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monsterlover48 · 4 years ago

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Part 1: The Meeting

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Bodyguard!Orc x Princess!Reader

Summary: Y/N, the princess of Evermore, the beauty of the west. She had many suitors, many men, and women who wanted her by their side. Too bad her eyes were already set the day he came to save her life.

Warnings: PTSD, flashbacks (sorta), medieval fighting

~~~ Princess Y/N was a kind soul. Always tended to her princess duties and went out of her way to give to the lower class. Everyone loved her, and they knew she would be a wonderful queen.

When word got out about the attempted assassination, the people were outraged that someone would dare hurt their beloved princess. Y/N Could still feel the man's glove-clad hand grasp her face to silence her screams every time she closed her eyes, and she didn't know how to get the image out of her head.

The morning breeze soothed her warm skin as she walked outside and into the growing gardens of her castle. The beautiful greens of the grass and plants paired with the myriad of colours that decorated the flowers set the frantic princess' mind at ease. She had one hell of a night, and it took hours for her to get a good night's rest. Her mind was plagued with nightmares of her death and the death of her people. She just wished it wouldn't come true.

Y/N had worn a lilac dress that morning, lace on the sleeves, and a large bow on the back. It was her favorite, and she wanted to wear it to bring up her mood. She didn't want anyone to see the wound on her arm, but the bulk of the bandages showed through her frilly sleeves.

"M'lady. The king requests you." Y/N handmaiden, Cassandra, spoke quietly, breaking the serenity of the garden. The princess's shoulders deflated, and she hung her head low before she smiled at her friend.

"Do you know what about?" She asked, linking her good arm with Cassandra's. The maiden giggled and shook her head playfully.

"Your knight is coming to protect you. They're having a contest to see who could protect you the best." Cassandra grinned. Y/N's cheeks flushed, and she gasped.

"Today? Do I look alright?" The woman began to unnecessarily judge herself, muttering curses of how she should have done her hair better.

"You look fine." Cassandra giggled. They walked down the large corridor and through the guards that stood straighter at the sight of their princess. Y/N nodded and bowed to everyone she passed politely, a smile stuck on her face in her princess facade.

"Daughter, you took long enough." Her father playfully scolded, holding a hand out to help her into the royal chair. They were in the courtyard where entertainers, fighters, or jousters came to do their thing.

As Y/N looked amongst the crowd, she saw many creatures in knight armor. Ranging from tieflings to humans. But one she hadn't seen before, someone massive in size. It was well known that Evermore was more of the accepting kind when it came to other races, but not many creatures of that size came to the lovely kingdom. And they were all fighting for her favor as a personal guard. She felt as though the taller one would win. She couldn't see his face or even his skin to tell what he could be, but she didn't care. The princess didn't necessarily want a personal guard, but if she was to get one, she wanted it to be someone who could truly protect her life.

"Which do you think would win, princess?" A voice asked behind her. Y/N turned to see a man she's never met before. He was handsome; bright blue eyes and dark brown hair with chiseled features, but she wasn't too interested. He smiled at her with an attempt to be charming, but she knew the play.

"The tall one." She replied, pointing towards the looming figure as he practiced by his lonesome.

"Ah yes, that one. He seems pretty strong." He chuckled, and Y/N realized he had an accent that wasn't from Evermore.

"What's your name?" Y/N asked curiously. However, before he could respond, the tournament speaker began his speech about the rules and how the tournament would go.

The trumpets sounded, and two knights stepped up before they began to fight. Swords clashing and metal banging sounded around the courtyard, and Y/N was on the edge of her seat every time a knight fell. She hoped they weren't too injured, but she had to admit, it was interesting to watch them fight.

By the time the last two were up, it was two large men, clad head to toe in thick armor, but Y/N noticed the one she kept her eyes on. The tall one with bulging muscles. She bit her lip as they started, gasping when the clashing of swords and their blasts against armor. But ultimately, she was correct; the tall one was the champion. The crowd cheered loudly as the last man fell, and the tall man roared triumphantly.

The princess stood from her place and straightened out the skirt of her dress. Everyone gasped when the creature took off his helmet, revealing an orc to be the champion. Orcs used to be the villains of Evermore's story, but the war had ended, and they were at peace. However, that doesn't mean many orcs came into Evermore and never came to protect their princess. Y/N looked around at the shocked faces of her people and squared her shoulders before she walked out of the royal seating and to the courtyard where the champion stood.

Everyone watched their princess with wary eyes and shifted in their seats as she approached him. The closer she looked, he was taller than she expected. Thrice her size, and he had a scowl upon his handsome features. His skin was a pale green, and he had large tusks sticking out from his mouth. His mean stare didn't detour the princess as she smiled and bowed politely to the knight.

"It seems you have won. What is your name?" She asked, clasping her hand behind her back. He huffed a piece of stray black hair away from his eyes, the long strands reaching past his shoulders. He bowed to her when she walked closer, propping his arm onto his knee.

"Rhudrak Fang Cracker." He replied. His voice was gruff, as though he had gargled rocks before he spoke.

"Well, Rhudrak Fang Cracker. It is nice to meet you. I will be happy to work with you." The crowd cheered then, the piercing noise almost startling the princess. She turned to look at the crowd before looking back at her knight.

"Yes! This man is my daughter's champion. The one who will protect her with his life. Do you agree?" Her father asked, walking into the courtyard as well. Her father was a very accepting man, and no matter the fact that he witnessed orcs kill many of his people, he would never discriminate against a man who wanted to protect his only daughter.

"I agree," Rhudrak responded. King Gustus nodded, and Y/N smiled at the crowd as the royal family plus the knight and other guards walked back to the castle. Y/N couldn't help but steal glances at the steely man. She found it very interesting that an orc would want to protect her. And he looked so mysterious. She just wandered-

"Y/N, dearest." Her mother scolded. Y/N tore her eyes away from her knight with warm cheeks and turned to her mother.

"Yes, mother?" She asked. Meira shook her head disapprovingly and continued walking.

"Your father was talking to you." She hissed. Y/N bowed her head in embarrassment, and she could've sworn she saw a ghost of a smile on her Rhudrak's face.

"While you were in your fantasy land, I was discussing the rules of your supervisor and how you must act." He told her with a kind and understanding smile. Y/N was very close to her father, and she was glad to have him understand how easy it was for her to get lost in the clouds. Unlike her strict mother.

"What are his rules?"

"No. Your rules." Her father corrected. Y/N gasped and choked on her spit before she looked at the people in front of her.

"What do you mean 'my' rules?" Y/N asked incredulously.

"You are not to leave the sight of Rhudrak. The only time you will be alone is when in your chambers, safe. You will do what he asks of you. If he tells you to run, to hide, or even to walk, you do it. He is there to protect you; let him do his job. No running around the halls in the middle of the nights anymore. People are after you, my dear, and I couldn't stand losing you. It almost happened once, and I will not let it happen again." Her father told her. She wanted to roll her eyes, to pout and say 'not fair.' But she almost died that night. The visions still haunt her in her sleep and even during the day. She knew if she wanted to survive, she must do what her father asks of her.

"Yes, father." She replied solemnly, all traces of humor gone from the conversation.

"Now go make yourselves acquainted while showing him his room. It's the one next to yours." Y/N nodded and looked at her parents awkwardly as they walked away.

"Your room is this way on the third floor," Y/N spoke. She was exhausted from the excitement of the day and had zero social energy, but she knew she had to do it anyways.

"Third floor? How do you even get upstairs with those tiny shoes on?" Rhudrak chuckled. Y/N hid her giggle behind her hand and shook her head as they approached the stairway.

"With difficulty. Try walking around hours a day with a corset on." She scoffed. Rhudrak laughed loudly but quickly quieted down.

"Tell me about the night of your attack." He asked suddenly. Y/N was taken aback by the sudden question as they walked up the many stairs.

"Well... I couldn't sleep. I think that's the only reason I'm alive right now. He wore a black mask with strange symbols on it. He was human-sized. That's all remember." She said. She was lying of course. She could remember so much more. The blue of his eyes and the stench of leather as his hand clamped down onto her mouth. She couldn't breathe when he sat on her. She felt hopeless and the gleam of the moonlight on his blade made her shiver with unease.

"Princess?" Rhudrak asked gently, looking at her with a thoughtful gaze. She snapped out of her wandering thoughts and shook her head with a smile.

"Well, here you are. My chambers are right here. I'll let you get settled in." She said with a bow, walking back to her room. She shut the door gently and allowed herself to break slightly at the memory of her attack, fresh tears slipping down her cheeks.

Taglist!

@vanta-monsters @inosh-k @sylum

#monster #monster lover #monster smut #orc #orc x reader #monster x human #monster x reader #orc x human

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solarwonux · 4 years ago

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Minghao x f!reader drabble

w.c: 2.8k

warnings: angst, slight mention of not eating, minghao be an asshole sometimes

note: I’ve had this one collecting dust in the docs so I decided to upload it today, it was meant to be part of a bigger fic but I decided to not continue though who knows it might be referenced later on in a different fic. Enjoy and let me know your thoughts.xx

Also I’m changing my schedule around a little. So instead of me posting Mon, Weds, Fri, I will be posting Mon, Thurs, Fri. You can find more info on Navi

drabble game || masterlist

There were sides of Minghao that unfortunately weren’t reserved for you, except for one. The one you hated the most and the one you wished you could stray as far away from. The side that received you with a frown and a bitter cold glare. The side that spoke to you in short sentences, a sour tone that would weave its way through his voice like vines whenever he spoke to you. It sent shivers down your spine and not the good kind. It was the side that you couldn’t break through to get to the side that was reserved for the people he loved and cared about most in the world. And you weren’t one of those people.

Maybe this was the way the universe decided to punish you. A punishment you wholeheartedly thought you didn’t deserve because you were tied at your feet with no way out. When you had been matched with Minghao by the System it was either you marry or die. And of course, selfishly you choose to live. You knew he resented you for it, but in the year and a half that you two were officially married, you had secretly seen the warmth that oozed out of his pores. You saw the wide smile that would light up the room whenever darkness poured in. His laugh sounded like a sweet melody that you would never get tired of listening and just his presence made you feel like home.

Minghao was a gift, the purest form of art, a being so powerful you swore he would restore the peace in the world. He could resent you, hate you all he wanted, look at you with an overwhelming amount of venom in his eyes. And you’d let him, you could never let yourself regret your final decision because he deserved to live.

Sighing deeply, you pushed yourself off the elevator walls watching as the hallway to your apartment came into view. This was the part you hated most about your day. It wasn’t the part where you woke up alone, it wasn’t the part where you had to go to work and it wasn’t the hour and a half walk home. It was the short walk from the elevator to your apartment. It never failed to stretch out miles as your heart caught itself in your throat because behind that closed door you weren’t sure what you’d encounter.

Sometimes it would be a quiet Minghao , sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table with his headphones on. His studio set up scattered all over, a notebook and his unlocked phone next to him. Sometimes it was him quietly sitting at the coffee table eating take out, sometimes it was him on his phone arguing with his mother as he shot piercing glares at you, probably wishing you weren’t alive. And other times it was a dark and cold apartment, nothing out of place. The silence creeping underneath the floorboards, reigning, occupying its throne in between the walls as it desperately tried to push the two of you out.

For some reason that was the apartment you always found yourself hoping for whenever you stopped in front of your door. Your hand gripping the doorknob tightly every night that it had started getting loose.

This was a routine by now. You’d put the key in the key lock, turn it until you heard it unlock. Then you’d close your eyes, slowly count ten Mississippi’s, proceed to give yourself a pep talk and then finally biting the bullet and opening the door. Anxiety rushed through you quickly when you saw what was waiting for you behind the door, Minghao on the couch typing quickly on his phone, while the TV beamed with life in front of him. Lighting up the dark living room with undertones of blue.

“I’m home.” You spoke, a shake in your voice making you wish you were stronger. The door clicked behind you, signaling there would be no way out until tomorrow morning so you might as well bite your tongue and deal with anything you’d encounter tonight.

“Welcome, I ordered food but wasn’t sure if you wanted any.” He shrugged, locking his phone and setting it by his side. He crossed his arms in front of him and turned his attention to the TV.

“It’s fine I’m not hungry anyway.” You took off your shoes by Minghao’s worn out ones. The hunger swirled inside of you, but you pushed it aside, telling yourself that you’d find something to eat once he was asleep in the guest bedroom that by now had become his room. “Mhm, you are eating right?” He said a hint of concern in the back of his throat, but that could’ve been your mind playing games on you. Though the question had caught you off guard and you weren’t sure how to answer without lying because in truth for a while now your appetite had severely gone down.

“I am, had a big lunch with one of my coworkers.” Minghao nodded at your answer, finally turning to face you, furrowing his eyebrows. You tried to ignore his gaze, relax your body as much as you could and placed your bag down on one of the highchairs in front of the kitchen island. “My family’s coming over tomorrow, my mom wants to cook dinner…you don’t have to be here if you don’t want to.” He blurted out the last part, hollowing out the part of your heart that was reserved for him. You loved Minghao ’s family as much as you loved him, but unlike him they had been very welcoming of you. Embraced you with open arms and you found comfort knowing that at least a part of him loved you.

“I’ll be there.” You whispered, shrugging off your coat and placing it on the back of the chair. “I have a day off tomorrow so I can clean up around here before they come over…I mean if that’s fine with you and all, I don’t want to make things uncomfortable.”

“Do whatever you want.” He spat out leaning back on the couch. His tone returning to the one you were used to hearing and you knew you had overstayed your welcome in the living room. “Right, I’m going to bed then.” You nodded walking past him and straight to your room, closing the door behind you quickly and resting your back against it. You breathed out a sad sigh of relief feeling the tears build up behind your eyelids, the hunger gnawing its way through your stomach ripping it to shreds. As well as your need for some sort of comfort, as you came to your first realization of the night. Just like it washed over you every single night and for once you wished you didn’t feel so alone, when the person that was supposed to love you stood on the other side not caring.

Oddly there was a side of you that loved Minghao and maybe it was the side that kept holding onto the hope you first felt when you were given the news. Or maybe it was the image of him that you created in your head from all the fragments of light he let out whenever he thought you weren’t looking. But you loved him, that was something you were confident in because you saw him for who he was, flaws and all when the two of you weren’t alone.

“Fuck.” You pushed yourself off your door throwing yourself on your unmade made and grabbing the turtle stuffed animal you slept with every night. It brought you a small sense of comfort and any comfort you could get you would grab and indulge in it blissfully. It was small and useless in the long run.

You buried your head into the head of the stuffed animal, finally letting the dam loose and the sobs came in full throttle. Thankfully the TV in the living room was loud enough to muffle your sounds. It wouldn’t matter if he could hear you anyway because you knew he wouldn’t be running into your room like a knight in shining armor and save you from yourself. He just didn’t care and that was the second realization you would have every night. Each time you did, it sent a jab through your body, cracking the little wall that kept the small sliver of light you held onto dearly. Each night though you felt it flicker slowly losing its innocent glow. Sometimes you’d wonder when the light would finally die out, when the numbness would finally overtake your body and you could go on with life without feeling like you were worthless. Without feeling anything.

“Can I come in?” You sat up on your bed at lightning speed. Minghao ’s soft voice sounding from the other side of your door. A knock following in between syllables. Your breathing sped up and you brought your hands up to your cheeks slapping your tears away, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of him seeing you in this state. “U-Um yeah.” You spoke moving to rest against the headboard of your bed, grabbing your laptop on your bedside table and opening it to make it seem like you were doing something other than crying.

“I brought you chicken as I couldn’t finish it all.” He walked in, a styrofoam container in his left hand. His aura took over the air in your room and you felt as if you were suffocating. You watched as he slowly took in your room and your face heating up as you remembered the untidy state of your room. His eyes lingering on the wall of polaroid’s behind your even messier desk.

The girl in those pictures, the one whose smile reached her eyes and laughed still lingered in the small cracks on the walls of your room was someone that was unknown to you now. On days when you couldn’t bring yourself to get out of bed you looked at her as a sign of motivation. Telling yourself that that person was still within you and that she would come back you just had to fight through whatever you were going through. At the end of the day she always came back.

“Oh, I’m not hungry.” You closed your laptop and set it aside, the forgotten google tab opened waiting to be used. “I can have it for lunch tomorrow though.” You brought your knees up to your chest and wrapped your arms around them. To avoid his curious gaze, you looked out the window, the moonlight shining down at the skyline. You wondered if they were at peace unlike you.

“Why do you cry every night?” Minghao blurted out. He had placed the container on your desk and sat down on the foot of your bed. His back turned to you. The question had caught you off guard as you searched through the files in your brain in order to come up with an excuse. Yet, you came out unsuccessful and decided to just finally confess to him. You had nothing left to lose. “I wasn’t supposed to fall in love with you?” You choked out biting your lip to keep the sob that threatened to spill locked away in the back of your throat.

“You can’t love…you barely know me.” He turned to face you and for the first time in a long time you couldn’t read the emotion that was playing against his features.

“Maybe I don’t love the person I’m faced with everyday, but I do love the person I see whenever you let your guard down around your friends and family.”

“But aren’t you tired of all of this? He raised an eyebrow, lifting his palm up and signaling all around the room as if the extra gesture would help prove his point.

“Exhausted.” You breathed out your shoulders falling as you felt yourself fall apart little by little in front of him. “Then why not hate me?” Minghao brought his legs up to your bed and crossed them underneath him. This was the longest the two of you had spoken or been in each other’s presence and although it was suffocating there was a small ring of light that lingered between the two of you.

“Because as much as I want to sometimes, I can’t bring myself to hate someone that’s hurting inside as well.”

The deafening silence that the two of you had grown accustomed to entangling itself in the warmth that was lingering above the two of you now. Somehow bringing the two of you a sense of comfort in the midst of this confusing situation you found yourselves in. Although you could feel like you could breathe again, the question that still kept you up at night stayed put in the back of your throat waiting to finally be let out into the world. For months you had pushed it back, deciding you already knew the answer to it. But as you sat in front of Minghao , his soft eyes dancing between your puffy ones you weren’t sure anymore. So, you put your preconceived notions aside as well as your pride and opened your mouth, letting the question run out to freedom. Your heart raced as you anticipated his answer.

“Why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you, truthfully I don’t think I could ever hate you.”

“Then why can’t you love me back?” You whispered, shutting your eyes. Your hold on your legs getting tighter.

“Because I can’t bring myself to do so no matter how hard I want to sometimes, especially when I listen to you cry every night. I wish…I want to set everything aside and hold you. I want to make you feel less alone…but I can’t.” Minghao let out a frustrated sign running his hands through his hair and tugging at his roots in desperation. The sight made your heart wrench. You wanted to reach over and hug him, give him the comfort you craved.

“W-Why?”

“I feel guilty.” He nodded resting his forearms against his knees, finally breaking his eye contact with you. Searching your room rapidly for another point of focus and finally settling on the humidifier on your bedside table. “I feel guilty because before I met you, I had chosen to live, not knowing that I would be the reason why your light would start to fade as the days went by.”

Without a second thought you let go of your legs, maneuvering yourself around your bed and wrapped your arms around him tightly. Finally breaking the barrier that silently lingered between the two of you.

You buried your face into his neck letting your tears run freely for the second time that night. Though this time instead of feeling the loneliness you had felt earlier, you felt a sense of relief wash over you.

Minghao felt himself hesitate for a moment feeling overwhelmed as he felt your touch for the first time, not knowing he missed it. A thought he couldn’t explain because how was he missing something he had never had the pleasure of feeling. But he pushed it aside and hugged you back, letting the tears he had kept in for far too long out in the open. He wasn’t happy but he felt like he could be happy if this was what it felt like to finally have you in his arms. He held you tightly, gripping onto you and burying his nose in your hair taking in your scent, one he decided right then and there he would never grow tired of. The two of you basking in each other’s arms, your hearts racing against one another and it overwhelmed the two of you greatly.

“I know we have a lot of things to get through but I’m willing to start over if you are.” You whispered, removing your arms from his body and sitting back on your knees. You wiped your tears with the back of your hand, letting out a small laugh and shook your head in disbelief before holding your hand out for him to shake.

Minghao smiled widely, chuckling before taking your hand in his. The feeling was enough to send shivers up his spine. The good kind.

For the first time that night he had a realization. A secret that he would carry out to his grave, unless you prodded it out of him and with how things were going, he was sure that you would succeed at it too. But for now, he would keep it to himself and enjoy the way your touch felt against his skin and the way your smile was enough to have his heart beating out of time.

“I’m Minghao, your husband.”

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writing-the-end · 3 years ago

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LoL Chapter 55- Hell’s Chosen

Masterpost

A Wizard Hermits tale (AU, designs, ideas belongs to @theguardiansofredland)

The hermits discover a dark past to their paladin knight, does this change their perspective of him, or will it save their unlikely ally?

Warning: Some description of wounds (i think)

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All eyes were on Wels. Very few had a look of knowledge. TFC, for one. But Tango’s visible confusion gives way to a much softer, quieter version of the hellfire wizard. “Helsknight? You mean the marauder from years ago? But he died.”

“You’re right, he did. And I killed him. I buried him so deep inside me, and vowed to do whatever I could to be a better man. When Helsknight died, Welsknight was born.” Wels’s fingers are tight in the bloodstained fabric, knuckles turned white as he’s forced to relive, to speak of his dark past.

“No no no no. You’re joking, right?” Doc shakes his head. Even he feared Hell’s chosen knight. Wels can’t possibly be that same person. Wels, a quiet, collected paladin with the heart of gold and courage of a lion. “I mean...no one ever told the story of Helsknight with a tail.”

“Less limbs to get cut off if it’s protected by armor.” Wels points out, flicking the lionesque tail. “You want proof? What was the last time anyone ever saw Helsknight?”

Doc cocks an eyebrow, then waves his hand. “Hels and his band of bad guys attacked one of Ventus’s- the God of Judgement- temples. But the attempt was failed, and Helsknight himself was left behind as he bled out...from his neck…”

The entire group stares as the scar that Wels reveals, running from his collar to his clavicle. TFC doesn’t stare like the others. He’s known all of this the whole time. Tango shakes his head. “But you’re nothing like Helsknight. He murdered and killed for fun, to cause chaos and bring hell onto Lairyon. Wels, you’re…”

“A changed man. Just like Apatia can be- if you give him the chance. Like the woman who healed me did, like X and TFC. Tango, if you don’t let Apatia give his chance to change and rectify what he can, then you can’t let me be any different. You can’t be a hypocrite and pick and choose.” From between Wels and Tango, Apatia groans. The blood has stopped, Ren’s work healing leaving a sloppy open wound behind.

Apatia was pale, paler than he already was. Almost the same color as Grian, as the latter continues to recuperate from the torture he faced. But unlike Grian’s shallow, soft breaths, Apatia’s runs ragged and harsh. His jaws are clenched, fighting off the pain. With the remaining bandages and healing salve, Wels wraps up the stump of Apatia’s tail fin.

Tango and Doc are still quiet, trying to comprehend the news that’s been delivered to them. It all makes sense, but their eads still struggle to put the two completely different personas together. As if they’re different people all together.

Everyone knows who Helsknight is- was. He appeared as if from nowhere, like a demon spawned straight from hell. And immediately, he began reeking havoc. His band of villains attacked and raided. They were more than just some lowly bandits, or even a mafia. Helsknight was a villain, killing without mercy, without remorse, and without discretion. It wasn’t until their botched attack on that temple that ended the reign of terror that Hell’s chosen knight left on Lairyon. Just as quickly as Helsknight appeared, he faded into nightmares and horror story. Kids were told to watch out for the knight with one eye, because he’d pluck out their own to replace his.

But Welsknight? He’s calm and collected, if a bit snarky. Even when battling even the husks, he always hesitates to strike a killing blow if there’s a potential to save the life instead. Wels is jovial, and a great baker, and tells great stories. Sure, he’s a great knight, but Tango once saw Wels cry over a dead fish he found at the beach. He’s a paladin, not a barbarian.

Helsknight supposedly died years ago. Welsknight joined the hermits a few years back. Though there’s a span of time in between the day Lairyon celebrated the defeat of Hels and Wels following TFC back to Eremita, it begins to all make sense. There's a reason why Wels never talks about his past. Never visits home. Never explains how he got many of his scars.

Like puzzle pieces, it all falls together and paints a picture. Doc’s jaw clenches. As much as he hates to say it, or even think it, Wels is right. If a monster like Hels can become the man before Doc today, then maybe, just maybe , theres hope for Apatia.

So long as he lives. The hermits are so focused on Apatia, their argument on whether he should live or die, no one notices Grian rouse from the darkness that still grips him. No one noticed the sky open up, both in Grian’s eyes and the sky beyond the windows. No one notices him weakly clamber out of bed, nearly falling flat on his face, and walking over to join them in the group.

“What are we on about?” Even when he speaks up, the other hermits are so used to his voice that it hardly registers.

“Welsknight was once helsknight, and whether we should save Apatia’s life or not.” Tango shrugs, his red eyes glaring down at Apatia with distaste. He still hates the man, but at the same time… they’re supposed to be the heroes.

“As your resident healer, I think we should. But...I’m not sure why he’s here in the first place.” Ren looks up, realizing who is speaking, and scoops Grian into his arms. His tail wags loud and heavy, banging against the other hermits with every oscillation.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my dude!” Ren only sets Grian down when TFC reminds him that Grian is still working towards regaining his life, his color. He’s still slightly unsaturated, his skin missing the tint of pink, the red of his robest boarding the color of dried blood. Ren sets Grian back on the bed, trying to force the angel to rest. But now that Grian’s awake, he’s ready to cause trouble and start his day- even though he has no clue what time it is.

“What’s going on? I...I don’t remember much. When did you guys save me? Why is Apatia here? How did you find me?” The questions fall like rain in a storm, impossible for the hermits to catch every last drop.

It’s TFC that manages to slow the downpour. “Hold on, hold on Grian. Why don’t we start from the beginning? We’ll fill you in on everything, in time.”

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

All the hermits, once again under the safe canopy of the massive oak tree in their guild hall. Grian is wrapped in a warm, soft blanket- knitted by Stress- and a mug of warm apple cider rests in between his pale hands. “I can’t believe you guys came for me.”

“Of course we were gonna save you, Grian.” Scar practically laughs at the mere idea of leaving him behind. But for Grian, who’s been kicked out of so many guilds for his troublemaking, it really shows how much they care.

A rumble of agreements follow, and after a few more minutes of quiet comforting, it’s Grian himself that changes the subject. “Dolios is getting more powerful by the minute. I could feel all the energy flowing through those leylines, into him and that monster, Eurynomos. We can’t delay this any longer. Dolios has to go down.”

“But we don’t even know how. We can destroy as many crystals as we want, but he’ll just keep making more. He has more power than a bunch of lowly mercenaries. He even beat Apatia, one of his own Councilmembers. One of the strongest guildmasters in all of Lairyon.” BDubs points out. Everyone goes silent as they remember the man in their infirmary. The stranger- he’s not a hermit, yet he’s among them.

Grian looks up, pale face and hollowed eyes alarming for the hermits. He hardly looks to be among the living, but less like a dead man walking like he was before. “Xisuma, your brother mentioned something about the ancient ones. DO you think there could be a clue for us there? In the past?”

X sighs, leaning back in his chair as he considers the question. “If the answer to ending Dolios’s dark reign truly lies in the past, then we’d have better luck finding the answer ourselves. Thousands of years, eroded by time, by kingdoms and cultures rising and falling, not to mention the disappearance of the ancient ones. There’s a reason ancient magic is dead- because none of the books teaching it survived.”

“There’s one person we know who has studied the ancient ones for years.” Joe’s voice cuts through the crowd, looking around. Every other hermit is lost and confused, but Joe can see the mixed emotions raging in Xisuma’s eyes. “Besides Ex can take care of the island, of Apatia while we’re searching.”

“Ex chose to leave Eremita. Why in gods’s names would he want to come back, to help us?” X growls.

“Because he’s your brother. He helped us save Doc. He’s been helping us, helping all of Lairyon- in his own weird, Ex way. He’s not the villain here, he’s your brother.”

X clenches his jaw. The scar over his eye burns at the memory of their fight. The words he said to his brother, and the worst responded in kind. Xisuma still received letters from Ex, but he only opened them when Cleo’s cider had clouded his better judgement. And he never responded.

But he also remembers the moment, after years estranged, he laid eyes upon his twin brother, crammed into the bookstore he was running. The moment of relief, of happiness to see Ex alive and well. Their identical faces, like mirror images of one another. His hair pure white, like the bright sun in the sky. Even now Xisuma remembers how often he’d complain he could always find Ex hairs on his clothes.

And that Ex helped them save Doc. All these years fighting, Xisuma can’t believe he’s going to be the one to concede defeat. But for the fate of Lairyon, he guesses he has to. He pulls off his mask, turning it over in his hands, running a thumb over the scratched out symbol. He swallows his pride, and stands. “I’ll get the letter to Phoebe. What’s one more stranger to the island?”

#hermitcraft #hermitcraft au #wizard hermits #light of lairyon #hermitcraft fanfic #wizard au #lol #wizard wels #welsknight #wizard Tango #tangotek #wizard doc #docm77 #wizard xisuma #xisumavoid

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val-aquenta · 4 years ago

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Mace Windu Appreciation Day One.

Prompt: Serenity/Acting

Here on ao3

Mace Windu sat on his seat in the council, hands steepled in front of him. He let out a long breath. The problem of Ryloth was complex and with multiple faces. The Senate was pushing for one side, and while he in part agreed, he could see and understand the other side. He shook his head. He had already spent long on this issue even though the Senate’s push had solidified what the Order would do. They disagreed, but if they made it known, the Senate would be quick to order them. As he walked from the seat into the centre and then to the door, he shed the mantle of authority that came with his seat. He was still the Master of the Order, but away from the seat of decision making there, he felt more free, closer to his family. As he exited the room, Mace took a deep breath of relief. The room was somewhat stifling after so long. “Padawan Aleya, you’re free to go if you wish.” The twi'lek smiled widely. “Apologies for keeping you so late. I should have signalled.”

“No worries, Master Mace. You aren’t that late.” Aleya assured, bustling at the desk and picking up a stack of datapads. Mace lifted a bemused eyebrow. “I had some work to do.” He mutters, blushing a bright green in embarrassment. Suddenly, he perked up, clearly remembering something. “Oh… Knight Depa had a message, Master. There’s an opening in the play they’re doing soon if you want to join. Not sure about the play, though. She just said you should meet her at the theatre.” Aleya stumbled slightly to the side, the datapads tilting precariously. Mace moved forwards, drawing the Force around the Twi’Lek to keep him from falling.

“Well, I look forwards to the play. Perhaps you’ll even see me on stage, hmm?” Mace grinned, bemused at the bright green flush again. Aleya had only recently been assigned to the Council desk as Shaak Ti’s padawan. He still had, despite his older age, that youthful hero-worship of some members of the Council. Shaak herself, though, was an exception. “And yourself? It’s nearing exams, isn’t it?”

Aleya cringed, his face twisting into a displeased frown. “Yeah. I’m busy, but still managing. The exams come up soon.” He frowned, fiddling with his stack of datapads. “I still don’t get the Ryloth War in 406. Elya seems to be the cause of the revolt, but then the Rila commune also could be part of it, and the-” He stopped suddenly. “Sorry, Master. I was babbling.”

“No worries, Padawan. I’m afraid I’m not too well-versed in Ryloth’s history. I had not studied it. Cyslin, my Master, she studied Ryloth, though it was a while back before I became her Padawan.” Mace explained, a contrite look on his face.

“Oh! That would be helpful. I’ll talk to her.” They reached the end of the hall. Aleya tried to manage a wave around the datapads. He was… somewhat successful. “Well, see you tomorrow, Master!” And with that, he walked down the left corridor.

Mace raised a hand in an aborted way. “Good luck with your studies!” He called back, receiving a smile his way. Alright, now for the theatre. It would be fun to act again. Even for just a moment.

Depa was outside the arts centre, waiting for him. She smiled widely as he neared, looking up from a holo and placing the datapad in her robe pocket. “Master! You got my message.” She had changed her hairstyle from a braided crown into four looped braids.

“Of course. Padawan Aleya is nothing if not diligent.” Mace commented, close enough to feel the gentle warmth of his former student. She shuffled a bit closer, her youthful features lighting up in happiness.

“Indeed.” She paused for a while, simply soaking in the familiar presence of Mace before speaking once more. “Well, the younglings were putting together a show, and they need a Master and a Knight.” She pointed to Mace and then to herself. “I already volunteered you.”

Mace sighed, of course. “Depa, you know I am quite busy now-” He started only to be interrupted by Depa.

“I already checked your schedule, Master.” She grinned unashamedly. Mace had idly wondered if knighting Depa would lessen the amount she pestered him. It appeared not. “I’ve cleared it for practice and rehearsal. As Master of the Order, shouldn’t you be spending some time with the younglings?” She raised an eyebrow slyly.

Mace snorted, “That’s Master Yoda’s job.” Still, he followed Depa into the theatre centre, hands folded into his sleeves. If she had, in fact, cleared his schedule, it would be silly for him to miss this. Depa shot him a smug smile, unfazed by the dry look she received in response.

“Master Windu, Knight Depa!” The crechemaster, a tall mirialan surrounded by a small gaggle of younglings. “Thank you for coming.” Mace bowed, Depa copying him, her hair bobbing playfully. She shot a smile at one of the younglings, a young nautolan who smiles hesitantly in return. Mace takes a glance over the group. There are nine children of various ages, spanning until probably 12. He can’t truly tell. “We’re acting out the tale of the caves for the day of discovery.”

“Ah, a lovely choice,” Mace assured, trying not to feel too sad when some of the children seemed to startle. It appeared he had been missing creche supervision because of all the paperwork from the council seat he had gotten right after knighting Depa. “I’m quite familiar with it. I’m sure you are too, Depa?”

Depa nodded, a hand reaching out to move her braid out of the way. “Yes, we acted it a few times when I was younger. You played the knight if I recall?”

“Indeed.” It had been where he first met Depa. A fond memory he kept close to his heart. “So, when will we begin?” He asked the crechemaster, Tirna if he recalled correctly.

Tirna was about to speak before a flimsi was pushed into her hands. She looked down to peer at it for a moment. “It’s lovely.” She murmured with a soft smile to the small twi’lek, returning the drawing and receiving a bright smile in return. “We were waiting for you two, so I suppose we can go in.

The younglings were corralled in, excitedly whispering to each other. The theatre was a familiar place. When he was younger, he had spent most of his time here being taught the art of acting on stage. He’d even dabbled in music on stage, though he preferred to simply speak and not sing on stage. Both Cyslin and himself were surprised when he had gotten an offer from the theatre to become an instructor here. Sadly, his path to knighthood had gotten in the way and Instructor Rhuy had been disappointed, but not exactly surprised by Mace turning down the offer. Sadly, the chiss had passed to the Force a few years ago in his few missions offworld. He had not become familiar with the new instructor, too busy with Depa’s final years of apprenticeship. Mace looked at the brown and gray walls, breathing in the familiar scent and soaking in the warmth of the place. It was a place for entertainment. While, yes, people were driven to tears with some performances, the imprint left in the place was one of happiness and joy.

Depa, at his side, watched him with a sideways glance. She had not seen him act much in recent years. In the middle of their years, when they were on rotation at the Temple for Depa’s studies, Mace would find himself often in the theatre, but a lot of those memories were hazy, just long enough ago that Depa could only recall them with a blurriness on the edges. A striking image of Mace in full attire of older Jedi, the ornamental robes and rather fancy modified training hilts came to mind. He turned in an elaborate fighting dance with another Jedi, a crechemate in the story. Another image, this time of Mace in more modern Jedi robes, a Nautolan next to him as he acted out a confession scene. She recalled the way she had cringed away from the stage. By the Force, it was her Master up there with that knight. Cyslin’s soft chuckle and a warm hand on her head finished the memory, the faint murmur of Mace’s voice in the background.

He belonged in the theatre, she concluded, watching his eyes light up as they saw the familiar sight around him. Just as he belonged in the Council chambers, or in some blaster fight on some war-torn planet, or at some negotiation table, impassively looking between the two sides. Mace was many things, and that included being an actor. He looked at home here amongst the rows of seats, the stage as a backdrop, but he also belonged elsewhere. His eyes caught hers. Depa lifted her brow in question. Mace shook his head and followed Tirna up the stairs to the backstage and rehearsing room. Depa took one more look at the theatre, lit up with a warm yellow light, before following the group.

The rehearsing room was, essentially, a large room, somewhat soundproof and almost large enough to duel. There were mirrors in one corner. The kids stood with Tirna in the corner where she handed out papers. The play was short, most of it being a question and response play. It was a kid's play after all. Depa and he stood in the corner, Mace trying to relax his back. Sitting in the Council chair for so long is a painful experience. He would rather not be there sometimes. Depa eyes him sympathetically, her hand reaching out to rest on his shoulders. They both turn to Tirna, in a strange synchronisation that is a result of their partnership. The mirialan blinks before offering the script. Mace accepts it, though he thinks he can recall all the words. “Thank you.” He says softly, flicking through it. The flimsi flutters under his fingers. He looks up to catch the woman smiling at Depa as she hands the flimsi. It occurs to Mace that he never asked why Tirna had asked Depa for her help first. It appears Mace muses with a bemused smile, that Depa is hiding something from me. And that she is doing a rather poor job. He turns back to the script

Tirna floats through the class as they read through it dramatically. The exaggerated expressions and voices of a few directly contrast the other side who read with a bored monotonous voice. It is endearing and familiar. Depa shuffles where she’s seated, rearranging her clothes, a nervous tell Mace has noted for a while. Mace shuffles a bit closer to her, hand going out to rest on her free one. Depa settles, easily leaning into the familiar warmth. They continue reading this way. The nautolan boy near them shoots him a look before returning to his rather exaggerated fearful voice. “But, Master, it’s too cold. I’ll freeze here.”

“Worry not, I feel a heat coming forth.” He tries to be comforting. “Knight Lea, you feel it too?” He asks Depa.

“Indeed, Master.” She responds, easily falling into a lightheartedness as a part of her character. “Younglings… see the light, it comes through the chamber and… through the ice.” The children act as though they are surprised, and relieved.

“It will save us from the caves. The ice, it’s going down.” A young mirialan says, veil pushed quickly to the side from where it falls on his face. “Melting.” He’s rather good at it, Mace muses. The mirialan boy looks awed. And so, the play ends. Mace finds himself clapping happily much to the embarrassment of the younglings who end up blushing and sharing glances. Depa hands out compliments easily, the children used to her mannerisms indicating she’s been here often.

The mirialan, Lameo, comes up to him. “Knight Depa says that you were once part of the theatre, but you chose to become a council member instead.” Mace blinks from where he sits, looking slightly upwards at the boy.

“Indeed, I did.” He confirms, his head tilting slightly to the left.

Lameo seems to perk up, sitting down in front of Mace. “What was it like, the theatre I mean, not being a Master? I want to join the theatre club, Master Windu, and I was wondering if I should or if I shouldn’t.”

Mace hums thoughtfully, hands unconsciously steepling in front of him, “If you desire it, and you feel that it is your path, join it. I must say, you have a knack for it as well.” He grins a bit, happy when the young mirialan smiles back. “The theatre would benefit greatly if you joined.”

“You think so?”

“I would not lie, young one,” Mace says.

Lameo breathes in deep, furrowing his brow for a moment before he stands and bows thankfully, “I’ll think about it.”

The performance happens two weeks later. Mace wears slightly more traditional robes, extra ornaments and embellishments on the cream robes. The children, all decked out in their own gear, like all children do, love the elaborately designed hilts, not made for comfort in dueling, but made to look flashy and beautiful. He turns to welcome Depa and is taken aback for a moment. Her robes are designed differently from what she usually wears. The sleeves are more poofed, less easy to fight in, the pants billow before coming to a close at the boots, and there is a pattern on the fabric itself, intricate little swirls that seem to fit. He recalls a younger Depa in cream coloured tunics before she became a Padawan. It appears, he muses, that she has grown up. Her hair has been intricately plaited on top of her head, in a style that Mace would say tops even the most intricate Naboo hairstyles. When he looks at her, he feels happy, yet also sad, yearning for the time when she would only reach his elbow.

“Master?” Depa asks as she sides up beside him after praising enough of the initiates for their costumes. “Are you alright? You seem… off. Are you nervous?” She seems genuinely concerned.

“No worries, Depa. Just… thinking.” She shoots him a confused look, obviously not exactly understanding at all. Like he’s done before, he starts explaining. “You’ve grown up. It is… novel sometimes.”

Depa snorts, reaching out to smooth non-existent wrinkles on his robes. “You knighted me a year ago.” She murmurs. “I was far from my Padawan years then.”

“I suppose it is only hitting now,” Mace admits, shifting the tunic a bit from where it sits skewed to the left. It was a tradition to make sure they were both dressed properly before leaving the apartments. It has carried on to this day. “In many ways, I can still see the little you.” Depa laughs lightly, a small chuckle really. Her eyes sparkle like they always do when she finds something humorous.

“Oh dear, I must have a long way to go then, before I am fully grown in your eyes, my Master.” Her affectionate tone accompanies her hands squeezing his. “Well, are you ready?”

“Of course,” Mace says. Depa smiles and joins Tirna in corralling the kids onto the stage. Mace takes a moment to breathe before following her on the stage.

#mace windu #mace windu appreciation week #depa billaba #Jedi appreciaiton #pro jedi #duna writes #star wars fanfic #fanfic

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t-o-m-hollands · 4 years ago

Text

Summery: Tom is part of the Firm, a fearless London gang. You are at the wrong place at the wrong time.

Pairing: Tom and y/n.

Word count: 3k

Themes: Mob!Tom, Peaky Blinders inspired, period piece – this is set in 1961, London.

Warnings: This story will contain themes such as kidnapping, murder, violence and smut. Also a lot of swearing. Also descriptions of injuries. Also alcohol, smoking and mentions of drugs. this is a +18 story

A/N: This is a relationship that I wouldn’t recommend in real life. Also, the Firm was the name of the Kray twins gang. I was just too lazy to come up with a name of my own.

READ PART I HERE

READ PART II HERE

1961, London.

Years later, when you look back on that night, it doesn’t seem real to you. Your memories like snap shots in a photo album. Just still pictures in your mind of the night that would change the course of your life forever.

Sherry holding court, arms waving animatedly as she tells her guests a funny story. Flash. Mark’s sullen face, uninterested and dull. Flash. Sherry’s wide and panic-stricken eyes as you heard the gunshots. Flash. Tom’s back, aiming his weapon at Mark. Flash. Sherry bloody body on the floor, forever wide eyed. Flash. Your bloodstained hands as you try to save her. Flash.

Tom’s hand reaching out for yours.

His hand had felt surprisingly real in yours. Warm and firm and calloused. When he pulled you up to your feet it felt a lot like being dragged back into reality.

(Once as a child your father had taken you ice skating. Further out on the lake the ice had broken, and a girl had fallen through. Down beneath the surface she went; into the icy cold water. She would have died, had not one of her friends successfully managed to pull her up to the surface again.

A part of you wonders if this is what she had felt like then. Icy cold to the bone and struggling for air; feeling as though the ground itself has broken underneath you.)

But Tom wasn’t your friend. In fact, you had just seen him murder a man in cold blood. You could read no signs of remorse or guilt in his face. You knew then, that this was not the first time he had taken a life. It likely wouldn’t be his last either.

He’d dragged you back to his car and you’d followed him obediently. It never occurred to you to fight him, there was no point. Not only had you seen him fight boys much bigger than himself on the school yard, but he also had a gun. So, you moved after him, feeling numb all over. Thoughts moving slowly in your head, like your head was full of cotton, and your body seemed to move almost of its own accord. He guided you into the passenger seat of a beat up car, before he got into the driver's seat and then you left East Ham behind you.

Now here you are, captive in a dingy apartment in Mile End; with fading wallpaper and windows so dirty you can hardly see the view outside it.

It’s filthy.

With gentle hands he’d lead you to the bathroom where he sits you down. With a wet cloth he washes you clean of blood. Squatting in front of you his hands swipe and scrub until you’re free of red stains, though there is nothing to be done about your pink silk dress.

There is something so tender in the way he touch you, his face so close to yours, a look of deep concentration on his face. You feel like a wounded and frightened deer as he cleans with great care; as if he’s scared you’ll fall apart at the seams. Any moment now

A funny unwanted thought strikes you then; if you’re the dear, is he the huntsman?

After you’re clean he leads you out to the living room and he ties you up in a chair and asks you if you are comfortable. There’s shame in his voice and all you can do is stare back at him.

“Are you in pain?” he asks instead.

That paused you to think. There is nothing physically wrong with you; no cuts or bruises or broken bones. But numbness was evaporating, and panic started to rise like bile in your throat.

“No” you answer at last.

He searches your face for a sign of lying. Content that you’re telling the truth he takes a few steps away from you, turns his back to you, drags a hand through his hair.

“Look, I don’t want to do this but until I have figured out what to do next you’ll have to stay here, alright?”

No, you want to say. No of course that’s not alright, let me go!

But you’re cleverer than that. Antagonising him is not the way to get out of this alive. You must stay calm, keep your feelings under control. Even more difficult than that; you must make sure that Tom stays calm too.

He’s sat down on the threadbare sofa, head in his hands, lost in thought.

And here is where it can all go wrong. If his thoughts move in the direction that he must get rid of you the easy way, you’re done for. However, if you can steer his mind to a trail where you make it out alive then maybe then you have a chance of survival.

***

“Why did you kill Mark Randall?”

Outside he can hear people laughing, drunks singing and people fighting. From the apartment next door, he can hear a couple’s argument loud and clear.

Yet your voice, quiet and gentle as it may be, shakes him like the sound of a gun. There’s something so matter of fact in the way you ask the question and Tom almost wants to laugh. Because here you are, tied up to a chair in his apartment, wearing a blood-splattered pink silk dress; having just witnessed the killings of two people, one of whom was your friend. Yet, you’re as calm as can be. Voice even and soft and your head held high.

And here he is, and his hands are shaking, and he can feel the panic rising like bile in his throat.

He looks away from you. To look straight at you feels too much like staring straight into the sun and it burns his eyes to see you like this. It feels surreal. Part from the blood you look like a fucking lady, and the contrast to his dirty apartment; a place he avoids most of the time, is bizarre.

“Mark hadn’t needed to die if he’d just listened and come with me,” he says eventually.

“You didn’t want to kill him?” You ask, and Tom sighs. He needs to remain in charge of himself, in charge of the situation. He needs to remember his training.

Remember who he is, and what he’s capable of.

So, he stands up and walks over to you, with his hands in his pockets and with a put-on air of nonchalance.

“I’ve never wanted to kill anyone, princess. Especially not shoot them like that. Hasn’t stopped me though” he says and looks you in the eye. “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t like, because they’re necessary.”

There’s a warning in his words, you both know it.

“You’re awfully calm about all this” he says and kneels in front of you, looking up at your face, close enough he can see every detail in your face. A strange and unwelcomed image flashes before his eyes; of a knight kneeling in front of the queen, awaiting her judgement. But it is not fitting, the dynamic all wrong. You have no power here, and he sure is no knight. He doesn’t know which role he’s set to play in your story but he doubts it’s the hero.

“You’d prefer it if I screamed?” you ask, and he’s impressed, because your voice doesn’t waver. It’s sounds gentle and steady still. But he sees it in your face. There’s fear in your eyes, buried deep. There’s a gleam of sweat over your forehead, and he’d bet more than this apartment that your heartbeat is beating like a drum right now.

“God no” he huffs, “just wondering what you're thinking”. He can’t seem to look away from your face and warning words from half a lifetime ago about not looking straight into the sun comes back to him. Warnings that it will blind you.

“Well, I’ll have to admit, I’m a bit curious about a few things”

“Such as?”

“What did you want with someone like Mark Randall?”

Tom is taken aback at that, it was not a question he had expected. “He hurt one of my friends,” he says, after some hesitation.

“So you wanted to hurt him back?”

“No,” he says. “I just needed some information from him.” He doesn’t know why he’s telling you this. Letting you be a witness to a murder is bad enough. Now he’s sharing strictly confidential information with someone outside the Firm. But talking with you delays the moment where he must leave you and tell Fabien about what happened tonight.

“I knew Mark, he was not clever nor resourceful. I doubt it very much if he’d have any information to give you.”

He doesn’t know why you’re doing this, but your calmly delivered questions clears his head. He follows your path, like a light in the fog, guiding the way. “You’re right, but he wasn’t working on his own initiative. He might have had information on his people”

“You think he’d part with that information?”

“I’d make him”.

You go silent for a moment, and he wonders just how scared you are of him right then. He’s still kneeled in front of you, looking up at you, at the eyes he’s admired since he first saw you in school, a million years ago. You blink, and he’s reminded of the fluttering wings of a butterfly.

“How was your friend attacked?” you ask, and your choice of question surprises him again.

“Mark shot him in the arm, though the fucker aimed to kill”

“Were you with him?” You blink again, another fluttering pair of wings, and Tom wonders if this is what it’s like to be hypnotized.

“No,” he answers, “no he was on his way to meet me, but Mark was waiting for him and attacked”.

“And how did Mark know your friend was supposed to be there, at that moment?”

Your question is asked in such a low and gentle voice, and the full meaning of it doesn’t strike him at first,

But then,

“I, I don’t know” he confesses, and the realization startles him.

The telephone rings. Loudly it screeches from it’s table and Tom feels like he wakes from a trance. He pulls himself away from you slowly to answer it.

“Yeah?” he says, keeping his eye on you as he speaks into the receiver.

“Fabien wants a report” Harry tells him.

“On my way” Tom answers, “but Harry?”

“What?”

“You and Sam need to get to Mark Randall’s apartment. There’s two bodies to take care of.”

Silence on the other end of the line.

“Why didn’t you take care of it immediately?” his brother asks at last.

“Was called away, alright?” and before Harry can protest he snaps “Just fucking do it, yeah?” and he hangs up.

Silence fills the apartment, though the street outside continues to roar in drunken songs and fighting cries.

“I have to go now,” he says, staring down on the telephone, suddenly unable to look at you.

“What will they do to me once they realize there’s a witness?” you ask, and the question Tom thought would come before all others is asked at last. Truth is he should have gotten rid of you right then and there in East Ham. He shouldn’t have let a witness live. It was sloppy and just the kind of sentimental bullshit that would end him in a prison cell one day.

Truth is Fabien will make him kill you himself, probably in the most brutal fashion he can think of, just to make Tom prove that he hasn’t gone soft. That there’s no sentimentality left in him.

He couldn’t let you go either. Didn’t trust you wouldn’t run straight home to your daddy and tell him everything. It didn't help that you knew Tom in school, knew his full name and would have no problem pointing him out in a line-up. Then he’d end up in prison, or dead, and Fabien would go after you in ways Tom didn’t even dare imagine. Just the thought of what the man is capable of makes him shiver.

“I have to go now” he repeats, ignoring your question. “There’s no use in screaming while I’m away. This is not a friendly neighborhood. They won’t come to your rescue.”

But before he steps out the door he stops in his tracks.

“You know, you helped me once,” he says, remembering that time you’d protected him from Jamie.

“And this is how you repay me?” You’re still so fucking calm, even though you both know you’re done for and Tom’s heart beat uncomfortably hard in his chest.

“You’re alive, aren’t you?” he says, eventually.

You smile, and it is gentle though it is without humour. “For how long though, Tommy?”

***

Tom sits in Fabien’s office, a glass of amber-coloured whiskey in his hand and your voice ringing in his ears. ‘And how did Mark know your friend was supposed to be there?’

He had thought about it the entire drive to Fabien's house. The only solution was this. Someone had told them. Someone had told Jack and his men that Harrison would be walking that street at that time on that night. And the only people who knew about it were the men in the Firm.

He airs his suspicions to his leader.

Fabien hums, and inhales from his cigarette. “I see we’ve been thinking along the same lines” he says, blowing out smoke in the air between them. His voice is low and even, his quiet and held back rage evident but controlled. “There’s a traitor in our midst, Tommy.”

He studies Tom’s face, his cat-like eyes shrewd.

“I’m going to find out who’s been ratting on us, and why” he continues, voice smooth like velvet. “And God help the poor bastard once I’ve figured out who it is. However, our only lead was Mark Randall and you tell me you failed to bring him in for questioning and he’s now sinking in the Thames?”

Tom forces himself to keep eye-contact with his superior, resisting the urge to look away from those penetratingly shrewd eyes. “Yes, guv”.

“You failed.” He confirms, taking a sip of his drink. “That’s very unlike you, Tom. I’m disappointed.”

To anyone who didn’t know Fabien they might say the man sounded bored, but Tom knew better. The man was boiling underneath the surface. He didn’t need to shout and threaten to make his anger known, it was like a physical presence in the room. “Very disappointed indeed”.

“It won’t happen again,” Tom promises.

“Oh, it better not. I have big plans for you.” he says, and takes another sip from his drink. “Were there any witnesses?”

“No one left alive” Tom lies, and takes a sip from his own drink.

***

A/N: OH MY GOD this one was difficult to write. I had to rewrite it four times and I’m still not too sure about it. Their dynamic is really difficult but hopefully it’ll be easier in parts to come.

***

taglist: @londonmademedoit @isthataladybag @ceexreverse @daygiowvibe @averyfosterthoughts @applenter @viwihere @youcompletemess @marvelpeters @youngsenpaibaby @duskholland @vanillanestor @panicattheeverywherekid @primadonnasdream @adorestarkey @johnismyreason @fancybrittrash

#tom holland x reader #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland imagine #tom holland headcanon #tom holland #mob!tom holland #mob!tom #tom holland x you #tom holland x fem #tom holland x oc #tom holland x y/n

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royalbluehues · 4 years ago

Text

Healing

Title: Healing

Author: royalbluehues

Warnings: PTSD. Nothing graphic, though.

Pairings: William Schofield x Reader

Request: Thanks! May I request a story where Schofield is another man after the war and reader wants her hubby back? He has nightmares, he never wants to go out, he barely talks to the reader. She understands that he will never be the same man after what he went through, but she wants at least a bit of her husband back. She doesn't know what to do to help him, but she will fight for their marriage.

Author’s Note: The story treks off the path of the request just a tad. I always end up making my stories fluffy without intending to. (Image found on Pinterest)

You had known it the minute he stepped off the train’s platform.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes had a far away look to them. When he had brought you close to embrace you tightly, he had nuzzled his face within the crook of your neck and stayed there.

His body was taught and stiff.

Deep down within you, a small feeling poked at you, Something’s wrong.

But you pushed that thought to the side, rather selfishly relishing the fact you finally, after nearly three years apart from him, you finally had your husband in your arms once more.

And God willing he will stay there, you prayed silently.

You raised one of your hands to tangle his locks around your fingers, squeezing your eyes tightly, “William,” you breathed out, savoring the way his name tasted on your tongue, then peppering whatever visible part of his face that was not tucked away into your neck.

Your heart was blooming with a mixture of gratitude, relief, happiness, and bereavement to the time that was pitilessly ripped from you and your daughters.

He was filthy, despite his obvious attempts at a decorum of cleanliness. But his hair was matted, his uniform tattered, ripped, and stained with dark splotches in several places.

You sided with your better judgment and not allow your mind to wander to what those splotches were.

He finally lifted his head from his embrace, moving to lean back and look at you. His lips pulled upward into a lopsided smile.

But you see it there: his large eyes betray his effort of solidity. Quickly as it comes, it goes. And before your mind could analyze it, he pulls you into a kiss.

His lips feel soft, despite the skin being cracked. The calloused fingers grasping either side of your face are cold to the touch, his grip tight yet tender. You melt effortlessly into him, feeling the tension you’ve held in your shoulders, amounting since the moment he received his notice of deployment, give ease.

When he releases you, you notice the tears that have swarmed in not only your eyes but in his as well.

“I’ve missed you.”

Once again, you’re flooded with a thousand emotions. Those three words have left you winded. They’re drowning you, pulling you so far beneath its current you’re left with the largest knot in your throat, threatening to release the moment you open your mouth to reply to him.

It’s his words that have compacted so many meanings unspoken.

Your tongue has turned leaden, your mouth is clenched shut, and the knot in your throat is only forming and growing every second that is passed.

All you can do is stare up at him pathetically, eyes wide and brimming with tears that wait to fall.

I love you. I’m so sorry. I want you. I feared for you. I feared for myself. I’ve missed you. I love you, I love you, I love you.

Your heart feels full and empty all at once, and you tremble as his hands softly stroke away the wisps of hair that have fallen from your coiffed hair.

When you open your mouth to breath, to finally repay the sentiment, your lungs betray you as they rack in a sob.

He pulls you back into an embrace, only this time it’s you that is being hid away from the onlooking world, gasping for breath as your tears wet the lapels of his uniform.

You feel him press his lips to the crown of your head.

“I know,” He tells you thickly.

---

It’s early morning as Will sits by the window of this home. He hadn’t been able to sleep, and rather than thrashing about in your shared bed, he figured it wise to detach himself lest he wake you for the third consecutive night that week.

The heat emitting from the teacup clasped in his hands scalded his skin, but he chose to ignore it. The burning grounded him. Reminded him of where he was and where he wasn’t.

He tiredly exhales a deep sigh, leaning his head against the crown molding of the window. He feels almost guilty for not staying in bed, remembering the constant visualizations of a warm bed- of your body warmly pressed into his side, the welcoming sound of a pair of bare feet that patter softly against the floor- all of which he painted to keep him sane in the trenches.

But now that he had it after wanting it for so long, he always returned back to France, even when he tried to suppress it.

It would be small things that would set off the memories: The sound of the leaves billowing from the wind, the clanging of a fork against a tin can, the smell of upturned soil, just to name a few.

It was silly, he thought more often than not, of how different he was now.

Though he was still William Schofeild, he really wasn’t. It was a notion he had to accept the first week he returned home to you and the girls.

But he tried, by God, did he try.

Whenever it would be set for judgement day to come, William Schofeild knew that he would be judged for what he did not do and what he did. But one thing that would serve him with certainty, was that he tried.

He tries to uphold the station that he situated before he left. The role of a good father and a good husband. Not showing the cracks that were undoubtedly unfixable. Attempting to get back into the swing of things.

Though he knew that his false bravado hardly went unnoticed by you. He would feel your suspecting gaze when he was teetering on reliving events as he stared off blankly into the space ahead of him, when he would leave his food untouched or his tea forgotten. He knew you had a hunch of what was happening when his daughters sat on his lap as they begged him to tell stories.

“Girls,” you would scold them, emerging from the kitchen as you wiped your hands on your apron, “you know better than to be asking your father such things he wishes not to discuss.”

He would give a tight smile in response, “Nothing to worry about, Darling,” he’d say as he pressed a kiss on either girl’s head, “Perhaps I’ll do you one better, girls: I’ll read you a story with princesses and about great castles. Far better than hearing about daddy’s stories. I’ve no fairies or knights in mine.”

They would beam up at him, slipping off his lap as they ran back to their nursery to play with their dolls.

He knew you knew when he would simply pick his book up once more, staring at the page he attempted to read for the nearly two hours- how you would hover by the entryway of the kitchen and observe him before disappearing to finish up the roast.

He knew you knew because as he sat there, sitting and observing the outside world through the window, the heat prickling his skin, he could feel your presence in the room.

He watched as a bird flew by, situating itself on the small tree only feet away from the gate.

You moved quietly, settling into the parlor chair by his.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he tells you quietly as he turns to face you. You have a shawl over your shoulders, and sleep still evident in your eyes, and one hand atop your rounded belly.

You don’t meet his eyes, rather fixing your gaze on the same bird fluttering about.

“You didn’t wake me.” You reply just as quietly, pulling the shawl tighter around you with your left hand, “The baby was kicking again.”

Will gives you a small smile, eyes glancing down at your bump, “A rowdy one, he’ll be.”

He outstretches his arm to pass you his tea, and you accept, bringing it to your lips as you take a sip to fight away the chill lingering in the early morning.

You hand it back to him, and the two of you so, passing the tea cup back and forth for the next minutes in comfortable silence.

Finally, you speak.

“William, I’m worried for you.”

It hangs in the air, and causes Will to shift uncomfortably in his chair as his right pointer finger plays with the handle of the tea cup.

You fill the silence once more, turning to him now. “There’s something that’s wrong.”

His eyebrows furrow and his lips pull into a frown. Instead of replying he gulps down the remainder of the tea and sets it atop the window sill.

“I know you do not wish to speak on it. And I apologize for bringing it up so early in the morning, but I’d rather it not be in front of the girls,” you spoke slowly, your right hand still grazing your stomach as a nervous habit.

Will sighs deeply once more. This conversation was bound to be brought up eventually.

He hangs his head, crossing his arms, trying to think of the correct words to say.

“I can hardly imagine what you saw or what you went through, and I’m grateful for the ignorance that permits me to do so. But seeing you in these states,” you trail off, feeling the familiar knot take place within your throat, “it pains me because I do not know how to help you.”

You take in a shuddering breath, biting your tongue as you cast your gaze on the floor. “I wished so many times to take you away from there. To bring you back home where nothing could harm you. I would have given anything to ensure you were safe.”

William shakes his head, lifts it and turns to look at you. “You already help me. Just by being here, by my side.”

You wipe away at a tear that had escaped, knowing fully it was a pretty fib to make you feel better. “Don’t lie to me, William. I see it in your eyes.”

He gives you a small smile again that doesn’t reach his eyes, “Of course you do. I suppose that’s the price of marrying an observant woman.”

“And as an observant wife, it’s my duty to point upon when I think something’s wrong,” you murmur quickly, quietly. You're terrified to find him angered, so you shift your gaze to avoid his eyes. “I made a vow to you four years ago: to be by your side for better, for worse, for richer or for poorer,” you pause before finally mustering up the courage to face your husband, “and in sickness and in health.”

William’s gaze is on the teacup that he set aside, his large eyes saddened and reserved. He frowns, slowly rises from his chair, kneels before you and claps your hand in his. He moves to press his lips on the knuckle of your thumb, “I’m sorry I do not speak to you about it. About what happened.” He shakes his head, squeezing his eyes tightly, voice cracking.

“I haven’t been fair to you,” He admits to you, “and I’m deeply sorry for that.”

You shake your head, a bit exasperated at how you jumbled your own words, in turn making him feel he was at fault, “No, my Darling. No, please do not take it that way. What I meant is that though it’s not my place to pry personal information you do not wish to tell, it is my place to point something that I see taking a toll on you.” You lift his hand so you can kiss them, “I-I just want you to feel better.” You sigh, “I’m rambling again. I’m afraid I can’t speak properly this morning.”

“I know what you are attempting to get across.” he mumbles to you, bowing his head to rest it upon your bump. “But I should make more of an effort to…” He furrows his brows, carefully selecting the correct word, “be open. But it’s difficult. How can I ask you to help me when I do not even know how to help myself?”

His words break your heart.

You frown, letting go of his hand to stroke his head. “We will figure it out, and I will be there every step of the way with you, no matter what.”

“And if you grow tired of me?”

You stiffen. This time it’s his words that hang in the air. As he utters them, a cloud seems to block the early sunlight emitting through your window, casting a blueish-gray hue in your small home.

“William never utter such mindless things again,” You scold him sharply. “I will never tire of you.” You allow your form to relax once more as your face softens, lightening your tone, “Is not carrying your child enough evidence?”

You hear him exhale a breathy chuckle and then feel him place a kiss on your womb.

After a while, with you stroking his hair and him kneeling before you, you speak softly once more reassuring, “I love you. For the man that you were and for the man that you’ve become. I will be here for you. And though your healing may take time, it’s a step in the right direction. Never doubt that.”

The sun’s rays make an appearance once more, flooding the small room in a golden, promising light.

Masterlist

#william schofield x reader #william schofield imagine #1917 fanfic #george mackay x reader #royalbluehues

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nicotinemaiden · 4 years ago

Text

Such Great Heights

I am thinking it's a sign That the freckles in our eyes Are mirror images And when we kiss they're perfectly aligned

And I have to speculate That God Himself did make Us into corresponding shapes Like puzzle pieces from the clay

And true it may seem like a stretch But it's thoughts like this that catch My troubled head when you're away A nd when I am missing you to death

[ The Postal Service ]

[Chapter 3 of Mistake Series dedicated to @ccprovolomies for proposing the beautiful song that inspired me to write it. Thank you so much!!]

Read on AO3 →

The third, a proclamation.

The blood felt warm on his skin, at the corner of his mouth, dripping down his lower lip. That last hit had come close. Not as close as the open wound in his stomach but close enough to crack his lip in two. He lifted his hand to wipe the iron liquid from his face, as much as it was possible, and kept looking ahead, towards the hooded figure that looked at him in return holding a silver dagger in his left hand and several injuries along his legs and arms. He moved slowly to the side, limping yet still more graceful than normal people. The sunset started to vanish slowly behind him, making the shadows of the trees creeping on them a little bit more unsettling.

He could hear footsteps running towards him. It won’t be long until he wasn’t alone anymore, he just had to wait, to lose time, to slow him down as much as possible. His left hand pushed against the wound begging it to stop bleeding even for a moment, to stop making him so freaking dizzy and just let him throw the knife at the right place. Breathing deeply, he decided that his condition wasn’t as important as his mission and, whatever happened, he had to stop him long enough for the other knights to come. He couldn’t let go of this person, this trained assassin that knew where his target was and had no intention of missing this chance.

He hadn’t said a word but Obi didn’t really need any kind of confirmation about it. He could see the desperation in his eyes, the willingness to do anything to complete his task. And that was the problem. The most deadly people are the ones with nothing to lose and a lot to gain. So he fixed his golden gaze on the one ahead and dashed towards it.

Her eyes were still green and bright - not so bright as they had been these last couple of weeks but bright enough for someone who knew her well to know that there was something different about her - happiness that wasn’t there before and now consumed her almost entirely. Her comb slid through her hair as it would do through threads of silk, leaving it on top of her shoulders. It had grown so long since that fateful night when she had to cut it to save her freedom that sometimes the memory seemed more like a dream. She could almost believe it.

But looking at herself in the mirror she was… glad it happened. The consequences of that night brought her here. And she smiled at her reflection, searching for the girl from that night in her expression, in her eyes, in her hair. She was the same yet completely different - stronger, more confident, more knowledgeable.

She remembered Obi’s face on top of hers the night before, the look on his eyes as they travelled down her body once again for so long he might as well have painted it, and, with a blush taking hold of her face, thought that maybe she was more beautiful, more mature, more attractive.

She was no longer the young eighteen-year-old girl that ran from her home with hopes of not being discovered. She was an official pharmacist for the kingdom, she was a friend for the people who cared about her and, lately, she was a girlfriend and a lover, she was cared for, she was loved in return.

Shirayuki always thought stupid the concept that love changes people. Yes, maybe she was braver before because she had a goal - to prove herself, not only to other people but to herself. And she’d done it time after time and she was comfortable with things as they were. But until now she hadn’t really grasped the meaning of that phrase, the way your world fills with colors that you didn’t even know existed, the pressure on your heart every time something reminds you of that person and the extreme satisfaction and happiness of knowing that that person feels the same way.

Even knowing that Zen was at the mansion and he could be here at the pharmacy at any moment her smile grew brighter as she distanced herself from the small mirror and returned to the office. This time it was a planned visit, everything legal with documents and paperwork, and as such, he had to make an official entrance with official tea and conversation. Only thinking about it tired her out. The only thing that she could do was wait while working. If only she could have Obi with her to listen to his comments and gossip.

“Mitsuhide!”

Kiki’s voice distracted him but not enough to fail this time. His kick landed perfectly on the back of the head of the assassin in front of him, knocking him out. As quickly as his body allowed him he moved to his companions, blocking a dagger centimetres from his face and looking back only a second. Miss Kiki had moved to the side of Mister, who was unconscious on the floor, blood pouring from his head. A blunt hit. He inspected the new opponent - besides his dagger he had a sword on his other hand, the handle bathed in blood. Not only was he agile but he was strong too.

He narrowed his eyes, their blades still crashing, and jumped back, rotating the knife in his hand for a moment. He needed to get out of here. Not only because of his own wounds but because of Mister. He didn’t know how severe his injury was but he needed to get him to his Miss as soon as possible so this had to be quick. He wasn’t the only one thinking this because, the next moment, the other man started running.

“Oh, no, you don’t.”

He recognized his own smile, only one corner of his mouth lifting, sharing with the world a part of him that had been well hidden most of the time but that he couldn’t simply ignore in the middle of a fight. That strange thirst for blood that told that the only thing he ever knew before being here had been shadows, war and murder. Accepting that part of him for the moment and forgetting about his own pain he ran after him. He could hear Kiki shouting for him, her footsteps quick behind but not enough to catch after them. It wasn’t long before Obi surrounded the man, surprising him at his front and before he could react he was pinning his opponent to the floor, a knife to his throat. He wanted to sink it on him so badly, to watch him bleed to death as payment for what he did to Mister. He pushed harder until the first drops of blood tinted his weapon and he saw his own eyes reflected on it. He wasn’t this way. He may have been once because he didn’t know anything else but now…

He closed his eyes. Now he had people to protect, not kill. He wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t take that burden, even when his body was pleading him to do it. In another situation, maybe, but his opponent wasn’t doing much anymore, no one's life was in danger - or so he hoped. He didn’t have the right to choose to kill him just because he was angry. He smiled thinking that so much time with Shirayuki was rubbing on him more than he was aware of. What would she have said? Probably she would have offered to heal the man, even knowing he was an enemy. She was just that good. So he decided he needed to be a little good too. For her.

“You’re coming with me.”

She was nervous, impatient, anxious. She couldn’t get herself to read, to study, to stay put. She kept pacing up and down the office. She asked a guard about the whereabouts of her knight and, apparently, they’d had a problem with some letter being intercepted on the way and part of the rebellion knew that the Second Prince was here so it was necessary to send him along with Zen’s personal knights - or Kiki and Mitsuhide to her - because they saw suspicious people in the forest. So now the conversation with Zen was pretty low on her list of priorities. First, she needed to make sure everyone was alright.

No one would let her leave the mansion and she tried three different exits without success. So she stomped on her chair only to get up immediately. Doing nothing wasn’t for her. She knew if they really encountered someone out there she wouldn’t be much help but still, she could do something. She had different plant concoctions that could be used as smoke, she did it before, she could do it again. And she was a good healer - or so she liked to believe - so she could treat injuries on the spot. Yet there she was again, completely useless with the only action of ‘worry’ on her vocabulary for the moment.

A white mane of hair appeared at the door, knocking softly on the frame. Surprised, she jumped and turned to see Zen smiling at her while walking into the room. He was… exactly as she remembered him. It wasn’t so long since the last time they saw each other yet she expected everything to be different. She expected to see an ugly guy with cold eyes and maybe a sign pointing to him that said ‘you don’t love him anymore’ as if the fact of admitting being in love with someone else would somehow change who Zen was. But everything was normal. Well, almost everything.

“Shirayuki, you’re as beautiful as ever.”

Damn. That was so not normal. She was so not ready for this at the moment. She blushed without thinking and tried to return the smile. That phrase was so not Zen that it made her skin tickle, and not in a good way, so she had to say it. Because when has she just stayed shut when she had something to say?

“Now you sound like Obi.”

He lifted a hand to the back of his neck, embarrassed, the red starting to show at the tip of his ears.

“That obvious, uh? He gave me some pointers some time ago so I just wanted to try it. For the record, you really are beautiful.”

He wasn’t looking at her now, more like searching for something at the side. She felt herself chuckle. She really loved Zen. She loved him like a really good friend, that was the problem.

“Thank you and please don’t do that again. I have enough with one Obi in my life.”

She hoped her blush wasn’t as evident as it seemed because the things that crossed her mind when she said that weren't exactly just teasing and flirting. Her mind wandered there for a second and then moved to the start of this conversation. How different she felt whenever it was her knight who crossed that door. With Zen, she always had been nervous whenever he was around as if she could break their relationship by saying something wrong or - when she wasn't worried about that - as if she was going to bore him to death.

That was something that never happened with Obi. Whatever the conversation, even the ones that would be boring to every person on the planet except her, he was always listening, making comments here and there and contributing ideas. Lately, she thought he just didn’t want to miss anything she could say even if it was utterly irreverent. And she realized it was the same for her. She was happy just listening to him. And the thought brought an honest smile to his lips, her gaze fixed on nothing, looking without looking to the door behind the prince.

“I’m sorry, I’m just… nervous.”

He hugged her suddenly, leaning his cheek against her temple and her arms pinned between their bodies. For a second she was tense, stiff, expecting more from him, waiting for his face to search hers like it had done many times before. But then she just relaxed in his arms rested her head under his chin and smiled.

“It’s still me, you know? You don’t have to be.”

“I know. That's why I am. I’ve missed you.”

She closed her eyes for a moment. She wanted to say that she did too because part of her did. But she had thought so little of him lately, the only times being the ones where she dreaded the moment she had to talk to him. Actually talk to him about everything that happened, everything that has changed. So she went completely still, not knowing what to add to the conversation.

He realized, it seemed, because he took her by her arms and moved her enough to look at her. His eyes were so warm, full of love and understanding, a small shadow on them that could have been pain or even disappointment. It just made her feel worse and she forced her eyes to the floor. It hurt to look at him.

“I know you have something to tell me. I also can guess what it is but I imagine you would like to tell me yourself instead of leaving me with guesses. I won’t force you to say anything, just know that I’m willing to listen and… I would never think less of you and would always care about you.”

Every word made it a bit easier. She was so glad to have found someone like Zen. Someone that even without completely understanding her accepted and cared for her. Someone that wouldn’t pressure her into anything and that would always worry first about other people instead of themselves. Slowly her gaze returned to the blue one and she nodded. There was one thing he said that caught her interest. She looked at him questioningly.

“You can guess what I wanted to tell you? Is it really that obvious?”

The prince chuckled, using his fist to hide part of his smile. That was almost enough of an answer but he spoke anyway.

“You’ll have to tell me first for me to answer that but there are certain things that have been painfully obvious for a while.”

Something in his voice told her that he really had tried to ignore it, to convince himself that he was imagining things, but he seemed to have accepted it. So she was about to basically confirm his suspicions, because after that conversation she had no doubt he already knew, when rushed footsteps sounded from the hall. They stopped just at the door and they both turned to see who it was.

“Lady Shirayuki!”

Shuu caught his breath for a moment, leaning on the frame of the door and sparing a look at Zen.

“Your Highness.”

He breathed as a greeting before turning his attention to her completely.

“Follow me.”

He started almost running again and they followed right behind, looking at each other for a moment, a worried look on both of them.

“They are in really bad condition. Both of them. Mister Ryuu is with them, so I’m a little less worried but still, everyone agreed it was necessary for you to be there.”

They rounded a corner while he was talking and she could feel her stomach turn one and time again. She wished he could be more specific and at the same time, she wished he just stopped talking and they just reached the place they were going towards.

“We have apprehended one of the men that caused this and the other one is tied up in the forest. Our men are currently in the process of bringing him here.”

Another set of halls, another corner, and she started to understand why Shuu was without breath when he arrived at her assigned office.

“Here, please hurry.”

He opened the door in front of them and moved to the side, allowing them to practically jump inside, taking in everything that was happening. The first thing she noticed was Kiki sitting on a chair beside Ryuu who was working on the back of Mitsuhide's head. She was gripping his hand to the point her knuckles were white but he wasn’t conscious. For the place of the injury it was clear he would be out of it for a while plus Ryuu would have given him something before working on it. She breathed a bit, glad that even if in bad shape he was alive.

After that, she noticed the corner and that breathing stopped completely. Her hand moved to her lips to stop the silent scream that wanted to leave her. She ran to it and kneeled just in front of the chair, in front of blooded legs and ragged clothing. Obi’s head rested against the wall at his side, his lip red and a bit swollen, a deep cut on one side that seemed to have stopped bleeding.

He was shirtless, almost the entirety of his lower chest and stomach were bathed in blood. His skin was so much paler than his usual tanner one, a sick blue starting to show. It was so so little that maybe someone else wouldn’t have noticed but she did. Stomach wounds weren’t usually lethal but the blood loss was. And the pain… She could feel her eyes sting just thinking about what he just endured. She placed one hand over his to get him to move and was terrified of the cold it was. She wanted to scream at him. Why?! Why this?! And why now?! Why put his life in danger now that she had him? It was childish and selfish and she forced herself to think another way. It was his job. A noble job. He helped people, saved them.

A bag of healing provisions landed beside her and she looked in the direction it came. Ryuu was already back at work but he answered her unspoken question anyway.

“He insisted that Mister Mitsuhide would be treated first. He wouldn’t even let me look at his wound. To be honest, he probably saved his life. This was… really bad. Worst that it seemed at first.”

The sharp intake of breath of Kiki could have as well been hers. Yes, she had no right to be angry at him. No real motive. She was just… selfish sometimes. And terribly afraid. Afraid of losing everything they had right now. Afraid of everything changing again, this time for the worst. So she had to heal him, save him, no matter what.

He could hear voices and rustling. He could also hear his own thoughts without them being blurry, thank the universe. He wanted to touch his head because it hurt, not as much as before yet enough to make him want to put pressure on it. Someone stopped him, a soft hand keeping his hand in place on top of his leg. He opened his eyes slowly and closed the second a flash of light reached them. He tried again and, this time, his Miss was looking at him, kneeling in front of him. He blinked a couple of times and was about to say something cheeky when she moved her hand with a small cloth to his wound and he almost screamed, forcing his head to the wall behind and looking at the ceiling.

“Now that was just punishment, Miss.”

“Should I know how much time you have been running around with that wound?”

Her voice was cold and angry yet warm and soft. How she managed the combination was something that he would really like to know. He looked at her and her eyes were exactly the same. He realized he didn’t feel the stench of blood, not the pain of his lip and he smiled brightly.

“Long enough to see you again.”

There was a light chuckle somewhere in the room and he realized they were not alone. A pained grunt came to him. He wanted to kiss her so badly, to thank her properly for healing him, probably saving him because he felt he was about to die when they reached the mansion. The only reason he kept going instead of falling to the floor was the fact that he was almost carrying Mitsuhide, dragging his legs between the two of them. And, on the other side, a tied enemy of the Kingdom that he dragged completely because his strength was already failing and couldn’t simply toss it on top of his shoulder. So yes, she possibly saved his life. As she did the moment he met her and decided to stay by her side.

She looked at him with so much warmth and love that he forgot the rest of the people again and smiled only for her. She got up, picking up the clothes off the floor to leave them in a basket, and he followed as it was customary for them. His injury hurt, more so than when he was sitting, but he made no movement to show it. The rest of the room was almost as he left it. Ryuu had moved his chair closer to them and was now resting on it. Something told him that he had been helping Shirayuki with him once he’d done all he could for Mitsuhide. Kiki was still holding his hand but looked at them and, when their eyes crashed she smiled softly. A look of gratitude that he was sure he was mirroring. They saved each other.

At the side of the door in a small cushion was Zen, his shoulder and jaw - that were visibly tensed - relaxed when they looked at each other and both smiled. They were alive and together and he couldn’t ask for anything more. They had a lot of work to do ahead of them, probably a lot of situations like this to come, yet for the moment this was enough.

“Allow me to accompany you to your rooms, Mister Obi. We will prepare something to eat while you rest.”

He was so accustomed to hiding… Well, almost everything, that he almost turned the offer down with some lame excuse as to how he was fine and he didn’t really feel the need to rest. He had just been unconscious for a while after all. But Shirayuki’s voice was almost an order, even when she said it so gently.

“Please go to the room and rest. I will go see how it’s going the moment I’m finished here.”

He looked at her and really, how could he say no to her? She could ask him to go get lost in the middle of hell and he would do it. It was almost scary how one person could have so much power over him. So he nodded and moved painfully to the door, trying to mask his limping under his usually graceful movements and standing there for a second while watching her follow him. His eyes playfully looked at her, a lopsided smile and an arched brow. He didn’t have to say anything more to see the thrown off look on her face and the red on the tip of her ears. He was glad she had a ponytail right now because it was extremely cute and otherwise he wouldn’t have seen it.

What he really didn’t see coming was her reaction. Shirayuki got up on her toes, brought her hand to the back of his neck and kissed him. And it wasn’t a soft kiss either. He could swear he heard some gasps around the room but he wasn’t paying attention. His arm surrounded her waist and brought her towards him, just a bit more, just enough to feel her without touching his stomach. It was desperate, as if both of them realized how close they’ve been to lose each other. How the small kiss with which they parted that morning could have been the last. His other hand cupped her face, slowing the kiss until they were far enough to look at each other. There were so many things they wanted to say that neither of them wanted to break the silence.

"You're the worst and I hate you."

She said, at last, her words so different to what her eyes said that he laughed without thinking, a small flinch taking hold of his body. He was starting to think that he really shouldn’t be up yet but that wasn’t about to stop the mix of happiness and shock that he was feeling. He was almost as shocked as the first time she kissed him because… they were in public. Yes, they flirted and touched sometimes and most people in the mansion believed them to be a couple since before they really were but they never confirmed it so clearly. And, of course, his Master was in the room, looking at them.

It felt weird. It felt right. It felt all kinds of liberating, as if breaking invisible chains that were there since the moment he realized he was falling for her. Part of them broke at their first kiss, at their first night together, yet the rest had been still there, wondering if she would change her mind, if they would always have to hide what they had, what they felt. If it wasn’t from the piercing pain he could have started floating with how light he felt, how free of all weight. So he kissed her again. And again. And again. Small kisses that slowly brought back her smile, mirroring his. Real smiles, both of them.

"If that's what hate feels like, I welcome it."

She was almost laughing at that point, her cheeks a bit more colorful, the small chuckles so funny, so happy he had to catch one of them kissing her one more time before letting go. Her hand lingered on his chest a moment longer after that, almost afraid that their happiness would vanish if they stopped at that point. But she used that same hand to give him a little push in the arm, rushing him to the hall behind them where Shuu was waiting.

“Now off you go. You should be laying down and sleeping. I would wake you up to change the bandages and see how it’s going.”

There was a glint in his eyes. A playful glint said that he was still not ready to end the conversation after that. He couldn’t see most of the people inside or their reactions but he could see Kiki with a knowing smile and an approving look in her eyes and maybe that was enough. Maybe he didn’t even need that. Feeling a bit braver after the scene they made he grinned and added:

“Just because I can’t wait for you to touch me again.”

She rolled her eyes, actually rolled her eyes, but was brightly smiling while she closed the door in front of him, forcing her knight to leave even when she didn’t want to say goodbye, not for a moment. But she knew that he was fine - not in perfect condition but fine enough - and that she still had to talk to Zen.

She looked at him at the side of the door and was surprised to see him exchanging looks with Kiki, both of them containing their laugh as best as they could. The prince even had a hand over his mouth and she gifted him with a ‘really?’ look. This was what she was nervous for? Kissing Obi in front of them had been a lot more terrifying than jumping off a tower. She didn’t want to be seen as… as the things people usually called women that played with men. But she wasn’t playing. She just changed over the years. Her feelings changed. Could she really have been blamed for it?

“For a moment there I thought you just did it because damn, he almost died and you were relieved but that was not a first kiss. So… when did that happen?”

Kiki had calmed herself and now was clearly out for answers. Sitting here for hours just worrying must have made her need to take her mind out of that problem a lot bigger. Sighing she moved to sit beside the prince, who also had stopped almost laughing and was looking at her with a smile and a warm and questioning look that supported the knight’s question. Surprisingly, Ryuu also moved his chair closer, visibly interested. She inhaled deeply before starting.

“I can’t say exactly when it started for me. I can’t even say when I started to realize that it was happening. One night a couple of weeks ago I just… It was too much. I needed to be closer to him. So I kissed him.”

She looked away, embarrassed. It was her fault they were in this situation, to begin with. She didn’t exactly know why she felt bad talking about it, as if she were betraying them by being honest with herself.

“Mitsuhide owes us now.”

Zen was looking at the blond knight with an amused expression after hearing her words and he nodded, shrugging his shoulders.

“I told him that Obi would never be the one to shatter that wall. He’s been in this situation for years after all. And he’s always been trying to push us together.”

He shook his head, a bit of sadness in his eyes when he spoke again. There was that tone on his voice again, the one that said that he only understood everything now and that he was better off before.

“Honestly I don’t know how he could.”

Shirayuki was looking at them as if suddenly their hair was the same color as hers. She was confused and felt left out of the conversation. They knew? Or at least they knew about his feelings. Since when? She remembered him telling her something about how long he’d loved her but she didn’t think it was so much that their friends in Clarines already knew and, by the looks of it, they’ve known for a long time.

“W-wait, wait. Did you all know?”

One by one the three people that were with her - and conscious - nodded. She shook her head in an automatic movement. She should have seen it coming. He was extremely honest most of the time - the only times he really wasn’t were when he was pretending to be fine, hiding a wound or an illness. And she knew he just didn’t want to worry her. Luckily for her, those moments have been fewer and fewer lately.

Ryuu looked at them thoughtfully, wanting to add something but thinking carefully about exactly what. When he spoke his voice was a bit deeper than usual, his tone a lot more lively than when he had been working before.

“He never told me directly and I didn’t really need confirmation but… one day I asked him: Why don’t you tell her? His answer… I didn’t push after that. He had his reasons and, honestly, they were good ones. But I’m glad it worked out in the end.”

He smiled at her and she reciprocated it. She wondered what would have been her reaction if he’d told her before, if it hadn’t been her who did something but him. Part of her thought that she would have rejected him and all their relationship would have changed suddenly. The other part of her, the one that was completely sure about her feelings, said that she would have kissed him back, that something would have clicked in her head the same way it did a couple of weeks ago and she would have realized sooner that he was the one. The real one for her.

It would have been a gamble the same way it had been when she kissed him. Yet something told her they would be in the same situation now because… she couldn't imagine a life beside Zen anymore. Not as his partner, not as his princess, not as his wife. If she was honest with herself she stopped imagining something like that so long ago she forgot about forgetting it.

When Shirayuki looked at the prince he was looking at her, almost admiring her deep-in-thought look.

“You know? I’m glad too. I thought, still do sometimes, that we could have worked. But I’ve heard what people say, I’ve seen it in both of you every time we’re together. That kind of connection… I can’t understand it, I can only see it from outside. And you deserve someone like him. I should have told him long ago.”

There was a sad chuckle in his voice that would have broken her were it not for the way his eyes were bright and honest. He really was happy about it.

“Every time he told me that I deserved you and that only I could make you happy… I already knew it wasn’t true. Yet he didn’t seem to realize that the times when you were really smiling and laughing were always with him. So…”

He picked up her hand between his, caressing her skin slowly with his fingers.

“I still care about you and I know you understand that my feelings are not just going to float away suddenly but I’m really happy for you both and you would always have my support and my friendship if you still want it.”

Her eyes filled with hot liquid and her lip started trembling. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. Word by word. At the corner of her eye, she could see Kiki nodding emphatically, possibly wanting to say that she would be there for her too. Ryuu was blushing and also nodding, his hand pulling from his clothes until his mouth was almost hidden. That was an Obi gesture and her heart warmed to see it replicated on the young boy. He was starting to imitate - unknowingly or not - various behaviours of her knight. She had yet to decide if that was a good thing or not.

Returning her gaze to Zen after the quick inspection and now that she had blocked her tears she launched at him, practically jumping into his lap, and hugged him. How was she so lucky? What did she do to deserve such wonderful people in her life? Kiki joined the hug from the other side of the cushion and Ryuu wasn’t much for hugs yet moved a hand to her shoulder and squeezed a bit to let her know he was there too.

She couldn’t stop them anymore. She started crying, surrounded by people who cared and loved her and all the tension, the jitters, the almost-lost-someone-today feeling disappeared slowly with every intake of breath. That was it. They were free to pursue their feelings, they were still loved, they still had their friends, the ones that made both of them stay in the first place.

They still were a family.

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icebluecyanide · 4 years ago

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Sirius & Regulus - Behind the veil

[I discovered an unfinished Sirius&Regulus fic I wrote back in 2010 on my computer and I’m unlikely to ever finish/continue so I’m sharing it here. I’m pretty sure it’s also heavily inspired by some other fics I read around the time but as it was 10 years ago I’m afraid I can’t give proper credit.]

Sirius was throwing a hex at Bellatrix, taunting her while he dodged one of the curses meant for him. `Come on, you can do better than that!` he shouted at her, laughing. Suddenly there was a red light coming closer, too close. He didn´t even have time to react as the spell hit him. And as he felt he the spell take effect, he realized he was falling. Backwards. To the veil. He only managed to form a single thought before the strange cold feeling of the veil overwhelmed him and then his world turned black. Oh, shit.

---

Slowly the Sirius opened his eyes, and he became aware of a feeling of urgency. There was something he had to do, something important, but for the love of all he held dear, he couldn't remember what. For some reason though, it seem insignificant now. `Hello Sirius.` He turned around, facing the figure with the all too familiar voice. There was a thick mist all around him, so he couldn´t be sure. Then the figure stepped forward, out of the mist. He blinked. `Regulus?`

This isn´t possible, he thought, Regulus is dead. He couldn´t be here unless... Regulus smiled sadly as he saw Sirius look at his hands. The man hadn´t realized it before, but he had changed. His face, wasted and ghostly pale after the years in Azkaban had now the same handsome look as when he had just left Hogwarts. And his hands, once full of scars and rough after years of usage, were now back to the clean and soft hands of a person who never had to do anything. `You figured it out already?` Regulus asked. Sirius turned to him. `I´m... dead, right? Regulus nodded slowly. `You died fighting Bellatrix. You were protecting Harry Potter.` Sirius remembered. Yes, he had been fighting to keep Harry safe. He still felt the strange urge, and he realized he wanted to defend Harry. The idea didn´t seem so important any more, though. `Will you join the game?` Sirius looked up. `What game` he asked quietly. His natural temper seemed to have disappeared, instead he felt calm, utterly calm. Regulus gestured to a chessboard that Sirius only then realized was standing behind the man. There were two chairs. The game was already started. He sat down, with Regulus opposite to him. `We never finished this game, remember?` said Regulus. `You ran away before we could.` Sirius nodded. After that, every time he had thought of Regulus, he had remembered the game. They had played quietly, just like now, but never looked each other in the eye. He had been too angry back then. This time was different. He felt at peace, and looking at his younger brother, so did he. Regulus looked years younger than he did when Sirius last saw him. He still looked to be seventeen, but all the worry lines, all the masks he had worn, were finally gone. His face was relaxed, handsome even, and for the first time in years, Sirius realized how much they looked alike. Both brothers had black hair, that fell in the same elegant way, without them having to do anything about it. Light grey eyes met their mirror image, both showing emotions that had always been kept hidden. As a smile appeared on Regulus´ face, (when had been the last time he had seen the boy smile?) Sirius thought he was looking at his younger self. He looked down at the board. He was losing, just like that day. Regulus had reset the game to the moment his mother walked in. The moment he had stopped concentrating. After that he had been losing. He moved his knight. The chess pieces were from a muggle board, meaning he had to move them with his own hands. He glanced back up. In this strange place, his emotions seemed dimmed, and he could remember. He remembered all his memories, even the good ones Azkaban stole from him, with perfect clarity. It was these happy memories that finally forced him to break the comfortable silence. `What is this place?` he asked. His brother glanced up at him, then moved one of his pawns. `This is the world behind the veil.` Sirius nodded. It seemed logical, he had fallen through the veil, so now he was behind it. `So, this is were dead people go? And I´m really dead?` Regulus smiled sadly, still looking at the board. `You may try holding your breath, then you will find you don´t need air any more. You aren´t hungry, or even thirsty. We are no longer alive, Sirius.` He looked Sirius in the eye. `I suppose you will be wanting to know if your friends are here?` Sirius nodded. `Are James and Lily also here?` `Yes. After the game is finished you can go find them.` Sirius looked around. The mist was thick, making it impossible to see something further than fifteen feet away. He raised an eyebrow at Regulus. `How?` His brother chuckled. `Don´t think you are getting away from me yet. It´s your turn.`

#hp for ts #sirius black #regulus black #sirius x regulus #posting this after just correcting two spelling mistakes so you can all see how 16 year old me wrote lol #my fanfic #i may be the only person who finds it interesting to compare my writing styles but oh well #black brothers feelings?

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ijustwant2write · 5 years ago

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Sister’s Secret-Merlin x Pendragon!Magic!Reader

(GIF credit to @harritudur)

Requested by @cokecola4211: ‘Merlin imagine being Arthur's younger sister and having magic and always a struggle to hide it from your brother and even Morgana.’

Characters: Merlin x Pendragon!Magic!Reader, Arthur Pendragon x Pendragon!Magic!Reader (siblings), Morgana x Pendragon!Magic!Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Violence, fighting

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

“I don’t think I should attend the tournament today, I don’t feel too well.” I mumbled to Morgana, placing a hand over my stomach for effect.

“You won’t be getting out of this one (Y/N).” she sadly smiled at me, linking her arm through mine.“Be a part of the sportsmanship.”

“Sometimes I really don’t like being a princess.”

She scoffed.“Oh the horror.”

I giggled.“Not like that. I just really don’t want to go today.”

“We shall be sat together. We can talk throughout the whole thing and annoy Uther to no end.”

“Yes, my father will comment on our un-ladylike behaviour.”

“And we will watch your brother show of his amazing fighting skills, what a thrilling afternoon.”

We walked with the guards who were escorting us to the tournament, still chatting away. Morgana made me feel slightly better, though I could still feel nerves. I had tried to avoid every public event I could, though father was having none of it. I had got away with it the first few times, but then father became worried; once Gaius was called in, he knew I was faking it. I lied, putting it down to nerves now that I was coming of age to take on more responsibilities as a princess. Father had strict words with me, saying that I needed to face these head on, take a page out of Arthur’s book.

Arthur and I didn’t butt heads like he and Morgana did, though it was hard to put up with him when he got so much praise for being a prince; but I loved my brother dearly, he was a brave man.

However, I wasn’t feeling part of the family anymore. Something mysterious was happening to me, something I couldn’t control or tell anyone. I found myself controlling things without realising, items would float or be thrown across the room. It happened out of the blue, and I was extremely lucky to be by myself when I discovered what I had; magic. Why I possessed this power was unknown, and how did I have these powers when no one else in my family did? I kept this secret for months now, it had been difficult to hide at times, too many times there had been where I was almost caught. What would people think of their princess having magic? Especially since their king was so harsh on the law?

I remembered back to when I was a child, playing with Arthur and Morgana. We were stuck inside, rain pouring from the skies since the evening, and it had no sign of stopping throughout the day. Morgana and I were playing with our dolls castle, dressing up the dolls in beautiful gowns that we wished we could wear. Arthur wouldn't sit still, swinging around the wooden sword father had gifted him. He purposefully came too close to us, making us flinch and whine everytime we thought he was going to hit us.

"Arthur! Stop it or I'm going to call nanny!" I threatened, pouting my lips.

He continued his actions."You two are boring. You should play knights with me instead of those stupid dolls!"

Morgana gasped."Arthur!"

I stomped my foot."They aren't stupid!"

"Yes they are."

My fists were clenched, and I found myself storming towards him, about to shove him back, but he had already been thrown to the floor. He cried out as I halted, confused as to how he had fallen over when I hadn't even touched him.

"Princess!" Nanny had run into the room, attending to Arthur."You can't go around pushing people, especially your brother. You must remember your lessons as a lady."

"But nanny, (Y/N) didn't push him!" Morgana defended me.

"Morgana, we don't tell lies either."

"I didn't push him!" I screamed at the top of my tiny lungs, thunder and lightning violently cracking outside, causing us all to jump.

The noise silenced everyone, the light rain now coming down harsher. Nanny huffed, getting Arthur on his feet and brushing him down. Why was she ignoring me? Why didn't she believe me? Even Morgana was telling her the truth, and Morgana hardly said anything. I could feel the anger building up inside me, I felt hot, my hands were shaking; my vision was blurry, I couldn't focus on anything. As I went to step towards them, my knees buckled, but it went black before I even hit the floor. That was the last time I remembered my powers before they returned.

“Ah, (Y/N), you have decided to join us.” father smiled, though his tone held some sarcasm.

“Yes father,” I hugged him,“shouldn’t miss Arthur’s sparring after all the training he put himself through.”

“Indeed.”

Rolling my eyes at Morgana, we broke the hug, and he greeted her next. Following my father up the steps to our viewing box, the people of Camelot cheered once they spotted us, being silenced by a wave of my father's hand. He announced the beginning of the event, the knights filing out to the arena, crowds cheering once again. I clapped, smiling as I spotted Arthur; why men wanted to fight each other as a form of sport was unknown to me. Some knights I knew of were chivalrous, brave, others just used the title to boost their ego.

One of them was huge. He had darker armour on than the usual silver. He towered above the rest, his body wider in muscle. Whoever trained him had obviously wanted him to be a fighting machine. He made me nervous. Arthur was a skilled fighter, but sometimes strength overcame that.

Normally I wouldn't pay much attention throughout the whole tournament, but this new knight had my full attention. He had taken out man after man, and my brother was next to face him.

"Something doesn't feel right." I mumbled to Morgana.

She nodded."He's taken out every knight. Most of them have had to be carried off the field. Why isn't anyone stopping this?"

"Pride." I turned my head to my father."Surely we should stop this? Arthur is going to get hurt."

My father's expression did not change, masking his true feelings."I cannot pull Arthur out of the tournament, how would that look to the other Lords and knights attending?"

"But he's your son! You would rather keep your pride than to save him from getting hurt?"

"We both know that even if I wanted to stop him, he would still go in and fight."

I sighed, leaning back in my chair."Like father like son."

Anticipation grew as the men readied themselves for the final battle. The opponent walked out first, receiving some praise, whereas once Arthur appeared, the roars were so loud, they could probably be heard in the next kingdom. Although I tried to keep my composure as I clapped for him, I found my eyes never tearing away from his form, praying that no harm would come to him. It all seemed to happen too quickly. They began their fight, clashes of swords and shields ringing out as the people yelled, supporting their future King. My heart thumped in my chest, hands clutching to my chair, all of my muscles tensing. Out of the blue, Arthur was pushed to the floor, images of us as children flashed into my mind.

Everyone gasped, whereas I heard the splintering of wood. Looking down at my left hand, I realised that I had broken the arm of the chair. No, not now, not in front of all these people; not this close to my family.

Arthur was on his back crawling away from his opponent. I was on the edge of my seat as the sword was raised, all of sudden striking down on Arthur. Luckily, he swiftly rolled out of the way, stumbling to his feet. However, as Arthur quickly picked up his sword to fight again, we were all entranced by his fighters weapon. It was stuck in the ground, but as he grabbed it again, it snapped in half. Arthur took this opportunity of surprise to attack, taking him down. As chivalrous as ever, Arthur showed mercy. But I couldn't stay here any longer, I felt an overwhelming surge of energy in me, and if I didn't get away soon, I didn't know how much I could hide.

Leaping from my chair, I hurried away, ignoring the calls of my father and Morgana. The guards were quick to follow, though once away from the arena and near the castle, I commanded they leave me alone. There were plenty of places to hide in the castle, I just needed to find somewhere quick. As I ran down the halls, my breathing was erratic, vision blurry once again. I stumbled into a wall, crumbling the stone with just my hand. I stopped, leaning beside it before sinking to the floor. How could I feel tired, yet harness all this power? My hands started to shake, there was nothing to stop it; shutting my eyes, I focused all of my mind on my hands, willing this all to stop. It had to stop. Someone would come by soon, someone would see what I had done, then they would tell my father, and he would have no choice but to send me to the-

"Princess?" Merlin's voice scared me.

My eyes shot open, gasping as I saw him kneeling in front of me.

"What are you doing on the floor? Are you hurt?"

I furiously shook my head, wanting to get up though I couldn't find the strength. His eyes glanced down at my shaking hands, slowly taking them in his.

"Don't touch me!" I snapped."Please don't, just leave me!"

"Your highness," his voice was a whisper now, "I need you to trust me."

All I could do was watch as he held my hands firmer, staring at them. A cooling sensation flooded my skin, the intense energy I was feeling dying down. Shakily breathing, I caught his eyes flash to a gorgeous golden, amber colour. No, he couldn't be. My brother's manservant possessed magic?!

"Come to the infirmiry with me, we have much to speak about." he quietly said, helping me to my feet.

Willingly following him, he sat me down at the table in Gaius' chambers, kneeling in front of me. If I wasn't confused before, I certainly was now, a headache forming.

"You've had these powers for a while now, haven't you?" he calmly asked.

"Merlin, I-"

"You can trust me. You've just seen what I can do."

"Yes. But they've only just come back. I don't understand why."

"Magic has its own rules, unfortunately for some."

"Merlin, why are you working in the castle when you could easily be spotted? Someone could report you!"

Realisation flashed over his face."Y-you aren't going to say anything, are you?"

"Of course not! What sort of hypocrite would I be if I told of your powers when I possess my own? Though...looking back on my father's tales of how evil magic is, it just confuses me."

"Not all magic is bad. There is good that lies behind it, as long as it's in the right hands."

"But why me?"

"Why anyone?"

"You are starting to sound like Gaius more and more."

We both smiled."Was it you that broke the wall?"

"Yes. I broke the chair back in the arena too."

"You need to learn to harness your power."

"You could teach me!"

"W-well-"

"Merlin, how am I, the princess of Camelot, supposed to hide something like this without training?"

"When would I do that? You've seen how Arthur works me to death."

"Hm, my brother is a dollop head about that sort of thing."

Merlin raised an eyebrow at me, chuckling.

"I've heard you call him that, I like it."

We laughed until the door opening interrupted. My father stormed in, Gaius and Arthur close behind.

"What happened?" Father exclaimed.

"Merlin, you left me to take off my own armour!" Arthur seethed.

Merlin stumbled with his words, standing up as he tried to come up with a lie.

"I told you earlier that I shouldn't have come today. Just seeing Arthur almost get hurt sent me over the edge." I sighed."I'm sorry that I ran off like that, but I didn't want to draw away any attention from your victory Arthur. And Merlin was the one who found me."

Arthur smiled."Your health is far more important than any victory of mine."

"I'm sorry I didn't listen to you before." Father started."Gaius, give her a full examination. Make sure she is alright. I shall stay with you."

"No father, you should go to the Lords and knights, it will be improper to keep them waiting."

"If you are sure."

"Of course. You will be the first to know if anything ails me."

He kissed my forehead before leaving with Arthur. Arthur squeezed my hand, following Father. My tense shoulders relaxed as they closed the door, looking to Merlin and Gaius.

"Your highness, what hap-"

"She has magic Gaius." Merlin interrupted.

"Merlin!" I snapped.

"It's alright, he knows."

"Oh, Merlin." Gaius sighed."You do seem to attract trouble, don't you?"

I pouted."Are you stating that I am trouble?"

"Apologies your highness. I am assuming Merlin has offered his help already?"

"Well, I sort of asked him myself."

"You do realise how dangerous this is, don't you your highness?"

"Yes. But I have no other choice."

"Gaius, I can help her. I have too." Merlin said.

"Well, I don't think I can really stop either of you, can I?"

We both shook our heads.

"We will do all we can to help you princess, just know, that it won't be an easy journey. You are bordering on treason of your kingdom."

"I understand. I will do anything to control this power. And who knows, maybe in the future, I will be able to convince my father that not all magic is evil."

#merlin #merlin imagine #merlin imagines #merlin one shot #merlin x reader #bbc merlin #merlin bbc #arthur pendragon #arthur pendragon imagine #morgana #morgana imagine

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blackfemmecharacterdependency · 4 years ago

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15. I Trust Him With My Life

The smell of flowers stirred her up. Flowers, coffee… and… books? She must have been dreaming, as those were a few of her favorite things. Her eyelids fluttered and she opened her eyes to see a few fuzzy images - Sunny and Simon in her hospital room, both with a book in front of them, but neither reading. Instead, they had been bickering softly and now, they were watching her, but neither of them moved.

See, Grace had done this several times in the days following her surgery - fluttered her eyes, even opened them, only to lose consciousness again a few moments later and well, after a while, they stopped rushing to her bed. But, this time, the eyes were focusing on them and didn’t appear to be closing. “It’s happening,” Sunny said, shutting her book and getting up. Simon waited, though.

Grace took a deep, pained breath and looked at her hand. His note was still there. For a moment, she smiled a little, and then she remembered all over again that she had been shot. She gasped and reached for her wound, then winced in pain when she moved.

Simon shut his book now, too and set it aside and rushed to help Sunny adjust the pillows beneath Grace’s body. He grabbed a thermos and told her, “Doctor said that you could have a little coffee, so I picked up your favorite kind from the bookstore, some books from your yearly goal list… And flowers from your florist. Everybody was really helpful and sent their love and their get well things.”

She turned around to look and noticed the warm colored vibrant assortment of flowers. “Thank. Goodness. You didn’t get red poppies again.”

Sunny tilted her head and looked at Simon, “You got red poppies? Why on earth did you get red poppies?”

“I saw her with them before, so I thought that she liked them.”

Sunny winced. Saw her. She knew exactly what that meant. Whenever he was stalking her and either was too insecure or she didn't strike him as interested enough, he spied on her and misunderstood something that they used to mourn.

'Flower Boy' Heath used to steal them from stores and gardens whenever they lost somebody on the streets. He'd seen them at his father's funeral when he was little, and told his mom that they were super pretty. Why was she crying so much when so many people were at his Daddy's Going Home Celebration, and who could cry while such pretty flowers were everywhere? “That only had made her cry harder,” Heath would tell whoever was asking about why he stole flowers for dead friends. "I didn't get it. Death isn't pretty. It's cold, sad, and lonely. That’s why she was crying. But my dad embraced his death whenever he signed up for the military, and I like to think he met it with a brave heart and courageous mind. I'd like to think that we all will meet it that way. I don't like to cry about it. Instead, pay respects." And, he sort of… kept that tradition up over the years and spread it to his friends.

Whenever they went to pay their respects, they did so with red poppies, in memory of their friends. Most of them didn't even like to see red poppies any other time, because they were flowers they had associated with deceased friends for many years.

Sunny shuddered at what Grace must have felt when this boy handed her some of those damn flowers… “You’ve… researched them since then though, right?" She wondered.

“I have.” He leaned next to Grace on the bed and offered her a little smile, “I hope I've done well this time.”

But, she wasn’t looking at the red, orange and gold arrangement as she cooed, “You were amazing.” He blushed. Sunny rolled her eyes off to the side, out of both their view.

Simon rubbed the back of his neck and smiled, “I did what anybody who cared about you would do.”

“Who’d have thought that I, of all people would need a white knight?”

He scoffed, “That’s not what happened at all. You’re a warrior queen, who just so happened to need a general in that moment, when your… Court fled . May I just say this? I really think that you should reconsider the policy of leaving each other to die in the event of a life threatening injury.”

“Simon…”

“Grace…”

“One fallen soldier can’t compromise the entire troop.”

“You’re not some fallen soldier, Grace.” He looked very serious for a moment, as his fingertips seemed to ache to touch her, but he denied himself that.

They had a lot to go over before he could touch her again. There had been some betrayal, invasion of privacy, abandonment, and general toxicity between them. Sure, he saved her life. He loved her, but he wasn’t stupid. He knew that wasn’t just going to fix everything that had occurred between the two of them.

Even if just this once, his obsession worked out in her favor; she had been upset by initially finding out the extent to which he had been following and watching her and he had not come through with a justification for this. Nor could he think of one, and as much as she wanted to trust him again and to love him openly, he knew that would always be in her mind. But, she was not "one fallen soldier."

“When we’re out there, yes I am.” She seemed to think that was the end of it.

He fumed, “I refuse to accept that.”

She frowned and looked down at her body, “Hardly matters now. I won’t soon be back in the field.”

“You deserve a break,” Sunny chimed in. Grace and Simon both looked at her, like they had only just remembered that she was still there.

“The fact that the X gets a proper sending off instead of a sentence in the Field of Nulls makes me want to break something…”

“Everyone needs a break,” Simon said, turning his attention back to Grace. “That detective definitely is suspicious of us. I think that they’ll be watching, waiting, and pounce on anything we do.”

“We?” Sunny said, and scoffed a little, before looking at Grace with a confused expression.

“We.” Grace and Simon both said it at the same time, then smiled slightly at each other. Grace turned to Sunny and said, “I know that we don’t usually allow outsiders with us, but considering the circumstances - how Simon has helped us over the past few months and him literally saving my life, I think that as the leader, it’s my responsibility to make sure that he’s taken care of, just like the rest of us.”

“You trust this O as an ally?”

Grace voice was stern. “His name is Simon, and I trust him with my life.” Grace reached for Simon's hand and his entire countenance shined as their fingers met, testing each other's tips before sliding into place, woven together. Sunny stared at their hands and quickly went through a range of expressions as she tried to access what the appropriate reaction was to this. Uncertain, she forced a smile and bid them farewell. She had no idea how she might present this change to the group, but she at least knew that she would have to speak to Xander, immediately.

Grace had bigger changes on the horizon. For one, Her parents put her up in their guest house for her recovery, with a nurse on hand, and Simon was the only person who visited her every day. She forbade everyone to come to the guest house while she was in this state, but as per use, Simon didn’t respect that request, and she wasn’t going to tell her parents about their… questionable beginnings, so she decided that it was easier to just let him come around whenever he pleased, as she wasn’t in any condition to fight with him. She wasn’t even in condition to walk. She would do the minimum recommended to keep her from getting blood clots, and the rest of the time, she spent in a chair. Simon was there every moment that he could be and became her only real contact for the moment.

Grace tried to be flippant with him, to ignore him at times and even snap on him to get him to back off and leave her, but it didn’t prove to be working and she only felt bad later, when she realized that she was hurting him for nothing. Simon wasn’t about to turn his back on her. She would have to break some type of key rule for that to happen, and why did she want him to leave so badly, anyway? Why was she so committed to pushing everyone away and withering in this place with a hole in her body?

What was making her feel so alone and detached? What was making her accept that feeling and embrace it? She had nightmares every night, but now, she would wake up in a frenzy AND in physical pain. Simon would wake up too, do everything in his power to help her calm down and get some more sleep, to help her address her wound and get some pain relief… to help her feel cared for, and safe, and not alone… It didn’t feel fair to her. It felt… like she had taken a lot from this person and was still taking from him. The worst part was that she felt like she needed to take more. She couldn’t do this alone.

Whenever Simon woke up in the morning, Grace wasn’t in bed. He furrowed his eyebrows, looked at the openness of the windows of the guesthouse bedroom, and noticed that her chair was gone.

Whenever he found her, she was in her meditation garden, sitting with her feet in the dirt and Samantha and Hazel were both with her, eating the kinds of grasses they liked. She had been mindful to make sure there was stuff that they could eat there and added more that she felt that they might want to try. Simon was going to leave, but she sensed him coming and turned suddenly, of course, hurting herself as she did. “Sorry. I wasn’t trying to sneak up on you…” He looked around, “Where is your chair?”

“THE chair,” she corrected (not her chair, she hated that thing), “Is in the lake.” Simon looked towards the lake that her parents’ estate was near. It was close enough for him to walk, but it was further than Grace tended to walk in her condition. Still… if she was frustrated and determined enough… maybe. He went to check. It was… near the lake, but not in it. He went to retrieve it and realized it was stuck on some rocks. Just as well. Sure, Grace’s parents could afford replacing anything, but replacing something that was perfectly fine felt wrong. Especially because she needed it all the time.

The last time Grace tried to walk further than usual, she became lightheaded, lost her balance, tripped, fell, vomited and angry cried that she had such a bad reaction to pushing herself beyond reasonable limits. Then, she was upset and didn’t want him to help her, but had to let him because she just… couldn’t. She locked him out of the guest house. He camped out on the veranda and worked on a new story.

After three days, she unlocked the door and when he came in to check on her, she told him he smelled bad and needed a shower. After the shower, she began talking about art and wouldn’t let him get a word in to ask her about her feelings. Since then, Simon noted that she didn’t let him see her out of the chair and he presumed that she was too worried about another situation where she would look weak or get sick - so the fact that she had both rolled her wheelchair down this hill and went elsewhere was hard to believe and a little bit troubling. She was clearly having one of the episodes that had come along with her injury. They were exhausting, but Simon at least felt needed whenever she had them. The more that she insisted that she didn’t need him was usually the more that she did.

He dragged the wheel back to the garden, wondering if maybe it had gotten stuck and she didn’t have the strength to pull it up, therefore presumed it rolled into the lake, or if she was so disgusted with it today and that tried to send it splashing into the lake and it got stuck instead. At any rate, she looked like she didn’t want to talk about it and she was at peace for the moment, so he just put it where it usually sat when she was in this little garden. He noticed some damages that were probably brought on by her beating the thing with a weapon, as she was known (by anybody who watched her obsessively) to do. He figured he could fix it. In the meantime, she had a stick that she was calling a cane and she was using that to help her around.

“Good news! It didn’t go into the lake.”

“Yayyy…” She said sarcastically and scooped up Hazel. She grabbed her “cane” and began to walk back towards the guest house. Samantha followed behind her and Simon came in with the chair. Just that walk made Grace tired and she set Hazel down on the floor and went to wash up and check her wound. When it came time that she needed help, she cried as quietly as she could, and heard Simon knock softly. Of course he was right outside waiting for her to need him.

“Come in,” she said and they didn’t talk about what went wrong or the fact that she absolutely was doing too much and that was why she needed help getting out of the bath and into her clothes right now. They just… went with it. The first couple of times had been a little awkward, but Simon was very mission oriented and rarely made her feel the way that he knew that she felt.

She was trying to get comfortable, but there weren’t many options on that front. Having actively avoided guns for years, she had never known the extent of the damage that they could do. She’d seen gun violence, but it had been shoot to kill situations and as far as she knew, those who survived, she never talked to about these things OTHER THAN the burning hole in the flesh. The tissue, muscle, and bone damage one little bullet could cause when ejected from such a dangerous little contraption. She had been terrified of them after Todd’s execution. The PTSD of seeing that flooded over her after Heath’s. But THIS, she figured that even if her body ever went back to some semblance of normal, her brain never would.

Why couldn't she be as desensitized to gunshots as she was to murdering Xs? She felt like that should haunt her more, but it never had. The stewards were never real people. They were, but they weren’t. They forfeited their humanity when they dehumanized the children that they stole, bought and sold. But those children, in her mind, would always be human. Nothing that any of those Apex kids could ever do to strip them of the humanity they fought tooth and nail to reclaim after being product, and when they bled and died, it was tragedy. She didn’t want to feel sorry for herself, but the fact that the man who introduced her to such a hard reality was able to injure her felt like injustice. It was an insult added to the injuries from a universe that seemed to hate her… and her friends had turned against her, too. Those were the thoughts that she let lull her to sleep.

Whenever she had gotten into bed, he was reluctant to leave her by herself. The next day, he would move some of his things in. Fortunately, he always had a couple of weeks worth of things in his car, waiting for when he needed them here. He brought everything he had in the car in whenever she went to sleep and began to personalize the spaces that he usually occupied whenever he was over.

Grace noticed the next day, and he could have sworn he saw a little sparkle in her eyes whenever she did. She didn’t comment about it beyond, “Somebody’s getting comfy.”

Grace still didn’t completely feel that her Apex family could be trusted. After everything that went down behind her back while she was in Canada, she was still in the mindset that she didn’t know what any of them were thinking.

She often woke up crying, admittedly, because of the thoughts she allowed to settle in her mind before she went to sleep. It was all so, so… exhausting to face. She wanted to have something to center her thoughts, if nothing could take them away, and all that would happen was she would push them out of her reach until she was too tired to move, then they would all just trickle back down and engulf her, more powerfully than before. Hearing her cry, Simon stirred she shuffled away from him, trying to get out of bed and away from him before she woke him up too. She was nearly there when she felt his hand catch her wrist. She gasped and looked at him. He was holding her a little too tight and even in just moonlight, she could see his features, though she couldn’t tell what kind of expression he wore. “I have to go to the bathroom,” she said. He let go and turned over on his other side. That was… odd, but maybe he was just not fully conscious.

She went into the bathroom and stared into the mirror for longer than she planned. Not crying or thinking about hardships, just noting her features.

Eventually, his soft knock came on the door. She cracked it open and saw him, concerned and fully awake now. “Do you need anything?” He wondered. Meanwhile, Samantha crept through the opening and climbed on the sink, to look at herself, too. Grace collected her and handed her to Simon.

“I just wanted some time to myself.”

He looked hurt, but he said, “Okay. Want us to go home?” She bit her lip and looked off to her thoughts. She was weighing what that would mean. She would have some alone time, but she still would be restless and more than likely, Simon probably had cameras in this place, too. He wouldn’t go home. He’d probably go to the apartment and keep watch. Even if he did go home, she would presume that he was in the apartment watching her, and that would be worse than him being here.

“Do you have cameras in here?” she finally asked. She turned and stared at him, bracing herself on the sink. He froze and was holding Samantha a little too tightly. To the point that she screeched and hopped out of his grasp and rushed into hiding. Grace’s face softened and she came closer, cooing, “Hey. It’s okay. I get it. Your love language is a little bit different than what a lot of us are used to. It’s not like you spend every moment of every day in front of those cameras. But, here’s the thing, Simon…” He stared at her, being mindful of every word that she was saying, grateful that her reaction wasn’t anger… because truth be told, he really shouldn’t have brought cameras in here and he really didn’t mean to, but she was injured and she wasn’t in the best headspace. Keeping an eye on her was crucial! Sure, he had an excuse for every time he wanted to spy on her, but this was different. This really was different and he felt honored that she wasn’t going to fight him on it. “I need some real and true alone time. Not very long, but long enough for me to work some things out. So, how about this? I’ll go to your house tonight and you stay here. That way, I can get some rest in a familiar space and you can be away from your surveillance station.”

“That won’t work.” Just agree to it! “I have access to my cameras here and I have cameras in my house..” Why would you make this harder?

“If you tell me that you won’t look at them, I’ll believe you.”

Just agree to that! “I can’t tell you that. I’d be lying. If you’re in a house that size, by yourself, with this injury and your stubbornness to take the proper care of yourself, how can I not check in?” She looked angry. “I’m not going to lie to you, Grace. I mean… not on purpose… Not this way.” This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up. This is fucked up………………………… “I can’t let you get hurt again.” He started crying and stepped back, to leave and give her some space. She found him on the stairs, getting into his shoes and sniffling.

“What makes you feel like you’ve gotta keep me from getting hurt, Simon?”

He blinked away some tears and shook his head, “The reason that I gave myself for ever resorting to cameras was because I needed to make sure that you had proper support. I told myself it was for your safety, and if I enjoyed it along the way, well, that was simply a nice reward for making sure you were protected. And… I didn’t even protect you. You were self isolating, your friends alienated you, and you were so in your own head from this X that I brought you that you weren’t thinking clearly. I should have been there with you, not lurking in the shadows, and not waiting until it got bad. I should have did the thinking. I should have plotted something out. I knew that your team was shaky and I knew that you were rusty from your hiatus. I should have done more. I’m not gonna do that again. I’m not talking myself out of what makes sense to me just to get nuggets of satisfaction and crumbs of pleasure.”

She sat next to him on the stairs and placed her hands over his, making him stop with the shoes. He looked at her and she was just looking at his feet, unable to make eye contact just yet. “I made promises too. I made promises to about a thousand kids, and in the past few years, I’ve only made good on a few dozen. I’m at a point in life where… I don’t think I will make good on all those promises. I don’t think that I can. So, I get it. I understand how stressful it can be to take up things and be expected to handle them. But, Simon…” She finally looked up at him, “You made that promise to yourself. We’re the easiest people for us to lie to. Because, if we don’t reach our goals, we know what it takes to forgive us. We aren’t constantly battling for acceptance from ourselves the way that we do for others. So, maybe you didn’t do what you intended to, what you promised yourself that you would do, but you did more than you should have, and to be honest, you might not have protected me - which is already a fool’s errand - but you fucking saved me.

When I went down, my thought was - this is it. I’m dead. I knew that they would leave, as is the procedure, and I knew that I would die there…. Then, I didn’t. Because of you. You don’t owe me anything else. You don’t owe yourself anything else. Some things are just out of our control.”

“Is that the advice that you’re giving yourself about those thousand promises you made?” She pulled him towards her by the hand and wrapped him around herself like a sweater. “Because, if it applies to me, it definitely applies to you. You never did anything to hurt those kids, and the moment that you were able, you tried to. You deserve to never have to think about it, ever again.”

“They deserve something. If not justice, vengeance, if not vengeance, closure, if not closure, compensation, but they deserve SOMETHING for the years that not only the stewards took, but the ones that I took. Why… why didn’t we just disband? Why did I think that when the stewards were gone, that meant that it was up to me to lead them?”

“Because you were a kid and the past previous years had changed you in ways that children shouldn’t have to be changed.”

“If they had gone elsewhere when the warehouse fell, instead of staying with me… Todd would never have been killed. His parents wanted him back. If I had brought him to a cop or something, he might have been able to go back to them. He would be getting ready to go to college. Jalicia would have probably been able to go to real school early enough to actually KNOW material. Alexandria would have had art teachers through school and probably went to art school, like she wanted to… Xander wouldn’t have tried so many drugs…”

“You don’t know those things. You don’t know if any of that is true.”

“Anything had to be better than living on an abandoned train with me for years and then me vanishing for a year, leaving even more of them confused. Some of them left then, found homes, or were picked up and placed. Fortunately, they got Lucy and Lindsay out pretty early. But, a lot of them just deferred to Xander, and when he was unable, they deferred to Sunny. I had to come back and tell all of these kids that I was wrong, that we had been doing things in a misinformed way and I couldn’t even be there with them to help them figure out their own paths. I failed them all, and myself, and the one thing that I agreed to do to make it right, to give them SOMETHING for everything that I got wrong for them… That’s been cut short.”

Simon wrapped his arms tightly around her. “I’ll help you. I’ll do whatever needs to be done to get this burden off of your heart…”

The group knew that they wouldn’t be going on any missions any time soon, but while on hiatus from hunting Xs, Simon’s ultimate goal was to make them all the best that he could make them at their responsibilities. Simon had been entrusted with touching base with each member of Grace’s “court,” so to speak, in order to help them better do the things that they were tasked to do.

The first day that he walked in, they had been texted by Grace of the when and where to meet - the bungalow, at a specified time, but they had not been briefed that Simon would be there, nor that Grace would not be. So, whenever he entered the bungalow, with a key they all stared at him for a moment, expecting maybe Grace was right behind him (as they had known that she was shacked up with him), but Simon went directly into speaking, “Okay, so tonight is gonna be short and simple. I’m sending out the training schedules and drill runs for the next month, and answering whatever pertinent questions you may have about the operation so affectionately called Date Night. I intended to have something like a syllabus prepared, but Grace has been having some trouble sleeping, making that our top priority during this portion of her recovery process…” He looked over at Jalicia, who had her hand raised. “Is that what we do? We raise hands to speak?” They all just looked at each other, except for Sunny. She was still staring at Simon and the key that he was still clutching as he spoke. There were Apex members who didn’t even have a key to this bungalow. ONLY her closest members. Her most trusted companions. Her Court, as Simon called it… Where did he fit in on that court?

Jalicia was asking questions about what type of training and drills would they be expected to learn, as she had spring semester to think about and her agenda was a little bit more full than last fall. She was treating it exactly like she was in a classroom or something, because she was confused about what was happening, and he sounded pretty certain.

Simon spoke pretty gently to her, looking over the schedule in her phone with her and pointing out where he had already gotten that information from Grace and had taken it into consideration whenever he had set the training schedules. “Mostly, I’ll need maybe a week or two for you to show me what you do and how you do it, and I am gonna take what you’ve shown me, sprinkle my… intellectuality onto it, and then help you to optimize your technique. Disposing of Xs is not a life sentence, Apex.” Xander twitched when he heard Simon say that word. “It's something that none of you seem to wish to walk away from, but it should have an expiration date, and all of you should be able to live lives outside of the shadow of these things. For the time being, I’m here to help reach that goal, but I can’t be positive of how long it'll take us, until I’ve evaluated everyone’s contributions to the operation and established an endgame.”

“That sounds like a lot of power to be given to an O, just for catching one body in Grace’s name…” Xander said.

Simon stepped towards him and he rushed towards Simon, but Sunny stepped in front of Xander and tilted her head at him. He paused, considering whether she was taking Simon’s side or protecting him.

“He has a key to the bungalow, and it sounds to me like he also has Grace’s ear and her tongue. You’d better think real hard on whether or not you want that back, and act accordingly,” Sunny warned.

Simon smiled, “Thank you, Sunetra.”

“We’re here for Grace, Timonthy.”

“We’re sticking with that one, I guess?”

“I’m not sure what you mean, Mr. La’Dont.” Xander sulked, but knew that Sunny was right. To Xander's begrudging satisfaction, Simon was more efficient in some of the areas they needed help with, and Grace had clearly sent him to represent her wishes for this meeting.

Sunny was still giving him shit, obviously, but she knew when to listen up, because Simon speaking is basically Grace speaking, now. She knew that it might take Grace a moment to let them back in after December’s antics. The best way that she might get back to good with Grace was starting to look like Simon. “At any rate,” she added on, after teasing him, “Whatever you need, you may know that Xander is Grace’s right hand and I am her left. Whatever she has you doing, I know that I’ll be backing you and I’m sure Xan will do it too.”

“I’ll hate every moment of it,” Xander admitted, forcing a smile.

“Growth can be painful,” Simon said.

Ignoring the sound of rustling as Xander advanced on him again, with Sunny and Jalicia physically intervening, Simon asked the only one who hadn’t reacted or said a single word, “Alexandria, anything that you need to express concerns about?” He turned to the quiet tattooed woman and she looked nervous to have attention on her. “We were a little bit curious about why you hadn’t come to the hospital or the guest house yet.” 'To see Grace' was implied.

“She doesn’t want to see me. The rest of them are on her nerves always trying to grovel for her, and she doesn’t want to see them, either. That’s why you’re here. When Grace wants to see me, she’ll send for me.” She folded her arms, flustered by the attention on her. She figured that Simon probably HATED her for the fake art trap, but Grace may be mad about a lot of things, but she wasn't going to let anybody punish her friends.

Nobody but her, that is - with her silence and refusal to see them. With sending him, HIM of all people to run point with them in her absence… maybe even HE had taken control of the Apex, completely. Grace flitted from thing to thing and paid or assigned others to do stuff like planning, but she usually approved every plan she believed in and none of this even sounded like her. "She knows where to find me whenever she needs me. She always knows."

"Fair enough," Simon said. He didn’t want to even be here with these people after how they had tried to set him up, but Grace loved them and the same way that she wasn’t going to allow them to hurt him; she wasn’t going to allow him to hurt them either.

But, seeing Alexandria's face and having her acting like HE did HER something was frustrating and the last thing he was going to do while assimilating them to getting used to him as virtually Grace’s second in command, was to be angry at each other, argue, or fight. "I'll see you all tomorrow."

“Whoa, that’s it?” Jalicia wondered. “How’s Grace?”

Jalicia was the one that Simon was the LEAST irritated with. He knew that she wouldn’t have left Grace of her own accord and he didn’t really believe that she had anything to do with setting him up for Xander, either. She was the only person in this room whose teeth he didn’t want to kick in for… everything that had happened. And after watching her and seeing her constant pain, the only one that still he felt bad for. “She’s recovering. She loves all of you.” He gave her a squeeze to the shoulder and Sunny noted that maybe Jalicia would be a doorway back to Grace. Simon had pretty clearly favored her tonight.

They hung back to discuss what had just taken place. The last thing that Simon heard was Xander fuss, "She's shutting us out!" Simon could not help but to smile to himself about that.

She was curious to know how it went and Simon gave her all of the details, sprinkled with his own disdain, accordingly. He still was angry with them for leaving her. Even though he wasn’t saying that, Grace knew.

She didn’t blame them for leaving, at all. Had they brought her to the ER, or stuck around, it might not have been as easy to get the stories straight and to get them out of trouble, the way it was for Simon. He had more privilege when it came to legal matters than anybody in that van, and with their past records and their deviations from normalcy, not to mention they weren’t financially elevated like the Monroes or even Simon… It was the smart thing for them to leave, and it was why that WAS a rule, in the first place. It was far too risky to everyone else and the entire operation if they all faced charges because one person fell behind.

But, she couldn’t shake the fact that she had felt so compelled to rush towards the X and risk it all, because she thought her time with the Apex was beginning to wane. She couldn’t help but blame it on her state of mental confusion and distraction from the mutiny of them trying to hurt Simon. Then, that reminded her that one of the main reasons she was even away for weeks, was because they had such strong opinions of how unsafe Simon was and that she had followed the advice from her friends and let go of someone who literally became a murderer to keep her safe.

That shouldn’t feel so good. She knew that, but… the people who were willing to kill for her had all been so fucked up for so long that she… well… she still felt like they were human, but like they were… humans who were set apart from ones like Simon. Simon was supposed to be part of a completely different world. Simon was supposed to be good and wholesome, but because he made some… poor choices, she had turned on him and he was the only person who cared about her without being tied to the same trauma… and… now… he was tied to it.

“I hope you aren’t thinking about me while making that face,” Simon interrupted her thoughts. She glanced at a nearby mirror and saw how wrinkled her forehead was, then took a deep breath and forced a smile. Simon wrapped his arms around her ankles and rubbed her foot, “Do you want to tell me about it?”

“I’m sorry that I’ve pulled you into… my world.”

“I pushed my way in,” he said. She pulled her feet back and held her wound. He quickly let go and worried that he might have hurt her.

“You tiptoed in, and I left the door open, hoping that you would.” She laid on her side, facing away from him. “I turned you into a stalker and a killer in less than a year’s time.”

Simon snuggled up to her and wrapped an arm around her, speaking directly into her hair, “You’ve helped me to become a hero. I protected a queen, and I slayed a dragon.”

“We aren’t in Esmoroth, Simon.”

“Damn straight, we aren’t. These monsters are real.”

“I’m no queen. I’m an angry girl that wanted revenge and I got my dumbass shot.” She sniffled, “I almost died, I can’t walk, and I don’t know if my friends still want or need me.”

“You’re justifiably angry, and I’m thankful that you didn’t die, but I would be lying if I said that I’m not a little bit happy that you…” She turned around quickly and winced, but kept her focus on his face. “Happy that you are taking a break from battle. I hate that it happened this way.” She snuggled into him and let him hold her until she fell asleep. She was too tired to respond to that yet. At least she was starting to get some sleep at night.

16. Faith in Grace

#AU Infinity Train #Infinity Train #Nesha Fanfiction #Infinity Train Fanfiction #fics #People Watching

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darlingrutherford · 4 years ago

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Back in October, I received an ask about Lana and Alistair sharing Cullen, which prompted me to think about what circumstances would have to happen in order for that to work in my DA canon. I started thinking about it deeply, which has turned into a lot of posts and, in November, I started working on the story version of how that would play out (or, rather, what would spark that first spicy encounter between Lana and Cullen, which could make way for more spicy encounters). I hit a rather big writer’s block on it (like most of my writing, thanks CFS) and was stuck writing a line here or there every week or so, but all this talk recently with @jellysharkbat about Cullanistair sparked something in my brain and I finally FINISHED IT.

This ended up being way longer than I had originally planned lmao. So, I’m uploading to Ao3 as well if you’d rather read on there since they format a bit better than Tumblr. Enjoy!!

“You look exhausted.”

The words flowed from her tongue easily enough. The past few months that she and Alistair had been at Skyhold putting together the pieces for the cure had found her and Cullen becoming even more comfortable around one another than back when she was a mage at Kinloch. As such, Lana hadn’t been expecting the almost put off glance from Cullen as his eyebrow quirked at her accusation, and her eyes widened as she quickly followed up her comment, silently wishing she could suck the words back in. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean - It’s just, you seemed like you were almost falling asleep there for a moment.”

Cullen sighed as his expression relaxed in understanding. He leaned back in his chair, his eyes returning to the chess board in front of them before his hand quickly dragged against his face in an attempt to wake up.

“My apologies,” he said. He leaned forward, moving one of his templars on the board to take her pawn. “I have not been sleeping well these past few nights.”

“Is it the withdrawals still?” Lana asked. She kept her voice down when she asked the question, knowing full well that Cullen still had yet to make it known to many that his withdrawals were apt to keep him up at night. The corner of Cullen’s mouth quirked in a short lived smile as Lana pondered her move.

“Those have not been as frequent as they once were, thankfully.” He paused as he contemplated his next words, the silence between them filled by the sound of crows as they flew above to Leliana’s tower. When he finally spoke, he shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I wake up more often, because of the memories.”

Lana nodded in silent understanding. She knew well what Cullen was referring to: of Kinloch, of the torture he had endured for days before she, Alistair, and their friends had rescued him and the few left alive by Uldred and the other blood mages who had taken over the Circle Tower. He had uncomfortably explained it to her weeks after she and Alistair had arrived at Skyhold together months ago, something he couldn’t have avoided when the initial sight of Lana had brought all those memories screaming back to him in his waking hours. Cullen had forced himself to make time for her, to help his mind realize the difference between her and the memory of the demon who used her image to torture him so many long years ago, but also for her. Lana’s guilt when he had eagerly left the room the first time had been clear as day, and Cullen knew she had no need to harbor it. Lana had saved his life, had protected the others he had so quickly wanted to condemn in his hysteria. She was not the same as the nightmares he so frequently experienced in his sleep. So they had spent time together ever since, talking through the past and making way towards the supportive friendship that had quickly grown between the two of them.

“I still have nightmares from my childhood. Vivid ones, of the night my mother died.” Lana leaned forward, moving one of her rooks before sitting back. Her hand came up to tug at the end of her long braid, fingers pulling at the loose copper strands. “I used to have them every night, back when I was first taken to the templars. I went days without sleeping once, hoping that if I went long enough they’d never return.”

“I remember you being caught once after curfew, sitting in the hall,” Cullen said. A faint smile grew on his face as he looked at Lana when a laugh escaped her at the memory. “Knight-Commander Gregoir threatened to cut off your library access because of it, since you spent so many hours there, but First Enchanter Irving talked him out of it.”

“The only time I ever got caught,” she laughed. “The apprentices who slept near me would chastise me until I’d leave to calm down after one of them. I was too loud, apparently. They weren’t nightly by then, but they did occur every week at the least. They were still awful when I first left Kinloch for the Wardens. I’m grateful they’re not as frequent now. A couple times a month, perhaps.”

“What helped?” He wasn’t looking at the board at this point. His eyes were focused on Lana, watching her as she stared off at a nearby shrub as if it held all the answers in the world.

“Time,” she finally said after a brief pause. “Time, and a lot of help. I blamed myself for my mother’s death. If I hadn’t come into my magic, she may still be… Well, but I know now that it wasn’t my fault. It took a long time for me to realize that, and I couldn’t have done it alone. That, and…”

Cullen waited for a response that didn’t come. Lana had closed her mouth, her cheeks turning pink. Cullen tilted his head, curiosity on his face.

“And… What?” He casually asked.

“Well… I…. Had a trigger, for the memories when awake… Kind of like how they came back for you suddenly when you first saw me arrive. The nightmares were mostly in my sleep, but also, whenever I used magic… It was like I could hear her again in my head, screaming. The nightmares got worse the more darkspawn we came across, the more I had to fight. I hated my magic and what it represented.”

“I assume you no longer loathe it, if your dreams have calmed so much?” Cullen asked. Lana nodded her head quietly. She chewed on her lower lip as she returned her gaze to the board in front of them. Taking his cue, Cullen moved his templar once more. Truth be told, he was more focused on their conversation at that point than the game between them. “How did you accomplish that?”

“We… Alistair figured, if I used my magic and something good came out of it, that my reaction may change. I always used magic out of self defense, to kill darkspawn and such. He suggested that using magic for another person who would have a good reaction to it, that I would think of that instead of my mother by association. He’s a smart man. It definitely worked, the more we tried it.”

“That is fortunate that you had a way to disassociate from those memories,” Cullen said. “Healing magic can be very helpful, especially for those who fight darkspawn so often, I would assume.”

“It, well… Wasn’t all that we did.”

“I can’t imagine there are many other kinds of magic that wouldn’t be harmful to the recipient?” Cullen raised his gaze to look at Lana, noticing the pink that had spread to her ears as she cleared her throat.

“Alistair is… very receptive to it, if, um… You know, it’s controlled….”

“I see.” Cullen’s face had gone red the moment he realized what she meant. The two of them averted their gazes from the other, both intensely staring at the chess board as if their game had suddenly become just that more serious. They went through a few exchanged moves in silence, waiting for the awkwardness to tide over - as if it ever could - before Lana spoke again.

“Do you think this has helped you at all? Us, spending time like this together.”

“I haven’t had any feelings of those memories when I am around you in quite a while, so I would say, yes, it has helped considerably,” Cullen said. Lana seemed to visibly relax at his words as a warm smile grew on her face.

“Is there anything else I could do to help redirect those memories?”

Cullen watched her as she moved her templar, taking his. The redness was returning to his face rapidly, well aware that she had no idea of the gritty details of the torture that involved her likeness. As Lana looked up and saw the almost shocked expression mixed with color on his face, her eyes widened again.

“Maker, I’m sorry, Cullen, I didn’t mean to make you think about it,” she said quickly in a mumble. “Do you want me to leave?”

“What? N - No, I… It’s, um…”

“I just, I know you said that a demon took the form of me. I don’t know what was said, what was done… Sometimes playing out a memory and changing the outcome, we’ve found it really helps me - Andraste silence me, I’m just making it worse, aren’t I?”

Cullen swallowed, forcing his eyes back to the board as he tried to formulate what to say. Maker, what could he say in a situation like this? Cullen’s boyish crush on the young, red-headed circle mage was a memory long since passed. Of course she was still beautiful - more so now, if it was even possible - but he had moved on... Hadn’t he? Besides, she was with Warden Alistair, and quite happily by the looks of it. But still, for her to be suggesting without knowing what she was suggesting…

“It’s… It’s not that simple, unfortunately,” he stammered out.

“Are you afraid of what might happen? That I’ll hurt you?”

“What? No, I’m - I’m not afraid of you, it’s… Maker’s breath, I was tempted, tortured by your likeness, Lana. Touches, and - and, visions of so… so much more… You have no idea what you… what you’re offering, or how I will… how I would... ”

Their chess game was all but forgotten at this point. Cullen’s breathing had become heavy, his grip on the armrests of his chair tight. He had turned his gaze sharply to the side, staring at the stone wall beside them as he tried to hold back the emotions that threatened to break through his usually strong resolve. Lana sat there quietly across from him, sadness filling her as she watched Cullen all but break in front of her, like a teacup slowly hitting the hard ground. Minutes went by and, once Cullen had allowed a few heavy breaths to sigh from him and the color had calmed in his cheeks, Lana finally spoke.

“What if we tried?” She asked. Cullen looked at her incredulously, and she smiled softly. “Nothing has to happen. A completely safe environment. We wouldn’t do anything more than you felt comfortable doing. You would be in control this time. No demons.”

“What about Alistair?” Cullen asked quietly, the question surprising himself. Maker, but was he actually considering this? Lana’s laughter surprised him even further.

“Alistair won’t mind. He’ll probably encourage it, once I explain. He should be there, too. So you have someone else reassuring you who doesn’t embody the face of your memories.”

“I… I’m not sure if… You actually think it would help?” Maker help him, he was considering it.

“It helped me a lot.” Lana nodded. “It wouldn't hurt to try, right?”

“I don’t… think you realize just how… How far some of it went.” Cullen’s throat had gone dry, his voice a bit raspy.

“Alistair enjoys sharing me, if that’s what you’re worried about,” Lana said. She placed her closed hand gently against her lips, laughing lightly at the look that spread on Cullen’s face. “Believe me, he enjoys it. He often joins in. Although, obviously, he doesn’t have to. This would be about you, Cullen. About helping you. If reliving all that without the bad helps you sleep better at night, I’d be happy to do it. Just think about it. No pressure.”

No pressure. The words had left her so simply, so unironically, as if this wouldn’t be one of the more difficult things for Cullen to consider. It would sound perfect on paper, he was sure: taking a moment of trauma and reliving it with the ability to strike out what had gone wrong. Of course, he couldn’t strike it all out. There would always be the memories he couldn’t rewrite: of his friends, murdered in front of him after hours of torture; of the mages who trapped him and cut him before sending a demon to play with his mind. But she was there, in Skyhold - the mage he had secretly pined for all those years ago. The very person whose visage had been used to torment him again, and again, as they played her in his mind the way he had always wanted her back then: touching him, kissing him, just as he had imagined it might be, only for her to transform into the demon once more before they tortured him some more. If he had a chance to rewrite even just one part of it… After this long of trying to run from it all, he owed it to himself to try. After all the guilt she had felt since the moment she had rescued him only for him to look at her as if she had been the one to do it, he owed it to her.

“I’d say you won’t even know I’m here, but… I think we all know that would be a lie,” Alistair chuckled.

The three of them sat in a small room, the one Alistair and Lana had been staying in since they had arrived three months ago. Lana had suggested Cullen pick the location once he had agreed to their meeting, wanting him to feel safe wherever they were - one more way for him to be in control of the setting. Of course Cullen had his own room, but the hole in the roof and the possibility of interruptions was much too high. At least Lana would be comfortable in her own room, he had told himself.

“Don’t listen to him,” Lana sighed with a smile. She wasn’t wearing her usual blue armor that day. She sat at the edge of the bed, a tunic much too large for her hanging to her knees and breeches covering her legs. Alistair had gone without much of his armor as well, lounging in a comfy chair near the window and looking quite relaxed about the whole situation. Cullen felt a mess inside and, after the way he had blunderingly discarded his armor as he realized he was much too overdressed between the other two, he was quite sure his anxiousness was apparent as he sat in a chair near the small desk at the wall.

“I’m teasing, of course,” Alistair said with a smile. “But, not really, at the same time. I’m here for moral support. I know things like this aren’t always easy. It wasn’t difficult for me to redirect Lana when her memories became triggered early on, but, then, I wasn’t the focus of that memory. It’ll seem awkward in the beginning, I’m sure, seeing me in the corner, watching you canoodle with my wife -”

“Alistair…”

“What? You can’t expect me not to.” Alistair grinned at Lana as she rolled her eyes at him. “What I was trying to say is: I’m not going to deck you off of her at any point, unless you’re hurting her, of course. We’re all adults. Or, at least, that’s what I tell myself. Anyway, it’ll get less awkward, and we have all the time in the world. So, chop chop, get at it, have fun you two.”

“Maker’s breath.” Cullen groaned as he buried his face in his hands.

“Ignore him,” Lana said lightly. Cullen looked up as he felt her hands on his, pulling gently as she uncovered his face. She wasn’t much taller than him in that moment, even with him sitting and slouching the way he was. It had been one of the first things he had ever noticed about her, how easy she would have been to hold in his arms. “Focus on me. Now, tell me… How did the demon tempt you with me?”

“I….” Cullen trailed off. He tried his best to keep his eyes on her, but he steadily found it more and more difficult as the memories threatened to return to him.

“I know it’s hard to talk about,” Lana said after a moment of silence. “Maybe start with the first thing?”

“You… I mean, it… When the deception began, the vision… I thought I had awoken in the tower by myself. I had almost thought they left, and then… I saw you. I mean… Not you, but…”

“Take your time, Cullen, it's all right.”

“I don’t want you to… To feel like you have to do this.”

“I wouldn’t have offered this to just anyone, Cullen. You and I have a connection that is unfortunate in one large aspect, and that’s Uldred. Let’s remove him from the equation.”

Cullen took a deep breath and nodded before continuing.

“You crouched next to me on the floor. I tried to warn you of what had happened, but you told me all was well. That we were alone. It had all been some awful dream. You touched my face…”

Cullen froze as Lana touched his cheek. First her fingertips, gentle and slightly cool to the touch. Then they slid to hold him, the calluses on her hand from years of wielding her staff rubbing softly as they went. Lana rested her hand there, giving Cullen a small and encouraging smile.

“How are you doing?” She asked softly. Cullen's eyes flicked towards Alistair, almost expecting him to become uncomfortable with the situation at any moment, only to find the man lounging sideways in his chair with his long legs hanging over the side.

“F - Fine. I'm, ah, fine.” Cullen waited until Lana gave him a small nod, his cue to continue. He cleared his throat, giving himself courage to continue as he focused his gaze on her. “I tried to tell you again that we should go, but you… You were persistent. You told me that you - you knew, about my thoughts… My… My desires…”

“Did you desire me?” Lana asked sweetly. Color rushed to Cullen's face as she brought her legs to either side of his lap, settling softly onto him. Her other hand met the opposite side of his face to mirror the one that already cupped his cheek, and slowly her hands slid back to curl gently in his hair.

“I - I did, at the time.” The words were raspy as they left his throat. His eyes widened slightly as he felt his cock twitch once against his breeches, against her. A lilting laugh left her throat as she smiled.

“At the time?” She teased.

“He'd have had to be mad not to be,” Alistair commented casually from the corner. Cullen nearly jumped at the sound of his voice. Maker, he had already forgotten that Alistair was there. Lana's hand dropped to Cullen's chin, gently redirecting his gaze towards her.

“What happened next, Cullen?”

“You… It...”

“Did it kiss you?”

“I… Yes,” he choked. Cullen's heart pounded in his chest as time slowed down for him. Slowly, steadily, Lana began leaning towards him, her eyes gradually closing as her lips neared his. And then, they met, and he froze.

“Cullen? Cullen?”

Cullen blinked, finding Lana still on his lap but staring at him at an arm's length. There was a hint of concern in her eyes, and as his gaze slowly moved towards Alistair he saw the same caring, concerned look on the man's face. As Cullen began moving again Lana visibly relaxed as her warm smile returned to her face.

“What happened just now? Where did you go?”

“It was… Almost just as I recalled,” he breathed. Maker, but this was more difficult than he had thought it would be. His hands were shaking, and he gripped the arms of the chair to steady them. He couldn't even recall her ending the kiss, seemingly having lost that time in his mind.

“What was different, though?” Alistair piped in.

“What?” Cullen turned his head to look at Alistair. The man was still sitting with his legs over the side of the chair, however now he was propped up more proper.

“Before, when it happened. Did it feel like her kiss did? Could you feel the callus on her lower lip from her chewing it too much? Were the kisses before rough and forcing, or soft and sweet?”

“Ah, m - more rough, I… Looking back on it, perhaps it was trying too hard to convince me.”

“So focus on her, then. Kiss her again, but this time count all the differences. Starting with that lovely callus of hers.”

Cullen mentally prepared himself as Lana gently ran her fingers through his hair. Her touch was kind, soothing, not at all what he had felt back in Kinloch. She trailed her fingers over his cheek, tracing his features like a lover memorizing their partner's face. He watched her eyes, her gentle smile as she followed her fingers, and his body relaxed under her touch. Her fingers trailed over the scar above his lip, following it to his lips themselves. That was when her eyes met his, and for a split second a memory of those same blue eyes flashed in his mind, only younger than the ones in front of him now, smiling up at him as they stood talking about the Harrowing she had just completed with ease, and his heart skipped a beat.

“This is real this time, this isn’t a dream,” she whispered. “You're a templar no longer, and we are not in Kinloch. Kiss me.”

Cullen's lips were pulled to hers as if by some invisible force. His hands rested at the small of her back, gripping lightly as they kissed. He followed Alistair's instruction, focusing on every little difference. He found the callus Alistair had mentioned, right at the middle of her lower lip, born from years of nervous habits, something completely missing from his memory. Her kisses were soft, gentle, as kind as her fingers that snaked through his hair once more to caress him - a stark contrast to the gripping, needing pulls from his nightmares. She smelled of lavender and vetiver, of ink and the pages of very old books. She let him take the lead, kissing back only when he kissed her, leaving him in full control. At one point a whimper left her throat, high pitched and shaking, and Cullen suddenly realized that his hands had moved to grip her bottom.

“A - Andraste preserve me, I am so - so sorry,” he sputtered while removing his hands from her. He sighed as Lana kissed him once more, and this time he found his lips trailing after hers when she pulled back.

“I meant what I said before,” she said with a small smirk. “Whatever helps you heal this memory…”

“It… It never got quite that far,” Cullen said as he cleared his throat. “Or, at least…”

“What happened?” Lana asked. Her hands were busying themselves in his hair, brushing back strands just above his ear to help relax him.

“It… It got close. It was as if it was on a loop… Always… Getting to that point, with you - it - on - on top, and then, just before, everything became real again. And they'd… Start over.”

“That's terrible,” Lana said with a frown. “The way I see it, we have two options.”

“Which are...?”

“We can play this out exactly as you remember, only follow through. We break the loop. Or, if this is too much, we can stop.”

“And… What are… your feelings on that?” Cullen asked as he eyed Alistair. The man cracked a grin from afar.

“Judging by the look on her face, and the conversation we had last night about it, she's very excited about comparing templars, if you catch my drift.”

“You really don't mind watching another man… With your wife?”

“He likes it,” Lana said with a smirk. A groan left Cullen's throat of its own accord as she shifted herself against his straining erection that begged to be freed from his breeches. “He enjoys watching me being pleased. And I enjoy him enjoying it.”

“Well, if… If no one objects, we could always try to… See how far we can get.”

“That's the spirit,” Alistair said encouragingly. “I only have one rule - well, two rules: One - what's your watchword, my dear?”

“Wicker.” Cullen watched Lana's cheeks flush ever so slightly as the world left her tongue, then his eyes flickered back to focus on Alistair as he continued.

“That's right: Wicker. You hear that word, Commander, and you stop. You can use the same if you'd like. Rule number two: no coming in my wife. Yes, I realize we're wardens and wardens don't get pregnant often, but just humor me. Agree to those simple things and I'll let you in on a little secret - If you rub her ears too firmly a few times she'll come, so, avoid that. Unless you want her to come. In which case, it is a nice little trick.”

“Oh, Maker,” Lana sighed with a smile. Cullen chuckled nervously at Alistair’s suggestion. Maker, was he really going to go through with this? Would he even make it to that moment with her? Did she really want this?

As Lana leaned forward and took Cullen’s lips with hers he realized, yes, she did want this. Lana may have been rather obviously allowing Cullen to pick their pace, but she gave herself away in the way her hips gingerly rocked every now and then to rub against his straining erection, as if she couldn’t help herself. Cullen’s hands slowly snuck back to her waist. A strangled hum vibrated in his throat as he felt her breath shake against his lips, as if such a simple touch from him had evoked such a strong response. Memories flashed behind Cullen's closed eyes, little glimpses of watching her from afar so many years ago, always from afar. There were no rules now to stand between them, no blatant imbalances of power to keep his conscience from allowing him this.

Maker, he didn't think he could stop kissing her even if he wanted to. Each kiss from her melded into his subconscious, each further and further from the frightful memories he had associated her lips with before. He felt as if he were truly breathing for the first time in her presence, a clear headed feeling he hadn't felt since his last draught of lyrium, and he needed more.

“May I?”

Cullen's lips slowed to a halt as she spoke against them. He pulled back just far enough to glance down at her fingers that played with the lacing of his shirt. With a nod, Cullen watched as Lana slowly unlaced his shirt until it was nice and loose. Then she took his hand, directing his fingers towards the lace on the large shirt she wore. Cullen flushed crimson, realizing that doing so would reveal quite a bit more on her than it did on him. He swallowed as she molded his fingers to grip the lace, then he slowly pulled.

As her skin was revealed, inch by inch, Cullen felt himself seizing up. His eyes were glued to her, staring at her skin just below her clavicle as the fabric pulled away as slowly as his fingers allowed it to. He felt his mind going dark, everything around him swirling, Lana's posture slackened as she caught on to the change in Cullen's appearance when, suddenly, he saw the tip of an old scar. It poked out from under the lacing as it loosened, just on the right at the edge of the top of her breast.

Cullen's breath released heavily, and he let go of the lace. The rest of it fell, the fabric sliding from her shoulders with it. Cullen's eyes stared at the scar, unable to take his eyes off of it as she sat on his lap with the shirt pooled at her hips. He swallowed hard, raising his hand to draw his fingers over the scar. Its edges were rough, not the work of steel - no, a claw, perhaps? From the corner of his eye, Cullen caught a glimpse of another: one just above her hip, mostly obscured by the fabric of the shirt. He clasped his hands to her waist, causing her to squeak in surprise as he lifted her off his lap and set her to stand in front of him.

“Everything okay…?” Alistair's question went unanswered as Cullen gently slipped the shirt from Lana's hips until it pooled at her feet. Cullen remained seated in front of her, his face barely an arm's length from her as he hunched over to look at the scar. This one ran from her hip to mere inches diagonal to her navel. It was sharp, piercing, the work of something sharp and rounded - definitely steel, unlike the other. It was covered by a burn, almost hand-shaped in appearance, as if someone had placed their burning palm to her flesh to cauterize the first wound.

Lana's skin was reddening under his gaze and touch, standing before him in her breast band and breeches. Her head tilted as she watched him stare at her scars, trying to figure out what the significance was as he gently took her hand and traced the scar on her arm - the one that gave her the most nightmares of them all. She bit her lip as he focused on that one, setting aside whatever feelings she had of it for the moment. Then his eyes shot up to her shoulder and he spun her with his hands. Her eyes widened as she stumbled to keep her balance from the sudden movement, making contact with Alistair's gaze as his brows lifted. Cullen was running his fingers over the burn on her right shoulder, and Lana and Alistair's heads tilted almost in unison as they heard what sounded like Cullen laughing.

“Cullen?” His name was drawn out on Lana's tongue. Alistair sat up in his chair, craning his neck in order to see the Commander's face. His eyes were slightly watering, a look of almost disbelief on his face as he quietly laughed. If it hadn't been for the smile on his face, Alistair would have been more concerned. The two of them waited, giving Cullen a moment, before he finally spoke.

“You have scars.” The words left Cullen, and Lana felt the relief they carried with them. She relaxed instantly, smiling as she laughed as well.

“It didn't have scars, did it?” She asked, and Alistair instantly slumped back in understanding.

“None at all.”

Lana's body was peppered with them: big scars, little ones, each telling their own story, and Cullen had never known. The demon had drawn on his knowledge of her, filling in the blanks as he would have imagined: it had been unmarked; flawless light olive skin that had matched her face, save for the nail sized nick just near her left eye. Each scar was proof that she was different, that she was her, the one who saved him from that terror all those years ago, not the cause. Each scar was proof, and of them she had many.

Cullen stood as Lana turned and took his hand, pulling him from the chair. She walked him towards the bed, her legs barely hitting the edge before he pulled her towards him and bent low to meet her lips.

“Walk me through it.” Lana's words bounced off Cullen's lips between kisses.

“Through…?”

“What happened next?”

Cullen slowly parted from her kiss, the reality of everything coming back to him. His cheeks flushed as he straightened, his hand rubbing at the back of his neck as he glanced at the bed. He silently kicked himself in his mind as he felt his nervousness setting in once more.

“Well, I was… We were on the ground… You - I mean - It, r - removed my clothes, and its… Clothes...”

“Do you want to change that?”

“H - How so?”

“It removed everything… How about you do it this time? Let it be your choice.”

Cullen slowly nodded his head as he considered it. His eyes wandered down to her breasts, barely covered by the cotton that bound it back. He averted his gaze as he felt his face burn, quickly deciding to remove his shirt first. He grabbed the hem, pulling it over his head and taking his time setting it to the side. Cullen could feel the burning traveling down his shoulders and across his chest as his hands found the laces of his trousers. Chancing a glance at Lana, he felt his stomach do a bit of a leap as he watched her teeth bite lightly on her lower lip - right on that callus - all the while her eyes were glued to his hands as they pulled at the strings. Maker, she wasn't trying to hide how much she wanted him, and it made him more careless as he let the trousers drop to the floor at his feet.

As he tried to step out of the legs of his trousers, Cullen felt himself turn beet red as he realized one fatal mistake - his boots. He dropped down to crouch, sputtering apologies in his smalls as he tore at the laces of his boots and tried to kick them off as if doing so would curse their very existence.

“Alistair didn't even get his boots off our first time, if that makes you feel any better,” Lana said with a light and understanding laugh.

“Traitor, you're not supposed to tell people that,” Alistair scoffed, though the grin on his face gave his levity away.

“Not just me, then?” Cullen mumbled. He tried to take a breath to shake the embarrassment. The feeling faded away soon enough as he saw Lana's feet stepping closer to him.

“My turn, I believe?” She asked sweetly. Cullen slowly trailed his eyes over her form from where he was crouched, starting at her feet and moving up her cloth covered legs to the skin of her belly, all the way to her ocean blue eyes that sparkled down at him. Maker, he could crouch there all day, he decided. Boots shifted to the side and trousers with them, Cullen shifted to his knees as his eyes zeroed in on the laces of her breeches. He unconsciously licked his lower lip for a moment as he reached out to grasp the string. His heart was pounding, hand shaking ever so slightly as he pulled at the knot until it loosened, then placed a hand on either side of her hips, ensuring his index fingers were touching her skin to feel her as he pulled the breeches down.

Lana stepped out of the breeches one foot at a time as Cullen pulled them for her. Standing, he looked around the room as if there would be instructions written on the wall. When he met Lana's eyes again she merely smiled in a manner that seemed almost mischievous.

“I believe I'm still clothed, Cullen.”

Maker, but she was. Two strips of fabric kept her from being known to him. Two simple, measly strips of fabric, one which seemed a miracle it was holding her breasts back at all.

“Which… Um… Which one should I…?”

“I vote the breasts,” Alistair piped in suddenly from his chair. Lana shot a look at him that clearly told him to stop meddling, to which he threw his hands up in defense and added, “Just a suggestion. I apparently don't get a vote, sooo…”

“Whichever you prefer,” Lana cut in, turning her attention back to Cullen. Whichever he preferred… Maker, was there a preference to be had? In that moment, everything so very different from his traumatic past, it felt not unlike being presented with two gifts on Satinalia: two gifts which went hand-in-hand, each which would be opened eventually. Just… Which order?

Cullen let Alistair decide for him. It was simpler that way, though he wasn't sure he wouldn't have done the same in different circumstances. The grey breast band wrapped around her chest seemed to have a difficult task. It got the job done, if that job was only to hold her breasts in place long enough to get her armor on which would surely help with the rest. The world had seen plenty of advances in armor and weaponry, but, it seemed, these had scarcely seen an upgrade since the Exalted Age.

Standing and stepping close enough to reach around her back, Cullen peered over Lana's head to eye the knot. He fiddled with it a bit, gritting his teeth at one point when it seemed the knot had possibly gotten tighter, when suddenly he felt it pop free. He gingerly took a step back as it fell to the ground, his eyes shamelessly glued to her breasts. Cullen could tell Lana was blushing, but, Maker help him, he couldn't take his eyes off of her. He barely even registered the happy hum of approval from Alistair over in his corner, until Lana spoke.

“Would you like me to take care of this?” Her eyes were on his, watching his eyes follow her hand as she hooked her fingers in the corner of her smalls. Cullen managed a nod, and took a step back as she slipped them down.

A breath escaped Cullen as she stood before him. When first he had gazed upon the demon’s form - her form, twisted by what it had read in his mind - it had given off a feeling. Cullen couldn't explain it more than that. It hadn't felt right. It had felt conniving, eerie, like a dark, thorny path in the woods on an otherwise sunny day, riddled with tempting berries that carried an uncertain fate to whomsoever was foolish enough to pluck one and eat it. As Lana stood before him now, she seemed to glow in his mind. There was nothing eerie about her - her scars reminded him of that. And, Maker, she was perfect.

“Almost.” Cullen stopped in his tracks as Lana piped in after he had taken one step towards her. He furrowed his brows in confusion, only to catch her drift as her eyes trailed downwards on his body with a sly smile. “Not quite fair… Is it?”

“I suppose not,” he chuckled as he flushed once more. Cullen slid his smalls down, pink spreading across his body as his cock stood at full attention in the cool room.

“So…” Lana smiled, glancing eagerly at his length before looking back up at Cullen while she walked back towards the bed. She sat at the edge before sliding into the middle and patting the mattress as she continued to steal glances of him. “You were on the ground? I thought a bed may be more comfortable. I can move to the floor if you'd like.”

“No - No, you're right. A bed is… Better.” Cullen nodded as he followed her over. He slid onto the bed, suddenly aware of how strange the whole situation must have been. Here he was lying naked on a bed, with a naked woman, and her fully clothed husband sitting in the corner - and yet, there was a part of it that excited him, enough to keep him wanting to see how this would all play out.

“What happened next?”

Cullen took a deep breath as he prepared to answer her question.

“It… Sat on my legs, and began to… Situate. And that… That's when it all ended. And became… Then it turned, and…” Cullen sighed shakily, closing his eyes as Lana ran her fingers softly through his golden hair.

“We can take our time,” she said softly at his side. “We don't have to do this all tonight, Cullen. You're doing wonderful. If this is too much -”

“No.” Cullen said it firmly, shaking his head adamantly. He turned his head to the side to look at her, focusing on the scar on her chest, the top of the burn on her right shoulder, a cluster of freckles below her collarbone he had never seen before, all the differences. “I don't want to associate it with you anymore. I - I wasn’t certain before, but now... I want to do this.”

“Good.” Lana smiled, running her fingers through his shallow chest hair. “Because, I have to admit… Ever since you took your smalls off, I've been curious what you'll feel like…”

“Maker's breath.” Cullen nervously laughed, unable to say much else. He had never felt less suave in his entire life, he was sure of it. He blinked, watching as Lana straightened her body and slowly slid her leg over his side. Seeing her above him then, her hands on his chest, fiery copper hair in the candlelight, his mind began swirling. Lana watched as the color drained from his face, his hands gripped onto the blanket beneath him as if it were his only lifeline.

“Cullen?” She spoke his name softly. Placing her hands on either side of his face she could feel him beginning to sweat. His eyes seemed to stare right through her, as if he were lost in a deep memory. “Cullen?”

Alistair got up from his chair when Cullen didn't move. Cullen's breath was heavy, his muscles tense as Alistair crouched down next to the bed and put his hand on Cullen's shoulder.

“Come on, Rutherford,” Alistair said firmly, giving him a good shake. Alistair's voice seemed to snap him out of it, his voice and way of addressing him not too different from how he had addressed him when they were both Templar trainees. Cullen swallowed as he met Alistair's eyes, then he turned and looked back at Lana.

“Do it.”

“What?” Lana was shocked at Cullen's request. It left him more like a command than a plea, determination coursing over his tongue. Alistair had backed off again to his chair, trying his best to let the two of them work through it now that Cullen seemed to be back.

“I want it to end. Please.”

“Then end it,” Lana said. “You said this was where it changed… So change it. Take control. What do you want to do?”

It had never happened before. In his nightmares, reliving that hell he had been through, it played over just the same as he had experienced: everything but, her soft legs wrapped around his torso, melting away into purple and horror before he could even experience her. He knew exactly what he wanted to do to change it.

Cullen grasped Lana by the waist, holding her in place as he rolled them until he was on top of her while she squeaked shortly in surprise. Lana hummed as his lips crashed to hers, whimpers bubbling in her throat as his fingers delved between them to test how wet she was. Maker, she was soaking, clearly having been ready for this since the moment she sat on his lap what seemed like ages ago to him.

In normal circumstances, Cullen would have liked to have taken his time. These were anything but normal circumstances. Desperate to break the cycle, to have something new to add to the loop, Cullen slid up slightly, groaning low in unison with Lana's loudening whimpers as he rubbed his cock against her heat, coating it in her quim. He sat back just enough to glance between them, taking his hard cock in hand as he guided it to her entrance.

Cullen's breath was loud, relieved as he felt her heat surround him. It was as if glass had been his prison and it had shattered all around him the moment her mouth hung open with a moan that echoed throughout the room. The sound made him shiver, and he watched Lana as her brow furrowed near her shut eyes, hands gripping the blanket as she fought the urge to roll her hips until he was ready. She was waiting for him to be ready. Cullen pulled back with his hips before gently thrusting back into her. His eyes rolled slightly at the feel of her, quickly opening again to watch as her chest arched slightly with each thrust. Maker, she was already making so much noise, and he was barely doing anything. The thought made Cullen feel warm, stroking his ego as he moved one hand from her hip to balance on the mattress near her face.

Lana arched towards him, her mouth hanging open as her lips curled into a smile. Maker, Cullen felt different than Alistair. Alistair was gifted when it came to his size - she knew that from the few she had been able to compare by then. Cullen still filled her well, though, very well, in a way that didn't stretch too much for comfort. Oh, Maker, and that slight curve Cullen had to him - that was new, that was very nice.

Her arms reached up, wrapping around to Cullen's back as he pressed his chest closer to her. Lana took advantage of Cullen's shoulder being level with her lips, pulling him closer to moan loudly against his skin as his thrusts became more purposeful. His hand slipped down to her thigh, pulling until her legs were wrapped around his hips. Cullen slid his hand over every inch of her he could reach, memorizing the feel of her, embedding the memory of her and this moment deep in his mind: he felt the difference between the soft skin of her breast to the scar his thumb ran over; the curve over the peak of her nipple, the way she shuddered and gasped as he grasped over it; the dip over her navel, down to the rough and smooth of the burn that lay over the bump of the long, deep scar just near her hip; and the sweet, sweet way his fingers could dig into the flesh of her bottom, the way her moans became louder and louder as he pulled her towards him while he became totally and incandescently lost in her.

Time slowed down for Cullen, and at the last possible moment he suddenly remembered one of Alistair's rules. His abdomen was tightening, his body practically lifting as he felt his end near so soon after only just beginning. Grasping her legs Cullen peeled her from his body, pulling out of her and grasping his cock with his hand as he sat up on his knees. He groaned loudly, covering the tip with his palm as he pulsed and spurted into his hand. Cullen gasped, suddenly finding the room less than full of air to him. He gave himself a few hearty, slow strokes, ensuring that he had been emptied of every last drop before falling back to sit on the bed.

The sound of Lana's happy humming made the corners of Cullen's mouth twitch into a lazy grin. He lifted his head to look her over, finding her still in the position he had left her: on her back, practically spread eagled with a wide grin on her face and flushed skin all over. As her eyes fluttered open and she met his gaze, Cullen felt his insides flip for what felt like the hundredth time that night.

“How did we do?” She asked breathlessly, and Cullen couldn't help but chuckle.

“I would say… We did a perfect job.”

“Think you'll have better thoughts in your mind when you see me now?”

“I - Yes, I... I think I have quite the image to think of now.” Cullen flinched slightly as a cloth hit his shoulder. He looked down, picking up the light blue handkerchief Alistair had tossed at him before looking at the warden questioningly.

“I promise, it's clean.” Alistair winked as he lifted himself off the chair. Cullen nodded in sudden understanding, flushing as he used the handkerchief to clean his hand off. He looked up as Alistair approached the bed, watching as the man looked over his wife with a sparkling interest and a smirk that even made Cullen blush. “I hope you haven't been tired out just yet… My turn, yes?”

#spicy #lana surana #alistair theirin #cullen rutherford #cullanistair #lanistair #cullana #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #my ocs #my writing #fanfiction #the start of a beautiful friendship lmao

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years ago

Text

Goodnight, Chris McQueen

A NOS4A2 Review By: Allyssa J. Watkins

I love you, Brat I hope you know that....... My biggest fear was becoming my old man Drinkin', philanderin', livin' for nothin' I wanted so much more for my little girl But Babe, I'm just like him A haunted soldier That never came back from the war I tried so hard to make you laugh Just so you didn't see me cryin' Funny names, and stupid jokes I guess, don't band-aid the holes Punched through the walls and in Your mother's heart Jesus, maybe this dad thing Was a cosmic hoax right from the start I love you like a big dog I'd die twice just to give you a hug Before I go, I want you to know I'm proud of my kid I could never do what you did It's like you told your ma You're made of steel, Vic You threw the bottle away You sure as hell didn't need me But you let your broken down dad save the day I ain't half the hero to you though As you are to Wayne Give 'em HELL, Babe Fight the good fight Don't cry over me I won't die as I lived A good for nothin' It's gonna mean somethin' I gotta believe Don't stay here, Brat, trapped in my death scene Remember the good stuff, when they say "Goodnight, Chris McQueen."

In the words of the illustrious Linda McQueen........ "Holy HELL." It's been days, and I've been in a morose fog, only just now emerging, shaking and fighting the tears, even as I write this, half numb, and half agony. I'm shocked, dismayed, and altogether fragile. The second I saw that this episode was going to be called, "Chris McQueen," I couldn't have been more thrilled, and my heart soared, excited! Chris McQueen has SHINED this season, our own resident white knight, slaying Vic's demons, both of the vice, and supernatural variety. It was no mistake, or random shuffle of fate, that her magic bridge led her back to her dad. He's been a gun-wielding, bomb-making, godsend!!! He helped her quit drinking, heartbroken that his little girl had inherited his disastrous coping mechanisms, refusing to let it drown her the way it did him. He's fought at her side, let her lean on him, he's become her safe place. He's given her the best advice about fighting for Lou, choosing her family, and oh yeah, he SINGLEHANDEDLY took on Bing Partridge, not just once, but TWICE!!!

If NOS4A2 has a CHAMPION, a dark horse in the game, it's hands down Chris McQueen. If anyone is deserving of their own personal, entitled episode, it's the vindicated father who did the work, fought like HELL for his redemption, made himself a better person for his daughter. That rush of flooding joy, cooled to wary concern, and hesitant dread, however, when I realized....... This honour could be his final tribute.......

Don't kill Chris McQueen........ I pleaded over and over in my mind, the frantic cry, resounding, even as I pressed play. I hadn't been able to shake that sinister, creeping feeling all day, and when we opened onto Chris at a funeral, my relief flooded in, graciously thankful to see him alive!!! Wait, he looked younger, like WAY younger, even younger than the first season, and oh my god, hold on, whose funeral is this!? Someone died........ my stomach knotting again, trying to figure out who, and we realize that this is Chris, decades ago, speaking at his Dad's funeral.

I loved, and I mean LOVED this opener. It's just so beautifully real, and one hundred percent Chris McQueen, as he muses about his father's life, and his own, and how the two came to mirror each other. He's funny, irreverent, vulnerable, and by the end, absolutely heartbreaking. It's a searing portrait of a broken man, and everything that caused his life to fracture, every death, that made him wish he was never born.

"When I came back from the gulf, I finally understood why he was pissed off all the time, because he knew there was no reason for him to born, and that nobody was going to give a shit when he died."

Chris' voice cracks, and my eyes sting, because I feel it, his greatest fear, and I know he's not just talking about his father, he's talking about himself, effectually delivering his own eulogy, and again I implored the fates...... Don't kill Chris McQueen.

Aaaaaaaaah, and HELLO Baby Vic!!! Oh my gosh, she's so precious, about eight years old, frowning as her father speaks, huddled close to her mother, and then when Chris becomes too overwhelmed with his anger and emotions to go on, tearing out of the church, she frantically chases after him, calling for him!!! Even then, she was her daddy's girl!!! Once again, I must COMMEND NOS4A2 for choosing the perfect miniature of our badass leading lady, because this girl is the very IMAGE of Ashleigh, and it was such a joy to see her fierce features, and resolve, in a dear little face!!! More Baby Vic, PLEASE!!!

Flashforward to the present day, and Team McQueen is ready and raring to hit the road. I loved this entire scene. The love between her and Lou as she tells him goodbye, and says, "I'm going to go get our boy." An achingly beautiful moment, these two give me life, and have become my FAVOURITE couple on the show!!! I may have been purely Team Drew Butler, Season One, but now I can't imagine our beautiful badass without her Teddy Bear Man, and I ship McCarmody so freaking hard!!! Vic revs the Triumph's engine, testing it, gearing up with her Dad, and it hits me....... She doesn't have to hide it, sneak away to go do her Creative Hero thing, he accepts her for exactly who she is, believes in her gift enough to go with her. For the first time..... Vic McQueen isn't riding alone........

Linda is an absolute rollicking delight, emphatic in her protest, and I have just come to LOVE her so much!!! "I don't know about this Vicki, taking explosives across a magical bridge IN THE RAIN!!!!" God BLESS this woman, she's so maternal here, and I love it, I see how much she's changed, becoming this mother and ex wife even, that isn't afraid to express her feelings and doubts, no longer shackled by the fear that she's destined to be alone.

"You're my only kid, Vicki, My Baby."

"You know me, Ma, made of steel, remember?"

Awwwwww oh my gosh, so freaking CUTE, and for the first time, they feel like a real family, The McQueen Clan on a Mission, slaying psychotic kidnappers, and rescuing lost children, becoming the family business. Linda's still unsure, hurrying after Chris and Vic, still thinking they're both CRAZY, when she sees it for the first time....... Her eyes widen impossibly, as a rickety, wooden, covered bridge, appears on the street in front of them, and her reaction is EVERYTHING we've been waiting for, I found myself, leaping off the couch, cheering as she says it. "Holy HELL!!!"

Chris' childlike wonder, as he looks up into the dark eves, and watches the bats flutter, the Triumph roaring through the beams of breaking light, weaving in and out of shadow, is such a joy to behold. He believed in it, believed in her, even without seeing, and it means that much more to Vic, you can tell. It's also symbolic, Vic sharing her world with her father, bringing him into her inscape, fighting the good fight TOGETHER, both soldiers. I loved it, every second.

Surprise, surprise, when they roll up to the junkyard, Bing Partridge isn't dead, because some cockroaches just won't DIE!!!! Like an AVENGING ANGEL, Chris McQueen is all of us, flying off that bike, and assailing Bing with murderous fury, backhanding his stupid face with the gun, over and over, impaling him deeper with the protruding rod, and I swear, I wanted to run to him, and HUG him so tightly, so freaking PROUD!!!! THANK YOU, CHRIS MCQUEEN!!!

"Where is he, you SICK, Son of a BITCH!?!?"

"HE CAN'T HELP US IF HE'S DEAD!!!!!"

Vic screams at her father, angrily chastising this good and proper beating that has been a LONG time coming!!!! I'm sorry, isn't that how ANY sane person would react to a sadistic, murdering, rapist whose made their life a LIVING HELL!? What gives, Victoria!? Chris falls back, as confused as I was, and then shakes his head, as he apologizes vehemently, which Vic is having none of. She's AWFUL to her father from this moment forward, rude and spiteful, blaming him for everything, and as much as I love the girl, in this unjust punishment, she REALLY lives up to her nickname, Brat.

This Kids Glove approach to Bing Partridge is MADDENING enough to make me PSYCHOTIC!!! BING. IS. EVIL. Say it with me, NOS4A2!!!! It's like they are hellbent on redeeming the ONE character that is beyond saving, a man that even God, himself, would look at reviled, and say, "Get thee behind me, SATAN!!!" Last week they failed, first through the deus ex machina epiphany, and then through the attempted murder/suicide, so they tried even harder, using a meeker approach, making him say manipulative propaganda like, "I wish I'd never met Mr. Manx, because then Vic McQueen would still be my friend." and "I'm all alone in here, and it's really scary." Ughhhh somebody, anybody, put us out of our misery, and put one right between his beady little rat bastard eyes.

I almost understand Tabitha's need to keep things professional, and speak to Bing, in a reassuring way that reaches his simple, monosyllabic mind. I get that beating the living hell out of him like he so obviously deserves isn't an option for her, but this man is a HEINOUS criminal, who's kidnapped kids, drugged and raped their mothers, KILLED both of his parents, not to mention TORTURED Charlie within an inch of his life, only just last week!!!! But by ALL MEANS, Vic, go HOLD HANDS WITH HIM, and see if that will help get your son back!!!! Cringe.

I HATED this, so, so, SO much!!! Bing was her friend, he betrayed her, violated the trust between them, became her worst nightmare, shot at her, traumatized her, duct-taping her to a chair, she should HATE him, despise the sight of him far more than Charlie Manx!!! I CRAVED a reckoning, even if it was just a verbal assault. But no, instead, Vic decides to play nice, and I get that most of it was an act to convince him to help her get her son back, but I could also feel NOS4A2's misguided hand in her actions. Look, see, even Vic can find the good in Bing!!!! Sigh. Not gonna lie, I was going to scream bloody murder if she said she forgives him!!!

Good Cop pays off, however, and Bing, desperate for Vic's forgiveness, reveals there is one more stop before Christmasland, one last chance to grab Wayne, when he gets out of the Wraith at Sleigh House to hang his ornament. It's a dawning revelation, intel quintessential to their success, and for once they know where Charlie is going to be, before he gets there, and can lay a trap for him and his indestructible car. I hate the way they arrived at the information though, I'd have much preferred to see Bing suffer for his sins, and the whole interaction is just so laughably implausible. I will say this however, there was a rather BEAUTIFUL line in this scene that Bing couldn't begin to deserve, but I LOVED it all the same. "I miss the person I thought you were." My god, that's powerful.

"Chris McQueen," is a STELLAR episode, full of beautiful lines like this, including my FAVOURITE thing that Maggie has EVER said to Vic, which perfectly exemplifies their eccentric friendship!!! "I'd shank a thousand assholes for your mopey ass!!!" YES!!! I LOVE THAT SO MUCH!!! I will say though, that I was SHOCKED at how cool Vic was with Maggie's scary new trick of hurting herself to use her powers, sans seizures. I thought she was going to kick her butt for that!!! I'm really worried, Guys, this is a dangerous addiction, that's going to be the hardest one yet for Mags to quit!!! The break-up with Tabitha was bittersweet, but it did not come as a shock to me. They'd been drifting apart for awhile now, and I feel like Maggie was so scared of losing her, that she was afraid to be herself. "I want to live in the real world all the time." For me, that was the nail in the coffin, having only heard it about a thousand times myself. Maggie will always be living in two worlds, and whoever she's with MUST accept that. They love each other, yes, but they just want different things. I do respect Tabitha so much for not demanding that Maggie give up her tiles, threatening to leave her if she didn't. She'd rather let Maggie go be herself, be happy, than try to stifle her, shove her into that hateful, constricting little box called normal.

Vic continues to be petty, and spiteful towards her father, treating him WAY too harshly, punishing him, when he's done nothing but fight for her, a literal action HERO, avenging Wayne, and kicking ASS!!! It hurt my soul, and I could see the pain in his eyes, thinking he'd failed her, apologizing again, just wanting her forgiveness. The second scene at the McQueen house is a far less fuzzy one, as she forbids her father to come with her, placing all the blame of every bad thing that's happened thus far on his shoulders, and she cuts him with razor edged words, saying the worst thing that she could have possibly said in that moment, something truly unforgivable, that I already know she will spend the rest of her life, regretting.

"I lived eight years of my life without you, Dad, and I can just as easily do it again." She sneers, and even Linda stares, aghast. "Vicki, no, you don't mean that!!!"

I felt the pangs in my heart, stunned that she could be that vicious to her own father, after all he's done for her, getting sober, changing his whole life, hell, getting HER sober!!! Linda is again so adorable, insisting she take Chris with her, like "Vicki let your father play on your magical bridge, if he wants!!!" not wanting him to feel left out, and while I want more father/daughter explosive awesomeness, I'm conflicted whether or not he should go. If he stays here...... he's safe. Eventually Linda's persuasion wins out. "Don't let your anger towards your father, keep you from getting back Wayne." With a frustrated sigh, Vic shoves a black helmet in Chris' hands, and we're off to the races again. "Bring them home," Linda whispers sweetly, embracing him tight, and as they hug, I get the most sinking feeling that it's for the last time. Dont...... Don't kill, Chris Mcqueen.

Vic and Chris work in silence, once they get to the charred foundation of Sleigh House in Colorado, burying the handmade bombs, and finally Chris can't take it anymore. "Is this how you want it, Brat?" He asks her, heartbroken, and Ashleigh's acting is PHENOMENAL, as she breaks down and reveals the truth behind her unprovoked animosity.

"It's easier to be mad at you, than to blame myself."

"None of this is your fault. Charlie Manx is not your fault."

"I want to forgive you, because if I don't, how can Wayne ever forgive me. But I can't just let myself off the hook!!!"

It's not entirely a make-up, but it's an important conversation, something she's been wrestling with for a long time. Chris is again AMAZING, consoling her, easing her guilt, even while she's the one that's been impossible. Again Vic, I love you, but your father did the absolute RIGHT thing, and he's the only one that did right by Bing, as far as I'm concerned.

Maggie and Lou join the dynamite father/daughter duo in Colorado, and I LOVED all of their scenes together, the two people in this world that Vic McQueen loves most, and there's something magical about it, something iconic, seeing all three of them together, the Creative Dream Team, united in their crusade against Charlie Manx.

"Every one of these ornaments represents a kid in Christmasland, lost forever. Do you think there's a way to get them back? The other kids?"

WHEN SOULS FALL.

Maggie stares down, perplexed at the tiles, as she arranges them, revealing to the oracle this cryptic, mysticism, and I myself, could NOT breathe. Holy SMASH. Ever since the end of, "Gunbarrel," where Vic wanders through the trees outside Sleigh House, frowning at them, the hundreds of glittering ornaments, swaying in the wind, glowing as she drew near, I just knew...... I KNEW the souls of the Lost Children, were trapped inside each and every one of them, and this suspicion was ever further confirmed, when she found Bradley's canoe ornament, broken open on the ground, after he burnt up in the Wraith. My prediction? To turn the kids back, they have to smash every single one of these ornaments, and only then can the escaped souls return to their vampire shells, and make them human again. The minute a child hangs an ornament, the transformation is complete.

I also LOVED the transcendent scene between Vic and Millie, a scared little girl, in over her head, calling, pleading through the static, and I couldn't help but MARVEL at how much has changed between them. Last Season Millie Manx was very much her father's daughter, cruelly taunting Vic, on her father's behalf, even appearing to her while she was awake, stabbing her with an invisible sword. Now, she calls out to her to be her saviour, her father's greatest enemy, the iron wrought armour of her inherited hatred falling away, and Vic sees her as she always was, not a hollowed out demon spawn, but just a frightened little girl that needs to be set free. I was also THRILLED that dear little Millie imparted the knowledge that Charlie CANNOT die, else all the children, including his daughter, will die with him. Vic abhors Charlie with a screaming vengeance, but now that she knows his death comes at the cost of every child he's ever taken, she won't kill him, she CAN'T kill him, because then all of this, everything she's fought so hard for, bled for, would be for nothing.

The final act is both the thrilling BEST and the incoherent WORST of the episode, as the chaotic music ominously heralds our man's arrival. Charlie Manx, cutting a dashing, imposing silhouette, dark against the hazy dusk, exits the Wraith, turning every which way, striking in profile, floating smoothly across the front of the car, to let Wayne out. I loved this aesthetic, Charlie moving swiftly through the mist and dying light, rising as the threatened dark, enclosing. It's beautiful, and serves two clever purposes. One, to shroud our debonair dark menace in all the more intrigue and mystery, and the other, to conceal just how bad Wayne's gotten. Charlie clasps his hands around Wayne's shoulders lovingly, the picture of paternal pride, and my heart caught, seeing Wayne in the cast light, his boyish curls, frayed and almost white, his skin covered in white blue veins, every one of his teeth, coming to a sharp point.

"Go on, My Boy, it's time to hang your ornament," Charlie chortles handing Wayne the CUTEST little gray, baby bat ornament, I have ever seen, urging him forward. "Choose any branch you like, just make sure it's a SPECIAL branch," Charlie crows, and my heart melts, so in love with both of them, and the way Charlie dotes on him, knowing that while this began as a revenge plot, Charlie has come to love and favour Wayne, like the son he never had. "Don't dilly dally," He warns adorably, with an eyebrow raise, and even this mild scold is too precious for words.

Charlie waits by the Wraith, already nervous, as little Wayne disappears into the grove of trees. I LOVED the Wraith's ADORABLE warning system, as it flashes danger, the car horn honking, and even more I loved Charlie's distressed reaction to it, hurrying over, brow knit, like a father racing to tend to and protect his frightened child. Can I just have this impossibly PERFECT man, that darling little curly-haired boy, and this pretty, shiny car, PLEASE!?!?

"Smart Car," I whisper to myself, as the Wraith senses Vic's presence, and the waiting bombs beneath the ground. Charlie, alarmed, jumps back into his car, to seek out what's got the Wraith in such a tizzy, racing away, and leaving young Wayne behind. If there was ever a time, to save Wayne, it is NOW!!! NOW, Maggie, grab him NOW!!!! Here's where things start to unravel for me as far as character motivation and realistic ability is concerned. Yes, I get that Wayne's appearance is terrifying for her, that she doesn't know what she's walking into as she approaches him, but there is NO WAY Margaret Leigh, Oracle Extraordinaire, Hourglass SLAYER, would just cower, and watch as Wayne hangs his ornament. Nope, sorry. Wayne isn't even all the way a vampire yet, he's in transition, and the FEARLESS girl that I know and love, would have grabbed him, reassured him, while she wrested the ornament from his hands, and SMASHED it!!! Wayne's soul flies back into his body, crying as he clings to his Aunt Mags, Charlie is thwarted, and everybody lives happily ever after. End Scene.

But no, Maggie, in an uncharacteristic move, waits until Wayne has ALREADY hung his ornament, and then approaches him fearfully. I will admit I was a little nervous too..... Wayne, Darling, NO BITING Aunt Maggie!!! Wayne bares his vampire teeth, and raises his vampire claws in an adorable scare, with the cutest little growl ever, laughing cheerfully as he chases Maggie through the trees, clearly thinking it's a game.

Meanwhile, Charlie bristles as he sees the glowing headlights of Vic's motorcycle up ahead, piercing through the descended dark. His annoyance is obvious, but you can almost sense his secret excitement, at having one last chance to kill her.

"Gunning for Mother of the Year?" Charlie scoffs, amused, looking hot as hell behind the Wraith, clenching the steering wheel, his head down, eyes narrowed and full of smouldering, black intent. It's a FANTASTIC face-off, as the Wraith screams down into the open field, Chris pressing HARD on the detonator, and the first bomb goes off in a spray of dirt and billowing smoke. Again here's where I found myself more than a little bit incredulous, wondering WHAT THE HELL IS THE WRAITH MADE OF!?!? I even giggled to myself, remembering what Chris had said. "I don't care if he's in a GOD DAMNED tank!!!" The Wraith remains unscathed, the gleaming black paint, not so much as scratched, as a second bomb, and then a third go off beneath it, to no detriment. Really!? The Wraith is NOT a tank, it's not even armoured, and while yes, it's a supernatural entity, it CANNOT DEFY THE LAWS OF PHYSICS!!! Baby, I'm sorry, I'm so don't want to see you harmed, but you put a blast beneath that undercarriage, it is going to send that car FLYING, flipping it over at the very least!!!

Back in the grove of trees, Wayne, still chasing Maggie, stops cold when Lou calls out to him.

"Dad..... is that you?" THANK GOD, I cry out tearfully, as Wayne recognizes him, and in a very human moment, runs and hugs his father so tight, snuggling his little head to his shoulder, Lou sighing relieved, as he holds his son at last. Happy tears become angry ones, however, and at first I was LIVID with Wayne, horrified as he sinks his tiny little fangs into Lou's shoulder, biting him hard. DON'T BITE YOUR FATHER!!!!! Why, Wayne, WHY!? But the second time I watched this episode, I noticed something soooo very important. Wayne doesn't show any signs of hostility, poses NO threat, UNTIL the first bomb goes off. This is NO coincidence. Charlie, you're too clever for your own good!!! I suspect, that once the transformation is complete, and the kids are connected to Father Christmas, they can sense when he's in danger, and their innate attack instinct takes over!!! Freaking brilliant, and yet also terrifying!!!

Vic curses under her breath, her foot slamming on the gas, helplessly, as the Triumph won't start, her knife failing her, as the Wraith, screams at her like a shot bullet, promising vengeance, and Charlie smirks, sadistic, knowing he's about to end this....... "Say Goodnight, Vic McQueen."

My heart clenches in my chest, barely breathing, the tears flooding my vision, watching through blurry eyes, knowing what he's going to do, before he even does it. Chris McQueen hurtles himself in front of Vic, selflessly sacrificing his life for hers, and the Wraith runs him over, crushing the back of his legs. as he collides with it. I screamed, I sobbed, and shook violently, stunned because my prayers had been answered....... Chris McQueen, has miraculously SURVIVED. He's alive...... he's alive...... I whisper, reassuring myself. While he's far from okay, surely suffering two crushed legs, unable to move, I'm just so happy to see him still breathing, still fighting.

"Perfect timing, Wayne," Charlie snickers, Vic screaming, "NO!" as Wayne hops back into the car. This is it, this is the moment, where it all goes so wrong. Charlie's holding all the cards, he's got Wayne in the car, he's subdued Vic and her father, neither of them can so much as move, and he listens, drinking in their anguished cries. All he had to do was drive away....... It was over. It was SUPPOSED to be over.

"Chris McQueen, a disappointment of a man, just like your father," Charles snarls, and I AM BEGGING him to stop, bawling, pleading frantic, my terrified voice shrill. "BABY NO!!!! BABY STOP!!! DON'T KILL CHRIS, PLEASE GOD, CHARLIE!!!!!" Tapping into a darkness, donning a heartlessness, unbecoming of our gentleman villain, Charlie looks Vic in the eye, as he does it, snapping Chris' neck with lethal force, killing him purely out of spite. The episode ends with her broken, mournful sob, and Chris' slain gaze, his eyes still full of tears, staring blankly at the camera.

My pain is deafening, my sorrow beyond all hope of any coherent expression as NOS4A2 suffers its greatest loss to date. It's an empty gesture, a callous act, uncharacteristic of the man that I love with all my heart, but who has hurt me something profound with this senseless murder. In what kind of CRUEL world, does an innocent man, who sacrifices himself for his daughter, who fought for eight years to be the kind of father she deserved, have to die, while an indecent evil like Bing Partridge gets to live!? Charlie, HOW could you!? This...... There's no honour in this. Charlie kills only as a last resort, and only in defense, he has a strict moral code, and is vehemently against violence without cause. This was unfeeling, unnecessary, and soulless. Yes, he knew Chris was a bad father from before, but surely in witnessing the valiant manner in which he'd flung himself in front of the car, with no thought for his own life, Charlie would have found him redeemed, he would have seen a father who'd do anything to protect his daughter, not so different from himself, and he would have felt SOMETHING!!!

Goodnight, Chris McQueen. You fought the good fight, you changed and made things right, and now at last you can find peace....... My heart is so heavy, I can't hold it, and crying here, I want him to know how wrong he was, thinking nobody would mourn him when he died. A thousand cry out, stricken with grief. Husband, Father, White Knight Redeemed, here lies Chris McQueen, a HERO who didn't die for nothing.........

#nos4a2 #nos4a2 review #chris mcqueen #vic mcqueen #linda mcqueen #wayne mcqueen #charlie manx #maggie leigh #bing partridge

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wolfpawn · 5 years ago

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I Hate You, I Love You, Chapter 136

Chapter Summary - As the Early Man premiere looms, Danielle gets more worried about it, but Sophie and Nacelle both try to settle her nerves. When the day comes, how will she deal with it all?

Previous Chapter

Rating - Mature (some chapters contain smut)

Triggers - references to Tom Hiddleston’s work with the #MeToo Movement. That chapter will be tagged accordingly.

authors Note - I have been working on this for the last 3 years, it is currently 180+ chapters long. This will be updated daily, so long as I can get time to do so, obviously.

NOTES - Yes, I love slagging Michael's accent, I won't apologise, there's no malice behind it :)

tags: @sweetkingdomstarlight-blog @jessibelle-nerdy-mum @nonsensicalobsessions @damalseer @hiddlesbitch1 @winterisakiller @fairlightswiftly @salempoe @wolfsmom1

‘Elle, this is too much.’

‘Just be grateful that come next Christmas, I will have someone else to annoy with this too, so I may not go as mad.’ She laughed.

‘“May not”?’

‘No promises, if Emma has a girl, I will probably still go as mad for boy’s clothes for your two.’

‘’Or you will just buy three of everything if she has a boy.’

‘Yeah, that’s fairly likely as well.’ Danielle acknowledged.

‘Are you alright with the premier?’ Danielle stared at the cup in front of her, not answering. ‘You’re scared.’

‘F….ing terrified.’ Danielle corrected herself as she looked at Kit who seemed to realise that that was the most opportune time to pick up a word he shouldn’t.

Sophie moved Hal to her other knee. ‘It’s not as bad as you make it out in your head, you know?’

‘People from all over the world will be sitting behind their computer screens and judging me, A - because they think they know me and B - because they think that Tom is theirs and not an actual human being.’

‘That’s only taking in a small number of his fans.’

‘Those are the ones that bother me, people being curious or people actually realise that even though they adore him, he is his own person, them I can handle, they don’t even have to like me, I just don’t like the negative people.’

‘Do you read what they say?’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Don’t, you will only upset yourself. You have seen what they have written about Ben and myself, negative people need to be toxic about others, it feeds their need for negativity.’

‘I know.’ Danielle looked at her cup again.

‘Have you spoken to Tom about this?’ She shook her head. ‘And why not?’

‘Because I can see he is stressing about my reaction to this and he is absolutely terrified I will scarper because of it, so if I voice my terror, he will react accordingly, ie overreact as I am doing and we could very much end up in a bad place as a result and I am not risking us for some stupid fear I have.’

Sophie pursed her lips, knowing that she would not convince Danielle to say anything to Tom. ‘I think you should tell him, but that is only my opinion.’ She stated politically before looking at her son, who was chewing his fist. ‘Not another one already.’

‘Toothsies.’ Danielle declared with a funny face causing him to giggle.

‘How do you do that?’

‘I have no idea, he is probably just laughing at my accent.’

‘It hasn’t changed since you came over, has it?’

‘Not that I am aware of, my family said nothing of it changing when I went back for a few days. They’d be the first to point it out.’

‘Michael Fassbender has an odd accent.’

‘Well, he is from Kerry, that’s a normal statement for people from there. But it does seem to be a slight mix of both London and Kerry.’

‘Have you met him?’

Danielle shook her head. ‘Is he even around these parts anymore?’

‘He moved to Portugal with his wife, I think, apparently, Brexit did not make them feel welcome anymore.’

‘Understandable, I get a few comments about being a “Paddy” here taking British jobs.’

‘Actually, what will you do when Brexit happens?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Will you stay?’

‘I am not leaving unless I have to, I came pre-vote, so hopefully, I am not going to be booted out. Worst case scenario, I can marry for a passport, that’s still a thing, right?’ She joked.

Sophie had to laugh but nodded her head slightly in agreement. ‘Is that what you planned? It’s as good a reason as any these days.’

‘And I am laying down my foundations in advance for immigration too.’ Sophie laughed again. ‘I don’t know, I suppose it is different for me than for Fassbender, my partner is British, his is….Swedish isn’t it?’

‘Think so.’

‘So they don’t have ties here such as family. We do, Tom could never move out of the country, leaving his mum and dad behind.’

‘How was Christmas with his mum?’

‘Amazing, I love it so much, we have all the joy of family, but we still have our own space.’

‘So you don’t think you will sell now?’

‘I spoke to him about it, he really did not like the idea and looking at the reasons, I can see it makes a lot more sense to keep it than to sell it. So no, no selling.’

‘And you are okay with that?’

‘Yes.’ The confidence in her voice made Sophie smile, it was clear Danielle was happy with her statement.

Sophie decided to give her more advice. ‘You will be fine, stay with Tom, let him know if you are scared and most importantly, be honest with him. Ben was the exact same, you can see him asking more than once if I am okay, Tom will do it too. And smile, they want to accuse you of being unhappy so much, don’t give it to them.’

‘Why are they so in need of putting others down?’

‘Because they are miserable and spiteful, two personality types prone to loving bringing others down. You will do fine, don’t fret.’

Danielle just nodded in response.

‘Elle?’ Tom knocked on the bathroom door. ‘Darling, Nacelle is here, I told her to go into the spare room, far more space in there for her to set herself up.’

‘Okay, just a sec, I am fighting with my hair.’ She walked out of the bathroom. ‘I am shaving it all off.’

‘Please don’t, it’s cold out, you’d regret it.’ Tom smiled, looking at her attempts to get it to do what she wanted. ‘You get your things together, and go over to her, alright?’

‘Thank you.’ She leant up and kissed him. ‘I don’t know why she insists on being here this early, am I that ugly?’

‘You are nothing of the sort.’ Tom chastised. ‘Didn’t Emma take four hours to do hair and make-up the day of her wedding.’

‘In all fairness, I never saw a more beautiful bride. The make-up only accentuated her features. She looked incredible.’

‘You looked so beautiful too.’ Tom smiled. ‘I fell utterly in love with you in every way that day. Before the wedding, while you were helping Emma, my feelings grew, but that day….I realised later what it was but I remember seeing you, walking down the aisle with Jack’s best friend and being utterly flabbergasted, you took my breath away.’ He placed his hand against her cheek. ‘Why did I waste two years? We could have had so much more time together.’

‘We both were not smart enough to take our heads out of our asses. And things happen for a reason. Who knows, if we had gotten together then, we may not have lasted.’ She pointed out. ‘Or we could be married now and be parents or perhaps we could be divorced, or just planning a wedding, we can never tell, all we can do is accept what is and change things moving forward if we are not happy with it.’

That startled Tom slightly. The idea of them married, must less as parents was a step that he thought they were a significant distance from at present. In all truth, he would see that as more of a reason to be angry at himself for not just saying something that day as they were eating or even ask her to dance, but he said nothing and missed out on two more years with her.

‘Hey, Earth to Tom…’ He turned to see Danielle looking at him. ‘Are you alright, love?’

‘Yeah, I was just thinking.’

‘Oh dear.’ He gave her a small playful warning look. ‘I better go get ready for this.’

‘So must I, I will be back soon.’

‘Are you going somewhere?’

‘I am going to the barbers.’

‘Are you getting everything cut off?’ She eyed him warily.

‘Not at all, just groomed.’ He consoled, smiling as she relaxed. ‘This is going to stay for a while yet.’

‘Good, I love it.’

‘And if I have to shave and tidy?’

‘I like you like that too.’ She smiled, kissing him. ‘Go. This is going to take me a serious amount of time.’

‘Not at all, you are so beautiful already, Nacelle just accentuates it.’ He assured her as he gave her a kiss and left the room and going down the other room to the curious looking makeup artist. ‘She is just out of the bathroom.’

‘I’ll have her ready for you.’

‘I will get you both something on the way back from my own appointment.’ He smiled as he left.

‘Ellie?’

‘Don’t call me that.’ Danielle growled as she came to the bedroom door. ‘Hey.’ She hugged her friend.

‘You look scared.’

‘I am scared.’

‘It’s nothing. And you have your own knight in shining armour, let’s get this started.’ They walked into the spare bedroom which had a large vanity table with a mirror. Danielle sat in the chair and watched as Nacelle looked at her before grabbing a few things. ‘We’ll get your hair in a few rollers, a nice tousled look will go well with your dress.’

‘I trust you.’ Danielle smiled, looking at the outfit she was wearing before Nacelle put a cloak over her to protect her clothes and started attacking her hair with rollers.

‘You really need to consider getting an ombre done, it would suit you so much.’ Nacelle insisted.

‘I need to worry more about the grey hairs.’

‘Shh, you have only a few.’

‘I spent the last thirty minutes pulling out some.’

‘Try doing it with my hair and then talk to me.’ Nacelle confessed, making Danielle feel a bit better, the pair talking about anything and everything as Nacelle worked on Danielle’s hair and then makeup.

#i hate you i love you #chapter 136 #tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston fic #wolfpawn

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