids couldn’t just accompany you to such a place, and your father intended to join the festivities a bit later.

For some reason, you did not look forward to it, but you didn’t have much of a choice, as once again, this was something organized by the crown, and you were inevitably one of the guests of honor.

Arriving at the hall, you let the butler at the entrance announce your entry to the festivities. There, you let your gaze sweep over the crowd for a moment, before you made your way to the buffet filled with finger food and drinks.

On the way, you greeted some people you were indirectly acquainted with, as they asked about the whereabouts of your father. You answered truthfully and chatted them up a bit, trying to ignore some of the glances towards you. You knew, it was because of your clothes, but you didn’t have much of a choice regarding that, considering that the royal family had sent these beforehand. Not that you’d want to wear something else in this situation. You fought and you deserved to be honored, as much as it seemed to bother these people. You continued to smile, aware that additionally to your honorable position as a swordmaster, you were also your father’s daughter, the heir to the title filled with power. They could not afford to demean or ridicule you.

With last goodbyes and promises to visit someday, you finally finished your walk to the table to grab a glass of juice. You took a sip of the cool liquid and let the taste drench your tongue. Looking around, you recognized some people you had fought side by side with, but you didn’t dare approach, aware of the difference in status, and the way it might affect their life, and yours. So, you changed position to stand close to a wall, observing everything and simply waiting for the highlight of the festivities, for it to be over and for it to be polite to leave.

At least the dancing hadn’t started yet, and before you could wonder why, the masses began to cheer. Looking towards the end of the hall at the heightened platform framed by two massive staircases you saw the royal family emerge. The queen started a speech, a flute in her hand to cheer after she was done. But you only listened with half an ear, as your gaze caught on the person beside her, not the king, smiling at his wife, pride clear in his face, but at the crown prince, Katsuki.

He was wearing a white jacket, its collars accented with black, yet the golden details complimented him much more. The color seemed to belong to him, the edges of his clothes set with it, the buttons and small chains glittering underneath the light. But there was nothing beating the cape, one in the same shade of his eyes, shifting into the orange of the royal family with every movement and light. You thought you even spotted a loosened red tie around his neck. The way he stood there, standing out in the warm lights of the chandelier, made him seem like from another world, despite the scowl itching his features. At his sight, your heart thumped against your ribs, and your free hand rubbed over it.

And then his eyes met yours, all explosions and blooming flowers, bursting inside of you, between you. Your brain told you to look away, but you couldn’t, being enchanted by him, by the way his eyes almost imperceptibly softened, the scowl melting into something closer to a smile.

He was the one to break the contact, his eyes shifting to his mother, and the twist of his mouth was back, even if his eyebrows seemed less pinched this time. You immediately lifted the cup to your face to drink and to hide your face, feeling heat creep up your neck.

For some reason you felt the need to change your position, so you began to wander deeper into the hall, occasionally bumping into someone you knew and having small catch-up conversations.

You stayed close to the walls, as the center of the hall began to fill with dancers and their partners, moving to the music in learned steps. And every time you were a moment alone, you watched them, your feet tickling you to join them. But as nobody asked you to dance, you couldn’t just jump into the fray.

Someone tapped your shoulder and you turned around, smiling and ready to begin the small talk once again. But then you met red, ruby red eyes and your heart stuttered, your movements stumbling slightly.

Before you could even attempt to collect the right words again, he spoke up, slightly bowing down with his hand reaching towards you.

“May I have this dance?” he asked, his voice serious, yet you noticed the slight edge in the corners of his mouth.

There was no way you could refuse him, for various reasons, like, he was the crown prince and nobody did refuse him unless there was a plausible reason, and maybe you did want to dance and talk with him. But that was something he didn’t know.

So, all you did was curtsy. “I would be honored, Your Royal Highness.” Straightening up, you put your palm in his.

His fingers carefully curled around yours before he dragged you through the splitting masses to the dance floor. You felt the heat of his skin even through your glove as you followed in his steps.

Once you both found a proper spot, he changed the grip around your hand slightly while his other hand found the dip in your waist. And you put your free hand on his shoulder.

The music began to play and you both started the memorized steps, each movement flowing into each other. He was the perfect partner, his steps fitting with yours like magic, the closeness between you diminishing with each step and ruffle.

You couldn’t help yourself but look up to him, only to see his eyes already on you, the usual furrows between them gone, a certain softness in his gaze, his features. You felt his breath on your cheek as he leaned a bit closer, on your neck.

“Let me make it up to you,” he murmured softly against the small space between his lips and your skin, and you were all too aware of it. His eyes boring themselves deep into yours, the red a dim yet a brilliant shade of red.

A sigh escaped you, feeling as if the tension suddenly had left your body, the one melting into his without any reluctancy. You wanted to respond, but words eluded you suddenly. Still, you tried, trying to distract yourself from the need to feel his lips cross the distance.

“Uhm. However you want to do that,” you answered in a hushed voice, ready to accept whatever he did.

A grin slowly spread over his lips, the exact same ones that were inching closer to your face. Your reflexes betrayed you as you involuntarily closed your eyes, your tongue darting to wet your lips nervously.

You didn’t know what you were expecting, but you felt the heat clump underneath your skin nonetheless the moment his lips touched your skin, the touch so light, almost like like hovering. He didn’t linger, even if you wanted him to.

Slowly, your eyes fluttered open, suddenly remembering where you both were, your body still moving in concentric circles. The heat intensified, and you barely could glance in his direction, even if you did notice the slight redness on the tip of his ears.

Soon, the dance was over, and you curtsied before him as he bowed, before you took longer strides than usual to get to the open balcony. The cool breeze outside met your flushed body and the differenc in temperature made it more real. You could still feel the lingering warmth of his lips against your skin and your thoughts slowly shifted into a almost ridiculous direction, picturing the way his lips would feel against your own, against another part of your skin. You felt your nape getting warmer and you began to fan with your hands.

You stepped closer to the railing, leaning with one hand against it as you looked into the horizon, trying your best to change your trail of thoughts. Barely noticing the presence now standing beside you. You didn’t think much of it, as people were allowed to this space.

Yet, despite the open space being empty, an arm brushed against yours, and you reflexively looked to your side. Only to once again gaze into his face, this time only highlighted by the soft shine of the moon. At this sight your thoughts wandered to the fairy tales of impossible beauty and charming elves.

There was something indescribable in his eyes as he let them wander over your features, over your clothes. He opened his mouth, no words escaping for a moment.

“I forgot to tell you… You look amazing this evening,” he finally rasped, his eyes immediately avoiding yours and looking to the glittering space in the sky.

And while you still felt hot, his words didn’t make it any better, but at least you knew him well enough to know that his ears would be hot to the touch.

Unconsciously, your fingers had moved towards him, brushing his warm cheek to carefully pinch at his hot earlobe. Once your fingertips touched his skin, you noticed it rising in temperature even more.

He looked down on you, his eyes darkened by the heavy lidded look, and leaned his hand softly against the palm of your hand. You brushed your thumb against his cheekbone, his lashes fluttering with each move.

You felt his breath against your wrist before he slowly shifted, his lips meeting your skin, his teeth grazing your palm.

Your breath caught, you had to say something, lest your heart explodes against your ribs.

“And… you look beautiful,” you rasped, still captured by the way the moonlight seemed to catch on his lashes, spinning them into tiny stars.

A chuckle came out of him, a small grin against your hand. “Beautiful?”, he asked with a rough whisper, his hand grabbing your wrist to pull your arm over his shoulder, inevitably pulling you closer to him.

You opened your mouth, not resisting him moving you, feeling his other hand slip onto your waist. But no words came out of you, your tongue melting at the close proximity.

He leaned closer towards you, his eyes glancing between your lips and your eyes. “May I kiss you?” he rasped, his breath against your lips.

Your still slightly gaping mouth warped into a small smile, feeling a certain rush, anticipation tingling in your fingertips.

Yet, you were able to answer him. “You may,” you whispered, your own eyes landing on his lips.

Glancing back to his eyes, they had darkened some more before he finally leaned over the last distance separating you both, soft lips touching yours, caressing them. This tiniest of touches sparking something in you, your body tingling, moving on its own.

A small space opened between you, but you burrowed your hand into his soft hair, grabbing his shoulder with the other one to pull him closer to you, to meet his lips again.

He shifted closer to you, your back leaning against the railing as he leaned closer into you. But the moment his teeth grazed your lips, you pulled away, your subconscious still aware of the place you were in.

You barely could tear your eyes away from him, but you had to check if anyone was in the vicinity, peering through the windows. Those were covered by heavy curtains, and you sighed a breath of relief.

His hand found your chin, lifting your gaze once again to him. “Don’t worry, I like to be prepared for anything,” he murmured, a sharp grin pulling on his lips, before he dipped to kiss you once again, to taste you on his lips. His eyes told you that he would never be satisfied ever again, and you didn’t mind, because you doubted you could ever stop this craving after this.

Still, you avoided his lips, landing on your cheek. “I still think we should go back… Everyone would be looking for you, You–”

“Call me by my name when we’re alone,” he interrupted you with a hoarse voice, putting his forehead against yours.

You smiled at that. “As long as you show the same courtesy, Katsuki.”

And you allowed yourself to indulge for a few seconds, standing like this, face as close as possible, before you pulled away to fix his hair, and yours.

After you both made sure the other looked presentable again, he took your hand in his again, kissing your knuckles softly, barely a touch. “I look forward to seeing you again.” Then he whispered your name against your skin, like a present, only for him, something for him to hoard and keep, forever.

He let go of your hand, and entered the hall, alone. You had agreed on you waiting for some time, lest something scandalous got out, yet you hated it, you hated to see his back towards you as the shine of the chandeliers once again lit him up, caressing him and taking him back.

You knew that it would be difficult to be with him, you had always known, yet you couldn’t stop now, your soul irrefutably intertwined with his. So, you promised yourself, your heart and your soul, to at least try, even if it meant to spend a little bit more time with him.

A sigh, a moment, a wish towards the stars, and you entered the hall once again. Alone, the same way you left, yet entirely changed.

[ennaku-sirri-da]

Hey I'm mentally okay again! Time to post something unhinged but true and real to my heart.

I have a secret to confess to all of Tumblr.

I've been thinking about Habismal kissing nasty for almost two years now.

[ plaintext: I've been thinking about Habismal kissing nasty for almost two years now. ]

And its the most beautiful thing in the world. I think if you saw them not making out but definitely locking those lips in an extreme manner that would cause thermometer glasses in their vicinity to burst toxic mercury and any animals around to have courtship season come early-- your heart would undergo an orchestral, transcendant epiphany. Just pairs, pairs, everywhere, I love when things come in twos.

I want it to be Gross. I say this with love. Theres spit, there's blood and there's ass grabbing. It is still the most enchanting and magical thing, like a butterfly with iridescent wings flying on a clear day, and oh, the sky goes on forever. If any homophobes saw them in the park bench being a public disgrace then it's THEIR RIGHT to do so, HELLO. So a laser will shoot that bitch into the nearby duck pond. Even a 24 platoon army could not stop Habit from appreciating Kamals generous&bountiful backcheeks. It's so horribly romantic that it takes my breath away. I have missed five, fifteen or even twenty minutes of exams and classes and official appointments thinking about all this in the most vivid, painted detail and I hope I never forget that sheer winged bliss.

It's the love in the little things too. When Kamal burys his face in Habits boobs for emotional support because the coffee shop is getting to be a oversimulating situation, not because he doesnt care what the wide-eyed employees watching think, but because he loves his bro more than that. The Brocabulary. When Habit cited "Article 56: Help Thy Bro If His Back Be In Peril" ( plaintext: Article 56: Help Thy Bro If His Back Be In Peril" ) and Kamal lets go of sweet sleep to follow their old Code from college that's a joke but no it is but no it's not.

They are not Only romantic and not Only platonic but a third thing: so devoted the lines blur. You bet if Kamal gets married to someone then Habit will be invited and also snogging him for good luck before he ties the knot. They're the ultimate buddy movie to me. Fool antics, unexpected deep moment, WILD trips to the same few places they're used to, anti climax etc. Then at the end is an inexplicable (if you're straight ) inexplicable scene where they're in the same bed and oh my god. I don't know if I could've gotten through this part without crying. It's so....they're getting something from each other that they have been unfairly deprived of from the past. The soft touches, the touches that promise not to hurt..also the hickeys DAMN!??? Such a mess their designs are. I never thought I'd be the kind of person to be saying these things, but imagine the comfort it must bring them on some days to see their marks on each other and remember through the painful mind that, yes, he loves me. Anyway yes they're in the same bed and being silly hehe winky face. When the credits roll then Best Friend by Toybox (nightcore ) plays but with a special effect that makes your heart open all its eyes to eight new colors that you didn't even know existed.

NONE of the marketing mentions this( if you're straight). It's all shot like a found footage indie film btw.

But what really gets me is how they're...they look out for each other. They would protect each other with their lives. Kamal holding Habit laying down under his arms. Stitching him up when hes torn. Habit stashing Kamal away in his coat and/or boobs. Did I tell you one of his reasons for not getting top surgery was so that they could be comforting somehow one day btw. And I think it's somehow more meaningful to me when they're not solely each other's partners as well but DO have other people they see and would primarily define themselves as friends really. Friendship...is more important than love da😭( sobbing emoji) God, I'm so soft for that.

And really the kiss, Rose(kamal) meets Red(habit), is a culmination of all these thoughts. To me it's like an unashamed&mutual "I care about you dickhead" and that's beautiful. Thank you and always stay nasty.

[mrsalwayswrite]

To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

Summary: There is only person that Heahmund cherishes above all, and when she is threatened, he realizes he would do anything to protect her…. even sell his soul to a blue-eyed devil. 

This is my contribution to @maggiescarborough​ 500 followers celebration! (I’m so sorry this is late but here we are.)

Flower chosen: periwinkle- religious symbol in the Middle Ages tied to the Virgin Mary, benevolence (desire to do good to others, charitable), nostalgia and purity.

I also decided to add an extra challenge and write for a character I would not normally write for- hence Heahmund. 

Words: 6000

Warnings: implied abuse/mistreatment, mutual pining, couple swear words, heavy religious overtones, Ivar being manipulative 

Tag List: @youbloodymadgenius​ @evelynshelby​ @pomegranates-and-blood​ @deans-ch-ch-cherrypie​

Also, a huge shout-out to @flowers-in-your-hayr​ for this absolutely stunning moodboard. Look at this! Its gorgeous! Be in awe! 

 He knew where she would be. 

 The leaves and twigs underfoot crunched beneath his boots. The morning sun casted shadows as it peeked through the foliage above him. His sword bounced against his back almost in sync with the cross upon his chest. The weight of both, something he was continuously aware of. 

 It was here he first met her on a hazy summer day. 

 It was here the two of them always seemed to find one another like two stars caught in each other's orbits. 

 It was here he could never decide if she was his salvation or his damnation. 

 Along the thin trail, his feet guided him, stepping over sticks and rocks. His mind wrestled with the news, but as his mind fought, his heart broke within his chest. It was a selfish reaction, he knew. Yet that did not cease the pain welling in his chest, so strong it threatened to bring forth tears. He kept them at bay. For he was a man of the cloth, a man of God. 

 But sometimes he struggled with just being a man. 

 Soon the gurgling of the bubbling creek could be heard amidst the summer songs of the birds. His footfalls quickened and after several more paces, she finally came into view. Kneeling near the creek, hands folded before her in supplication, she appeared the very vision of pious purity. 

 Heahmund gently called out her name, like a whisper in the breeze, a soft caress on skin. When her head lifted, turning to find him walking closer, his heart skipped a beat. Those eyes that beguiled him, those sweet lips that only allowed kind words to pass through, and her smile…. oh, that smile that lit up her face like a lamp uncovered to shine in the darkest of nights. 

 To his dying breath, he would fervently believe she was an angel in disguise, a blessing from the Lord God bestowed on his creation to remind them of His goodness. 

 And that was why she was both his salvation and damnation. 

 Because he wanted her. He wanted her with all his soul. But she was too pure, too benevolent, too holy for someone like him. She made him want to be better in both his vows and himself. To fight without wavering in protecting his country from the heathens. To protect her from ever having to fear them. 

 And when she turned those eyes to him, when she smiled gently at him like he was her favorite person on earth, he was undone. 

 "Your Grace." She rose to her feet, brushing off the few pieces of grass that stuck to her green dress. 

 "I heard the news that you will no longer be in my congregation."

 "Yes. My father has family in York. With his failing health, he thinks it wise for us to move there."

 Heahmund hummed in thought as he moved closer. Even though his face remained impassive, his heart clenched at the thought of her leaving. For who else would he look to while saying prayers at Mass? Who else would he recite scripture and poems to while they reclined next to the bubbling creek? Who else was kind enough to seek him out after he returned from a raid, to clean his wounds if any and make sure he was fed?

 "I shall keep your family in my prayers to our Lord." He whispered, now standing before her. "My congregation will not be the same without you…. or your family."

 She gazed shyly at him through those long eyelashes. "You are too kind, Bishop Heahmund."

 "You have denied yourself for many years to look after your ailing father and the rest of your family. If the Pope heard of all your sacrifices for your family and our church, he would name you a Saint."

 "I am nowhere worthy of sainthood. You tease me."

 A smile drew his lips upward as he watched her. "Perhaps a little."

 She laughed, covering her mouth with her hand as she looked downward. It took all of his willpower not to lay a hand beneath her chin, the draw those beautiful eyes back to his own, to gaze upon her beauty, both inside and out, for longer. To ask her to never leave him. 

 But it was not his place. No matter how he felt for her.  

 "If it is not too bold of me…." She broke through his turbulent thoughts, her sweet voice trailing off as she toyed with one of her sleeves. 

 "Go on." He encouraged, heart hammering away inside of him. 

 "I made something for you. It's not much, but…. but it's just something to remember me by and know you will be in my prayers as well…. for your protection against the heathens." Quickly she dropped to her knees, digging in the basket by her feet. 

 The basket had gone unnoticed by him as his focus resided with soaking in these last few minutes with her. For he was unsure if the Lord's work would bring him to York. She swiftly pulled something out and held it out with both hands like an offering. His eyes momentarily widened before he reverently reached out and clasped it in his hand. It was a white, square kerchief, soft and pure. It was when he looked at the corners that he truly saw the beauty of it. A small cross was stitched in one corner and in the other opposite corner was a grouping of three small, periwinkle flowers. 

 "Thank you, y/n, truly." He returned his gaze to her, struggling to keep the awe out of his tone. "I shall cherish your gift as if the Virgin Mary herself gave it unto me."

 She giggled, a coy smile on her face. "I would hope that she would bestow a better present for someone as holy as yourself."

 "I would never cherish it as much as yours." He admitted with more candor than he should. 

 Her gaze snapped to his then darted away like a startled bird. A weighty, tense silence hung over them, drawing them closer yet apart simultaneously. For it was this blissful, torturous attraction that left them both spellbound, lost to reality in the presence of the other. 

 Unable to stay away a moment longer, he cupped her cheek with his calloused hand, forcing her eyes to meet his. 

 "Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out. 

 "Must I remind you to call me just Heahmund when we are alone?" 

 "Heahmund." She murmured, one of her hands coming to rest on the center of his chest. To anchor herself or him to this moment, he did not know. 

 Desire and longing colored the air around them. A tension that pushed their bodies closer without their awareness, until they could feel the breath of the other gliding across their lips. Something burned between them, this thing that remained unnamed for so long. Heahmund knew it was not lust. For that carnal sin was something he intimately knew and had used other women for, much to his disgrace. No, this was something far stronger, far more powerful, far more dangerous for both of them. For as the years passed, it never faded or wavered like a dying flame. It endured. 

 His gaze zeroed in on her bottom lip as his thumb caressed it with an almost-there touch. Her lips parted on a quiet gasp but she made no move to pull away. Those enchanting eyes beheld him with absolute trust. Something he was unworthy of. 

 After taking a deep breath, his hand traced down her neck, to her shoulder and down her arm to hold her hand leaving goosebumps in its wake. He brought her delicate hand to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to her knuckles. Then, regretfully, he released her hand. 

 "Come, I shall escort you back to the city. You should not linger out here alone for too long." He said, taking a step back. Needing space before he did something indecent and unbecoming of his station. 

 "Thank you." She replied automatically, blinking rapidly for a second as if waking from a dream. A dream he wished he could have further explored, to share openly with her. Bending down, she grabbed her basket and held it against her hip. 

 They walked back through the woods in silence, more spoken in their actions and looks than could ever openly cross their lips. With each step, Heahmund silently beseeched his God that this encounter would not be their last. Although she was his sweetest temptation, his forbidden apple in the garden, he could not abandon her. It was for her that he picked up a sword to fight the heathens that invaded their land. With what might he had, he would see her protected and defended, that the purity she wore like a veil, the benevolence that dressed her daily, the pure goodness she radiated, would never be blemished. 

 Even if he never had the honor of holding her against his body, of tasting the sweetness of her lips, to hear the pleasured cry of his name from her mouth, to ever be more than just a man of God to her. It was worth it. For she was his angel. 

 *****

 With eyes that could pierce stone in the raging fury bubbling beneath his skin, Heahmund stared at the city of York. 

 Captured by heathens. 

 Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok. 

 Saxon warriors moved about him, none bothering him, either thinking he was strategizing how to reclaim the city or praying for the Lord's protection over His people as they beat back the devils. 

 What none knew, what no one could see, was the despair and wrath gnawing away in the bishop's mind. It took every ounce of his willpower to remain in the Saxon camp with the new King and his sons and not to scourge the city of the infestation of heathens. But to go seek for her. To find and protect her. Somehow in his heart, he knew she was down there. In what condition though, he dared not imagine. 

 When the two sons of Ragnar came in the night to talk of peace, his resolve almost broke. Questions of her coated his tongue like the sweetest of poisons, slowly driving him mad. Yet he swallowed them back down. Not just for fear of his fellow warriors learning of his unholy affections towards her; but fear if she was alive and the heathens realized the depth of his care for her. Surely it would bring about her doom. So when he slipped into their tent like a snake cornering its prey, his fists dirtied by the blood of the Ragnarssons, it was his silent promise to save her, that even from here he would protect her. 

 They must retake the city, to drive out the Vikings, for God and country and justice. Most importantly for him- they must retake the city so he could find her. 

 *****

 "You call me heathen, but to me, I am godly. I live by the gods."

 "There is only one God." Heahmund bit out. The chain around his neck was even more sharp than his tongue. 

 Ivar continued, arrogance dripping off each word. "But I have seen other gods. I have seen the Odin, the All-Father, with my own eyes."

 "They are the devil's work. He conjures up demons and fallen angels to beguile us. And lead us into evil."

 "What is evil?" The raven-haired heathen asked in a haughty undertone. 

 Heahmund sighed, dropping his chin back to his chest. His legs were growing weary beneath him, having been chained here for hours already and he saw no true reprieve in sight. "Slaughter of the innocent." He answered in a whisper. 

 "You slaughter when it suits you." 

 Rage filled the Bishop at the way this heathen turned his words, how he taunted with that arrogant smirk on his face, how he disrespected the one true God. "He who chooses to be heathen is not innocent." He shouted, pointing his finger in condemnation at the ungodly sinner beside him. Then for a moment he wondered if this was why he had been captured by the Danes. If this was all the Lord's mysterious work. His tone softened as he continued to stare at his captor. "But I could show you the ways of God, to salvation and eternal life."

 But it was all in vain. 

 He chuckled darkly, almost as if shocked that the bishop would even try to convert him. "Do you know who I am?"

 "Of course. You are Ivar…. son of Ragnar Lothbrok. Many there are that fear you." 

 "But not you."

 "No, I fear no man….no matter how wicked." Heahmund allowed the sneer to taint his voice at the end. For it was true. No matter the horrendous stories he heard about the sons of Ragnar Lothbrok, fear never sunk its claws into him. For he followed the Will of God. 

 There was only one reason alone that fear gripped him, tighter than a lover, slipped beneath his skin to momentarily poison his mind…. but that reason was gone now. Dead. 

 The two sat in silence for several minutes, a heathen and a bishop, lost in their own thoughts. Heahmund could not help but wonder as he eyed the young man, if this was all some bloody, gruesome game to him. Was he even capable of remorse? Fear? Mercy? Love? Or had the fires of hell already scourged them from his soul?

 The shackles around his wrists grew heavier by the hour. The chain around his neck chaffed. The cold mud beneath him seeped into his trousers, slowly injecting a chill into his bones, amplified by the chains keeping him bound. 

 "I beseech thee, Lord. Save me or show me why I am here. Grant me Your mercy. Do not cast be aside into the darkness. Grant me Your light so I may see." He murmured to himself. 

 The sound of a door opening just off to the side of Ivar could be heard but Heahmund paid no mind. He knew his time on earth was dwindling, for how much longer would the heathen bother to keep him? Surely, he would be killed in a cruel and painful way. When he first took up the sword to defend his faith and his people against the Danes, he assumed that was how his life would end. On a battlefield somewhere, surrounded by blood and screams, with his cross upon his chest and sword in hand. Not like this. Not a prisoner to be tortured for amusement. 

 A soft voice hesitantly spoke up from behind Ivar. "My prince, your brother…."

 That voice. Oh, that voice had haunted his dreams, but lately it had only been heard in his nightmares. She would beg for his help to save her, only to witness her dragged away or killed before his eyes, chains or ropes or fire keeping him imprisoned, unable to do more than scream her name. More than once he had jerked awake to find tears streaming down his cheeks. 

 Now his head jerked up, ears attuned, desperate to see or hear her again, to confirm she was alive and not just a hallucination. To know all his nightmares were wrong. 

 He prayed his nightmares were wrong. 

 Ivar beckoned her closer with an annoyed huff and a roll of his eyes. Then she appeared, as if from the mist. His fears confirmed. Her green dress was ripped and filthy. Her hair matted and unwashed. But it was the dark circles that lay beneath her dimmed eyes, the bruise on her cheek and the split lip that adorned her face which brought his rage to the surface, festering in his gut. His hands clenched into fists at the sight of her and images of what all she must have endured played in his mind. 

 The heathen snatched the cup from her outstretched hands, mumbling something in his own language. "Go." He arrogantly dismissed her with a wave of his hand as if she was some pest he detested. 

 As she turned to walk away, her eyes drifted over to Heahmund and she froze. Time stood still as their gazes locked. He watched as a series of emotions passed over her face- surprise, relief, concern, fear, worry- they all took their turn to shine from her eyes. He wondered if his own expression mirrored hers. Her name, that name that tasted like the sweetest of honey on his lips, danced on his tongue. How he wanted to pull her into his arms and never let her out of his sight. To promise no one would ever hurt her again. To press his lips to hers tenderly. His chest constricted as he witnessed a single tear slip from her right eye, washing away a streak of grime on her cheek. His own tears burned in his eyes, threatening to betray him. Here she was. Alive. But mistreated by these heathens. Something he could never forgive. 

 "You know this…. priest, thrall?" Ivar's amused voice broke their staring, like a bucket of cold water suddenly thrown on them. 

 She jerked, brought back to the here and now, that her and Heahmund were not alone. Wordlessly, she lowered her head and nodded. 

 "Ah, I see." Ivar's shrewd blue eyes jumped between the two as his smirk widened. "You may go to him. I will allow it for now. Ah! And here, give him this." He held the untouched cup out to her.

 Hesitantly, she reached out and took it, as if expecting it to get thrown in her face at the last minute. Keeping her gaze downcast, she walked the few steps to stand before Heahmund. Once more, she peered over to the side at Ivar, silently requesting his permission before proceeding. 

 "Let him drink! I am certain he is quite…. thirsty." The heathen chuckled, playing with his bottom lip. 

 "Y/n…" Heahmund started quietly but she interrupted him. 

 "Drink, please." Immediately, she brought the cup to his lips and carefully helped him to drink. At the slow pace she allowed the water to flow, it was perfect to quench his thirst but not fast enough he would choke on it. A skill she must have learned from the many times she was forced to take care of her ailing father. The whole time, he locked his gaze on her face, refusing to look away for even a moment. For fear of her vanishing. For fear of missing even a second of this cherished time in her presence. Even if he was bound in chains like a common criminal. 

 "Are you well?" He asked once she pulled the empty cup away from his mouth, keeping his voice low for some resemblance of privacy under the heathen's scrutinizing gaze. 

 She peeked at Ivar out of the corner of her eye before whispering back. "I'm alive."

 "Are they treating you well?"

 Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup. 

 And her silence burned through Heahmund like a wildfire. He knew it was foolish to ask as soon as he uttered the question. The evidence on her face was proof enough. But he had hoped for a different answer. Wanted a different answer. And the truth ate away at him like leprosy. For chained here…. a prisoner…. a prize…. he could do nothing to save her. To protect her. 

 His nightmare coming to pass. 

 He swallowed thickly, emotions clogging his throat. "Stay strong, y/n. The Lord knows the challenges we face and will give us strength to endure. We are not forgotten."

 She nodded, hastily wiping away another tear that slipped down her cheek. "What…. what about you? What will happen to you?"

 Her concern for him warned his soul more than a fire and hot meal ever could. Even amidst her circumstances, she worried for him. She cared about him. Heaven certainly lost an angel when she was born onto this earth. For she was far too good to not be one of the Lord's divine beings. 

 "I'm deciding if I want to keep him alive," Ivar interrupted, tone all together smug and cocky, "or crucify him, like your god. A fitting ending for his priest."

 She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation. 

 Heahmund wanted to comfort her, but words failed him as he gazed upon her. For his life was no longer in his own hands. A fate he despised. Before he could speak words that would hopefully bring her some solace, the heathen spoke again. 

 "Thrall, come here." Ivar commanded. She walked over to him with visible trepidation, cup still clutched in her hands. Instantly, he grabbed her wrist when she was close enough, the movement as sharp and fast as a viper. The cup dropped and bounced on the ground as she gasped. In the next moment he yanked her down to kneel before him, a soft cry slipping from her lips that seemed to spur him on, a malicious smile forming on his face. So reminiscent of a hungry wolf cornering a young lamb, the taste of blood already tainting the air. An allure the wolf feasted on shamelessly. 

 Heahmund could taste iron in his mouth from how hard he bit his tongue to keep from demanding her release. He could only watch helplessly as this devil toyed with her. 

 "Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

 She said, voice barely above a whisper, eyes firmly planted on the dirt. "Y/n."

 Complacently, the heathen tipped her chin up, staring into her eyes for long enough she began to tremble. He chuckled, moving her face side to side and scanning her body like examining an item for sale at the market. "And who owns you now?"

 "Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

 "Ah. Haakon. A good warrior by our people. But I have heard he is not so kind to his thralls. Hmm?" He stated, but this time his smug gaze was directed at Heahmund, waiting for a reaction. Waiting to see what his latest prize would do. 

 At his statement, she flinched and it felt like a flaming sword was driven through Heahmund's gut. He made no appeal to mask his hatred nor fury, his eyes hard as stone as he met the heathen's unnatural blue eyes. In his mind, he swore to himself that he would never forget the name she spoke with such a mixture of fear and despair. Somehow, he would kill this man. God, help him. 

 Ivar grinned, still focused on his prisoner, even as he traced a finger over her split bottom lip, tears springing forth from her eyes. "Maybe I'll buy you from him. What do you think?"

 She just stared at the ground, body trembling. Completely submissive. Entirely surrendered. 

 "You may go. Tell my brother I will join him soon." Ivar said, releasing her chin. 

 Carefully she scrambled to her feet and took a hasty step back. Her watery gaze flickered over to Heahmund's, meeting his eyes. Oh, how he wished these chains no longer held him. He would slaughter every Dane in York in holy recompense for the abuse she endured. He would shield her with his body, keeping her close until the fear bled from her like poison from a wound, until she was the sweet, vibrant woman he knew. 

 "I said leave, thrall." 

 As if startled out of a dream, she jumped at Ivar's shout. Then spun around on her heel and disappeared the way she had come. The cup laid forgotten on the ground, having rolled away. 

 The bishop dropped his head to his chest. What was left of his heart slowly eroded away inside of him. Why must she be made to suffer at the hands of these devils? Was this why the Lord allowed him to be captured? To save her? 

 "Y/n…." The heathen rolled her name on his tongue, voice inquisitive with his following question. "What is she to you?"

 The Saxon remained silent. He owed his captor nothing. The heathen had no right to say her blessed name, let alone touch her. He was evil, darkness, something to be destroyed. To touch y/n, her perfect soul, was a crime against all that was holy and good. 

 "Ah, you act like she is nothing but I could see it in your eyes. You want her. Like a man wants a beautiful woman. But more than that…. she means something to you. So, answer my question or maybe I'll call her back and slit her throat in front of you."

 Heahmund licked his lips, debating what to say. "She is the Virgin Mary."

 "She's a virgin?" Ivar scoffed. "I doubt that's the truth anymore."

 "No," he snapped, glaring at Ivar before turning back to stare straight ahead. "She is holy and pure. She is the epitome of benevolence, something you would never understand. She is a soft breeze on a scorching day, the spring rain come to bring new life. She is the candle of fond memories, keeping away the dark thoughts that threatened to cloud my mind. She is…. y/n."

 "You love her."

 "How could I not?" He sighed, for that was the truth. No matter how hard he tried, prayed for deliverance, she had wormed her way into his heart and planted herself there like an oak tree.  

 "Well, if Haakon owns her, then she will be leaving soon to journey to Norway with us." Ivar stared at him for a moment before looking away. They sat in silence for several minutes before Ivar laughed and shifted from a sitting position. "Prepare yourself, Bishop Heahmund, you are coming on a journey with us."

 "I am already on a journey." He called out, voice unwavering. 

 "Aren't we all."

 He watched the heathen crawl away like an overgrown snake, deceptive and cunning, wondering what this journey meant for him. What it meant for her. Closing his eyes, shutting out his surroundings, he focused on the feeling of her kerchief tucked away under his tunic. Close to his heart.  

 *****

 The crowd jeered around him, a sound beating against his mind like a hammer. The stench of the ocean clogged his nostrils, the fish guts spilled on the docks and ground, the masses of unrighteous bodies pressing closer to have their chance to spit at him. For once, he was grateful that he did not understand their language so his ears would remain untainted by their insults and taunts. 

 The flaxen-haired Ragnarsson led the parade with Heahmund being the center of attention. Like a spectacle for all to see. A large blond Viking pulled on the chains binding his hands, chuckling at making Heahmund stumble drunkenly to keep his feet beneath him in the unsteady mud. The bishop spat out a mouthful of blood onto the mud. The cut on the inside of his lip a courtesy from a punch to the mouth by the brutish Viking who currently held the chains. 

 Stubbornly, he yanked on the chain binding him, refusing to let himself be dragged around like some stray mongrel. The brute growled at the Saxon and gave a strong pull, disrupting Heahmund's already unstable footing. In the next moment, he found himself face-first in the revolting mud. The cheers of the crowd exploded around him to new heights at his predicament. 

 Through sheer determination and a refusal to appear weak to these ungodly wretches, he rose back to his feet. Will unbroken. Though he walked through the valley of death, he refused to fear the evil around him. The Lord would provide a way. Somehow, he would be delivered. Carefully he wiped the mud from his face on his sleeve.

 Once back on his feet, he could see Ivar sitting at a nearby table. Although from the way he reclined, he acted more as if it was a throne. The infuriating smug look on his face as he met Heahmund's gaze. All resemblance of vulnerability and unveiled candor from the prior night was gone. Replaced with the arrogant warlord who sentenced people to death with laughter on his lips. 

 All night his mind wrestled with their conversation from the prior night. How could he fight for this godless heathen? Surely the Lord would smite him for that? Even if in the fighting he only killed more heathens. Was he not also a man of peace like the Lord Jesus Christ? Which was more important right now? Which one was stronger in times like these…. the olive branch or the sword?

 He walked with confidence until he noticed y/n standing just behind Ivar. His feet faltered for a moment, shocked to see her. Since their encounter in York, he had only snatched a glimpse of her as he was being loaded onto the boats. His mind wandered to her fate more than he cared to admit. There were many times as he sat alone, he gently toyed with the kerchief she made for him, touching the periwinkle flower sewed onto it. His thoughts on her and all his regrets. 

 Now his eyes quickly scanned her, noting the different dress she wore. Something rough and bland he had noticed other slaves wearing. She appeared no worse. The bruise on her cheek was gone, the split lip healed. Her hands clasped before her as if waiting for instruction as her eyes followed him. When they finally met, a flood of relief and concern passed between them. For no words needed to be spoken to understand the predicament they both were in. Both of their fates were no longer in their control, only in the Lord's and their captors'. 

 He could not help but wonder why she was here? To witness his shame? His death? What game was Ivar playing?

 As he watched her, his mind returned to his short burst of despair earlier. How he had called out to the Lord for deliverance. But if the Lord delivered him from the hands of these heathens…. would the Lord deliver her also? But did not the Lord send angels to protect the Virgin Mary as she carried Jesus in her womb? How could he then abandon y/n in her hour of need? For it was unthinkable to leave her alone in their clutches. And seeing her now, dressed as a slave, at the beck and call of the blood-thirsty Ragnarsson, Heahmund would rather slit his own throat than leave her alone. 

 Determination saturating his veins, he tried to move closer towards Ivar but as he took a step, the brutish Viking held him back with an animalistic grunt.

 Ivar waved a hand. "Let him approach, Haakon."

 For a moment, Heahmund froze, his blood boiling at the name. This name he swore he would always remember. He turned to stare at the brute with a newfound understanding, fury a living thing beneath his skin. This was the man who mistreated the one most precious to him. An unforgivable sin. A heinous crime. And with the mischievous glint in Ivar's eyes, the bishop knew the prince had purposefully orchestrated for them to meet. Tearing his fiery gaze away from the brutish Viking, he walked over to stand before Ivar like a convict awaiting judgment. 

 "Shhhh…." Ivar hushed the crowd, his voice carrying with an air of authority. "Now will decide if you fight for us." Grabbing the knife out of the table from beside him, he continued. "Or whether I kill you." He paused, pressing the knife to Heahmund's chest. When he spoke next, his voice was low, a harsh truth only to be heard between them. "Nothing is keeping you alive but me."

 The tip of the knife pressed against Heahmund's jerkin, not a threat but a promise depending on the bishop's choice. With his quiet sigh, he peered past Ivar to look at y/n one more time. One of her hands covered her mouth, eyes wide with fear. Only now was Heahmund able to see the red marks on her wrist, marking of chains, ones he knew he carried also. 

 Without hesitation, the Saxon warrior-priest whispered back, "If I fight for you, y/n goes free."

 Ivar leaned closer, smirk growing on his lips. "If you fight for me…. I will give her to you."

 "Hmmm…." Heahmund's gaze dropped down to the knife still touching his sternum for a second before returning to meet Ivar's penetrating gaze. "Why don't you give me the knife?"

 The manic excitement in Ivar's eyes should have scared Heahmund, but right now he needed blood on his hands. With a wicked grin, Ivar handed the knife over, as if already knowing what was to occur next. He accepted the knife with a huff, surprised Ivar gave it to him. Both smiled darkly at one another, the draw and lust for blood staining their lips. Revenge- a language they both spoke fluently. 

 Slowly Heahmund turned around, the knife pressed to his sternum like he was about to take his own life. Aware of the crowd's eyes on him, he stepped away from Ivar, back into the street. Closer to the brute Viking. 

 Haakon began yelling in his thickly accented English. "Die! Are you afraid?" He sneered, getting right into the bishop's face. "Do it! Coward. Do it!"

 Without a second thought, Heahmund slid the knife home into the Viking's neck. Blood spurting out, coating his hand gripping the knife. As the heathen gurgled, he spat blood onto the heathen's face. The blood on his face was for the punch Heahmund received from him. The knife, though, that was for her. His gift to her. To deliver her from the abuse of the ungodly. He could see death sinking its claws into the Viking, latching itself onto the man's soul to drag him to Hell. With that he let the man drop limply to the mud and threw the knife to the ground nearby. 

 He gazed over the silenced crowd with his piercing eyes, weaponless once again, and curious if one would fight him for revenge for Haakon. They stared back at him, a mixture of shock and anger on many of their faces. A slow clap and madden laughter startled him. He turned back to see Ivar clapping with an unhinged smile. 

 "He will fight with us!" Ivar yelled, arms outstretched as if in victory. 

 The crowd cheered. An example of how fickle a mob can be. As he arrived, being led like an animal to sacrifice, they cheered for his death. Now they cheered for his sword, to fight alongside him. 

 Suddenly a form slammed into him, almost knocking him off his feet. He tensed, prepared to fight until he looked down to see y/n burying her face against his chest, hands gripping his tunic. Her body trembled against his, muffled sobs reached his ears as she clung to him like a lifeline. The bishop lifted his gaze to meet Ivar's, who leaned forward with a side smirk, eyes intently watching the two. As their gazes met, Ivar made a subtle motion with his hand, a quick wave, as if telling him to accept his prize. 

 Careful because of the many eyes still on them and not wishing to cause her harm, he brought his bound hands around her, pulling her closer against him. Embracing her in a way he had only fantasized about. Using his body as a shield, blood staining his hands.

 "You are safe now." He murmured against the top of her head, a storm of emotion whirling in his heart and mind. "You are safe, I promise. I will not let anyone hurt you again. I am here, my angel."

 Silently, she looked up at him, tears streaming down her cheeks, washing away what grime had been on them. But it was the relief and adoration in her eyes that made him freeze. How she beheld him as if a miracle or answer to her prayers. A reverence in her gaze but also joy intermingled. 

 His heart constricted in his chest; air momentarily cut off by the strong emotion stirring within him. For he knew with every fiber of his being as he gazed down at her, he would do anything to protect her. Would travel any sea to keep her. Fight any army with just his sword by his side. Even sell his own soul to the devil to see her safe. 

 Glancing up at Ivar and the manic smile on his mouth, Heahmund wondered if he had done just that. 

[roger-that-cap]

meet me in the gardens

knight!natasha x noble!fem!reader

summary: being the widow of a decently wealthy lord and sitting on a large plot of land automatically meant that you were a candidate for the program that you couldn’t say not to; the hosting. you had to sponsor a knight and keep them in your home for an entire year, which was troublesome enough on its own. but you never expected yoru knight to be a woman, and you certainly didn’t expect to have a full on illegal love affair with her, either. 

warnings: actually none but a misunderstanding and the lack of editing that i think u guys may or may not be used to at this point

word count: 5.3k

part two!!

The knight before you was the opposite of a man. She was so opposite in fact, that you had to actively make yourself not appear like you were shocked. You knew that the twins were having to try even harder to keep composure.

She was without a doubt, one of the prettiest people you had ever seen before. Being a lady, you had seen so many handsome young men and gorgeous young women, but there wasn’t one who’s fairness struck you like this woman’s. Her eyes were an unfamiliar shade of blue, and you knew that they were the kind of eyes that were made for surveillance and observation, and if you looked hard enough, maybe a window to her thoughts. She had pink lips that were set into a genuine yet thin smile, almost like she wasn’t used to wordless pleasantries at all. Her hair was cropped just above her shoulders and it shined a brilliant red that you had rarely ever seen. Despite the powerful and extremely potent energy that she was giving off, she was short, shorter than you, but something told you that she was strong. Stronger than anyone knew quite yet, but you could feel it. But, you were still confused, regardless of how she had rendered you breathless for the quickest of seconds.

The problem wasn’t that she was a woman. There wasn’t even really a problem at all. It was just the fact that a woman was a knight. You had never seen anything like it in your entire life, and you had never even thought of the possibility of that happening. At all. You had to fight tooth and nail to keep property that you hardly even wanted, all because you were a woman. Because you weren’t pregnant with a son who could carry his hypothetical father’s name. Because you were a woman without the heir to your late husband’s fortunes, you were seen as nothing, for a long time. And now, there were women who were becoming knights?

You were more impressed than confused.

You felt another pinch from Pietro, this time a little harder. You breathed in through your nose, a welcoming smile on your face as you grappled for words.

“Hello,” you said, public voice still working hard as you internally scrambled for words. You were looking the red headed woman right in her eyes, the eyes that were so intense that if you hadn’t been in rooms where extreme business had gone down, you would have melted. You tried to remember the standard greeting. “Welcome to my keep. I hope that I can accommodate you during your stay, and that you are successful in your search for what it is that you are looking for.” You knew the words were off by a bit, but you saw the coachman nod in approval that you didn’t really care to have.

The knight took a step forward, and the sound of a heavy footstep crashing against your well-kept grass made you shiver. The trampled grass had nothing on the way that you reacted to hearing her voice. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Lady Mirellis. I sincerely thank you for allowing me into your home.”

It was hardly your home, and you could tell that the two of you had already gotten off on the wrong foot. You knew it was because of your shameless staring. “May I be graced with knowing your name?”

If possible, she stood up a little straighter. “I am Natasha Romanoff, My Lady.”

If you were hearing correctly, you heard the slight awkwardness in her last two words. Only people with titles of their own called other lords and ladies “my lady”, and lower born people were to call them “milady”. She must have been lowborn, just like you. “It is my deepest pleasure to meet you, Natasha. May I show you around my keep?”

“Typically,” the coachman cut in, and you furrowed your brows at the way he interrupted the stop-and-start flow of the conversation. “It isn’t the lord—sorry—lady of the house’s job to do that.”

Wanda opened her mouth, highly defensive of you and ready to go because it was a fight she could afford to pick. A servant and a coachman were on the same level. She would face no punishment for talking back to the man. However, you reached to your right and squeezed her hand twice.

“Well, I am the lady of the house, and I would like to show my new guest her accommodations.” The man narrowed his eyes slightly at you, and it became obvious to everyone that he clearly wasn’t expecting back talk from you.

You knew that everyone thought widows were these gentle, sad women. The type that cried themselves to sleep and wished to meet their husbands again in the afterlife. The type that listened at anything that a man uttered simply because he was a man, or because they didn’t have the energy to entertain an arguement or to correct them. Especially ladies. But you were not supposed to be a lady. You wore fancy dresses and had gold and had a small castle to yourself, but part of you would always be that girl who beat up the boys who lived a few acres away for talking about your hair and then rolled in mud with them, laughing about it the very next day.

Even through the glances that were thrown between the five of you standing there, you continued. “My staff has worked so hard on making sure it was nice for her. I’d like to show off their diligence now.” It wasn’t a question.

“Do as you please, milady.”

You resisted the urge to nod smugly. “Thank you.” You watched him climb back onto his chair and quirked a brow. The coachman always stayed for dinner. It was considered offensive if they did not, both to the knight and to the lord or lady. “Did you not want to stay for the meal, good sir?”

“I must get back, milady. If that is alright with you.”

You knew you should utter something lengthy that you didn’t mean at all, but the most you could get out after his blatant rudeness was a quick “safe travels.” There was a long stretch of awkward silence as you watched him leave, arms hanging at your sides as the trotting sound of horses carried him away.

“Goodness, was he rude.”

“Pietro.” Wanda hissed, and you bit the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. You whirled around to look at the knight— Natasha— and saw that she was already looking at you with blatant curiosity.

“Would it be alright with you if I took you around myself?” You asked, and she nodded her head. “Well, I’m sure you’re hungry. Would you like to eat first?”

You were beginning to realize very quickly that the woman was the staring type. Her eyes, no, her entire face and persona was so demanding and intense. It was hard to even be provoked by her shameless staring and possible judgement, because at least she was open with it. The more you looked at her, though, the more you knew that you would never understand what was happening behind her eyes. “I would like to see.”

“Then you will see,” you stated, and gave Wanda a look. She knew immediately what it meant, and she walked off to tell the chefs to expect you in an hour or so. “We can start with the outside area and make our way in.”

She was very much the staring type. Not even just at faces or people in general, but with everything. You noticed that when anything caught her eye, she looked at it for a few seconds in silence and then moved on, like she heard them speak something unknown to everyone else and took the time to listen.

“These are the training grounds,” you said after walking to the back half of the castle, where the grass was still trained to grow with strength and hardly a thing was out of place. The training grounds were for young squires in the area or kids that just wanted to play fight. You had made the area yourself, and it was one of your favorite parts of your home. You liked being able to look outside and see children playing freely, and the sound of laughter was something that everyone needed in life. “You’re free to use them in any way you see fit, of course.”

“That’s very kind of you.”

“You’ll run into aspiring knights here and there, but they are good children.” Your voice was fond as you spoke of them, and then took a right. “And just down here, we have the gardens.”

And gardens, they were. They were the only thing in the castle that was actually yours while your husband was alive. When you had arrived, the patch of land was so disgraced that it would have been insulting to call it a garden. The flowers were droopy, the soil was dry, and the vibrant colors that were once there had been sucked away. Your husband didn’t care about the area, and neither did anyone else, so you adopted it. You had built it from the ground up and made it into what it was; a huge and gorgeous garden full of colors, with ivy hanging from rails in what looked like an unruly manner and bushes full of roses and begonias and everything in between. It was caged off by golden rails, but the rails were hardly binding. They were so wrapped with leaves that it looked like they grew with the garden.

“This is my favorite part of the keep,” you stated softly, walking down it. You had expanded it so that it went down and into the forest, the rails forming a path. You walked down it every so often yourself, deep into the woods where no one would bother you, where you could look at the stars above in peace.

“Is it yours?”

“What?” You asked, tearing your eyes from a particular bush to see her looking up at the ivy.

“This garden,” she said, and you realized that you were strolling closer and closer to the woods. You stopped walking, but didn’t make any move to go and meet her. “Do you tend to it?”

“It’s mine,” you answered, not even bothering to take the subtle pride out of your voice. “It’s my project. I started it when I got here, and now it’s flourishing.”

“Where did you learn how to garden?”

It was no secret that typically, ladies did not get their hands dirty, even if the activity was simple planting. They were supposed to stay inside and knit or something like that. Ladies could go outside to look at gardens, but they had staff to plant for them. So, did Natasha not know that you weren’t born with a title? “When I was a girl,” you answered vaguely.

“Your Lord Father allowed you?”

My father was no lord. “Yours allowed you to wield a sword?” The sound of armor clanking brought you out of your slight hostility, and you sighed. “I apologize.”

“It’s quite alright.” The harshness in her voice told you that she was offended by what you said, and she turned around once she realized that the two of you were nearing the tree line.

You walked around with Natasha, giving her the rest of the tour halfheartedly and only speaking when absolutely necessary. It was clear that the two of you clearly weren’t clicking as well as you hoped to, and while that was tragic, you weren’t going to kiss anyone’s feet to get in their good graces.

“I’m sure you’re hungry by now.” The second you stepped on the wood floors of the inside of your keep, the warmth hit you. Your shoes clicked on the material as you walked ahead of her, not looking back or waiting for an answer. “I’ll show you the kitchens, and then the dining hall.”

The dining hall was known for its size. It was huge, and the ceiling was high. Everything that was said echoed, and the lighting provided by strategically placed candles made the hall have an elegant, almost eerie feeling to it. The staff was already bustling around, plating food and pouring wine. Wanda and Pietro were already there, their harsh and bickering whispers hitting your ears until they heard you approaching.

“Oh, please, sit.” Wanda did so immediately, and Pietro walked around the table to pull out your chair, which sat at the head of it.

You cringed when Pietro sat down. He had been dethroned from his seat at your left hand, because it was courteous of you to give up that seat for your new night. That was one tradition that you wouldn’t break, simply because it would be seen as disrespectful. “You can sit right there, Lady Natasha.” You saw her lip twitch.

In all honesty, you had no idea what to call her formally. You two certainly weren’t close enough to address each other by first name, and you doubted she even knew it. But she wasn’t a man, and male knights were called “Sir”. She wasn’t a “Sir”. You didn’t want to offend her further by calling her it.

The first half of the dinner was in awkward silence. Wanda kept giving you glances, and you frowned at the way she was looking at you- like you had clearly messed something up. You sighed through your nose when you heard Pietro clear his throat, a sound that meant that he was about to run his mouth.

“So, my lady knight, what do you think of the castle?”

The red head didn't even realize she was being addressed until she looked up and saw you and everyone else looking at her expectantly. “It’s very nice.” You waited a bit, listening to hear whatever empty compliments that she would give for the sake of being polite. Ten seconds passed, and there was nothing.

You chuckled. “Thank you,” you answered just as shortly, holding back the urge to laugh much louder than was appropriate.

“So, where are you from?”

“The slums.” You nod in acknowledgment, and guilt. Sometimes you repressed the images of people living from coin to coin. But silly you, silly everyone. For there to have been people on the top, there had to be people at the bottom. And those who lived at the bottom lived in what were called “the slums”. “I don’t know if you would know anything about that, My Lady.”

Wanda made a noise that told you that the bold knight’s words were clearly meant to wound you, and Pietro’s brows shot upwards so quickly that you barely saw the movement happen. You stared at your plate, jaw dropped open in surprise and mortification.

You were fuming on the inside. How the hell would she know who you were? What you dealt with? How your husband was as cruel as he was disgusting? How you grew up a poor farmer’s daughter? She didn’t know, and that was what kept you grounded. How could she have known?

Before you could get in your right mind to utter a threat that you were sure that your late husband had said in your presence at least once, you nodded your head and took it in stride. You stood up from the table and didn’t look at her or the confused look she shot you after looking at your painfully unfinished plate.

“Wanda will show you to your chambers, Lady Natasha. I hope you enjoy your first dinner of many here at my castle, and I hope that tonight begins your yearlong journey to wisdom.” And with that, you turned on your heels after taking your plate shamelessly, heels clacking against the polished floor once again, silence filling the hall until long after you left.

§§

By the third day Natasha was there and the second that you had been blatantly avoiding her, you were starting to feel bad for fueling the fire between you two. She was to stay under your roof and do what she had to for a full year, and you antagonized her. You gave the sacred act of showing a knight to their room to someone else, and you understood Natasha’s lack of speech towards you to be a consequence of that.

But that was fine. You certainly didn’t need for the girl to like you. It would have made things much easier and smoother, but it wasn’t a necessity. Your job was to give her food, water, shelter, and time to find herself and her purpose as a knight. Nothing said that the two of you had to be as thick as thieves.

But that also didn’t mean that you would actively pass on befriending her. You decided after a long time of sitting at the polished wooden desk that had become yours that you would be her friend should fate allow it, and if not, there was no harm to it. But you weren’t going to chase her, no matter how wonderfully her bright hair would work as an object to follow.

A soft calling of your name happened seconds before Wanda opened the door. You greeted her informally and grinned at her, until you saw the look on her face and the sealed paper in her hand. Immediately, your joyful expression left and you sighed.

“Who is it this time?” Wanda shut the door behind her after your question, and you gave her a look. “It can’t be Lord Rumlow again.”

Brock Rumlow was not a good man. No man who had power was a good man, but he was one of the worst. He had gone through two wives in the past three years, and the second one was found with stab wounds in the forest. How he had gotten out of being tried for her murder was beyond you, and it made you sick to your stomach every time you thought about it. Now, he set his sights on you, a widow sitting on plenty of money and land. He had been sending you letters, flowers, gold, dresses, anything that a narcissistic man would think that another human being would like simply because the things were tangible. And the letters always said the same old thing; to marry him. And he wasn’t ever really asking.

“It’s him,” Wanda confirmed, her tone telling you that she felt the same way you did towards the vile man.

“I want to burn it,” you said, and immediately, Wanda crossed the room to put the note in the fire, waiting for your final say. “Let me read what this imbecile has asked for now. I wonder what beautiful horse or jewel he’ll offer for my hand, this time.”

You took the letter from Wanda gently and gave her a small smile, and she urged you to open it, just as nervous to see what was inside as you were. You stared at his seal for a few seconds, eyeing the red wax with a three headed serpent engraved with disdain before tearing it right open. You did the rest without ceremony, your eyes narrowed as you found the messy and unbothered handwriting that you would recognize from anywhere.

Lady of Riverstone,

I take it that my other letters may have been lost to the wind. I apologize for not reaching you earlier. But, if you have been getting my letters, then my main offer stands the same. I would be honored for you to take my name and stand under my veil, and for you to become my wife. Marriage to me would give you a great deal of benefits, and I have listed them down below. I would like an answer within two fortnights, and if I don’t get one, I’ll send another letter.

It was all more of the same, more of the same offers and then a little more, vague threats, and monotonous language that he hardly knew how to use correctly. You read with a neutral expression, even though Wanda was shocked reading all of the things he was offering. He signed it off like he did every other letter.

Lord Rumlow, of Serpent’s Keep.

“He offered you two tons of gold to send your father?”

“Do you notice how he’s never called me Lady Mirellis?” You asked, sipping the chalice of water that constantly sat at your desk, and got refilled whenever someone walked by and saw it nearing empty. “Or by my name?”

“I have.”

“It’s always ‘Lady of Riverstone’,” you sighed, shaking your head. “If he wants the land, he should just go on and say that. It’s much more respectable for him to be honest with me. Maybe I would have said yes already.”

Wanda made a face. “You’re lying, now.”

“Well, of course I am. I've never seen him, and all he wants is a woman to beat around. I’m not that woman, no woman is. Do you think I want to find myself dead within a half year of being wed?” There was a sharp knock on your door.

“He wouldn’t kill you. He wouldn’t gain these assets after your death,” Wanda said softly, understanding that you were about to finish the conversation. “He must be truly desperate to pay ou two tons of gold. That could help nearly anyone out of a pickle, and it would certainly pay off some things back at the farm.”

You knew that. But the truth was… you held a certain amount of irrational and rational disdain for your family. You knew that some of it was warranted just off of the way humans worked in general, but others weren’t. You knew for a fact that a part of you would always be bitter about the way that no one fought hard enough for you not to be taken from your home. You knew that a part of you would be bitter because they took the money that your late husband had offered them, like you were the fattest, most desirable pig in the pen. And there would forever, and ever, be a part of you—if not all of you— that would be angry about your wedding night.

Half of your family showed. The other half came, took you to a back room, and cried. They cried on your night of terror, and you comforted them. It was the one time where you truly needed your mother and her maternal instincts, the one time you needed your brother to teach you some moves that could hurt a man if you needed them. And they either weren’t where you needed them, or weren’t what you needed them. Both truths hurt the same.

“My family doesn’t need money,” you settled on saying, swallowing the burning that came with thinking about the people you shared blood with. “If they needed it, they would ask.”

“Your father is a proud man, he wouldn’t set that pride aside. Especially not to ask one of his own daughters for money.”

“Well, let that be their problem,” you said, although your harsh words weren’t as impactful because of the tremor in them. “I won’t marry Lord Rumlow.”

Wanda leaned forward a bit, and she took both of your hands in hers as the knocking grew louder. She looked you in the eyes, just the way one true friend looked at another. With the same ferocity in her voice as the time when she assured you that no one was going to force you to give up your rights to ladyship, her next words were no louder than a whisper. “And no one will make you.”

Your eyes almost grew watery as you held her hands, feeling the purity of the bond you shared with her surging. “Thank you.” You looked towards the door and let her hands go, uttering a soft command.

Pietro stood there with his arms crossed and a flushed look on his face. He cocked his head to the side at the sight of you and Wanda hovering over a broken open letter, and took a few steps forward. It was upside down, so you turned it his way so that he could read it easier, and the second he recognized the handwriting, he groaned.

“I think I can assume what this is,” he rolled his eyes, and he picked it up and walked over to the fire. When you’d said nothing, he tossed it in and the three of you watched it burn. “I came to tell you that our little knight is strange.”

“How so?”

“Well, she's writing.”

You furrowed your brows. “Writing?” You repeated, remembering her saying that she grew up poor. Most commoners had no idea how to read or write. You only learned because you had to learn when you married a lord. And even if knights had the ability to read and write, they hardly did. Words had very little value to a man who could wield a sword.

But Natasha Romanoff was no man.

“What on earth would she be writing about?” Wanda asked, leaning against the desk. “I wonder if she’s required to write a review on her treatment.”

Pietro gave a short but genuine laugh. “She’s probably writing down terrible things about you to give to the king after she returns home,” he joked, and Wanda cracked a smile, but you couldn’t find it in you to laugh.

“I couldn’t care less about a review of my hospitality or lack therefore of,” you drawled.

Wanda rolled her eyes. “Yes, you do, because you’re a kind person.”

“But she is not.” You felt bad for saying the words that you said not even seconds after.

“We don’t know that,” Wanda reasoned softly. “Actually, I happen to know that she’s quite nice. And she’s level headed and very smart, from what I can see. She’s no man with a little praise under his belt, that’s for sure.”

“So, she’s not boastful.” You said. “That’s good. But I don’t see her and I sharing more interactions than what we need to.”

“With all due respect, Lady Y/N,” Pietro said, leaning forward with that characteristic smirk of his plastered over his face. “You are very dramatic. You always have been.”

You could hardly even pretend to be offended. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” Wanda said quietly, though not fearfully at all. “You are always dramatic, and then things work out.”

Wanda was right. She very much was, actually. Things like the river nearly drying up and crops rotting too quickly and other things that were completely out of your hands terrified you. The things that you couldn’t control made you irrational and erratic, and that was probably your worst fault. You did the same with things you could change, only with worrying. Something as simple as an apology could fix something, but you would sit on giving the apology for hours, sometimes even days.

That night, when it seemed like everyone else was fast asleep and dreaming sweet little images, you put on slippers and walked right outsides, your guards not even asking you where you were going. You walked right out of the side doors and into the garden, humming quietly to yourself as you walked through the entrance of it with your pails of water.

It was quiet besides the noise of bugs chirping, and the occasional flap of wings from birds above. Even your humming had tapered off, and it felt like you could have been able to hear things from miles away. You smiled in the crisp air as you bent over to water a rose bush, a soft affirmation towards the red flowers when you saw how pretty they looked in the moonlight. When you stood back up and turned your head around, you gasped in fright and tumbled towards the ground.

“Shit,” a hand caught your arm and the other was on your shoulder as your chest heaved, adrenaline rushing from being so frightened. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you. I thought you saw me.” It took you a second to see the face of the woman speaking in the moonlight, but when you saw it was the knight, you sighed.

You were set back on two feet, and then Natasha took a step backwards. “Why are you out here?”

She shrugged. “It’s pretty.” There was a stretch of silence as you waited for her to say something, anything else. “It’s safe.”

A part of you was angered by that statement. Yes, the gardens were safe. Of course they were, they were your safety! They were your place that you went to when you felt like nothing was in your control, like your own decisions weren’t yours. Nothing could hurt you in the gardens, and plants couldn’t talk. They held every secret that you could ever tell, they held every tear that you never shed in front of another, and they saw every emotion that you were too stoic to show in front of others. They were the one place that you could get peace. And now the knight has ruined it.

But on the other hand, you were proud of yourself for creating something that someone else can admire. You created something that someone else could be free in, and in a way, that was amazing. And that hand was outweighing the other.

So, you said, “I’m glad it feels that way.” You cleared your throat softly when you realized that you were speaking to her the way you spoke to the twins. “I created it as my own safe space, so I’m glad someone else thinks of it that way, too.”

There was a short yet heavy silence between you and Natasha, and then you saw her turn to face you, her eyes burning a hole into the side of your face. “I know you’re not very excited to have me here, but I’m here. So we can at least try to be cordial.”

“Is that not what we’re being?” You asked, not even taking your eyes off of the moon. “I thought we were even being a little friendly.”

“It would be nice if it lasted.” Natasha muttered, and you nodded your head.

“I don’t know if I offended you with the question about whether or not your father approved your knighthood,” you said, sighing. “I assume that I did. And if you carry around that offense, then I apologize. I don’t like talking about my own father, but you couldn’t have known that.”

“You do not need to be forgiven,” she states. “I apologize, as well.”

“And it’s not that I don’t want you here,” you started, already cursing yourself for going into what she had said not even a full minute earlier. You were tense as she waited for you to continue, but you just shrugged and sighed. “Just know that that’s not it.” Something reached toward you out of the corner of your eye, and you finally turned your head to look at her.

She was… she was nothing short of gorgeous. You were taller than her, so you looked down at her just a little bit. Her red hair looked more brown than anything, and her blue eyes were pale and still as beautiful as they were during the day. There was the smallest hint of a smile on her face, nervous almost, as you looked down at the arm that was reached out your way. The moon was shedding you both its white light, and it primarily rested right where her arm was extended, her palm lord and turned to the side.

She wanted to shake hands with you. Shaking hands was seen as archaic, and knights certainly didn’t touch ladies unless they were assisting them. But, you knew by now that Natasha was not the typical knight. One of her fingers twitched, and you realized that she was just waiting there, her hand hanging in the air, like a gavel ready to drop at any moment. And quickly, almost enough to make the other woman startle, you took her right hand in your own and shook it twice, keeping your eyes right on hers.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

                                                       ******

hiiii guys! still establishing things here with this chapter, but when things kick off, they are going full speed. i already love this fic, and i can’t wait to put all my ideas down for it as the finished product! i hope you guys liked it, and if you did, please show her some love! i have a little taglist building up, so here it goes!

@normanijauregui​ @fayhar​ @8plasma​ @procrastinatingsapphictrash​ 

@slut-for-nat​ @dontmindmejustreading @swords-are-cool​

@200605chaeng​ @thescottishavenger @antidaytime​ @jenny-song​ @madamevirgo​ @natasha-danvers​ @drdarcy-lewis​ @blackxwidowsxwife​ 

[kaito-is-baby]

Devil Town

Shoto Todoroki x Fem!Reader 

Warnings: Spoilers about Dabi's identity? (I don't think this is a spoiler anymore lmao) and a little of gaslighting from the reader if you stretch

Plot: AU where Shoto kills Touya on accident, he and Endeavor run away, they end up on a ghost town and meet the reader, this will be a series and I can promise you I have a very good mystery for the town, also this was totally inspired by devil town by cavetown, it wil have many references to the song so… if you are a fan I think you will like this <3

part 1 (previous) | part 3 (next)

The bright rays of dawn streaming through his curtains woke Shoto up, he took his phone in his hands wondering how soon in the morning would it be to have the sun just rising now

9:00 a.m his phone screen read 

Where in the world did the sun rise so damn late?

Shoto found clean clothes on his little bedside table, the very same clothes he was wearing, the same print on the white t-shirt he was wearing was resting on the white t-shirt on his table, the same blue shirt he was wearing could be found underneath the white t-shirt and the very same denim jeans he was wearing too, they had just one diference, the new ones waiting in his bedside table were not soaked in now dry blood from his brother.

Once dressed in his new clothes he opened the door just to hear his father’s voice calling him from behing 

Deciding to ignore him Shoto hurried up to the stairs, soon finding the hostel hall and, in its reception desk, the recepcionist was waiting, her elbows on the tabble, her chin resting on her hands and a little movement from side to side from her head, he found her just like he had left her the night before, the same white striped dressing gown on her and the same 'everything is just a game' expression on her face

The girl waved at him and that was the only thing Shoto needed to take his decision

He approached the girl, ready to ask her what had kept him awake almost all night when she cut him 

“Were the clothes of your liking?” she smiled 

“Eh... yeah, yes they were” so it had been her who brought them to his room and found them in the first place “How... How did you find clothes so similar to my old ones? And... it was already midnight when we arrived, the day had just started when I woke up and they were already on my room where did you bought them?”

“I... made them?” her eyebrows curved “Look, it’s my job to make sure everyone in this town is comfortable, I gave you father clothes too and he did not complain, take them and stop asking so many questions, will you?”

“But... I have one more question” the girl nodded at him, allowing him to continue “I want to know your name” 

She giggled 

“I want to know your real name too, I guess we can’t have everything we want” 

“At least give me a false name so I can refer to you” 

“You souldn't refer to me, you should go out and meet the town's people, you will lose any interest in me as soon as you do so”

“I heavily doubt it”

“But I am sure of it” she said, focusing her eyes on the book she had on her table

If there was something Shoto was more curious about than the girl it was that book, it looked like the usual book they have on a hotel to know who is staying in each dorm but the misteryous girl and her misteryous hostel had no one else hospeding than him and his father, what else could be filling pages and pages of that book? and why would she look at it and have it with her everytime? 

"Look, you are cute, really cute, but I’m not interested so can you please leave for once?” the girl’s angry voice woke him up

“Yes, sorry, I got distracted by...” she would never tell him what was inside that book, would she ever explain anything? “its nothing. I will leave now”

Already on the door Shoto said something else before leaving the hostel “You are really cute too” It was more a muffle to himself than a sentence directed to her yet she heard it and a silly smile appeared on her face

He was shy and unused to romantic interactions

And something much worse, he was in a weird town with a death in his back, this was not the time to fall for someone, less someone even weirder than the town itself

...

The sun rays blinded Shoto at first, how could it be already so shiny when it had just rised?

It’s true one of Shoto’s eyes was blue, which usually make the eyes more sensitive but he had never really be blinded by the sun before 

“I guess the hostel is way to dark and my eyes were not ready for this” Shoto calmed himself 

The whole town had changed, he knew it, his father's car wasn't at the hostel door anymore and the hostel was again at the top of a slope

But this time, under the slope Shoto found what he expected to find the first time instead of a weird forest, a little town

Much to Shoto’s disgrace it was now the entrance to the town and the road he and his father were following what had disappeared this time alongside the lonely forest 

Not more than ten houses, a clock tower and a cafe 

That was what constitued this “town”

He entered the small cafe, trying to get them to give him some information about the whereabouts of the road 

Inside the counter was a blonde boy with a black highlight, laughing loudly at whatever his co worker -a big muscular man with thick lips and scary eyebrows- had said. The big guy was scary at first but once Shoto saw him baking and joking with the blonde his first impresion changed completely, he seemed like a good person

But then Shoto thought to himself, Didn't he look like a good person too? And he was a murderer and no better than his horrible father 

“I’m Jirou and I have to attend you, is there anything you want?” a purple haired girl in the same uniform as the two boys behind the bar welcomed him and guided him to his table 

“Do you have green tea?” 

“No, we got out of it just yesterday but we will have the new cargament by tomorrow!”

“Well then I guess a dark coffe will make it too” 

“Alright, tomorrow we will have your green tea ready eh... what’s your name?”

“oh! right!! you are new!!” the blonde exclamed 

“The name’s Dabi” 

“Welcome to Devil town Dabi!” A pink colored skin girl greeted him

Shoto’s cup of coffe was almost empty when a green haired boy filled with freckless all over his faces entered the saloon, standing on a girl of his same height, big eyes and red cheeks

“Denki please, could you give us some ice for Izuku’s ankle? he broke it again”

“Shouldn’t you go to the hospital instead of asking for ice?” Shoto found himself asking

“Are you going to bring them to the hospital?” A deep and angry voice asked him 

“Don't you have one here?”

“Fuck off bastard, you can’t be serious and I really hate people mocking me” The blonde boy whose deep angry voice belonged to treatened him 

“Uraraka will take me to the city tomorrow to get checked” The injured boy, izuku, affirmed

 “In this shitty town there is nothing more than stupid trees” the angry boy spoke again

“And a road in the middle right?” Shoto asked, trying to find it again 

“What are you talking about?” Izuku asked

“There was a road with a sign with the towns name that crossed the whole town”

“The whole town are 10 houses and this cafe, I think you are mistaken, there’s no road here” the girl who attended him, Jirou, clarified 

“No, there was a road and-” Shoto then found a better thing to ask “the hostel! the hostel at the end of this slope, you have seen it right?”

“Yeah, but it’s been abandoned for years now, none of us has seen it working”  The baker answered 

“I don’t think its abandoned, there’s a recepcionist working on there”

“Who?” Denki, the guy who gave the injured boy the ice, asked this time

“I... I dont know her name”

“Look bastard, if you want to make fun of someone go somewhere else I dont want to see your stupid half burned face”

“Bakugo!” the girl with pink skin reprimanded him

...

Shoto left the saloon after that, wondering if he was the one losing his mind and not the people on this town, his biggest hipotesis was that both, he and the villagers were losing their minds

He wanted answers and he wanted answers from that stupidly misterious girl on the hostel 

He headed to the little amount of trees near him, he remebered, alongside the road were plenty of trees, he heard his mother on the woods. He had to walk through plenty of them until he found the hostel and not a single time did he sight the damn town

Shoto walked miles, he walked through the woods for hours and yet he couldn't find the road to get out of the weird town

He heard his mother voice again, calling him, screaming at him like the day he got the scar he had on his face 

“You said something dumb again” Shoto turned to where the voice came from

Sitting on one of the trees branches there she was, the recepcionist again 

“She’s mad” She jumped back to the ground “At least that’s what they say”

The girl was even prettier at the moonlight, it was easy for Shoto to lose himself on her eyes and forget about everything she was saying 

“Who? Who says that?” 

“The trees, obviously, who else would it be?” she laughed 

“oh” Shoto tried to find what she found so logical on her answer but he did just find it irracional, there was no way the trees were speaking, not even if he himself was hearing his mom coming from one of them “who... who is mad?”

“I'd say it’s your mother, she must miss you, all of you.” Was she refering to his older brother too? “I think this is not what she expected when you left” 

Shoto gulpped

He knew well what the misterious recepcionist was talking about, he left on a mision with his father to bring Touya back and now Touya was dead and both him and Endeavor were missing with no explanation

“But we’re fine, no one’s gonna catch you here” She said, speaking from his back again, she had walked through him while he thought about his past 

“What-?” 

When he turned around she was no longer there and so he decided to leave, it was dark at night already and he wanted to wake up soon, he needed to know more 

...

“Can I get an explanation to that last thing you said in the woods?” Shoto exclamed just the moment he entered the hostel, his voice much louder than he had ever expected it to come

“I... I wasn’t on the woods Dabi, I’ve been here all day” 

“You were on the woods, sitting on a branche you said something about being save here because no one would catch us and-”

“Dabi, I think you need to rest” 

“No, you already said something like that yesterday, when you came from- where did you came from when I arrived at this town? I walked trough the whole forest and didn't see you”

“I was here all day, just like every other day, every day is the same here”

“No, no you weren't, when I arrived here this place was lonely like-” Then shoto remembered what the villagers had said about the hostel “-an abandoned place...”

“Well, I’m sorry I can’t have a 5 stars hotel but I’m not even charging you so-”

“You weren’t here when I entered and arrived later, you were out there and I didn’t see you and this place smelled like... The woods sounded like...” Like Touya, like mom was what Shoto tought to himself

“Do you need me to help you get to your room?”

“No... no, I will be fine”

Shoto set his alarm at 5 a.m, the unnamed girl couldn’t be already up at those hours right? He would take a look at that book of hers and finally discover what was going on here. Was this his own personal hell? Because it sure seemed like it 

[i-will-physically-fight-you]

Monsters in the Closet

Title: Monsters in the Closet

Summary: “You’re so much nicer when you’re bigger.” 

 Roman knows he can’t change the past. He can’t change the way he treated Virgil horribly, driving him to feel the only way he could be accepted was to be the villain of the story. But he can sit there and feel guilty knowing he is not worthy of any of the trust this young Virgil has placed in him. 

(Part of the Tiny Virgil verse, takes place after An Itsy Bitsy Nightmare)

Word-Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Brotherly Prinixety

Warnings: Guilt, Panic/Anxiety, Treating Someone Wrongfully in the Past, Deaging, Hurt/Comfort

This part of a very late birthday present for @theeternalspace! I’m so sorry this took so long, please forgive me and I hope you enjoy! :)

-

Roman lets out a sigh and opens his eyes. Virgil is still snuggled close to his chest, asleep again after waking up what appeared to be a horrible nightmare. Roman can’t find himself to fall back asleep. His mind refuses to settle, refuses to let go of what Virgil said to him moments ago. 

“You’re so much nicer when you’re bigger.”

The words rumble in Roman’s mind like that of a great and fearsome thunderstorm. How could it not? All the more confirmation that regardless of the unfounded trust young Virgil placed in him, he’d still expected to inevitably be treated terribly.

And that? The guilt of that stings deeper than any sting of the blade or a bandersnatch’s ferocious bite.

It also makes him wonder what exactly the Ankle-Terror thought was going on. Kids aren’t stupid. Naïve, yes, but that’s different from being stupid. They’re creative and innovative in ways adults couldn’t dream to be. Plus, they tended to love engaging in-depth conversations about Disney. 

Sometimes, Roman misses the days when Thomas was a kid. Back when they were free to run around in the backyard and reimagine the swings as a spaceship or the underneath of the trampoline as the lair of an evil sorcerer. Back when they weren’t bound by inane things such as time constraints and the logistics of translating an idea into a real-world possibility. 

He could get Thomas and the others roped in a fantastical make-believe for hours. Weeks even of stretching an incredible imaginary world to its limits. The only things that ever stood in their way was the outside forces of school, parents and bedtime.

Nowadays, the reminiscing with a tinge of regret. There always had to be villains to fight, you see. An evil mad scientist. A corrupt king. A greedy dragon. The list goes on and on. He never ever played the villain. He’d always cast himself and Thomas as the heroes. Logan and Patton were the supporting stars. Virgil and the rest? The villains through and through. 

Virgil at this age would be used to this treatment. Rather than in his rightful heroic role as Protector, Defender, Watcher of All Perceived Threats--he played roles such as a wicked sorcerer who cast fear and disgrace upon the entire kingdom with his heinous sorcery.

He took to the roles without much grumbling. Oftentimes, he didn���t perform to young Roman’s expectations. Roman would chastise his performances, critiquing every bit. He wasn’t ever scary or evil enough for a Side responsible for making Thomas scared of monsters under his bed.

Virgil would also veto actions such as climbing super high up a tree and using it as a crow’s nest for a pirate ship. Much to Roman’s dismay, the others would side with him. Logan because Thomas could break a bone if he should fall and Patton because their parents wouldn’t approve. Thus making Virgil a major downer at times in Roman’s eyes and all the more deserving of the villain title.

It wasn’t until Thomas was older, closer to middle school, that Virgil started lashing out. He refused to play along, slinking off to sulk in his room. His influence had also grown and suddenly it wasn’t just monsters under the bed anymore--the monsters were everywhere. Homework, Teachers, Friends, Family. Roman worked overtime to help Thomas escape to worlds unfettered by these fears.

Of course, back then, he presumed this was Virgil fully showing his true colors as an antagonist. Thomas himself believed it, wishing vehemently for Virgil to just disappear. It was Roman’s responsibility, nay his purpose, to make Thomas’s dreams and desires come true. He was the Fairy Godmother to Thomas’s Cinderella. So for years and years he’d pursued this dream, desperate to make Thomas happy, proud even.

Now, he knows better. He knows that Virgil is more than just Anxiety, just like Roman and the others are more than what their title implies. He is vigilant, he keeps Thomas safe from external threats. Sometimes he can be overzealous, but he means well. And shutting him out isn’t the answer. It never was. 

With all that in mind, he wonders if the Boy Terror thinks this is one of Roman’s elaborate make-believe games. Roman could easily picture a younger him coming up with a make-believe game involving himself and the others being adults. True, Thomas back then liked envisioning himself as a kid defeating the evil dragon like kids his age did in the media he watched. 

But all kids at some point wonder what it’d be like to be an adult. They imagined themselves in the most exciting professions that made a real impact on the world. Then they’d grow up and very few of them made it to such professions.

(Except Thomas of course. Roman is incredibly proud of him and his accomplishments as an Ex-Viner turned Youtuber. Yes, they are still far from achieving feats such as Hollywood or Broadway, but still! For a while Thomas had to settle for a real, sensible job such as a chemical engineer. While science interested him, it didn’t drive him the way that creative pursuits such as singing and acting had. Thomas is lucky to be able to have a platform to do what he loves. Roman tries reminding himself of this during incredibly rare moments of insecurity.)

Kid Fright must be ecstatic about this. For possibly the first time in his life Creativity is including him in a game without making him the villain. Adult Virgil doesn’t talk much about the past--the few times Roman has tried to breach the topic it’d been an instant shutdown. 

But Virgil has always cared for them, even before they’d all realized this. He must’ve taken any part Roman gave him out of a desperation to be with them and keep them safe. It sickens Roman just thinking about it. He doesn’t know how Virgil stayed strong for so long. Roman doesn’t know if he could’ve lasted a day in Virgil’s place.

He is probably also terrified and waiting for the other shoe to drop. Regardless of his age, Virgil always expects the worst out of any scenario. Even now that’s been a year since he’s been accepted among the core sides that make up Thomas. He can’t help it, it’s in his nature. Roman can’t blame him for it. One year isn’t enough to undo the damages that the other twenty-nine years caused.

One thing is for certain: if he does think this is one of Roman’s make-believe games, he must think Thomas is still a kid. And Roman’s not sure if he should let Virgil know any different. In fact, it might be best to keep Virgil distracted while the others work to find the solution to this strange vexing problem. Because he knows Virgil won’t take it well to finding his host all grown-up. He thinks that none of them would in his place.

So he’ll keep Fall Out Kid safe away in the mindscape and continue being the Prince he deserved. He’ll allow Virgil to be the hero and he’ll play all the other roles. Sidekick, damsel-in-distress, villain--if he must. It’s silly, but he’s almost buzzing with excitement at all the worlds they could explore from within the common area. Cowboys, Spaceship, Space Cowboys. The possibilities are endless!

A small hand tugs at his sleeve, tugging him away from his thoughts altogether. He looks down at the inquisitive eyes slightly shrouded by a mop of dirty blond hair.

“Yes, little prince?” He says, trying to blink away the prickling sensation in his eyes. 

He refuses to cry again in front of the Little Shop of Terror. He knows he will have to confront his bubbling guilt and sorrow at some point, but for now he must push it aside. He is used to this. Being a hero means sometimes remaining strong and not showing vulnerability to loved ones.

“M’hungry.” Virgil murmurs into his chest, little arms wrapped around Roman’s neck. It’s almost endearing with how much he resembles a baby possum clinging to their mother. Roman isn’t used to a Virgil so physically affectionate. 

Virgil is like a feral cat. You couldn’t hug or pat him on the shoulder without warning. You had to ask and very rarely did he accept, even if it came from Patton. No, the best way is to let him initiate it. Let him lean his head against your shoulder, or his leg overlapping your own during a movie night. 

You also don’t acknowledge it and by not acknowledging it, Virgil then inches his way more until it grows into a proper hug. Then he would withdraw and promptly act like nothing  happened. Like you were to forget the interaction ever occured in the first place.

Logan has a theory that it’s because Virgil is the Fight-or-Flight instincts and physical affection lowers his guard in a way he isn’t completely comfortable with. Roman now has a theory that it’s a lot more heartbreaking than that. 

“You’re hungry?” Roman asks, attempting to steer his mind out of Despairing Drive and into Present Place. 

 A small growling noise occurs and Jack Smallington ducks his head down, embarrassed.

Roman isn’t entirely surprised considering that it’s been about eight hours since they discovered approximately five-year-old Virgil in the place of grown-up Virgil. Who knows how long he’d been like that, alone in his room, before that. Virgil also rarely eats so the poor kid probably woke up hungry. 

Roman feels so stupid. If it’d been Patton or Logan watching him, the first thing they would’ve made sure is if he was hungry. Because kid or not, it isn’t in Virgil’s nature to be self-advocating. That type of stuff freaks him out. Yet another reason Roman is completely unqualified to watch over Virgil. 

“Okay,” Roman breaths in, smiling, “thanks for letting me know, big guy. To the kitchen at once!”

With that, he hoists Virgil up, settling him on top of his shoulders. There’s a squawk of surprise and Roman’s almost worried until it turns into a gleeful giggle. When Roman lets out a neigh, pretending he’s a horse, Virgil’s giggles grow louder.

“You’re not a horse,” Virgil says.

“Neigh I am!” Roman says, “I am your trusty steed and we’re embarking on a perilous-but-completely-safe journey to the kitchen!”

He treks towards the kitchen, clicking his tongue in an imitation of a horse clip-clopping along. 

“Faster,” Virgil urges, resting his hands on top of Roman’s head.

“Faster?” Roman asks, almost stopping in surprise. 

“Yeah!” Virgil insists, “We gotta get there as fast as possible before any monsters come and eat us!”

“Never fear,” Roman says, “For I shall get us there before any monster even thinks of gobbling us up!”

With that Roman quickens his pace, ensuring he had a firm hold onto Virgil to keep him falling off. 

 “Faster, faster, faster!” Virgil chants in an anxious yet excited tone, “I think I see one!”

“Oh?” Roman turns his head back, “Oh, I see him too! Neigh, we better hurry!”

There isn’t an actual monster there. No sharp fangs or numerous eyes glaring menacingly in their direction. He can’t tell if Virgil is making up a game or if he actually believes there is one there. Either way, Roman is Creativity. If there’s one thing he knows best, it’s how to combat imaginary foes. Such as reaching the threshold of the kitchen.

With one great bound, he makes it onto the black-and-white checkered tiles.

“Aha! Now no monsters can attack us while we feast in the dwelling of this noble kitchen!” Roman grins, setting Virgil atop the kitchen counter before jumping up to sit beside him.

Virgil beams up at him, face wide with utter delight and awe. Roman is left dumbfounded at this. Even as a kid, Virgil had been very closed-off with his emotions. So shy and distrustful of everyone and everything. But here he looks at Roman like he’s some great hero or something.

 ‘How,’ Roman wonders, ‘how can you look at me like this when I’m the obstinate villain of this story?’

“Princey,” Virgil swings his legs, “won’t Dad be upset if he finds us sitting on the counter?”

Roman blinks. At first he thinks Virgil is referring to Thomas’s father until he remembers Patton also goes by Dad. For the longest time, Pat had even been insistent that was his name. In the way that young children believe their parents’ real names really are Mom and Dad. 

“Well,” Roman says, offering a pinky, “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

“Okay.” Virgil hesitates before interlocking his tiny pinky with Roman’s.

“Excellent! Now what would you like to eat?”

“Ummmm, I--I don’t know.” Virgil bites his lips, eyes flickering around the kitchen. Roman’s heart squeezes at this. He should’ve known such an open-ended question would set his anxiety off. They’ve learned recently that it was better giving Virgil the option of clearly-defined choices rather than vague ones.

“Would you like grilled cheese or spaghetti?” He asks kindly instead. 

“Grilled cheese? With applesauce?” Virgil doesn’t meet his gaze, as if afraid Roman will condemn his choices.

Roman smiles, “Your wish is my command.” 

He could’ve just snapped the food into existence right then and there. A few years back, it would’ve been enough to suffice. But as much as the Sides influence Thomas, the same holds true the other way around. Thomas once saw a fanart of Patton cooking breakfast for the sides and the idea stuck.

 Now Roman could still summon fully prepared meals but they weren’t super filling. Roman didn’t mind too much; contrary to popular belief (Logan) cooking could be a very creative endeavor. As Thomas’s creativity he could make up steps to dishes and still have them turn out perfect in the end. He may or may not enjoy it simply because it frustrated Logan to no end. 

He hops off the kitchen counter, snapping a finger. Instantly cabinet doors magically open as the ingredients and the materials he needed floated out onto the countertop beside the stove. Okay, so he cheated a bit, but just because the others lacked a little imagination didn’t mean he couldn’t bend reality in a place where reality is inconsequential. 

Roman turns to Virgil, unable to hide his smile at Virgil’s gobsmacked expression.

“Here, you can help put butter on the bread,” He tells Virgil, handing him a butter knife.

Grilled cheese sandwiches are a quick and easy meal. Before too long, Roman hands the kid a plate with a plain grilled cheese cut in halves and a cup of prepackaged apple sauce. 

“Thank you,” Virgil squeaks out before digging in.

“Of course.” Roman says, resisting the urge to ruffle the Little Terror’s hair. Instead he takes a bite of his own grilled cheese. Admittedly, he went a bit overboard with his own grilled cheese sandwich; three different types of cheese with lettuce, tomato and pickles. He isn’t quite sure if he’s a fan of the pickles but ah well. So it goes when in the pursuit of creativity.

They eat on top of the kitchen counters with relative silence. Roman hums a bit between bites of grilled cheese. Halfway through, he notices Virgil sending him glances when he thinks Roman isn’t looking. The kid squirms a bit in place, his face twisting in apprehension. 

“Is there something troubling you, Little Prince?” Roman asks at last.

“Princey, where are the others? A--are they okay?!” 

Oh. Oh, of course. Roman’s heart aches knowing how much Virgil worries and cares for everyone, even at such a young age. He’s so quick to reassure him that he doesn’t even pause to think about the phrasing of his words.

“They’re perfectly fine, rest assured. Logan is shut away in his room reading like the insufferable nerd he is and Patton is simply checking up on our dear Thomas--”

“Thomas?” Virgil breathes in, eyes bright with alarm. His shoulders raise to his ears like hackles raising on a frightened cat.

It is at this moment Roman knew that he messed up.

“Virgil, wait--” Roman pleads, attempting to place a placating hand on his shoulder. 

Roman is too late. His hand meets air as Virgil disappears in front of him with a loud crackle. All that’s left is a plate of half-eaten grilled cheese clattering to the countertops and a terror that shakes the entirety of the mindscape. 

[glassartpeasants]

Crying In The Club .6

Overhaul x F!Reader

Warnings: Angst, fluff?, jealousy, 

A/N: Yes yes, its been about a week. But do not fret my children for it is back. And unlike most of the chapters so far, this one actually has some fluff in it. Also sorry that this one is a bit short, But I promise that the next one will be longer! I didn’t realize how short it was until I typed the whole thing.

~~~

4 months later

“I love October! I just love all the leaves changing colors!” You laugh as you hug your boyfriends arm tighter. Smushing your face into his jacket sleeve.

“My favorite is the smell. It just has the affect I guess. I also like Halloween since people give you out treats.” You laugh at him while he pondered.

You’ve been having so much fun with (???) that you almost have forgotten about Kai.

Almost

No matter what you did, the scar Kai had given you had always brought back all the memories that you had hoped to leave behind. Every fight, every hit,

Every Kiss

‘Shit!’ You internally cringe. It’s been 4 months! You need to forget that idiot! He killed you (Y/N)! Whatever relationship you guys had was toxic. It was terrible. You deserve better than that scum.

You sigh before smiling as you hug (????) arm even tighter. Cuddling up to him. You felt safe with him. Like nothing could ruin this. You never felt more safe.

But no matter how happy you may be, there’s always something to rope you back to Kai. And that happened to be one of Kai’s henchmen.

‘Kai should see this! Sure you guys may not be ‘dating’ anymore but Kai still needs his options!’

~~~

Kai groaned at the babbling woman that sat in front of him. Her excessive talking was making him lose a few brain cells from every word that left he aggravating mouth. God it’s only been 4 months, 4 MONTHS, and he already wants to kill her.

‘This is absolute torture.’ Kai opened his eyes and saw (R/N) rambling to mimic about god knows what. Just as he was about to stand up a member of the 8 precepts of death, burst through the door panting and holding his phone.

“Sorry for the rude intrusion boss but I have something that you might want to see.” Setsuno moved his phone closer to Overhaul as he tried to catch his breath after running all the way here.

“You know it’s rude to not knock right-”

“Silence woman, what is it Setsuno?” Kai raised an eyebrow at the man you looked like he as about to pass out. He handed the phone over to him before leaning against the wall. The girl furrowing her brows at Kai, gasping at his words.

Setsuno gave Kai a look only to see Kai grip his phone in a crushing grip.

“Everyone leave, Setsuno you stay.” The girl was about to say something but was dragged out before she could utter a peep.

“Where did you see them at?”

“By the cafe downtown sir!”

Kai growled at the pictures of you and that unknown man. A burst of jealousy filled him. His entire being seeing red as he felt as if his skin was boiling hot.

You had already moved on? After what? A year of your fake secret? Anger burst through Kai as a dark aura surrounded Kai, making the air around him feel thick with tension. His mixed feelings coming into play.

‘Finally she’s out of my life.’ His inner demons thought. That was until a new voice made it’s presence known.

‘She was so much prettier than this one.’

“Print the pictures. All of them. You took them Setsuno, make sure none of them are left out.” Setsuno nodded his head and ran out of Kai’s office. Leaving Kai to his inner thoughts.

“What the hell am I thinking? I don’t miss her damnit.”

“he’s obviously not right for her. She belongs to me.’

“I’ll never have to see her stupid face again.’

“Just shut up! Shut up jesus! Why can’t I get her out of my head?!” Kai yelled while grabbing onto a couch cushion and screaming into it. He needed a clean train of thought.

Kai stood up and sulked over to his desk, sitting in his chair before sighing.

He grabbed a pen and twirled it in between his fingers, looking at his gloved hand.

‘Killing her to get your jacket back wasn’t necessary.’ He moved His head back so he was staring at the ceiling, his eyes fluttering close. 

***

Kai sat in his desk writing, filling out taxes before hearing a faint knock coming from the door. He grunted and looked up. Calling for the person to come in. He expected to see (R/N) but was surprised to see you. His eyes were wide, why were you here?

“Kai sweetie, I brought you some tea. You looked like you needed it. You sat down the tea cup and went behind him to massage his shoulders. Humming as your fingers gently pushed against his skin. Rolling the knots away.

Kai was speechless, why were you even here? You were gone. He went to move his hands to shoo you away but his hands were caught. He turned to you and froze when he saw you kissing his gloved knuckles. The gentle kisses you placed on his knuckles made his heart pound.

He couldn’t move when he felt your soft fingers slowly pull down his mask. You placed your soft hands against his cheek, looking into his amber eyes.

Kai watched as your lips moved down and connected with his lips with yours. Your soft lips moving against his. Your thumb gently gliding across his face. You eyes fluttered shut as you moved your lips against his.

Kai’s eyes slowly closed as her accepted you kiss. He moved his hand to your face. HIs finger brushing against your soft skin. His whole world felt liked it stopped. He melted into your kiss as he grabbed your face and brought it closer to his. Enjoying the feeling of your soft lips against his once more.

He felt your lips leave his, confused he opened his eyes only to find blood covering the area where you had been.

Kai’s eyes widen. As he took a few moments to let his shock to leave, he quickly tried to bring you back. But his quirk wasn’t working and wasn’t doing anything other then smearing your blood around. HIs face covered in it as hives appeared on his skin. Kai soon grew hysteric as he tried over and over again to bring you back to him before your sweet voice rang through his ears.

‘Murderer’

‘Monster’

‘Disgrace’

‘Disappointment’

‘Unloveable’

***

Kai jolted awake and looked around his office, seeing no sign of you and no sign of your body that would have been splattered on the walls. His body full of adrenaline as he looked at the time.

‘Only one minute? That whole dream?’ Kai thought to himself as he moved his fingers to his lips, which were still covered by his black mask. He sighed as he rubbed his, groaning before returning to his work. But never forgetting that sweet kiss that you so gracefully upon his lips in his dream.

‘I need more. She’s mine. Only mine.’

[gloves94]

Sunburn [Prince Zuko] 1

Warnings: None Rating: PG-13 Pairings: Zuko/OC Summary: "You have everything you've ever wanted." "No." He said softly. "Not everything..." His golden eyes looked at her with a melting intensity she had never witnessed before. "I guess not." She responded with glassy eyes as tears welled up threatening to break the dam of her eyes. 

My fanfiction: M A S T E R L I S T

"Uncle!" The young prince roared exasperated.

For once his uncle stood on the deck of the ship being quiet and distant. His eyes gazed out into the vast blueness that expanded so far you couldn't tell where the ocean ended and where the sky began. He wore a solemn expression on his face, both of his hands tucked inside of his sleeves. His eyes clouded with a rare sadness.

"I'm so close to capturing the Avatar! I'm going to lose his trail and we are losing precious time! I haveto regain my honor!" Prince Zuko barked. The dishonored banished Prince of the Fire Nation barked.

Iroh also known as the Dragon of the West, the retired general who had been disgraced at walls of Ba Sing Se remained pensive and let out a deep breath he had been holding.

"Why do we even have to go to the colonies?!" The frustrated prince threw his hands over his head.

"I already told you my dear nephew. I've received somber news. The sun has set on a dear friend Sencha's life. And so we must attend the service and show our respects to his spirit and his family."

"This is pointless!" Prince Zuko breathed out a cloud of fire, his exasperation boiling in the pits of his stomach. How he sometimes wished he could just shove his uncle into a sailboat and send him to out so that he could move on with his life and actually have a shot at regaining his honor. Why couldn't his uncle just go by himself?

Zuko was too blinded to see the pain in his uncle's amber eyes.

"Patience," Iroh sighed wisely and stroked his gray beard. "If you allow it, the howling wind shall carry you to your destiny. Who knows? You might encounter something interesting in the colonies."

The prince remained silent.

"Perhaps even the Avatar?" Iroh baited glancing at his nephew from the corner of his eyes.

Zuko gripped the railing tightly, his body tense. His uncle turned to look at him and flashed him a weak smile before squeezing his nephew's shoulder.

xxx

The prince's military vessel docked at the port of Yu Doa.

The city of Yu Dow was one of the first Fire Nation Colonies. It was known for it's unique architecture and surprising co-existence of Fire and Earth bending cultures as near equals. Because of this Yu Dao was the Fire Nation's most powerful asset and wealthiest colony. It was also famously known for having the finest weapon craftsmen in the world.

"This place is... odd," Zuko observed as they made away across the city.

No royal had set foot in the colonies since the war began one hundred years ago and it was safe to say that people from the mainland thought less of those from the colonies. Sneering at them, calling them colonials, and laughing at stereotypes.

The city was quiet, its citizens wore funerary colors and expressions of mourning. All windows were closed and shops were closing early.

"Of course, they are mourning their governor."

The Prince also noted how the people in the streets did not shy away from them like others would've back in the mainland. They neither bowed nor cowered with disrespect. The prince and his uncle entered the gates of the golden palace and were received by an escort who lead them inside the building. The architecture was a mixture of emerald green and square shapes typical of Earth Kingdom architecture with contrasting bold golden pikes, maroon carvings, and large figures and carvings of crimson and golden dragons on the walls which were typical of Fire Nation architecture and culture.

"General Sencha was appointed as the Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao sometime after your grandfather Azulon rose to the throne. He was a brilliant general, brave, courageous, a good friend and also a worthy Pai Sho adversary," Iroh said with a smile as they were lead through a massive pair of intricately carved golden doors.

"His people, they mourn him. It's almost as if they care-" Zuko was interrupted. "They do," Iroh nodded. "Fire Lords don't often concern themselves with the Fire Colonies once they are tamed. Sencha took it upon himself to provide a life of equal opportunities to both Fire and Earth Kingdom citizens. Together they worked to build and grow the city making it the most powerful asset of the Fire Nation abroad. Because of that Yu Dao paved the way for its own culture and traditions to blossom. That's why this place seems so different to you."

For a moment Zuko thought about his grandfather, Azulon. Besides other aristocrats and the military it had been just another day when he passed. His people hadn't mourned him, he hadn't been missed by many. He certainly didn't miss him. The citizens of the Fire Nation didn't seem to care much for him, then again, he had been a cruel man. It was a drastic contrast to the ambiance in Yu Dao and the respect its people had for their passed leader.

It was then that they entered the heart of the governing room where the service was being held. It was dark and the room was barely illuminated by numerous candles which were burning at different heights. At the center hoisted above a bed of white arranged wild flowers and lilies lay a fine wooden coffin. There were few government officials and family in the private service. The disgraced prince and the retired general approached the front to pay their respects. Iroh knelt before the bed and meditated for a moment on his dear friend's memory. Zuko nodded his head in respect and he patiently waited for his uncle to stand. His eyes scanned the crowd as he attempted to distract himself, not wanting to linger his gaze on the coffin before him. It was then that a spot of red in the darkness captured his attention.

His eyes froze on a person with a hair color he had never seen before. He had never seen an individual with hair the color of fire. Auburn, red, maroon, he couldn't place his finger on the shade. The dim light made it even harder. She appeared to be around his age. Her blazing hair was wavy and reached down past midback, half of it up in the matter that was considered fashionable in the Fire Nation. Her expression was one of pure desolation as a woman whom he assumed to be her mother held her close while holding her hand.

"Prince Zuko!" Iroh whispered harshly elbowing him snapping him out of his train of thought. As he did the girl looked up and their eyes met. His lingered on her face for a second.

Her mother turned as did the man Zuko assumed to be her father. He turned his head sharply ready to walk away, but instead Iroh turned the opposite way and began walking in the way of of the Vice Royal family.

Xxx

"I-I think I need some air," gasped the girl as she took in a deep breath suddenly feeling claustrophobic. Her soul felt numb with the absence of her dear grandfather. She felt dizzy and partly nauseous. She had shed her tears and her eyes were dry from crying so much, over the past couple of days. Her nostrils felt irritated from blowing so many tissues. Her mom gave her hand a gentle squeeze and a sad smile before letting her go. She noted the two strangers that were approaching to pay their condolences.

Distraught she didn't bother in engaging with them or even checking out their improper attire. From the looks of it they were probably military from the Fire Nation mainland. She stepped out quickly suddenly feeling like she couldn't breath due to the stench of flowers, incense and burning candles. She in took a large gulp of fresh air when she reached the small garden outside the governing room. She sat on a stone bench that was placed before a small koi pond fountain and under a blossoming plum tree. Just a few days ago she had been sitting in this same bench with her grandfather. She had been holding onto his arm tightly, he had given her one of the plum blossom flowers, tucked it into her hair and was telling her stories about her late grandmother.

And now- he was gone.

She felt fat tears begin to swell in her eyes as her lungs felt heavy with woe. She had done enough crying. Death was part of life.

"Loss is part of life,"her grandfather had said to her sagely. "But nothing worth keeping is every truly lost."

Her tears certainly wouldn't bring him back. She sucked in a deep breath and sat up straight as an arrow, just as she had been taught her entire young life. Holding her head up with pride.

She didn't know how long she had been out here. Holding her breath, trying to hold it all together.

"The flower that blooms in adversity is the most beautiful and rare of all," a wise voice interrupted. Her ears had to be playing tricks on her.

It was her grandfather.

"W-What?" She turned bewildered.

Automatically a cascade of tears streamed down her unblinking amber eyes.

It wasn't.

She almost felt as if she had heard her grandfather. She wished it had been him. She sternly believed that those had been his words through a different voice. One that was unfamiliar to her. The man standing beside her was older. His hair was aged and gray and he was large. He seemed like a pleasant person carrying an air of peace and gentleness around him. The kind that his grandfather might've kept around for counsel or as a part of the governing cabinet. He was the one that had walked in late, with the boy with the scar on his face that had been glaring at her during the service.

"Blooming season can be powerful, glorious and intoxicating, but tragically short-lived," the man said wisely. "It is a visual reminder that our lives, too, are fleeting."

Who was this man that spoke in riddles with his wise tongue? Where had he come from?

"They also signify most important above all love." He reached down and with care picked up a lost flower. Lifting it up he offered it to her with kindness. Ceasing her crying the girl took the flower from the wise man.

"Thank you," she said quietly keeping her head lowered in respect.

"You must be Tsai, Sencha's granddaughter," it wasn't a question. He knew who she was. She nodded. The man lowered his head bowing before her. "I'm terribly sorry for your loss. Your grandfather was a good man, he was also one of my closest friends. Strange that he would pass on such a pleasant day," he commented raising up to view the clear sky above.

"My name is Iroh," he introduced himself. "I have come here with my nephew to pay my respects."

Tsai rose to her feet and bowed her head in equal respect. Of course she had heard of the famous General Iroh, the Dragon of the West. Afterall he had been first in line for the throne of Fire Lord just a couple of years ago.

"General," she acknowledged respectfully.

"There you are!" A woman of similar features to the girl approached the two. She wore a matching dark tunic and her hair was light brown and her eyes were a minty green.

"How embarrassing," she breathed. "I certainly hope Tsai wasn't bothering you with any nonsense General," her mother said as she wrapped her arms around her daughter's shoulders holding her close.

Being of Earth Kingdom decent Sanyu, her mother, had always been hyper conscious of her and her children's behavior. She couldn't afford for them to be shunned because of their Earth Kingdom heritage.

"Not at all," He smiled kindly. "And just Iroh, please."

"Has it-" Tsai turned asking her mother. She simply nodded. The body had been ignited in flames as it was customary in Fire Nation funerary tradition. Her expression twisted into a tormented one. "I really do apologize that you've come to visit us on such a somber occasion," her father stepped forward. It was the new Vice Royal Governor of Yu Dao. He had introduced himself as Azah. "It would truly be an honor if you could join us for lunch. It is not often that we receive such as esteemed guests. Specially royalty from the mainland."

"Uncle, send for the ship to undock. We don't have any more time to waste," a voice rudely spat into the conversation.

It was that rude boy who had been glaring at Tsai during the service. She eyed him warily as she approached her and her family in the plum-blossom garden. The governor's eyes narrowed at the royal's rude behaviors. Sanju seemed oblivious to this.

"Please excuse my nephew. We'd love to join you," Iroh nodded. "Tsai, have you introduced yourself to Prince Zuko?" Her mother spoke tensely slightly grabbing her by the shoulders and shoving her towards the prince.

"Uncle-" The other protested.

"Zuko you're always talking about honor. We are going to stay and join our host the Vice Royal Governor and his lovely family for some tea and dinner." Iroh grinned cheekily as he grabbed his nephew's arms tightly and slightly shoved him forward towards the other teen.

Both were awkwardly pushed to face each other as their families observed the impromptu match-making meeting all with knowing eyes and discrete growing grins. Tsai's older brother Mecha snickered from the back, she wanted to turn and glare at him but was instead once again nudged forward by her mother who was glaring daggers at her and poking an invisible knife at her back.

Her grandfather had just died, could they cut the match-making and courtship some slack?

The prince stood half a head taller than her. Maybe he appeared to be taller because of the way he wore his dark hair, in a tall ponytail, most of his head was cleanly shaved off and Tsai realized that he hadn't been glaring at her. That's just the way his face was, it was stuck in a mean scowling mug with suspiciously narrowed eyes. However the most striking feature was half of his face, which was scarred by fire in an ugly branding on his skin. Of course she had heard stories and rumors about the banished prince. Most girls her age would giggle and say he was extremely handsome, other rumors said that he got his scar in a training accident. However, it seemed that his temper and infamous bad character were no myth.

"Tsai of Yu Dao," She bowed down her head lightly bangs slightly falling forward as she did. "It is an honor your highness."

xxxx

AN: Woooooooooo, this Avatar Netflix revival is doing things to me. I think I LOVE Zuko more than I did when I was watching the series as a child. I'm super excited to see where this story goes. I'm almost done writing it at chapter 30 and I've grown super attached to these two characters.

Let me know what you guys think and send me some love!

Best,

xxx

First: [Here] Next:  https://gloves94.tumblr.com/post/621143206633046017/sunburn-prince-zuko-2

CHAPTER MASTERLIST

[allegra-writes]

Trivia Night

Harrison Osterfield x Reader

General audiences

Warnings: None

Just a little drabble based on a dream I had. Blame it on @tomsrebeleyebrow she encourages the insanity. Such a bad influence, honestly *shakes head dissaprovingly* 😂💖

It was loud inside the pub, and your table was probably the loudest of all. Trivia was almost over and you knew your team at the very least had to be coming pretty fucking close to winning. The price wasn't much, just the tab, and that sum of money meant nothing to the people sitting with you, but the boys were very competitive. And to tell the truth, so where you after a couple of pints… and you had definitely had way more than that. 

It was the very first trivia night you had been invited to, and to be honest you had been a little nervous to meet with all of Harrison's closest friends at once. It had been unnecessary, since they had all been kind and welcoming, but you knew that if you helped them finally win first place, they were going to love you forever. And your boyfriend's mates approval meant a lot to you. For once in your life, the tons of useless knowledge and obscure sci-fi references you possessed might be able to actually help your love life. It was unheard of and it made you very excited.

"Ok, so last question" Sam read, voice slightly slurred, "'This fictional intelligence agency features heavily on the Marvel cinematic universe. What does its acronym stand for: a, Special Headquarters Investigating Enhanced Logistic Department; b, Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division; or c, Strategic Headquarters Investigating the Enforcement of Logistics Division?"

You watched Tom's alcohol reddened face drain of all it's color as everyone in your table looked expectantly at him. He cursed,

"I can't- I can't remember" He confessed, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "I never… I always… I can never remember this!" 

"Come on, mate, are you serious?"

"You're joking. Please tell me you're messing with us!" Harry implored his older brother. Tom shrugged apologetically.

"I'm sorry!" 

A hail of paper balls rained down over his head, as both twins and your boyfriend threw their dirty napkins at him.

"You bloody twat! You're embarrassing us in front of the lady! If you make us look like losers tonight I swear-"

Your decidedly unladylike snort drew everyone's attention to you.

"Pluh-ase, I already know you guys are a bunch of losers! Get out of the way, and let 'the lady' show you how it's done…" 

You took the sheet from Sam's hands and confidently marked the right answer before returning it. 

"Are you absolutely sure?" He inquired, somehow skeptical.

You rolled your eyes, 

"Dude, of course I'm sure. It's like, nerd 101, S.H.I.E.L.D means Strategic Homeland Intervention Enforcement and Logistics Division. Honestly," You added, pinning Tom with a look, "you are a disgrace to all nerd kind" 

A chorus of "oooh" resonated through the table. The boys had been teasing each other all night, but it was the first time you had dared to, and they seemed pleasantly impressed. The teasing and laughing continued as a waitress picked up the quiz answer sheets from the tables, and you arched a brow at the shamelessly flirty smile she gave Harrison.

"Incredible" Tom complained loudly, "Five blockbuster superhero movies. Five. And I am still invisible next to this guy!" He poked your boyfriend in the ribs. 

"Huh?" 

"He means the waitress, babe" You explained your clueless boyfriend, "She was making eyes at you. You really didn't notice?"

He shook his head,

"I was too busy looking at the prettiest girl in the bar" He said, eyes never leaving yours.

"Aweeeee" Three ironic voices intoned.

"Don't listen to them," You leaned in to capture Harrison's lips with yours, "You are so getting laid tonight"

You heard someone choke on his beer, as Sam's voice commented,

"Ok, now I feel sorry for us…" 

You broke the kiss, laughing. 

"Then behave yourselves, and I might introduce you to some of my friends" 

"Oh, no, don't do that, love!" Haz argued, "they are your friends! Why would you do such a thing to them?" 

"Oi!" 

"Fuck you, Osterfield!" 

"Hush, no, you two! They're about to announce the winner!" 

The racket inside the bar died down, as the little crowd patrons turn their eyes, expectantly, to the leader of the three people trivia committee. The music was turned down as he bellowed, 

"Ladies and gents and non binary mates, it is my pleasure to annunciate tonight's Trivia winner" He unfolded a piece of paper, pausing for dramatic effect as some people produced drum rolls by beating the top of the tables with their pens, "Table number eight, "The Mary Janes"!"

"YES!!"

"HELL, YEAH, I KNEW IT! I BLOODY KNEW IT!!" 

You gaped in confusion how your table mates jumped from their seats and yelled triumphantly. Tom pulled you up for a hug.

"Wait, what? Your team is called 'The Mary Janes'?" You scream in his ear to be heard above the ruckus

Tom shrugged as he released you,

"Zendaya named us, and who are we to argue?" 

That was a valid point, but you didn't have much time to ponder it, as Haz tugged on your arm with enough force to turn you around and crash you into his chest.

"We never won first place before," He wrapped one of his arms around your waist, his free hand coming to rest palm open against the side of your neck, thumb softly caressing your jaw, "this is all thanks to you"

Before you could answer, his lips were on yours again, and he was dipping you low, in a kiss worthy of any classic Hollywood movie, for all the pub to see. You could hear cheers and whistles, but it was hard to feel self conscious with his tongue borrowing its way between your teeth, claiming your mouth like his very own personal prize.

When he finally released you, your head was swimming. 

"Awe, come on! I want a celebration kiss too!" Tom's cheeky voice complained, a little closer than you were expecting, his alcohol smelling breath hot against your ear. 

It sobered you up like a cold water bucket. He was clearly drunk, and you had long ago learned he was just a natural flirt and didn't mean anything by it. But Harrison was a little bit of the possessive kind. Even the twins stopped clapping, sensing the sudden tension. 

Haz took a step towards his friend, placing his body between you and Tom. The whole pub seemed to freeze, anticipating your boyfriend's reaction. 

Haz met your eye over his shoulder, throwing a wink in your direction.

"Wha-"

Before Tom could react, two big hands were on either side of his face, holding him in place… as Harrison planted the sloppiest, loudest, most ridiculous kiss right on his horrorized best friend's mouth.

A beat passed, then two, until twin barks of laughter broke you out of your stupor, and you doubled over, cracking up as the entire pub went wild.

"How is that for a celebration kiss?"

Tom didn't answer, instead choosing to take his glass from the table and down the rest of his beer in one gulp, soon as your boyfriend let go of him, of course.

"Oh, come on now! Don't act as if that wasn't the best snog of your life!"

Tom turned his big, traumatized stare on you,

"That's the worst part: I think you might be right!"

Another fit of laughter cracked through your body, tears streaming down your cheeks, completely out of control. God, how you loved these silly London boys!

The end.

[manage-mischief]

Can you do a wolfstar story where Sirius kills his parents? I know it's kinda a dark idea but

Oof! Starting right out with the angst! Here ya go! Thanks so much for the request! I hope you like it! (AO3, FF.net)

Remus awoke to the sound of frantic scratching and whimpering at his bedroom window. He rolled over, groaning. The clock at his bedside table read 2:00 AM. Ugh.

The scratching continued, loudly. Remus yawned, stretching his arms over his head as he left the warmth and comfort of his bed to check on the racket. A large, tawny owl was throwing itself madly against Remus’s window, desperately trying to get inside. Remus recognized the owl. It belonged to none other than James Potter—one of Remus’s closest and dearest friends. Remus unhooked the latch and allowed the bird to fly inside. It landed on his bed and shook its wings and legs madly, urgently. Now, Remus was awake.

Why had James sent his owl at this time of night? Why was the owl acting so strange? A sinking feeling fell through Remus’s stomach. Whatever it was, it couldn’t be good. Remus rushed over and unraveled the note from the owl’s foot. His heart raced as he deciphered the scrawled writing (James had never been a master at penmanship).

“Padfoot in trouble. At my house. Need your help IMMEDIATELY. –Prongs”

Remus’s heart sank. Sirius, his boyfriend, was in trouble. Without a second thought, Remus threw on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, wrote a short note to his parents explaining his absence, and burst out the front door into the stale summer air.

After a short—albeit quite unpleasant—ride on the Knight Bus, Remus arrived at the Potter Estate. Somehow, its grandeur was not diminished by the darkness of night. The massive home towered majestically, its beige brick exterior reflected in the moonlight. Crickets chirped in the garden as he made his way up the long, paved drive towards the front door. Fireflies danced in the grass. Water front the various fountains and statues gurgled merrily in the distance. Usually, Remus loved visiting the Potters. However, tonight, he felt sick. A cloud of tension surrounded Potter Manor. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

The door opened before Remus had the chance to knock. James grabbed him by the arm without so much as a hello and dragged him through the labyrinth-like house.

“James, what’s going on? Why is Sirius here?” Remus questioned as his friend pulled him along. James shook his head. Remus had never seen him so somber.

“Pads’ll tell you. It’s…it’s bad, Moony…” James paused at his bedroom door and knocked timidly.

“Hey,” he called out softly. “Pads? Moony’s here.” James gave one, last, distressed look at Remus before slowly pushing open the door.

Remus could barely register the scene in front of him. Sirius was laying on James’s bed, staring blankly up at the ceiling. He had a massive bruise blooming on his cheek, and his eyes were rimmed with red—as if he had been crying. His body trembled, childlike. On the floor beside the bed sat Sirius’s brother, Regulus. Remus was shocked. Sirius and Regulus were hardly ever allowed to be together outside their home. Sirius’s parents believed he would corrupt his younger brother, and deliberately kept them separate—lest he tarnish the Black Family name any more than he already had. Yet, here they were. Regulus sat cross-legged with his back against the side of James’s bed. He clutched a cream-colored pillow in his arms, hugging it tight. He looked shell-shocked. His stormy grey eyes were wide with fear and disbelief.

Carefully, Remus lowered himself onto the bed beside Sirius. He ran a hand through his boyfriend’s thick, dark hair, and guided Sirius’s head onto his lap. Sirius squeezed his eyes shut. More tears rolled down his checks, breaking Remus’s heart.

“Sirius?” Remus whispered tentatively. “Are you alright?” He winced internally at his words. Clearly, Sirius was not alright. Sirius trembled even harder. “Shhh, Shhh, it’s ok. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re ok,” Remus resumed stroking Sirius’s head, comforting him.

The two of them remained in this position for several minutes. At some point, James left and returned with a tray of tea. “Want a cup, Reg?” He asked. The boy on the floor did not respond. James poured him on anyways, guiding it gently into his shaking hands.

“Here, Padfoot,” Remus said, gently pulling his boyfriend up to a sitting position. “You should drink something.” Sirius wiped his eyes, took a cup, and sipped cautiously.

“There. Good job, love. Now, can you tell me what happened?”

Sirius sighed. “I-I-“ his voice broke. He cleared his throat. “I killed them.”

A heavy silence hung in the air. Regulus trembled harder than ever, his teacup and saucer clanging madly. The color drained from Sirius’s face.

“What?” Remus asked, wondering if he had misheard.

“I killed my parents. They’re dead.”

Another long pause.

“Wh—how? What happened?” asked Remus, stunned. Sirius hated his parents, sure, but he was not a killer.

“They w-were trying to force Regulus to join the Death Eaters. It-it was awful. I could hear them screaming at him. He was c-crying. I ran in and father had his wand pointed at Reg. Right at his chest. He told me it was none of my concern. They were ensuring that at least one of their sons didn’t wind up a disgrace. And, he almost…he was about to hurt him and I…” Sirius broke off again. He buried his head in Remus’s shoulder, sobbing. Remus held him tight. He locked eyes with James, who was still on the floor trying to calm Regulus. “In shock,” mouthed James.

Remus’s heart ached for the Black boys. Their home life had been horrible. An explosive catastrophe was always on the horizon. But, Remus had never imagined it coming to this gruesome end. Sirius— forced to kill his parents to protect his brother from a terrible fate. It was way too heavy a burden for anyone to bear, let alone a 16-year-old boy. No. None of this was fair. None of this was right.

“I—what’re you going to—” Remus stammered. He felt his own fear mounting, his heart pounding violently against his ribcage. Was his dear Sirius destined for Azkaban?

“Mum and Dad are taking them in,” James explained. “They’ve gone to the Ministry to argue the case and the Department of Magical Law Enforcement ruled it as self-defense.”

Remus breathed a sigh of relief. He kissed Sirius’s forehead, rocking back and forth. “See? It’s going to be fine. It’s going to be alright love. You’re safe. You’re alright.”

“I used an Unforgivable. I killed. I’m a killer.” Sirius lamented.

“No!” Remus exclaimed. He placed his hands on Sirius’s cheeks, forcing his boyfriend to look him in the eyes. “You listen to me, Sirius Black. You are not a killer. You did what you needed to do to protect your brother from a terrible fate. I never, for one second, would ever believe you were capable of murdering anyone in cold blood.”

Sirius stared back at him, grey eyes pleading. “You promise? You don’t believe I’m a murderer? You would never think that about me?”

Remus pressed his nose against Sirius’s. He could feel his boyfriend’s hot breath against his own lips. “I promise.”

[evildoe-r]

sunstroke (bif x derby)

word count: 3,434

rating: T

main characters: bif taylor, derby harrington

spoilers for video game: yes (Dishonorable Fight and Complete Mayhem)

...now he had thrust his apology back into his hands. Bif was one of the few he could not freely take sincerity from, that was his own mistake, and one he just made deliberately. Presently, he felt sickening remorse pooling inside of him, steadily drowning him.

warning; very long post

I

It was a year nearing its lively prime stretching across dusty, strange Bullworth. The evening crept and called the fading light that spread its warm hue across the rooftops and glistened on uncertain waters. Bif made his way through the subdued small town, to return to his dorm at the Academy after he and his friends spent the day at the gym having sparring matches, choosing to spend the penultimate day of school there instead of waste it at Miss Peters’ traditionally mind numbing school play that took place at the end of each academic year. They’d all had a much better time in their gym - all of them except for the absent Derby, who he rarely saw anymore, even around the Harrington House. Derby, who once would let him walk alongside him as his right hand man. He couldn’t tell if he was avoiding him or it was simply coincidence - a coincidence that occurred directly after he had lost a boxing match to none other than new kid Jimmy Hopkins, and disgraced the Preps’ standing within the school hierarchy. 

He hated losing, but he hated the confusion that had followed even more, the vague insights and cues into Derby's fluctuating relationship with him on the rare occasion he did see him around. It was stupid to dwell on this, he knew it. But no matter how much he pushed aside the thought that Derby somehow hated him, it would creep up on him in the school hallways, in the classes he hadn't ditched, before he slept, always circling back to him. 

He had lingered around in the gym longer than the others. Somehow, even after the usual high he got from defeating an opponent in a sparring match, today his movements as he showered and dressed back into his uniform had been slow and his thoughts were cloudy. On the morning after tomorrow's summer day of suspended classes, they would all return home, far away from Bullworth Academy. 

Although the day had been hot, the evening lent a cool breeze which had given him some relief. Even after a cold shower, Bif felt too warm. His hair was still damp and he slicked a hand through it as he walked along the path looking out onto the sea. He could sense the day's sickening heat slowly retreating, which he was grateful for. He would have welcomed the warmth any other time, but all week his head swam with thoughts that made him almost weary. As he made his way toward the bridge, a pack of Greasers raced past him on their bikes, turning toward New Coventry and paying him no mind. Looking straight ahead, he narrowed his eyes against the waning sunlight. He heard their voices before he spotted them. It was Justin and Chad several feet in front of him, their backs turned to him, speaking excitedly and louder than usual. Bif almost halted in his path as he suddenly recognised that unbearably familiar voice mingling with theirs. 

Derby. 

He forced himself to continue walking as normal. Lighthearted laughter erupted from them before he heard Derby’s courteous parting dismissal as the other two departed towards the direction of the Academy. 

Shit.

Derby was left there, standing uphill in front of the setting sun like a great shadow. He watched Bif carefully, and now, Bif had no choice but to meet him and his gaze, always razor sharp.

Derby was the first to speak. 

“Bif.”

“Hey,” Bif tried. 

As he approached Derby, he couldn’t help but notice how he observed him, studied him so closely. Bif knew that Derby had seen him before he realised he was there, just as he saw everything. You didn’t just escape Derby’s notice.

“Thought you’d be back at the House by now,” Derby said.

“Well, yeah, I just got held up,” Bif replied, making an attempt for his voice to remain neutral. But he was scared, excited, anxious. He hadn't realised how much he had anticipated this, whether it was to confront him or to reconcile with him. He only wanted for things to return to what was supposed to be normal. 

But now, Derby’s voice was calm, slightly softer than usual. It eased him a little. Maybe he didn't hate him after all.

II

Derby watched his taller friend’s nervous hand run through his hair. The reddish brown strands were the color of fire in the last reach of the small town sunlight. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. Bif’s green eyes widened a little in surprise at the question. 

“Uh, It’s nothing, Derby,” he finally said.

"You seem a bit on edge," Derby observed.

"Oh, boxing and all that. Parker gave me a hard time. But I won anyway, you know." 

Derby offered an acknowledging nod before changing the subject. “Well, I don’t plan on going back to the school grounds for another while.” He gazed out towards the sea, and then turned expectantly onto Bif, awaiting a response. 

"I guess I didn't either," his friend admitted. “I’ve had enough of that place right now.”

“Walk with me, then?” Derby straightened the clean white collar of his shirt. 

“Sure.”

It was quiet. The evening had completely settled upon the town, the sky a gradient of bright pink and a moody blue. Familiar lighthouse beams shone against the darkening horizon. The sound of the sea relaxed him, always inviting him to reminisce about his hazy days as a very young child, on holidays with his family to otherworldly time zones, where he would run on mystical white beaches while his father’s voice commanded him to behave, and so he did. But now, the sky was a soft bluish purple, and the quiet beach was dark and lulling and his friend was right beside him.

As they walked in silence together, Derby watched Bif, noting his furrowed brow, his mind seemingly unsettled. “Shall we walk down the pier?” he suggested, making his way down the wooden surface perpendicular to their path. Bif was at his elbow and slowly followed him down, his familiar movements sure and steady as his body, yet his face was always an open book. As the sun’s last rays leapt above the buildings, Derby knew he must be anticipating something, but he did not speak. 

III

Derby began to hum a slow, sonorous tune that he could not recognise. This was almost like old times. Derby by his side as they walked through Old Bullworth Vale, then down to the beach, spending the early summer days during free periods there, as he convinced Derby to go diving into the cool waters with him and swim to the lighthouses and back. 

They were alone here, besides a weary eyed middle aged man who could have been thirty five or fifty, in a slightly tatty grey suit who was leaning casually against the ledge looking down into the dark waters below them.

“Man, don’t do it!” Derby called with a grin. The stranger turned to them, and spat, before turning and walking away as he lit a cigarette. 

“I’ve seen that guy before,” Bif insisted. “Comes around here a lot, tries to go where it's quiet."

“Then it’s his unlucky day,” Derby smiled, as they watched the man depart. Despite himself, Bif laughed with him, his previous anxieties lapsing.

“Hey, can you believe Miss Peters had that dumb school play even with everything that happened?” Bif had suddenly felt lighter, and was in the mood for banter.

“Everyone made quite the mess of the school, that’s true,” Derby agreed, “But the auditorium seemed virtually untouched. I didn’t even see any renovations taking place there. I guess nobody bothered with it.

“You know, when father heard what happened he wasn't happy at all. He searched for a prestigious school worthy enough for his investment and then all hell breaks loose." He shook his head in disapproval.

“He’s considering transferring me somewhere else for my last academic year,” Derby confided. 

“Yeah?” Bif was oddly disheartened. “I thought your dad was busy with y'know, stuff.” Derby would occasionally mention his dad and how his business was fairing, but truthfully, Bif never had the patience nor the interest to hear it all out. 

“He is. He really doesn’t have time for all this,” he agreed. "But my God, what a state the school was in afterwards..." 

“Yeah, the place really turned into a total dumpster fire after Hopkins beat your-”

A look of irritation flickered over Derby’s face and Bif stopped short. “Uh, yeah, you know,” he said awkwardly, feigning an itch on his neck. He tried to think of something witty, but his head felt confused and muddled again. With nothing more to say, their conversation dissolved into silence, and they watched the waves in the distance for a while. The islands ahead were sharp shadows, only their dark outlines visible in the late evening light. 

It was certainly like old times, he thought. Nonetheless, something felt misplaced, wrong, and he was unable to focus. 

“Can we talk about it, Derby?” He was venturing blind into a conflict, he could feel it, but he had to try. “I don’t think I gotta explain what I mean.” He braced himself for surprise or even offense from his friend, but his face remained impassive. 

“I’m actually not sure what you mean.”

It was Bif’s turn to look annoyed. Reigning in his sudden anger, he found himself raising his voice more than intended. “You ignored me for ages, and now you’re acting as if everything’s normal.” 

Derby’s neutrality stubbornly asserted itself as he spoke. “There is nothing out of the ordinary here, Bif.”

“Were you mad after I lost to Jimmy?” Bif demanded.

“We have nothing to talk about regarding this matter, I mean it.”

“But you were avoiding me! You avoided me for weeks, Derby!” he said desperately.

“I don’t want to discuss this now-”

“Well I do!”

“Of course I was angry, Bif,” came the reply, and his mask of nonchalance had disappeared.

“I don’t need to explain why, you know that quite well. Can we drop it now?” the corners of his mouth quivered slightly and his voice rose and fell a little as if he couldn’t decide whether to be angry or not.

Bif gave an exasperated sigh as he dragged his hands down his face. Didn’t he realise the guilt he felt after he lost? He disgraced himself, and worse, Derby Harrington. He was one of his closest friends, yet he was unreachable all the same. You lost to him too, Derby, don't you remember?! 

Derby glared at him, jaw clenched. Those sharp eyes, and now he’s finally cutting. “You want me to say I lost too, is that it, Bif?”

There it is, and just how had he figured? It seemed like he could always see what was swimming past the surface, and sometimes, with Derby, he didn’t know himself. Always so precise, never anything less. He spoke of loss, and now he'd taken every word from him. 

IV

Derby recalled that day at the gym too well. Bif lying there, barely conscious, as Hopkins taunted them. It was undeniably embarrassing, and Bif would never know the sensation of anger and betrayal that had struck him afterwards. Not just Bif, but his supposed friends too, humiliated by an apparent nobody, suddenly crowned King. Bif seemed taken aback by his question, and he was unsure if he meant it rhetorically or not. He decided to allow him to feel shaken a moment, before he carried on. He needed to make him understand. 

“Have you ever thought about how the situation affected me, Bif? Just once?” 

Bif was angry, that much was too obvious, but his poise was diminished, almost giving way. He was more than angry, he was upset.

“That’s all I’ve been thinking about since that day, Derby,” he said, quietly this time. Suddenly, he turned away. Derby could hear the waves again for a brief moment, slow and rhythmic, distinctly timed. Bif seemed to focus on an object in the distance before he exhaled loudly and whirled to face Derby again.

"Why does any of this matter anyway? It was just a stupid boxing match!" 

"You think this is about boxing? Oh, you're so naive, Bif. " Derby was indignant. 

"Then what is it about?" Bif pressed him. “You just love patronizing me, I know you do.”

“Patronizing? Did you just learn that word from English class yesterday?” 

"Seriously? Whatever, you're too important to tell me anyways. Keep it to yourself, I don’t care."

He had avoided Bif in his shame, he knew that much. He would not ask questions about his whereabouts to other Preps, but he had picked up on his altered emotional state whenever he saw him, which he would insist to himself was a lesson of sorts, a justified consequence of his own failure. His friends had left him disgusted then, most of all Bif, who seemed to guard his champion title so fiercely beforehand. Bif, who he slowly and so carefully placed his shaky trust into.

“So you’re not even gotta admit you pretended I didn’t exist, right?” Bif looked like he found it impossible to stay still. His fists were clenched, and he seemed almost breathless.

“I would never admit something that wasn’t true.” But it is true, he knows.

“Fuck you, Derby.”

Derby almost flinched. His friend’s venom had left him witless, and he wanted to reply with equal scorn, but the rebuttal would not come.

“And guess what, maybe I didn’t wanna see your face either, Derby.”

“Good. I was getting pretty sick of you, you know.”

He rued his words as soon as they left him, and he averted his gaze. Bif was hurt by this, he knew, and this time, there was no reply, no hostility. A bitter quiet fell on them.

“I didn’t mean that truly, Bif. You know that.”

I’m sorry.

“Yeah.”

"Look, I'm sorry."

Bif voiced his apology like a tired surrender. Derby had never seen him like this. Not even on that day at the gym. There was a terrible vulnerability about the person who stood in front of him.

"Don't say sorry to me,  Bif." 

"I just felt like I owed you-"

"Don’t." he told him. “Don’t apologise.”

“Then what the hell, Derby?” His annoyance was tinged with relief, appearing  somewhat yielding, which Derby was grateful for, as an unexpected tiredness grabbed him. For once, he felt out of control of the unraveling before him. He was being hurled off the tracks and he was finding it hard to steer them both into his direction. He had wanted to see Bif today, take in the reassuring presence he gave him, which became so familiar to him over these past few years. They’d argued, and now he had thrust his apology back into his hands. Bif was one of the few he could not freely take sincerity from, that was his own mistake, and one he just made deliberately. Presently, he felt sickening remorse pooling inside of him, steadily drowning him. 

V

He'd fought with Derby before, but it was usually over something stupid. 

"My dad is more important than your dad!" He'd jokingly taunted one night in a slightly drunken daze, and Bif, also in a liquor induced stupor had gotten angrier than he'd wanted to be. 

Derby had turned away from him and Bif said nothing for some time. It was a similar feeling to the tiresome end of a gruelling fistfight, but he was unsure whether he had won or lost this time. Bif felt lighter now, but consequently emptier too. 

"Bif," Derby began slowly,  "I did wrong you. It was a mistake on my part." 

His admission was unexpected, for sure, and he found himself stricken. He would have felt less surprised if Derby had suddenly burst into awful, messy tears. 

"God, Derby, you weird me out. I’ve known you for years, but you still confuse me." 

He felt uneasy now, and he wished this would end. Derby turned, and Bif expected another disagreement to ensue, but there was none.

"Look, It's fine, Derby. I mean, I guess it’s not fine, but we don't have to bring it up anymore." I'm exhausted. "Let's just forget this, for now." 

Derby looked tired too, for once.

“Okay, Bif.”

He's as shaken as I am, he realised.

“Let’s start to head back. It’s late. If you have any more gripes about me, you can tell me directly on the way.”

At least he could retain his sense of humor.

But it really was late, Bif realised. The stars were coming out, and the town’s usual toll had trailed off into silence, save for the occasional car rumbling through the street. They made their way wordlessly across the pier, turning toward the Academy. He almost hated Derby that night, yet he still he wanted him by his side, and despite his fatigue, he wouldn’t have minded staying there a while longer with him. 

There was a peaceful air following them as they traveled to the place they’d had to call home for the school year. A yellow crescent moon was suspended in the cloudless dark sky. The night was warm, and still young. They would arrive well before midnight anyways, and when they reached the Academy, they knew it was past curfew, but Derby had made sure early on in the year that they would go unnoticed by the displeased prefects who wandered the school grounds with torches at night, looking for troublemakers. After all, they loved money, same as everyone else. And besides, it seemed pointless to enforce a curfew on the second last day of school. When they entered the house, the lights were dimmed and it was mostly quiet, except for the muffled sound of footsteps on one of the top floors. They started to make their way upstairs and through a carpeted hallway decorated with paintings and houseplants. Bif stopped suddenly.

“Wait, Derby, are you really leaving Bullworth?” 

He eyed Bif for a moment before answering. “I certainly hope not. How am I going to find so many lackeys who are willing to fight for me in a new school in so little time?” he said, looking at Bif, a laugh breaking out of his neutral expression, and Bif let out a chortle. 

“Man, hadn’t thought of that,”

They stood there in the faint lamplight, so mellow it made him slightly dizzy.

“I gotta go to bed, have an important day of doing nothing tomorrow,” Bif said. As Derby laughed, he looked younger, and for a brief second he was the person who would sneak out of dinner parties with him as a lark and explore the old, stately home they’d both been confined in for the evening, finding dubious locked doors and dusty basements.

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow then, Bif,” he said, laying a hand on his arm, suddenly pausing. He could feel his warmth through his cotton shirt. He realised how much he had sweated that evening in the summer heat, but either Derby didn’t care or didn’t pay any attention. A sensation in his chest exulted, unsettled him. There was the flicker of longing he’d experienced through the years, now plain and clear as day, and not so uncertain as it used to be. Derby seemed to linger there for a second, lifting his ambiguous gaze to his own eyes, keeping it there, making him restless, but in that moment, Derby began to back off into his room. And when he tore his hand away, Bif almost objected, calling his name and telling him to wait. Derby just stood there in anticipation, and when Bif asked if he was okay, he replied in that affected tone that Bif had always hated, asking why he shouldn’t be. Bif just shrugged his shoulders, and Derby then hastily bid him goodbye, retreating into his room. The door clicked shut, leaving him there.

When he finally went to bed, his frustration had begun to stir among his fatigue and he wondered if he was wrong to think he might fall asleep that night. At one point, the heat in his room was stifling, and he leapt up from his bed and threw open the windows. When he was finally able to close his eyes, he thought of Derby, the sea and its lighthouses, his wanting and his hurt, and the mess he’d thrown himself into. One more day and they’d be apart, and now he wished that he’d caught Derby’s arm before he’d made himself scarce that night.

______________________________________________________________

Notes

Hey, If you read the full thing, I greatly appreciate it! This was quite difficult to write at times because the characters of Bif and Derby were not given so much nuance in the game itself, so it was quite challenging to write a story that delves into their psyche and way of thinking. I wrote this with the intention of exploring their individual characters and feelings toward each other a bit further, especially after the events of the Dishonorable Fight and Complete Mayhem missions. The interactions and the implications of their relationship dynamic are quite interesting to me. Please feel free to tell me what you thought, and once again, thank you for reading!

-A

[askintothevoids]

“AAAAAHHHHH!!! OH SHIT!”

“Shut up! You’re being too loud!” Buddy whisper-yelled.

“Eat my foot old man!” Harper barked back.

“I’m younger than you!”

Jane lazily glanced over at her younger siblings, occupied with the broken chains of a swingset. To be fair, it was pitch dark out and it was 3 am. Daniel held the bolts as Jane snapped them together.

“Would you shut your yappers? You’re gonna wake them up.” Daniel mumbled, as he kept a steady grip.

“Yeah, Buddy.” Harper sneered, huffing in their brother’s face.

“He means you too, forb-eater.”

“Lizard breath.”

“Don’t make me come over there.” Jane hissed at the two.

A sisterly threat was always welcome.

“Ok, Mom.” Harper teased.

“You would wish I was as forgiving as Mom,” Jane retaliated, baring her fist.

Harper seemed to back down a little as Jane’s usual laidback tone spun into annoyance.

“Hold the flashlight a little higher.”

Daniel poked the flashlight in Buddy’s hands with his elbow.

“Oh, shit, yeah, sorry.”

The older pair finally got the swings fixed in place, before ushering into their old spots. It had been awhile since they’d all been in the same place. Daniel and Harper sat on the swings, while Jane and Buddy climbed their way up so they could lay on the monkey bars.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Jane thought aloud.

“What’s crazy?”

Jane’s gaze was fixed on the stars, the ease of night led her mind to a trail of memories.

“We’re all almost adults.”

“Ugh, gross.” Daniel, Harper, and Buddy responded in unison.

Jane laughed, there was a somber feeling to this reunion.

“It’s not that bad. It’s not like any of us can go anywhere.”

“But we are going somewhere.” Daniel chimed in.

“Yeah. Somewhere.”

Buddy spoke next, his voice calm and monotone.

“Remember when Mom would take us stargazing..?”

“Hehe, yeah, none of us could ever remember the constellations.” Harper fondly offered.

“Yeah.”

Daniel glanced upward.

“How fucked up do you think we are?” Daniel, always speaking with artistic insight.

“Oh, bad.”

“Worse than homemade soap wine.”

“Like if God ripped the rib from Adam just for fun.”

The four of them gave a light hearted chuckle.

“It’s not like its Mom and Papa’s fault though.”

“No, it isn’t. The world is too dangerous, to live comfortably that is.”

Jane turned toward her little brother.

“What about you and Édouard?” Jane asked, pointing a claw toward the woods.

“I..I don’t know. I mean, everything has to end sometime.” Buddy spoke, “It’s just one of those things.”

“Sad.”

“I know.”

Life is a long start. In the gaze of adolescence, such a fate seems crueling. There is danger wherever we look, and we try to blame it on others. But often, it is a matter of a fact of the hand at play, and often in what lies in the void. (Abigail Jacobs, 2023)

“Do you think they’ll go mad..?” Harper asked.

There was silence.

“I don’t know. Some things are often left unanswered.” Buddy said.

I have watched my friends grow used. Their minds left with infected mush, I have killed those who suffered such fate. I watch Virgilius with worry, but I now see there is someone else who could need my protection. (Camila Mejia-Cortes, 1526)

“Everything happened before us.”

Everyday, I watch upon my grandson in my dreams. He is young and small. He reeks of rotten blood, copper running through his veins. I usually do not write in such a way, but something needs to be said. I worry for him. I find his father distasteful, and my daughter bends to his will, I beg my beloved to save him. But, I believe he will be stuck. Perhaps I will speak to him, like my own has done to me. (Verrill Johnson, 2065)

“You guys wanna grab some breakfast tomorrow?”

“Yeah.”

“Sure.”

“Sounds good.”

My brother is next up. But, I can’t have that happen, otherwise it will be Annette, or Edith. Neither do I want Virgilius to bear the loss of his wife and children, such things shouldn't be wished on others. Even if I am disgraced, I still want my girls to sit on the steps of my line, near me or my brother. They are the last of us. Or that you are just listening to the words of a dead woman? I wish prosperity upon you, whoever you are, whoever is reading this. Keep the children safe. Long live Queen Annelous. Quisusaih shares her light. (Agnes Drummond-Emsworth, 1328)

“Goodnight.”

“Night, guys.”

I say this while still in sound mind. I play the fool at times, but I know that forgetfulness runs in the family. I feel guilt for my actions, and I do deserve Virgil’s scorn. Yet, Ms. Mary has behavior I have not seen before. Gray in areas where preachers would scowl. I would like to know them better, as Mary has a face I can’t seem to look away from. They are elegant, like a stocky horse. But the lack of color intrigues me, not to mention their son is precious. (Remus O’Malley-Gator, 1854)

“Night.”

“Aren’t you going to bed?” Jane asked.

“No, I think I’ll stay out here a little longer.”

“Well, go to bed soon.”

“Kay.”

--g. I’m fine with it though. I see no use to push further. But, I fear what will happen to Patton. Perhaps his brother will find goodwill in his heart, which he will, my son is predictable in his golden heart. The fresh air would be a good idea. I know there is a house in the woods, that would house all of them. But I find Nick’s actions hard to navigate. If not, I don’t think I would. (Janus Van Den Bosch-Brzozowski, 2063)

“Shit.”

[wonderlander-i]

Happily Ever After

Pairing : Oliver x F! MC

Warnings : none ( well it's not like I can write anything NSFW I'm such a disaster 😂)

Word count : 1.9k

Author's note : I didn't play distant shores just to spend the rest of my life between theatres and parties only because I'm a thot for Oliver. Hell naw.

Here's a quick rewriting for the diamond scene because I got extra emotional today and I'm not ready for the finale!

Also this is a repost because the tags weren't working on my original post is this normal?

“Now what” Oliver locked his eyes with her, gently taking her hand his.

“We could always be the high society couple and settle in London” She smiled widely, covering the back of his hand with her palm.

“I doubt that’s what you want to do” He arched an eyebrow

“How about we run away?” She smirked, her eyes glinting mischievously.

“I guess I should pack some extra pants then” He grinned, kissing the back of her hand.

-

“A feisty one, isn’t she?” An old sailor smiled, wiping the sweat of his forehead with a dirty cloth.

Oliver chuckled at the sight of Evelyn standing in the center of the deck of their new ship giving orders to the men around her to move and put things in the places she desired.

“Aye, she’d boss his majesty the king around if she’d got the chance to”

“Didn’t she persuade him to make her an ambassador of England?”

“She’s quite the charmer” He shook his head, a proud smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re a lucky man, ya know?” The man patted Oliver’s shoulder before walking away to carry on with his work.

At this moment, Evelyn turned her head in his direction, beaming. She smiled warmly at him. Her smile held a hundred words of unspoken promises, of eternal happiness, and of wishful dreams of sailing together to the unknown and never turning back. And in that crowded place, between all the bustling movements, the loud upbeat chatters, and crashing of the waves, nothing mattered to him except keeping that grin drawn on her face forever.

“The luckiest” He thought to himself.

-

“Where are you taking us” Oliver asked as she dragged him through the alleys of a busy market in a village. The rich smell of sweet and spice tickled his nose as he looked around to the million colors that surrounded them, like they were escaping from a painting, coming to life.

“Patience, Oliver” She giggled, her voice barely reached him above all the sounds of the merchants calling out their merchandise and the children playing, still running and parkouring between the food stands and the rolls of silk.

He shook his head, the corners of his lips turning up as he took in the beautiful traditional emerald green dress that she wore. She was utterly fascinated by the fashion of the world in their era. She wanted to try everything, to experience everything. Her eyes lit up with the brightest glimmer at every clothing shop they came across and he swore to himself to order her a traditional dress from every country they were sent to next. She always found her surprises wrapped in a beautiful box under her bed, and the way she’d dance in it around the room made him wonder, how could happiness be only one piece of fabric away?

Shaking his head to chase his thoughts away, his eyes widened when they emerged into a larger alley which led to a golden temple. Majestic, bold, and his books could never do he view in front of him justice. She stopped running and turned to face him, her hair flying around her like every strand of it danced to the rhythm of the overflowing music bursting from everywhere, studying his curious expressions with satisfaction.

“Well, this is worth almost tripping on a basket of cumin” He stated.

-

“Evelyn?” Oliver called calmly as he studied a letter with the scarlet royal seal on it. Sitting at his desk in his study room, he patiently tapped his fingers on the wooden surface until she appeared by the doorframe.

“Yes darling?” She stepped up behind him with two steamy cups of tea in her hands.

“Some papers came while you were out” He spread the letter on the table in front of her, his eyebrows furrowed. “Would you explain why this says that you had been assigned as a navigator on my ship?”

“Well they couldn’t say no to the commodore’s wife” She replied, setting the cups next to the letter and taking a closer look at it.

He turned his chair to face her, his composed expressions replaced by an anguished look.

“You don’t understand the risks” He pleaded her to change her mind, taking her hand in his “It’s a war! I don’t doubt that you can fight better than half the men the navy will ever have, but-”

“I do understand the risk” She interrupted him, determined “and that’s why I will never let you go to a war alone.”

“I won’t be alone. I will have hundreds of men, a whole royal navy unit behind me”

“And the best navigator these waters have known, with the most beautiful eyes to lead you” She smiled, leaning down to plant a kiss on his forehead. “I know you will be taking good care of all your men, but who will take care of mine?”

He sighed, wrapping his arms around her waist and pulling her closer. He rested his head on her chest and closed his eyes, inhaling deeply. She smelled like sweet cinnamon, sunshine, and safety.

“It was bold of me to think that I can go that long without those cups of tea of yours”

-

Oliver linked his arm with hers as they took their usual evening stroll by the seaside, a picnic basket dangling from his other arm. They somehow found their peace in walking barefoot on the ivory sand, filling a glass jar with curiously colored seashells and well rounded pebbles. They earnestly deserved this undisturbed tranquility after all those years of combat in the open sea. It’s been a year since his father, the disgraced admiral, passed away. They were both astonished to learn that Oliver was to inherit his estate which was barely a quarter of a mile away from the coast line. It was more of a castle than an estate. Old fashioned, charming, and one hour later Evelyn was setting the admiral’s portraits on fire.

She grasped her shawl tighter to shield herself from the autumn breeze as they walked hand in hand. They subconsciously reached for each other’s hand frequently, constantly, all the time, everywhere. As if their linked souls sought to manifest their bound in every questionable way.

And in a matter of moments, they were already sitting on the red stripped blanket, admiring yet another sunset together. Evelyn sighed deeply, glancing sideway at the man whom she almost worshipped. He was the perfect evidence of God’s perfectionism. How could such a flawless divine creature be…human? She pursed her lips into a thin line, fearing that she might explode from all her swirling emotions. His presence filled her with the most extraordinary feelings. It was outrageous, overwhelming, yet intoxicating in the most enchanting way.

“Oliver” She whispered, taking the glass of wine from his hand and setting in on the sand.

“Yes?” He hummed

She didn’t reply. Instead, she handed him and envelope. His name was written on in with big neat letters. He recognized the handwriting to be hers. He arched an eyebrow at her unusual behavior, but he opened it with no furthermore questions.

Dear Commodore Cochrane,

I am very pleased to inform you that you have been promoted to be father

Yours truly,

Your wife.

His jaw dropped and his eyes widened, and for a moment he forgot how to breathe. His eyes darted between Evelyn and the paper in his hand for several times, and not even a word slipped from his mouth. It’s not until he saw that something was dripping on the letter, and he realized that these were his own tears, that he was pulled back to reality. His lower lip trembled as he reached with his hand to frame the side of her face, as the other moved to rest on her belly very delicately, fearing that if he presses harder she might shatter like a porcelain doll. Neither of them dared to break that sacred silence, nor knew how to. They sat there, lost in each other’s eyes as the sky changed its colors to a soft lavender hue. And if eyes were the windows of the soul, she saw pure love pouring from his. She would’ve sworn that she can’t fall for him harder, until that one moment.

Only then she knew that loving him was an endless fall, and it’s a long way down.

-

Evelyn sat on a bench in their little garden, her one year old son sleeping peacefully in her arms. He was carefully wrapped in a warm blanket, snuggled to her chest. She gazed at him adoringly.

“You’re the perfect replica of your father aren’t you” She hummed softly, her finger caressing his little rosy cheek. “You’ve got the same golden hair that captures the sun” Her finger moved to twirl the small blonde curl that fell on his forehead. “The same olive eyes, like the morning of a spring day encapsulated in a honey jar” And she poked his nose “And the same look of mischief, you’re always up to something aren’t you?” The little boy yawned in his sleep, and she smiled.

She felt a strong pair of arms wrap around her and her baby, and she flinched instinctively, protectively holding her son closer. But as soon as she recognized the familiar scent of morning dew and the sweet sea air, her shoulders relaxed and warmth flooded her chest.

“For how long have you been here” She asked, turning to face the grinning man.

“That’s a question which I shall not answer”

“You realize that your answer is implied, right” She rolled her eyes playfully, and the threw her head back to lay on his shoulder. “Hello there, commodore”

“I think you kind of started developing feelings for me. I’m sorry madam, but I’m a married man” He mused.

“Oliver, we are married”

“I’m afraid you’re wrong, you must’ve mistaken me for someone else”

“Oliver!” she groaned, trying her best to not wake the baby up. “Sir, we’ve married for eight years. We have a son together, we’re expecting another child soon, and if you wake him up I’ll send you on a pleasure cruise with the edge of my sword”

“Still as feisty as the day I first met you.” A deep chuckled rumbles in his throat, as he let go of her and walked around the bench to face her. He kneeled in front of her and placed a soft kiss on the forehead of their son. And out of the blue, his expressions turned grave and serious.

“Evelyn, I may not be the best at showing it, but you truly made me the happiest man in the world. I’m sorry if my time can never rise up to match the comfort of yours, I would’ve given you the whole world if I could and-”

“Shush” she effectively stopped him by placing her finger on his soft lips, her heart aching with undeniable love.

“You are my world”

“And to think that you’ll ever be any less cliché”

[rainebowkitty]

Happy Birthday Riddle! <3

IT'S FINALLY TIME! I've been hyped about this for awhile ngl, but let's just get right into a small summary of the piece.

Riddle celebrates his first birthday with friends (for plot convenience, I'm also making this when he first tries a tart. Also, I originally had Che'nya insert cat puns whenever he spoke, but ehhhhhhh I don't think they really fit the piece, soooo yeah. They weren't good either, they were just changing 'you' to 'mew' and such, but whatevs).

“Take a bite now, would you?” 

“Che’nya, no need to rush him.”

Riddle stared at the slice of strawberry tart with a hesitance no kid should a dessert on their birthday. It was a gift, after all. He should be just as grateful for this sweet treat as he was the new stack of books his mother gifted him that he had neatly worked into the countless other organized scriptures on his bookshelf earlier that day. 

“Che’nya’s right,” Riddle nodded slowly as he picked up his silverware. “I… suppose I’m nervous is all.”

“It’s not like your mom can sense when you’re misbehaving,” the cat boy continued, causing Riddle to freeze mid-cut. Was he really that easy to read? 

Of course he was. He was just a boy, yet he had developed years of trust in his mother’s words already. The only flicker of doubt he had in her was the contradictory things his friends would say and do, but it was enough to keep him from arrogantly strutting about as if the name ‘Rosehearts’ were that of a prince. 

For now, anyway. 

“If you don’t want to do this, Riddle-”

“No, I-I didn’t say that, I…” the redhead trailed off as he gritted his teeth in a fit of determination. He jammed his fork into the piece of tart with the grace of an awkward goose, causing a not-so-subtle clang of plate and silver before lifting the utensil up and turning it towards his mouth. He opened then closed his lips around the fork as an overwhelming sweetness danced on his tongue. 

To anyone else, the strawberries covering the top of the tart would’ve more than balanced out the sugary cream just beneath them, but this was a new flavor for Riddle. His taste buds didn’t know how to process the dessert in the slightest, yet it was still so good that he quickly brought the knife back down to the plate to cut off another bite-sized portion. He plopped the new piece into his mouth before he’d finished chewing the last one. This frenzy persisted until there were only crumbs remaining.

“See, I told you he’d like it,” Che’nya elbowed Trey with a wry smile coloring his already flashy features. Trey just smiled as if he knew too, but he was too gentle to force Riddle into anything whether he trusted his intuition or not. 

Trey almost regretted his inability to give Riddle much of a proper push upon seeing how drastically the boy would change whenever the trio happened upon something he hadn’t experienced before and enjoyed. There was always this light in his eyes that wasn’t there before. It’d never last long, especially when early in their friendship, Riddle would sniffle and sob as he mumbled strings of apologies to his mother, careful not to exclude how much of a disgrace he was for breaking the rules. 

~

“I-I n-never should’ve d-done th-this,” Riddle wiped a salty tear from his cheek only for three more to take its place in a neat and orderly line. It was incredible how even Riddle’s tears seemed to follow some sort of pre-planned procedure. 

“But you had fun, no?” The curious cat boy tilted his head as he asked. He was never great with this sappy side of Riddle. He knew he was there simply to convince the impressionable redhead to do things he normally wouldn’t with that buzzard of a mother present, but at least Che’nya had enough sense to be serious when these episodes of Riddle’s occurred. 

“I g-guess,” Riddle hiccupped. “B-but wh-what if w-we’re caught? M-mama will h-hate me and I-I’ll d-deserve it.” 

“That’s not true,” Trey put a hand on the blubbering boy’s shoulder, the redhead jolting a little but not having it in him to push Trey’s hand away. “At least you learned something new, right? Croquet was a pastime of one of the Great Seven.”

“R-really?” Riddle’s lip quivered. He’d heard tales of the Great Seven before and the school they represented. Entry requirements were a mystery, but even his accomplished eyes glazed with innocence dreamed of entry to a school with so many dazzling founders.

“The Queen of Hearts,” Trey nodded before wiping Riddle’s tear stained cheek with his sleeve gently. “In fact, games like this were part of the rules she upheld.”

“A-a Queen built entirely on f-fun,” Riddle wiped his other eye slowly as if the concept were impossible to him. “So sh-she wouldn’t get m-mad at me, even if I’m a-awful at the game?” 

“She wouldn’t,” Trey smiled as he picked up the mallet cast aside in Riddle’s short outburst. “So how about we give it another go?” 

“A-alright. If you’re sure.” 

~

“Thank you both,” Riddle looked up to his friends happily, that light so rarely seen in his eyes lingering there, even as underlying guilt rested in the sheets of silver.

On their way back, the sun only seemed to illuminate them more before the group reached the window in which Riddle always climbed from to join Trey and Che’nya on their daily escapades. The metallic gleam of grey irises dulled at the sight of his room. He climbed into it with a wave and a weak smile to his friends, two boys that represented the freedom he could never fully grasp returning Riddle’s gesture before turning around and walking away back to their happy homes, the redhead watching them was sure.

“I had fun,” he whispers to their backs as they disappeared in the streets.

~

Bonus: 

“I certainly hope you did, because it won’t be happening again,” came a stern voice from the corner of the room. Riddle whipped his head around to the sound with a sharp gasp.

“M-mama? Mama, please, I-I can explain!” 

“Oh, I think you’ve explained quite enough. The cream attached to your bottom lip certainly does tell me exactly what you’ve been up to.”

Riddle could only blink before wiping the remnants of the tart away distractedly, the shirt unluckily enough a darker color that made the white icing stand out harshly on his sleeve.

“I’m sorry,” was all he could squeak out as he pursed his lips so they wouldn’t quiver and so he wouldn’t cry. But it wasn’t enough for her. It never would be, and neither would he.

~

Bonus bonus: aka some doodles of mine :3

Aaaaaaand that's it. Until next year everyone! (Jk I can't pry myself away from making Riddle content. I already have ideas for general hcs of next year's bday for the lil' tyrant, but that's none of my business 👀)

[sideblogformindtrash]

Witchless Familiar; Familiarless Witch; part 4

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CW: Stress position; sensory deprivation; spitting; deshumanization; pet whump; no-con (non-sexual) touching;

 She walks back into the fairy ring, where Circe’s wagon is hidden. There, the magic will keep them safe from any eyes, Circe said. At least as long as the faeries don’t come back to claim their mushroom ring, the little sparkly name-stealing bastards.

As she steps inside and the secrets reveal themselves, she sees a colorful figure in the center and she almost drops the firewood she was carrying, immediately turning around and keeping eyes on the floor.

“I’m so sorry Fern. I didn’t knew you were transformed”

She hears a tongue clicking as Fern approaches. She only turns to them when they touch her, with their cold hand, spotted with tiny scales that mixed with their human-like skin.

Alright. She has their permission, then. Good. It even seemed like they were waiting for her.

“Thank you, Fern”

The chameleon-person nods, huge eyes staring at her, colors on their skin and hair shifting from red-warm tones into blue ones. Fern moves around their ragged coat, looking for something.

They click the abnormally longue tongue in satisfaction once they find it, and lick their eyeballs. That looks very disgusting in this humanoid shape, especially because they do have eyelids now… but she does her best not to react. It already means a lot that they are letting her see them like this.

Fern raises a rag doll, for her to see. She frowns, taking a closer look… and drops all the firewood in shock, placing her hands over her mouth. She grabbed the doll, a little doll of her Roots, with tiny yellow button eyes and sewn ears. Her hands shivered, the doll gleaming on the fire.

“-W-why? How?” She looked back at Fern, holding back tears. Fern licks their eyes again, in satisfaction “Did you make this?”

The familiar nods, sitting crossed legged near the fire grabbing a piece of the firewood she brought and throwing it in, watching the flames revive and poking them from time to time. She lets herself fall there too, by the side of the fire, and gently pets the rope-hair the doll has. It smells like ginger.

“Alright… Thank you Fern” she hugs it tight, petting its hair, illuminated by the flames, as they wait for Circe to return.

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

He hears nothing and sees nothing, feels only the intense burning on his muscles, strained for hours in the same uncomfortable position. He has his teeth carved onto his lips to prevent him from sobbing, the lashes of the whip on his back making the ache even more unbearable.  He wouldn’t give them – no, him. It’s just the general now – that much yet.

He wouldn’t call him master. No, he was part of nature and nature is owned by none, respects none, follows only the rules it created for itself. And cats – cats were born free. Lady, lord or masters, no cat should ever recognize.

But… He was about to collapse. And nature wouldn’t save him now, because it was as free and wild as it was uncaring and unfair. Pain, sorrow and shame were risks he took when choosing to assume a physicality. But he had no clue of how hard it could be.

And that same physical body, it was source of conflicts he never found living as a spirit. That body couldn’t truly merge with the essence of the world like he did before, so it craved to feel the world around it on the only ways it could: to see, to hear, to smell and taste and feel.

That body collapsed under pain, and it melted under gentle touches, no matter how unwanted. So when a hand ran through his hair, face, his back, the body relaxed just a little bit. In amidst the numbness, the awful pain of its muscles, the darkness of a blindfold and the awful, awful silence … the body wanted that warm touch, because it was so grounding, it was so real.

Even as his soul fought to be set free from the chains that bound it to earth, his body now wanted nothing other than find things that meant he was still there, after being deprived from them for so long.

The headphones were pulled slightly down, and he heard the breathing of the human. Disgusting.

“So… are you ready to obey now, little cat?”

The man always emphasized that last part, as if being a cat was somehow disgraceful. Being an animal was normal. That divide between mankind and the rest of the physical-life forms… It existed only in mankind’s ego. And they wanted him to feel ashamed.

Ashamed of being an animal. As if he hadn’t chosen that shape... And didn’t wish so bad to be back on it, instead of stuck on this imitation of a human, a shape familiars reserved for their most dear companions, when words would need to be exchanged.

And cats… Cats were all born free. Lady, Lord or Master, no cat should ever recognize.

The slap was strong enough to make him loose balance. Of course, he didn’t really have room to move, strapped like that, so fell a little to the side, shifting the weight, his body hanged against the ropes that were tightly digging on his skin. He couldn’t contain a whimper, and the fingers that until the moment were soft grabbed his jaw painfully.

“Do not ignore your Master, little cat”

He spit and hissed. He had no clue if it hit the man or not but… He let go.

“Fine. I guess a few more hours will do you good.”

The headphones were put back.

…Panic rose in his chest. A few more hours? He could barely stand. He whimpered, sadly. He could beg. That’s what the man wanted to hear, right? He didn’t have to mean it. He could just say the words… Just tell him…

No. No. He breathed, deeply. That was the physical shape, his corporeal prison speaking. He couldn’t do it. If he begged once it would be all too easy to make him do it again. And then… Then he was scared of what he could become.

Lady, Lord or Master, he would never recognize.

…Right?

tag: @talk-to-rock (I.. just noticed you are a rock. Cool :) )