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trollishly · 3 years ago

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Valkyrie Pt. 5 • Ivar X Reader

A girl shows up bloody and beaten to Kattegat. The Queen and her sons take an interest in the girl, especially Ivar.

Warnings: Gore, Swearing, Mentions of sex, Angst, Anything you'd expect from Vikings

The harsh chilled wind of Kattegate’s forest whipped the the thick furs that laid upon her shoulders. The forest seemed to be alive, as the trees whined and creaked as the gusts only became stronger. Her breathing became heavier as she quickened her pace towards her desired destination, ambitious for what she seeked.

Her eyes light up as they finally fell upon the individual, though she couldn't help but shiver as her feet finally met the front of their seated position.

“The Queen...“ Slightly bowed the being, words slurring from their twisted lips. “Ancient One,” Quipped Aslaug as she tucked her gown to kneel before him, “you know why I am here, we’ve spoken of this matter before.“ Rushed the Queen in a desperate manner. The Seer let an exasperated grunt, his grotesque tongue running along his lips in thought. “The girl from your vision, you speak of her, you’ve spoken to her.” Hummed the cloak individual, while Aslaug only nodded hoping for him to continue.

"Well what is it that is troubling you my Queen?" Aslaug rolled her eyes slightly, "I wish to know if my visions are once again correct, or am I mistaken and she is actually a threat to my kingdom?"

"You ask difficult questions, always questioning." He grinned, "However, I shall give you comfort by saying that what you see, is in fact true my Queen." Aslaug let out a breath of relief she hadn't known she was holding, refraining from smiling, which she found herself doing more often as of late. "The gods have blessed us with a great gift..." Croaked the Seer, "A Valkyrie." Spoke the two in unison.

•••

Soft knocks echoed throughout the quaint room, and with nobody acknowledging it, a hush voice followed. "I'm coming in." Spoke Ubbe as he push the door open which dragged along the uneven floor.

There laid Frode, in bed and struggling to inhale evenly. His glazed over eyes drifting to look at the intruder. Ubbe watched as the boy clench his hand firmer around the one that laid upon his, the hand belonging to non other than his sister.

Y/n was slouched against Frode's bed, half her weight on her knees and the other on the edge of the bed. She looked as if she hadn't slept for days, which was half of the truth. If it weren't for Y/n's recent episodes of passing out, she would've been up like usual, her sleep schedule being far from healthy.

"Is she asleep?" Asked Ubbe, stepping further into the room. Frode tried to speak in denial, however, he found himself unable to speak, his voice caught in his throat as another fit of coughs erupted from him. With Frode at a loss, he was not able to warn Ubbe as he reached out to shake his sister awake. Y/n flinched harshly from his touch, rolling away from him and onto her feet. They both stood still, however, Y/n seemed to be on guard due to his presence. Ubbe tilted his head, trying to catch the girl's gaze, but she seemingly refused, not wanting him to see her at her weakest, as her eyes were red and puffy from her night's worth of crying over her brother.

"Sorry to disturb, but my mother asked me to invite you to come eat with us." Ubbe simply said, "I would of sent a thrall, but it seems you've scared them all half to death." Chuckled the man as he refrained from coming any closer.

"No, but thank you." Replied Y/n, turning to tend to her little brother once more. Frode quickly grasped his sister wrist and pulled a pleading face at her. "Y/n, you were never one to deny food, please go. I promise I will be fine." Comforted Frode as he begun to push Y/n away. "You need fresh air, you shouldn't be near me. I am not well," he paused briefly by taking a breath as he tried not to cough, "with you still being injured, it could become deadly if you were to stay near me and get sick." Finished the boy, relieved to see that his persuasion was beginning to work as his sister's frown lessened.

"He'll be fed and watched yes?" Questioned Y/n as she turned to face Ubbe. He nodded reassuring her, "A thrall will tend to your brother's every need."

Y/n began to debate in her head, not for long though, as her thoughts were interrupted by a loud growl that came from her stomach. "Okay." Agreed Y/n begrudgingly, as she came to pushed the hair from Frode's face before leaving the room with Ubbe following closely behind.

•••

"Uh- pardon?" Stuttered Ubbe shaking himself from his trance. Y/n spoke up and repeated herself, "I said, the Queen is very generous. All of you are, you could have left my brother and I to die." Expressed Y/n as she kept her head facing fowards as she walked alongside the prince.

Ubbe blinked down at the girl, inspecting her appearance, which he did more often than he'd like to admit, especially in the little time he was in her presence. "You should thank the Queen, yourself." He said, looking away when he caught himself staring. "She knows something we don't- a-and I trust her enough to follow her blindly. Not only because she is my mother, but because I believe she is fit as ruler." Spoke Ubbe, his tone indicating he said more than what he intended to.

Y/n's forehead creased slightly at the mention of his mother's knowledge of the unknown, but let him be, by keeping silent as they finally made it to the hall.

Bickering could be heard from a table of cluttering cutlery, a whine drawing the attention of Y/n. "Mother. Tell them to stop tormenting me." Mischievously spoke, who Y/n now knew as Ivar, as he held a hand of a thrall, who sat rigid beside him. His head was lolled to the side as he looked pleadingly towards his mother with a pout.

Ubbe walked ahead of the girl, a snort coming from him due to his little brother's banter. This causing everyone's eyes to not only land on Ubbe, but Y/n as well. Ubbe eyed a seat from across the room, rounding the table and sitting besides Hvitserk, who's eyes kept flickering between Ivar and Y/n curiously, as he continued to shove food into his mouth.

At the speed of which Thor would strike his hammer, Ivar shuffled in his seat, removing Margrethe's hand from his lips and dismissing her with just a wave of his arm. Y/n stood quietly, unsure with what to do with herself, before realizing something that could have been crucial.

"My Queen." Announced Y/n as she bowed her head in respect, looking at her through the thick of her lashes. "Morning Y/n. I am pleased to see that you've joined us once more. Please, take a seat beside me." She said, gesturing to a spot in between herself and Sigurd. As Y/n approached, the Queen gave Margrethe a narrowed side glance, "Get our guest a chair." She stated firmly, causing the thrall to panick as she left her spot beside Ivar and walking towards the nearest chair. Both her and Y/n reached for the chair, clutching it at the same time.

"Please, there is no need." Y/n said gently, lifting the chair from Margrethe's grasp and placing it in its spot. The slave just stepped back and scanned Y/n's form before looking away in a submissive manner.

As Y/n took a seat, the Queen continued their discussion before Ivar had been interrupted. "Now Ubbe, when will you have children?" Asked the Aslaug as she gestured to him with a napkin in hand. He grinned, "I probably already have!" He joked causing the others boys to break out in laughter as he pick at his food to throw it towards his mother. "No I'm serious, each and everyone of you should have a woman by now, even married." Spoke the Queen genuinely, as she looked to each of her boys. All of them eyed each other before shrugging without a care and focusing back onto their food. The Queen pinched the bridge of her nose as she shook her head, turning to face her attention to Y/n.

"It seems my boys are far too immature to have a wife, let alone children, don't you think Y/n?" Smiled Aslaug at the girl, which made the boys pause in their gluttony. Y/n found herself a little caught off guard, as she was never the one to get romantically involve, spending most of her time training or raising her brother.

"I don't believe my opinion would have much value my Queen." Began Y/n as she kept her attention solely on Aslaug, "But since they are the King and Queen's children, heirs are expected from them..." Aslaug seemed pleased with Y/n's answer as her lips quirked slightly, "Hmm, and do you have a husband, or lover, for that matter?"

Y/n cringe internally, knowing what Frode would say to the Queen if he had the opportunity. "I don-" However, Aslaug cut her short. "I'm speaking nonsense aren't I? Of course you would. You are a very beautiful young woman, and a shield maiden I assume?" Rambled the Queen which seemed suspiciously intentional. Y/n's mouth was left agape momentarily before she quickly closed it, "Yes, I am a shield maiden my Queen." She said keeping her answer curt.

Hvitserk began giggling cheekily, as he watched the way Ivar strained himself by pressing his palms against the bench. Pushing his torso upwards as he leaned on the table, in hopes of getting a better view of his mother and Y/n as they conversed. Sigurd scowled at his little brother's enamored behavior. Still upset at his earlier possessiveness of Margrethe, especially after she had confided in him the night before.

"As I was saying, you don't need to love the woman to breed with them." Explained the Queen, making Y/n bow down to eat her soup as she try her hardest to block out the conversation; one that she had already deemed as a personal family matter. As Aslaug continued to chatter, Y/n's eyes scan the room as she spooned the food into her mouth, making accidental eye contact with Hvitserk as he copied her actions. He grinned at her as the soup messily dribble down his chin, until an aggressive voice broke his playful staring.

"What is wrong with you?" Quipped Ivar as he now leaned further onto the table staring daggers at Sigurd, "Nothing is wrong with me," spat Sigurd making Hvitserk and Y/n glanced at each other, with Hvitserk widening his eyes at her humorously. "I just wanted to know if she has love anyone except Harbard..." Silence followed making Y/n sit up uncomfortable, "You remember Harbard don't you?" Sigurd continued sparing everyone a glance but his mother.

Ubbe sat stoney still and so did Hvitserk, but Ivar pushed on, with his arms now crossed loosely, "Of course she has loved another," he stated to Sigurd while nodding. "She has always loved me... isn't that right mother?" He urged while smiling at his mother, his eyes briefly catching Y/n's, who was sat just behind Aslaug from his position. However, the Oueen didn't speak and just nodded as she swallowed her drink discreetly.

Y/n's eyebrows raised at Aslaug's reaction, wondering as for why the Queen wasn't being more reassuring to her son, "She just pities you Ivar, just like the rest of us. Y/n probably feels sorry for you too, especially when you look at her with so much desperation." Ivar flinched at Sigurd's words, anger and embarrassment building within him. "and sometimes, we wish mother had left you to the wolves." He smoothly said, as if it weren't something completely vile. Y/n couldn't comprehend how someone could be so cruel, mainly to their family.

"Sigurd!" Demanded the Queen, with Ivar continuing to glare at his brother trying to sort his feelings internally, "What?" Was all he replied with, before resuming his breakfast.

Y/n found herself wanting to put Sigurd in his place, but refrained from doing so as nothing but consequences would come from it. A drag of a chair turn Y/n's attention back to Ivar, as he was now standing tall at the end of the table. This caused Sigurd to haphazardly throw his spoon onto the table, scoffing at Ivar's display.

Ivar began scooting from his seat, supporting his weight briefly on his mother's chair, with her cooing at him to calm his temper. Her attempts went unnoticed as he continued, with his left hand wavering, before it had finally landed on the back of Y/n's chair. Ivar and the girl gazed at each other, with her turning within her seat to make room for the young prince. Ivar was now hesitant, mainly now that he was the closest he had yet been to Y/n, not helping himself as he caught of whiff of her aroma that furthermore attracted him to her. Ivar's forearm gently grazed Y/n's hair as he pulled himself from one chair to another, as he heard Sigurd still taunting him.

"Come on Boneless!" He teased as he stood from his chair now that Ivar was near. Everyone was now standing, Y/n situating herself just behind Ivar. Bowls and utensils fell to the floor as Sigurd pulled a chair from underneath Ivar making him collapse with a painful sounding thud. Y/n reach down to help him, but pause as Hvitserk gestured to her not to from the corner of her eye.

Ivar's frustrated huffs filled the room, his nostrils flaring as he forcefully began to drag himself towards his target. Sigurd's harmful jabs continued, with the Queen now walking up towards Ivar and passing Y/n, who couldn't help but stand and watch how this would play out.

Sigurd seemed to grow tired of this little game, quickly turning and pushing the doors of the hall open, making the bright light bleach the room with a stark white wash, highlighting Ivar's enraged features.

Ivar chased Sigurd out of the room causing a loud scream to rip from his throat, with the Queen attempting to hold him back.

•••

End of part 5.

•••

Notes: Thank you all so much for 50 followers! Had to finish and post part 5 today for you all!

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius, @not-another-viking-fanfic-blog, @midnightmystic

Ask to be tagged!

#ivar #ivar the boneless #vikings #angst #romance #x reader #ivar ragnarson #hvitserk #love

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cocobeanncteez · 4 years ago

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ATEEZ Yeosang: Soulmate (oneshot)

Genre: Angst, fluff, idol au, soulmate au.

Pairing: Soulmate!Yeosang x Reader (fem) / Yeosang x idol!reader

Warnings: none.

In this world, everyone has a soulmate. Most people give up on trying to find their soulmate, while some travel the world just to find that one special person.

Each person has different indicators that a person is their soulmate; in your case, every mark your soulmate gets on his skin appears on yours, like a burn scar, bruise, or a cut. You didn't have the same moles, freckles, or birthmarks, and if he drew something on his skin, it wouldn't appear on yours; basically, anything that changes an area of the skin that can't be easily or instantly undone, will show up on your skin. Luckily, you couldn't feel the pain from it, you could only see it.

"Y/N, you're next," your group's makeup artist said to you, making you get up from the sofa. You sat on the chair, allowing her to work on your face while you listened to some music. After everyone in your group got ready, you went on stage. You were the leader of your group, so you had to talk before the performance.

Ateez had just finished performing and were currently watching your group from the TV in their waiting room while they had some refreshments.

Yeosang wasn't paying much attention as he was really tired... that was until he noticed the burn scar on your finger while you talked: it was the exact same burn scar as his that he got two days ago while helping Wooyoung cook. He got up from the chair, moving closer to the TV to check if it was really the same. He mentally cursed when you gave the mic to another member, cause now he couldn't see your hands anymore.

"What's wrong, Yeosang?" Hongjoong asked.

"Hyung, she has the same scar as me," he replied, showing the scar on his finger, shocking some of the members. "I'm not sure if it's exactly the same."

"Wait, wait, wait," Wooyoung took out his phone; he had already found his soulmate, so he was sure this was a sign. He immediately searched for images on Twitter. When he found a picture of a bruise that you had on your knee, he showed it to Yeosang. "Didn't you have the same bruise last month?"

Yeosang's eyes widened. "No way... this can't be true."

"You don't look very happy for someone who just found out who their soulmate is," Yunho commented.

"That's cause I'm not," Yeosang said through gritted teeth. "I hate this whole soulmate bullshit. I'd rather genuinely fall in love with someone than have the universe choose that someone for me."

None of the guys questioned Yeosang, knowing it was not the best time to talk to him about it; however, they really hoped he would change his mind soon.

After your group's performance ended, you all started filming for your behind the scenes content. Today, you all had a challenge to do: your six-member group was split into two teams, and one member from each team had to visit five other groups/soloists in the building to play a round of rock, paper, scissors, and the team who gets the least wins would face a penalty that would be shown on the next vlive. You and one of your members, Aeji, decided to volunteer for it.

After finishing the first four groups, you went to Ateez's waiting room which was at the end of the corridor. Aeji knocked on the door and Ateez's manager opened it. She explained what you both were here for, and he agreed to let you film with them.

You entered the room, bowing to the eight men. "Hi! I'm Y/N and this is Aeji, we have a small challenge to do here. Could one of you play rock, paper, scissors with us?" You noticed how some of the boys glanced at Yeosang who was staring at your hands. As soon as you made eye-contact with Kang Yeosang, you felt something unexplainable in your heart, making you gasp in shock. Your vision became blurry and your head started spinning, making you clutch your head with your arms in hope of getting the spinning to stop.

"Y/N?! Y/N, are you all right?" you heard Aeji ask, but her voice seemed so far away.

Your head started spinning even faster, causing you to faint.

"Fuck!" Aeji kneeled down, putting your head on her lap while Ateez's staff got some water for you. They sprinkled some water on your face, but you didn't respond. "Oh god, what suddenly happened? She was fine minutes ago," Aeji mumbled to herself, but everyone heard her.

"Yeosang, do something," Wooyoung said. "Maybe she'll respond to you."

Aeji glanced at them in confusion.

"I'm not doing shit," Yeosang said. "You know I don't like this whole soul—"

"I'm sorry, but what are you guys talking about?" Aeji questioned.

"Y/N is Yeosang's soulmate," San stated, making the older man glare at him for exposing him.

Aeji's eyes widened. "Oh, is that so? Well, then do something, please. I don't know what made her faint."

"Well, from what I know, she passed out cause she has seen and been in the same area as Yeosang, but never realized he is her soulmate. The intensity of not knowing but being so close probably caused her to pass out," Hongjoong explained.

You could hear everything, but you just weren't able to open your eyes.

"Hyung, touch her cheek or something," Jongho suggested.

Yeosang hesitated for a few seconds before he sighed, kneeling beside you. He placed his hand on your cheek, gently cupping it, stroking your skin with his thumb. Even though he hated the whole soulmate thing, he couldn't deny that you were absolutely stunning; he had never seen anyone as beautiful as you.

Your eyes slowly opened, immediately landing on Yeosang's beautiful brown ones. Time seemed to have frozen at that moment, and your heart filled with happiness. It was obvious to you that he was your soulmate; you were thrilled about it as you always wanted to find your soulmate, and you always found Yeosang unique whenever you saw him at shows.

"I-I have to go," Yeosang murmured before standing up and leaving the room, leaving you confused. Why didn't he look happy?

"Kang Yeosang from Ateez is my soulmate," you told your members. They all were happy for you, except Aeji.

"Y/N, I don't think Yeosang is as thrilled as you," Aeji mumbled. "Jongho told me that Yeosang hates the whole soulmate thing."

"Oh, my brother hated all that too, but after he found his soulmate, he loved it," one of your members said with a small smile.

"Then let's hope Yeosang is the same, hmm?" Aeji said, giving your hand a gentle squeeze. You really hoped everything would go well.

"Um, hey, can we talk privately?" you asked Yeosang, standing outside Ateez's waiting room. He rolled his eyes, but followed you to the rooftop of the building.

You gave him a small smile. "So, uh—"

"Look, Y/N," he started in a cold tone. "I don't care if we're soulmates according to the universe or whatever shit it is. Neither do I want a soulmate, nor do I need one. I'd rather find someone who genuinely loves me for who I am, not because of some hideous so-called soulmate bond." You just kept quiet, unsure of what to say while your heart ached terribly.

"So just move on, yeah?" he continued, staring at the clouds moving in the blue sky. "I'm sure you'll find someone who will genuinely love you." He glanced at you before leaving you all alone on the rooftop with a shattered heart.

You always wanted to find your soulmate. You wanted to experience being madly in love with the person you're fated to be with till death. But how could you do any of that when your soulmate doesn't even want you? You wondered how it was so easy for him to break your heart. Was your bond really that weak?

You sighed, blinking away the tears from your eyes. You can't and won't force your soulmate to love you back, so you should probably take his advice and try to move on.

"Wow, Yeosang, didn't know you were getting some action," San said with a smirk, confusing the man who had just finished showering.

"What are you saying?"

"No need to act oblivious, we all can see it," Wooyoung said.

"I pity our makeup artist," Seonghwa commented.

Yeosang raised an eyebrow. "What the hell are you guys talking about?"

Hongjoong rolled his eyes. "The hickey on your neck, obviously."

Yeosang's eyebrows furrowed. He checked his reflection in the mirror, eyes widening at the big hickey on his neck and one below his collarbone.

"It's on Y/N," Yeosang said through gritted teeth, feeling extremely annoyed and hurt. His heart ached terribly. He wanted to see you right now, but it was nearly impossible. Both his and your group's promotions ended two weeks ago, and there was no way he could meet you anywhere outside due to paparazzi. He didn't even have your number.

"You look... pissed," Jongho stated.

"Well, yeah, my soulmate is fucking another man," Yeosang spat before sitting on the large couch in the living room of the dorm, running his hand through his hair in frustration.

Yunho raised an eyebrow. "Do you expect her to wait for you when you literally told her to move on?" he asked in disbelief. "And now that she has, you're pissed? That's unfair."

Yeosang sighed, remembering every word he told you. He knew Yunho was right.

"I know, but... I just can't do this anymore. The bond is torturing me. A-And," his voice cracked as tears swelled up in his eyes. "I love her. I really love her, soulmate or not."

Wooyoung sat beside Yeosang, wrapping his arms around him, letting his bestfriend cry on his shoulder. Everyone could only hope it wasn't too late for Yeosang.

"Yeosang... it's been a week. You need to come out of your room," Seonghwa murmured, kneeling beside Yeosang's bed.

"I don't feel like doing that, hyung."

Seonghwa sighed. "We have to practice for the award show tomorrow. Our manager won't let you miss practice for the third time."

Yeosang groaned, putting his blanket over his head. "Can't I miss it? Can't our company say I'm sick?"

"Absolutely not," Ateez's manager said, entering the room. "You might win a big award tomorrow. And there's a large audience, you could draw a lot of attention. Besides, Y/N's group will be there." Yeosang instantly removed the blanket from his head at the mention of your name.

"She'll be there?"

"Yeah, the final lineup got confirmed an hour ago."

Yeosang leaned in close to Jongho. "When is our break?" he whispered in Jongho's ear.

Jongho groaned. "Hyung, this is the eighth time you've asked me that in less than half an hour."

Yeosang glanced at where your group was seated; unfortunately, one of your members was covering you, so he couldn't see you. He sighed, shifting his eyes back on the group that was currently performing while he tried his best to wait patiently.

As soon as all artists were given a break, he rushed to your group's waiting room. He found only half of your members there.

"Hello," he bowed. "Where is Y/N?"

"She's in the bathroom on the second floor."

Yeosang rushed there as fast as he could, ignoring the stares he was getting from other artists and staff.

"Y/N!" he yelled once he saw you leaving the bathroom, causing you to turn around.

Yeosang now stood right in front of you, panting from the run. Your heart raced at the sight of how ethereal your soulmate looked tonight, especially in his black suit and newly dyed black hair. He was absolutely stunning.

"Can we talk, please?" Yeosang asked anxiously, hope clear in his beautiful eyes.

You couldn't say no, even though you should've. You simply nodded your head, letting him drag you to the emergency staircase in the building.

You leaned back against the wall, waiting for him to say whatever he wanted to. You noticed how he was fidgeting with his fingers while he leaned against the railing of the staircase.

"Are you okay?" you asked in concern. Your soulmate sighed, taking a few steps towards you.

"Can I hold your hand?" he questioned. When you nodded, he took your hands in his, gently rubbing circles on the back of it while he tried to calm down by taking deep breaths.

"I love you, Y/N," he confessed. "I just... can't stand the thought of you being with anyone else. It kills me to even think of it. I know I was a jerk before and I know you've moved on, but I—"

You cupped Yeosang's cheek before capturing his lips with your own, surprising him; he couldn't believe you were kissing him after everything he said. He kissed you back, his heart beating rapidly like yours. The soulmate bond between the two of you strengthened, causing a euphoric feeling.

You pulled away with a smile that grew wider when you saw how stunned and happy Yeosang was.

"I tried to move on," you explained. "But I couldn't. Not when my heart, my soul, belongs to you. I love you, Kang Yeosang."

Yeosang chuckled happily, leaning in to kiss you passionately. His heart swelled with happiness and he mentally thanked the universe for bringing the two of you together as soulmates.

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mrsalwayswrite · 4 years ago

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To Choose the Sword (Bishop Heahmund x Reader)

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

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

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

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

Words: 6000

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

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

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

He knew where she would be.

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

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

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

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

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

But sometimes he struggled with just being a man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Bishop Heahmund…." She breathed out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

*****

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

Captured by heathens.

Those damned sons of Ragnar Lothbrok.

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

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

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

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You slaughter when it suits you."

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

But it was all in vain.

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

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

"But not you."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He prayed his nightmares were wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Are they treating you well?"

Her gaze dropped to her hands, clutching the cup.

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

His nightmare coming to pass.

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

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

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

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

She inhaled sharply, eyes widening at the revelation.

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

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

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

"Hmmm…. what is your name, thrall?"

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

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

"Ha…. Haakon, my prince."

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I said leave, thrall."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You love her."

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

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

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

"Aren't we all."

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

*****

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#sophies500 #vikings #vikings fanfiction #vikings fandom #vikings ivar #bishop heahmund #heahmund #bishop heahmund x reader #heahmund x reader #ivar the boneless #ivar ragnarsson #ivar's heathen army #vikings imagine #bishop heahmund imagine #mzwrites

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parvulous-writings · 3 years ago

Text

Nightmare // Liu Kang x reader

Request: I was wondering if I could request a scenario of either Liu Kang or his s/o having a nightmare, maybe of the other dying. Along with the prompt “It’s okay… I couldn’t sleep anyway…”

Requested by: anon

Summary: Reader has a series of nightmares, and goes to Liu Kang for comfort.

Warnings: Mentions of death, fairly graphic descriptions of various forms of death.

Words: 1.7K

Notes: My requests are currently open! My pinned post (found here) contains both a list of characters I write for, and a masterlist! Original character list - please request for these too!

not my gif

Nights in Raiden’s Temple had always been peaceful, even in the most troubling of times. The blanket of darkness only truly fell in the early hours of the morning, when the torches finally fizzled out in their mounted sconces, with no one left awake to tend to them. The only light left to illuminate the hallways of the ancient structure was that of the moon and her many stars. For you, tonight though, it was not a very peaceful night. It had started off as one, the same as any other. You had adhered to your schedule as you religiously did each evening- you washed your face, ridding your skin of the grime of the day, you folded your clothes to take them down to the washroom in the early morning, like you did every day with your fellow champions. You had nestled yourself into the sheets of your bed, curling up to rest, falling asleep quite quickly. You were not wrapped in tranquility forever, though. In the very early hours of the morning- perhaps two or three hours past midnight- you awoke with a start, sitting bolt upright in your bed, a slick sheen of sweat adorning your skin. Adrenaline coursed through your veins and you were short of breath, as if you had been training or sparring with other champions, rather than sleeping. You wiped your hands over your face in an attempt to calm yourself, as disturbing images flashed through your mind. They were burnt beneath your eyelids- scenes of Liu, scorched by his own flame, his flesh bubbling and blistering as he cried out in pain. His skin turned to char, and he collapsed, slumping over on his knees as his body finally caved in to the injuries he had sustained.

Then another- Liu engulfed by an emerald green light. It snaked around his limbs, bathing him in the eery glow of the streams of light as several strands shot down his throat, choking him, drawing the life from his lungs. You were forced to watch as he began to decay, the muscles beneath his skin wasting away, leaving him as nothing more than skin and bones- if you could even class it as that, as even from a distance his skin now seemed as thin, and as delicate as rice paper. He was not given a peaceful last breath in this vision, it was forcefully ripped from his lungs. A third- a disagreement between himself and his cousin and closest friend Kung Lao. Ordinarily, the pair would either agree to disagree, or they would work out his differences, but it was not the case this time. The two were in the fight pit, lashing out furiously at one another. Liu was hailing down a rain of fire upon his closest of companions, whilst Kung Lao expertly slung his chakram hat back at the monk. Though Lao was suffering many, many burns, it was Liu who was taking the majority of the hits. There were gashes on his face, his gi was slashed open in several places, exposing his torso which was littered with bruises. After a particularly harsh throw from Lao, Liu stumbled, losing his footing for a moment. Kung Lao took this as an opportunity to take advantage of Liu’s weaknesses. He hurled his hat towards his cousin, the blade of the brim running through Liu’s shoulder, creating a fountain of blood. The fire wielding monk fell to one knee, choking on the fluid, and Kung Lao started to approach him, calling his hat back to his hand. The descendant of the Grand Champion of the Order of Light approached the Chosen One slowly, an almost smug smirk on his lips. He gave a quiet chuckle, but had chosen not to gloat, kicking Liu Kang on to his back, watching him squirm and struggle. Without wasting anymore time, Lao threw his hat into the sand above Liu’s head, using his arcana to make it spin like the blade of a buzzsaw. Grabbing his cousin’s arms, and dragging him along the ground, until he had been split in half, his blood and his organs spreading out and drenching the sand.

You wanted, so badly, to look away from this monstrous sight, but you couldn’t. Your tried to close your eyes in this dreamworld, but it was of no use. It was this final segment of the dream that had caused you to wake up in your cold sweat. Your eyes darted around the dark confines of your room, trying to find something that could provide you with some sort of comfort. But beside your blanket, which felt more vaguely restrictive than anything, you had nothing. Though perhaps, that wasn’t strictly true. There was something, or rather someone, that could comfort you. You shakily got to your feet, getting dressed in something that covered you a little bit more than the typical night wear, padding out into the dark hallway, heading down as quickly as you could muster, given the lack of light. Eventually you wound up at the door you desired, or at least you hoped so. You raised your hand to knock timidly on the door, trying to be quiet so as not to wake the others nearby, but loud enough to catch the attention of the dweller within those quarters. You wrapped your arms around yourself, waiting patiently. You didn’t have to wait long, as the wooden door creaked open slightly. Before you stood Liu Kang, his eyes just barely open from sleep, his hair tousled slightly from tossing and turning, as he told you he often did at night. He rubbed one eye with his hand, his prayer beads slowly sliding down his arm with the movement. He mumbled something inaudible, as he registered you standing just outside his doorway. He noticed your slightly disturbed expression, and became much more alert. “Are you alright?” Were his first words to you, and you gave him an almost sheepish look. You wanted to throw your arms around him, to spill out thanks to the elder gods for him being alive, but you restrained yourself. “I did not mean to wake you... I was more wondering if you were awake.” Your voice is soft, just above a whisper; the thought of him dying in your dreams underlying your every words, although he was unaware of it. You could tell he had only recently gotten to sleep, something he didn’t often get much of. The monk shook his head at these words. “It’s quite alright… I couldn’t sleep anyway…” He offered you a brief smile. “You seem worried. What seems to be the matter?” He asked you, moving aside and beckoning for you to enter his room. You step inside, rubbing the back of your neck as he closes the door carefully behind you. “I... Had a nightmare.” “Oh?” Liu replies, moving to sit on his bed. “May I ask about the nightmare? It is alright if you do not wish to divulge what you dreamt.” He told you, “Though perhaps it will relieve some stress from your shoulders.” He encouraged, and you sighed gently. How were you to tell him this? Sure, it may not have been a reality, but it had felt so real.

“I saw you dying.” You say it bluntly- why sugarcoat something that blatantly troubled you so? Liu is stunned to silence, just staring at you, unsure of what to say to comfort you. You decide to continue, hoping this will help him comfort you more effectively. “I saw it happen several times... You were burned, then you decayed, and...” Your eyes glaze over for a moment, and you swallow a lump that had formed in your throat. “And Kung Lao killed you.” This shocked Liu even more; what had provoked such vivid and horrific dream sequences? He didn’t know, and he thought that perhaps it would be better for him if he didn’t know, it may not have been his place. You didn’t come to him to have your problems solved, you came to be comforted. He remained quiet for a moment more, as his arm slipped around you, pulling you closer to his chest. “It’s okay.” He soothes, moving you both so that you laid on his bed, facing up at the ceiling, “It was nothing more than a dream. It’s gone, now.” He told you. You glanced to him for a moment as you settled onto his chest a little more. “But... It felt so real. Everything about it. The sounds... The sights... All of it. Even the way you fight- all of your inflections, and even Lao’s smirk. It was all there and-” Liu shushed you as you started to babble. “It was a dream. I will not deny it has clearly had an impact on you, but I will remind you of the fact.” His voice was soft as he spoke, “And I will remind you that we are all safe here- from death at least. I will not get injured from flames, I can control them well enough to defend myself from them. Decay will certainly happen eventually, of course, but it is many years away I am sure.” He paused for a moment, letting you just process his words. “And as for my cousin... You know he will not let loose all of his skill on me.” He’s right, the relationship between Kung Lao and Liu Kang was a tight knit one, rife with humor and playful jabs, but at the same time a sincerity that they will both be there for one another. You nod slowly. He starts to gently trail his warm hand up your upper arm, soothing you a little more.

Liu falls silent, and the pair of you just lay there on his bed for a while, his hand still carefully gliding over your skin. You start to feel drowsy, and your eyes weigh themselves shut as your body succumbs to the exhaustion your adrenaline had staved off. Liu didn’t move you, he just smiled down at your sleeping form, shuffling slightly to settle down himself. He finally finds sleep with you in his arms, finding the same sort of comfort in you that you had found in him.

#liu kang #liu kang x reader #liu kang fluff #mortal kombat #mortal kombat x reader #mortal kombat movie #ludi lin #requested #please request #requests open #x reader #x reader requests

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siriushxney · 4 years ago

Text

* . CAT EARS !

pairing — nihachu x reader

rating — fluff

wordcount — 891

warnings — n/a

note ! — fluffy, cute, goodness with the queen herself

when niki streamed, you tended to avoid invading them — not wanting to have many people's attention shift onto you, when they should be focused on the host herself. but when she asked you to join her, who could say no.

seated to her side, you conversed and joked with the viewers to the best of your ability— still not the most comfortable on camera.

“what is the weirdest food combination you’ve ever had… I don’t know, I need to think about that,” niki scratched her head slightly as she pondered ont he question.

“marshmallows and ketchup — and before you ask how or why, let me just say that it was for money.”

niki laughed loudly at your confession, “of course it was for money — i’d be concerned if you did it for nothing.” she turned her chair slightly so she could face you, her knee knocking into your own. “so… what did it taste like?”

you thought back to when it had happened — a night with a few drinks passed around and someone who had recently got paid and was ready to blow some of it. while you couldn’t remember the exact taste, you could remember the texture as if it was yesterday.

“picture eating a normal marshmallow, but like, add a touch of battery acid — the ketchup burned my tongue-“

“ketchup isn’t hot-“

“I know that… but it and the marshmallow together was just,” you shuddered at the thought of it. “let's just say I didn’t do any more food combos that night.”

a small ding brought your attention back to the screen, a dono drawing attention to the sun goal meter at the top of niki’s screen — the number was slightly over the one that was pre set sub goal.

“oh, we hit the sub goal!” niki smiled as she spoke. she pushed herself away from her desk and hurried out of the room for a moment, leaving you awkwardly sitting as you awaited her return.

niki hurried back in, a small bag clutched in her hands and an mischievous glint in her eyes. you watched as she set the bag down onto the desk, the sound of a soft thump and ringing of a bell following.

“what the hell is in the bag,” you went to reach for it slowly, but niki grabbed your hand quickly and pushed it back to your chest.

“no, no! I want it to be a surprise!” she pulled a small piece of fabric from her sweater pocket, moving to stand behind you. “can I blindfold you for a moment?”

as soon as you gave her the green light, your vision went black, no longer able to see the setup and rapidly moving and excited chat as she carefully wrapped and tied the blindfold over your eyes.

while niki had remained awfully quiet during the ordeal, you could hear soft giggles and sighs just over the sound of bells and the bag crumpling.

“you’re going to be adorable…” as she spoke her hands lifted a section of your hair, and slid something that you could only describe as a hair clip onto it, securing it with a satisfying click — the other side with a repeated action.

the realization hit you fast, “oh I know what the hell is on my head now-“

“shh! just wait for me to get mine on!” two clicks followed soon after her words, the soft sounds of the electronic voice reading out compliments to the both of you.

with a tug to the knot on the back of your head, the blindfold fell, revealing the sight to you — niki with a large grin on her face as she played with the bells attached to her pink andwhite cat ears, and you, slightly shocked at the image of yourself with black, white, and pink cat warts adorning your head.

niki turned to you, he large grin melting into a more genuine and heartfelt expression. with a slow and gentle hand, she reached up and brushed a strand of hair from your face, “you make a pretty cute cat person.”

you felt your cheeks warm at her compliment, your attention solely on her and her lovely words. “you’re too nice to me — and let me tell you,” you brought your own hand up to intertwine with her own, bringing it to your lips and placing a kiss on the back of her hand. “you make a down right gorgeous cat-girl.”

‘otp with cat ears on? i’ve gone to heaven!’

‘I love them, but god am I jealous’

‘I’m- they’re beautiful<3’

the comments flooded in, in tidal waves — all of them going ignored as you and niki’s eyes stayed trained on one another. niki’s eyes bouncing between your eyes and the fluffy ears that sat upon your head — quick hands shot up and covered her face, “it’s too cute, I can’t handle it.”

“and you think I can? niki, now I need to start a petition to get you to wear them daily!”

even though the chat called you simps, they all could see the unspoken love the two of you shared.

and they all couldn’t deny that the two of you in cat ears, was the best thing to happen to the community in the past few weeks.

#mcyt x reader #mcyt imagine #dream smp x reader #dream smp imagine #::nihachu #nihachu x reader #nihachu imagine

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dontcare77ghj · 4 years ago

Text

On a Very Special Episode

Wanda x reader x Vision

The babies didn't want to sleep. It seemed as though they had all formed a pact to not sleep for as long as they could.

And this had led to three exhausted and cranky children.

"Sweet, sweet, Luna, don't you wanna sleep?" Wanda cooed, bouncing her daughter gently. "Mama wants to go to sleep." She sighed. "If you go to sleep, I promise, you will be my favorite daughter."

"By that logic, she's also your least favorite," Y/N said, entering from the kitchen with Tommy in her arms.

"Never!" Wanda gasped. "No luck with Tommy?" She asked her wife, who was rocking the crying boy.

"I tried feeding him, but he rejected the bottle. Maybe Vision's having better luck." Y/N said hopefully.

"No such luck, darlings." Vision said, descending the stairs, disguise free. "I tried reading to him, but for some reason, Charles Darwin's 'The Descent of Man' made him cry even harder."

"Oh." Wanda groaned. The married three stood in the living room, rocking three crying babies side to side.

"Care to dance, darlings?" Vision asked, moving closer to the women.

Y/N let out a giggle as Wanda grinned boldly, and the two stepped closer to the man.

"It's almost like we're on a date." Wanda chuckled.

"Keep it down kids, I was about to get my leg over." Vision joked.

"Vis? Would you mind getting their binkies?" Wanda asked.

"Oh. 'Course not. Binkies all round, I think." Vision said, putting Billy into his crib.

"They're in the kitchen," Y/N told him. "And while you're in there, do you think you could-?"

"Put the coffee maker on? Of course, darling." Vision promised as Wanda and Y/N put the babies down.

"I love you!" Y/N exclaimed with a smile.

"Now I know parents aren't supposed to take shortcuts, but I think this situation calls for one, don't you?" Wanda asked, moving to stand between the cribs.

"If it means a break from this headache, then yes." Y/N agreed.

"So, go to sleep, my babies," Wanda said, snapping her fingers. But the kids continued to cry their little lungs out. "And go to sleep," Wanda repeated her actions, causing all three to laugh. "Well, I don't think it's very funny. Why won't you do what I want?" Wanda asked her hands on her hips.

"I think that's the definition of kids, sweetheart." Y/N joked.

"What's that, dear?" Vision asked, entering the room with one binkie in his hand and the other two in his ears.

"That is not where those go." Wanda smiled, pulling them out of Vision's ears and wiping them on her pants.

"Noise cancelation is not their primary function?" Vision joked as Wanda gave the children their binkies.

"Look, I think it's,"

"Shh! Don't jinx it!" Y/N hiss quietly, leaning into Vision's side.

All three of them held their breath, hoping the babies would settle, but when the kids all spat their binkies out, they let out sighs.

"Vis? Y/N?" Wanda started. "What are we doing wrong here?"

"Oh, don't worry, dear. We'll figure it out." Vision assured.

"It's just a learning curb," Y/N said, rocking the nearest crib to her.

"Exactly! Perhaps we all need more time to get to know one another." Vision suggested.

"Maybe. Or maybe we just need some help." Wanda told the two as the doorbell rang.

Vision rushed towards the couch right as Agnes barged into the house.

"Hiya, kids!" Agnes cheered, entering the house in her new Jazzercise gear.

"Oh, Agnes!" Wanda smiled at her friend.

"Hi, Agnes." Y/N waved, still gently rocking a crib.

"Agnes, I was just fluffing this pillow. With my face." Vision attempted to explain, now fully decked out in his human disguise.

"Oh, I was just on my way to Jazzercise when I heard your new little bundles of joy were on a sleep strike," Agnes explained boisterously.

"And which little birdie told you that?" Y/N wondered.

"A little birdie called my ears!" Agnes joked, causing the three to politely chuckle. "Anyway, Auntie Agnes is here, and I've got a couple tricks up my sleeve."

"Oh, Agnes, you are a lifesaver." Wanda sighed, taking the woman's hands into her own.

"Aw!"

"Very well. But be careful of the belly buttons and remember to support their heads, and when was the last time you washed your, actually you know what? It would be, just, maybe we better not." Vision stressed, moving to block Agnes from the cribs.

"Uh, do you want me to take that again?" Agnes asked, turning to face Wanda nervously.

"I'm sorry?" Wanda asked after exchanging looks with both her husband and wife.

"You want me to hold the babies," Agnes confirmed, staring at Wanda with scared eyes. "Should we just take it from the top?" She wondered, grabbing her bag.

"What?" Vision asked, staring at Agnes curiously.

"Agnes, are you on something?" Y/N questioned the neighbor.

"Oh, don't be silly." Wanda chuckled. "Darlings, let's, let's let Agnes give it a try." She suggested, giving both partners a look before turning back to Agnes.

Agnes stared at Wanda for several seconds before letting out a giggle.

"Fussy babies meet buns of steel. We dare you to stay awake." She joked, causing Wanda to laugh.

"Wanda." Vision gestured for her to join him and Y/N while Agnes kneeled between the cribs. "What was the about?" He wondered.

"What was what?" Wanda cocked her head.

"You're joking, right?" Y/N questioned the woman. "That thing with Agnes just now." She clarified.

"Well, I think she just got confused for a moment. She seems fine now." Wanda shrugged, watching as Agnes rocked the cribs.

"But what she said." Vision stuttered.

"The way she looked at you," Y/N added.

"How did she look at me?" Wanda wondered, looking between the two with a smile.

"Well, I don't know."

"I didn't. Oh." Vision gasped, staring at Agnes, causing both wives to turn.

"Lavender. It's supposed to have a calming effect. Ralph sprays it on me every night. But there's no taming this tiger. What?" Agnes chuckled, continuing to spray the perfume over the crying babies.

"It's so strange." Y/N shook her head.

"Undoubtedly." Vision agreed.

"That's not fair. It's not Agnes's fault that she has an unusually high libido."

"Did you actually not see what we did?" Y/N wondered, tilting her head at Wanda before there was a thud in the kitchen.

Once more, all three turned to now find Agnes searching through their cabinets.

"Oh, don't mind me. I'm just looking for your dark liquor." Agnes told them.

"Excuse me?" Y/N asked, staring at her in confusion.

"Not for me. For the kids. What kind of babysitter do you think I am?" Agnes asked, causing Wanda to chuckle while Y/N and Vision continued to stare. "I'm just gonna go and check in there."

"Vision, Y/N, the kids haven't slept in days. We all need a break, and Agnes is just being neighborly, that's all." Wanda told the two.

"Do you hear that?" Vision whispered.

"Hear what?" Wanda asked in the same tone.

"Absolutely nothing." Vision grinned, moving over to the cribs.

"Oh, thank God. They finally fell asleep." Y/N sighed happily.

"They're empty." Vision gasped.

"Where are the kids?" Wanda asked, throwing her hand over her mouth.

"They can't have gotten far. The kids can't even walk." Y/N attempted to soothe the two.

"Mama?"

"Mommy?"

"Daddy?"

The married three snapped around at the sound to notice three five years standing by the stairs. Two brunette boys and a blonde girl stood close together, watching the three adults closely.

"Ah, kids." Agnes sighed, now sitting on a kitchen counter with a glass of liquor. "You can't control 'em. No matter how hard you try." She laughed before raising her glass to no-one and taking a drink.

Wanda, Vision, and Y/N shared a confused look before turning back to their kids.

"Well, hi!"

"Hi!"

"Hi, sweetheart!"

The three cooed, leaning down and holding their arms out wide for the kids, who gladly ran into them.

"How are you doing, buddy?"

"You're so big."

"Aw, you're so sweet."

"What's the first thing you do remember?" Hayward asked.

"Pain," Monica told him. "And then, Wanda's voice in my head."

"Did you try to resist?" Hayward questioned her.

"There was this feeling keeping me down. This hopeless feeling. Like drowning. It was grief."

Monica had been being examined by multiple doctors for hours now. Each had new tests they wanted her to take, and new things they wanted to check were working.

"You can sit up now." A female doctor told her.

"Great." Monica sighed, pushing herself up. "So am I cleared?" Monica asked with no real hope.

"Once I get a look at these." The woman said.

"Where's my uniform?" Monica questioned the doctor.

"In analysis."

"Mighty glad to have you back, Captain." Jimmy smiled, entering the room with Darcy and Clint behind him. "How are you feeling?"

"Like myself," Monica said with a small smile.

"Well, thank heavens for that." Jimmy grinned.

"What's the latest?" Monica asked, glancing at the two beside Jimmy.

"There's a briefing in ten. Pants are encouraged." She said, holding out a pair.

"This is Dr. Darcy Lewis. She's the one who discovered the broadcast." Jimmy introduced.

"I'm," Monica started, holding a hand out.

"Monica, I know. Big fan." Darcy grinned, shaking her hand with two.

"And this is,"

"Agent Clint Barton." Monica nodded, holding her hand out once more.

"Nice to meet you." Clint nodded, shaking her hand firmly once.

"We're going to need to do these again. There's something wrong with the machine." The doctor announced, walking back over.

"Those are blank," Darcy said, looking at the tablet in the doctor's hands.

"Like I said."

"Well, what about her labs?" Darcy asked.

"I need another blood draw." The doctor shrugged.

"No. No, we're done here." Monica denied, standing from the bed and walking away to change.

"She does that," Jimmy assured the doctor. "See you at the briefing." He called to Monica.

"Morning." Hayward greeted the assembled crowd. "We are now assessing a more clear picture of this crisis. And thanks to Captain Rambeau, we now have first-person intel from inside the Westview anomaly. Our initial theory had Wanda Maximoff as one of the many victims. We now know she is the principal victimizer." He said, causing Clint to grimace. "Jimmy."

"Quick history on our subject. Born in Sokovia in 1989 to Irina and Oleg Maximoff, both killed during an air raid when Maximoff and her brother were ten." Jimmy explained to the group.

"The twins were subsequently radicalized, volunteering at HYDRA," Hayward interjected.

"They were kids. The Maximoff's were tricked." Clint cut in.

"Either way, after unspecified experimentation with the Mind Stone, Maximoff somehow gained telekinetic and telepathic abilities," Jimmy said, trying to dissipate the room's tension.

"Barton, does Maximoff have an alias?" Hayward cut Jimmy off.

"No." Clint shook his head.

"No funny nickname, Hawkeye?"

"She wasn't interested in having an alias."

"And the earliest tracking had her using her powers against the Avengers. Is that correct?" Hayward pressed.

"She and her brother were scared kids who had been traumatized, beaten down, and manipulated for years. She made a mistake, and she fixed it." Clint defended his daughter's partner.

"And that's why Lagos and Germany turned out as they did." Hayward rolled his eyes. "Thanks, Jimmy," Hayward said, shooing Jimmy back into the group. "Now that we have the lay of the land, we can talk strategy."

"I try not to speak ill of people," Jimmy whispered to Darcy.

"Then allow me. Hayward's a dick." She said, causing Clint to smirk.

"Wanda is not a terrorist," Monica loudly said, drawing the three's attention back to the meeting.

"By your own account, you described the experience of being under mind-control as 'excruciating, terrifying, a violation.'" Hayward recited as the screens behind him began to play footage of her as Geraldine.

"My point is, I don't believe she has a political agenda," Monica said, swallowing harshly. "Or any inclination toward destruction."

"Monica, she basted you halfway across New Jersey," Hayward said, staring at her blankly.

"And I survived because she chose to protect me." Monica defended her on-screen friend.

"She's holding thousands of people hostage, including Agent Y/N Barton," Hayward said, nodding to Clint.

"And it could have been thousands more if she hadn't put up her own quartine." Monica snapped. "Listen, I don't believe this is a premeditated act of aggression." She told the room.

"You don't? Bring up the visual." Hayward told an agent beside him. All the screens lit up now playing SWORD security footage. "This morning, I received authorization to share this highly-sensitive material from SWORD headquarters. Until very recently, it was the top-secret location of the Vision's corpse." Hayward said as everyone watched Wanda storm in SWORD headquarters, blasting doors open and breaking glass windows.

"A corpse that was stolen from his grave on my property," Clint announced, rolling his eyes at the footage.

"We found it. And we weren't going to return it just for you to put billions of dollars worth of vibranium back in the ground." Hayward said as Clint glared at him.

"When was this?" Monica asked, watching the footage closely.

"Nine days ago. Maximoff stormed our facility, stole the Vision's body, and resurrected him." Hayward shrugged as he glanced over at a TV screen showing the current episode.

"But that's in direct violation of Section 36B of the Sokovia Accords," Jimmy said.

"And the Vision's own living will."

"He never wanted to a weapon."

"Maximoff, in her grief, disregarded his wishes. And possibly the wishes of Y/N Barton." Hayward told the assembled group. "All right, that's it for now. Let's work on the problem, people. Dismissed." He said, causing everyone to rush off.

"But how did she even do it?" Jimmy turned to Darcy. "Bring him back without the Mind Stone?"

"Who knows?" Darcy scoffed, shaking her head. "But she has the World's only vibranium synthezoid, playing Father-Knows-Best-In-Suburbia. What happens learns the truth? What happens when Y/N learns the truth?"

"I don't think he likes the water," Tommy said, staring at a sink filled with bubbles.

"But we have to get him clean, so Mama will let us keep him." Billy reasoned.

"I got Mommy's shampoo. It'll help him smell pretty," Luna said, pouring at least half the bottle into the already overflowing sink.

"Tommy! Billy! Luna!"

"Oh no! Mama's coming!"

"You know I don't miss the crying, but jeez Louise, did you have to learn to walk? You three never stay put. Unless you're innocently forming a human wall in front of the kitchen sink." Wanda said, staring between the three kids as she approached them.

"Is there really any way to innocently form a human wall?" Y/N asked, entering the kitchen to lean against the kitchen counter. "What are you three up to?"

None of the kids knew what to say, and none of them had a chance to say anything as there was a quiet sneeze.

"Bless you." Y/N and Wanda said together.

"Thank you." The kids said in unison before there was a quiet bark.

"Now tell me which one of you just barked?" Wanda asked, tilting her head at the three. "Scoot." Wanda sighed, causing the children to move away from the sink.

Once the kids had moved away, it was revealed that a small dog was sitting in the kitchen sink.

"Oh, boy." Y/N chuckled. "Busted kiddos."

"Waiter, what's this canine doing in my kitchen sink?" Wanda asked, turning to the kids.

"The doggy paddle?" Billy innocently suggested.

"Can we keep him, Mama?" Tommy asked, giving Wanda his best puppy dog eyes. "Please, Mommy?" He repeated to Y/N when she moved to stand beside Wanda.

"We'll be the best owners ever, Mama!" Luna reasoned with wide eyes. "Pretty, pretty, please?"

"Well, I'm sure his owners his miss him very much," Wanda said, attempting to reason with the three as Y/N pulled the dog out of the sink.

"There's isn't a collar, Wand," Y/N told her wife.

"Really?" Wanda asked, checking just to be sure.

"Can we keep him?"

"He was outside. Crying, alone."

"We can't just abandon him."

"They're really good at blackmail, Wand," Y/N said, melting at the kids pleading. "I'm cracking."

"Kiddos, taking care of a living thing is a big responsibility," Wanda told the three.

"That's right. Dogs need food, exercise, and training." Y/N nodded as Wanda pulled the pup into her arms.

"And belly rubs, and cuddles. And kisses between their little ears." Wanda cooed, clutching the dog close.

"Morning wives! Morning kids!" Vision exclaimed, entering the kitchen in his disguise before stopping in his tracks. "Good morning, unfamiliar wet animal." He said, grabbing his newspaper. "Who's this?"

"We're not sure yet," Y/N said as Wanda handed the dog back to her. "Could be ours!" Y/N said in a sing-song.

"Why so formal, honey?" Wanda asked, staring at Vision in confusion.

"Oh, it's just a precaution, really. I had a hunch someone might pop over." He said as the back door opened and Agnes entered the house.

"Hi, kiddos!" Agnes grinned, holding a dog kennel in her hand.

"With exactly the item we require." Vision said, sharing a look with Y/N as she put the dog down.

"My kitchen window told me someone got a new pooch!" Agnes cooed, putting the kennel on the counter. "Did you name him yet?"

"How about Sniffy?" Tommy suggested, watching the tiny dog sniff around the kitchen.

"How 'bout Sparky?" Agnes joked after the dog had sniffed an electrical socket.

"Well, should we make it official?" Wanda smiled before making a collar appear in her hands to the shock of her partners.

"Wanda!" Y/N hissed, moving closer to the two.

"What?" Wanda asked in genuine confusion.

"Agnes was right there!" Vision whispered.

"She didn't notice," Wanda assured her partners. "She didn't even notice when the kids went from babies to five-year-olds." She joked.

"Oh, so I can send a tornado through the kitchen now, and it's fine?" Y/N shook her head.

"This is not what we agreed upon," Vision told her. "You made no effort to conceal your abilities."

"I'm tired of hiding, Vis." Wanda shook her head. "And maybe the two of you don't have to either." She suggested, taking Y/N's hand and placing her other hand on Vision's face.

"Wanda, since we've moved here, it's been all about fitting in. How is this fitting in?" Y/N sighed.

"Usually, the three of us are so much of the same mind, but right now, what aren't you telling us?" Vision asked her.

"So is Sparky our dog, Daddy?" Luna asked, interrupting the three's conversation.

"Please, Mommy?" Billy and Tommy asked in unison.

"I've cracked." Y/N sighed. "I'm all for a dog." She told her husband and wife. The two turned to look at her, and the three had a silent conversation that ended with Y/N letting out a sigh.

"Kids, three of us don't think you're ready to properly care for an animal until you're at least,"

"Ten. Ten." Vision coughed.

"Ten years old." Wanda finished. The three kids looked sad for a moment before they shared a long silent look and smirked.

"Wait, no, no, no."

"Wait, now hang on a minute."

"Don't even think about what you're thinking about."

The three of you tried to scold the kids, but it was too late. The kids had made up their minds.

Within seconds the kids were shooting up like beanstalks and were suddenly older.

"Let's just hope this dog stays the same size." Agnes joked.

"I need a coffee." Y/N sighed, holding a hand to her head.

"Can we have coffee too, Mom?" Luna asked as the boys nodded with her.

"No!" All three parents exclaimed, eyes wide.

"Okay. Okay, I've got it." Monica said, standing in front of the whiteboard with a texter in hand. "What I need is a ten thousand pound fallout shelter comprised of lead for photons, cadmium for neutrons, tantalum for seismic blasts, on wheels. And then, I would be able to safely re-enter Westview, right?" She asked the woman before her.

"Yes. Theoretically." Darcy nodded.

"I can work with theoretically."

"Better make sure that things a two-seater." Clint piped up from where he watched the TV, showcasing his daughter and her family. "Because you're not going in alone."

"What'd I miss?" Jimmy asked, entering the room with a tray of coffees.

"The kids aged up to ten," Darcy said as she and Clint quickly grabbed a coffee each.

"Holy Christmas. At this rate, they'll be empty nesters by dinnertime." Jimmy commented.

"I know an aerospace engineer who'd be up for the challenge." Monica smiled, looking away from the board.

"But I can't guarantee the Hex won't just mind-wipe you as you go in," Darcy warned the woman, causing the other three in the room to face her.

"The Hex?" Clint asked, raising a brow.

"Oh yeah, it's what I'm calling the anomaly because of its hexagonal shape. It's starting the catch on." Darcy said, causing Monica to look at the men who shook their heads. "You really want to go back in there? After everything you went through?"

"Yeah." Monica nodded. "Yeah, I do."

"Have we identified these minors yet? Or the newborns?"

"The kids aren't someone else's," Clint interjected. "Pay close attention to the hair, the eye colors, their faces. They look exactly like their parents," Clint said, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"The kids are theirs." Monica agreed. "Everything might look fake on the TV, but everything is real."

"But Wanda manipulates people's perceptions, makes them hallucinate." Jimmy pointed out.

"Yeah, that's her whole bag. If all the sets and props and wardrobe were solid matter, that would mean she's wielding an insane amount of power." Darcy told him.

"Far exceeding anything she's displayed in the past."

"She could have taken out Thanos on her own," Clint said. "She was ripping apart his very being before he made that bitch move. No-one even came close to taking him down on their own."

"Well, I'd argue Captain Marvel came close." Jimmy shrugged.

"Her powers come from an infinity stone, too, right?" Darcy asked, looking at everyone for an answer.

"We are not talking about her. We are talking about Wanda." Monica said, moving over to the board filled with pictures. "Darcy? What was that you were saying about props and sets and," Monica trailed off, plucking the photo of the red helicopter from the sixties episode.

"Wardrobe?"

"Where's the lab?" Monica asked her.

"Two tents away. Why?" Darcy asked, but she never got an answer as Monica rushed out of the room. Clint, Darcy, and Jimmy shared looks with one another before Jimmy and Darcy raced after Monica. Clint stayed in the room, intently watching the screen before him.

"What are we looking for?" Jimmy asked as Monica pushed the doors open.

"That," Monica said, staring at her seventies costume.

"Oh, man, are we being mind-controlled to see that right now?" Darcy gasped.

"Jeepers Creepers!" Jimmy cringed.

"Oh no. It's real, all right." Monica grinned after reading off a computer screen. "Can I borrow this?" Monica asked, taking Jimmy's gun from his pocket.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa!" Jimmy said, reaching out for the gun as Darcy covered her ears. Monica shot at her costume several times, causing absolutely no damage to the clothes.

"Whoa!" Darcy grinned.

"You had a bulletproof vest on when you went inside, didn't you?" Jimmy asked, picking up one of the flattened bullets.

"Those pants are 87% Kevlar," Monica explained. "It's not an illusion. Wanda is rewriting reality."

"Permanently?"

"If she can changes things as they go into the Hex,"

"Ah, you called it the Hex!" Darcy smirked.

"What happens if we send something in that requires no change?" Monica elaborated.

Computational Services had been upgraded into the 1980s. Vision and the rest of the Computational Services employees had spent much of the day setting up the new computing systems around the office.

"So you're telling me this is a typewriter, a Rolodex, and a calendar all in one? What else can it do? Find me a wife?" Norm joked, sitting at his desk staring amazedly at the new computer.

"Eventually, yes." Vision agreed as he sat down.

"It's a hell of a thing watching you work these computers, Vision. It's like you speak their language." Norm complimented.

"What do you think, Norm? Should we surf the Internet?" Vision asked, moving to stand beside the man.

"Cowabunga, dude." Norm grinned, giving his seat up to Vision."Hey, look, we got electronic mail already!" Norm cheered as Vision booted the computer up.

"It's called an email, Norm." Vision gently corrected him. "What are you looking for?"

"Letter opener," Norm said after rifling through the draws.

"Ah, we don't need that. We're already cutting edge." Vision said, opening the email.

"SWORD. Top secret communique. Authenticate." Norm read aloud before Vision noticed the rest of the office reading the same email in unison.

"Doctor Darcy Lewis' findings regarding Maximoff's Anomaly. High levels of radiation present at the perimeter. Effect on Westview residents unknown. Please advise." The office chorused as Vision stared at his coworkers in shock and fear as the words of email sunk in. But no-one else was scared.

Everyone else was laughing.

"Well, come on, pal. What are we gonna write back?" Norm chuckled. "You're the office funny guy. It's a joke, can't you tell. None of it is real." He said as Vision tried to read the computer, but he felt nothing.

Vision turned to stare at his coworker as an idea formed, and without a word, he rose to his feet and pressed his fingers to Norm's temples.

Vision could sense a wall in Norm's mind. It was blocking Norm's memories, and it was strong but not stronger than Vision.

Norm transformed before Vision's eyes. His cheerful friend was suddenly reduced to a stammering panicked mess.

"Please, please, help me," Norm begged, his hands grasping at Visions. "What day is it? How long has it been? Where's my phone? I have to call my sister." He gasped, letting go of Vision and shoving papers and objects on his desk aside as he searched for his phone.

"Norm."

"She's taking care of our dad. He's sick." Norm rambled, tossing papers aside. "Where is my phone?"

"Calm yourself, Norm. I can't understand what you're trying to tell me." Vision whispered, leaning closer to the man.

"You have to stop her," Norm begged, fists clutching Vision's suit.

"Stop who?"

"She's in my head. None of it is my own. It hurts. It hurts so much. Just make her stop." Norm begged, clutching Vision's suit tighter. "Just make her stop!" Norm yelled before Vision touched his temples once more and restored the wall.

Norm shook his head slightly as his hands fell limply at his side before he smiles at Vision.

"Now tell me this, if I send an email, where would I put the stamp? Technology." Norm chuckled as Vision shakily walked back to his desk.

"I'm just going to go to the store," Y/N told her wife as she pulled on a jacket.

"Oh, I'll tell the kids to put their shoes on. We'll all go for a walk." Wanda nodded.

"No, it's okay. I want to go on my own." Y/N shook her head quickly.

"Are you sure, hon? Because whatever we need, I can, just make it appear." Wanda smiled at her own joke before frowning as Y/N grabbed her bag. "Why don't you want us to come?" Wanda questioned her.

"Because I need five minutes to think. And I think a walk would do me some good." Y/N sighed.

"What can't you think about here?" Wanda pressed, crossing her arms over her chest.

"It's not here. I just need some time to mull things over." Y/N promised.

"What's there to mull over?"

"Why are you pushing me on this? What's so hard to understand about this?" Y/N asked, turning to Wanda with a frown.

"It's hard for me to understand why you're acting like this. Did I do something? Did the kids?" Wanda wondered.

"No. Never," Y/N promised, taking Wanda's hand. "It just been a lot of changes recently, and I need just a second to comprehend them all," Y/N said, squeezing her wife's hand.

"Fine. Whatever. Go for your walk. We'll be here." Wanda shook her head, pulling her hand free.

"Look, we'll talk when I get back. I love you." Y/N said, leaning over to kiss Wanda quickly before leaving the house.

"Love you too," Wanda called.

What neither woman had noticed were the three spying kids, who'd heard everything and were now looking at each other worriedly.

"Sit, Sparky. Sit. Good boy!" Billy cheered.

Wanda had snapped out of her thoughts after several long minutes. And once she had snapped out of her head, she needed a distraction. And so, she had called the kids into the living room and asked them to show her the tricks they'd been teaching Sparky.

"Speak!" Billy commanded, causing the dog to let out a bark. "Nice, Sparky. Now spin. Good boy!" Billy said, feeding the dog a treat as his mother, sister and brother clapped.

"Oh! Bravo, Billy! You weren't so bad either, Sparky!" Wanda complimented, causing the boy to smile widely.

"That was radical!" Tommy exclaimed, jumping to his feet and pulling Luna to hers.

"Can we show Daddy?" Luna asked, turning to her mother.

"Oh, he's at work," Wanda told her daughter apologetically.

"It's Saturday, Mama," Billy said as he and his siblings looked much more disappointed than a second ago.

"No, it's not. It's Monday." Wanda waved him off.

"This morning was Saturday," Tommy told her.

"There was an emergency at the office, and your father had to go in. End of story." Wanda said, causing the kids to look between one another. "Look, he just. He needed a distraction."

"Like Mom?" Billy frowned.

"What?"

"Dad and Mom needed a distraction from us?" Luna asked with a sad expression.

"No! No way! No!" Wanda denied, rushing over to the three. "Sometimes, your dad, your mom, and I aren't on the same page," Wanda said, wrapping her arms around her children. "But it's just temporary." She promised, leading the three over to the couch. "Like the three of you, you might fight over toys, but you're always going to be siblings. You're always going to be Luna's brothers, and she's always going to be your sister, and you boys will always be each other's twin. Because family is forever." Wanda assured the three.

"Do you have a sibling, Mama?" Tommy wondered.

"I do. Yeah, I have a brother." Wanda nodded. "He's far away from here, and that makes me sad sometimes." She said before Sparky began to bark loudly.

"Hey, Sparky, what's up, boy?" Billy asked after the dog jumped out of his arms and rushed to the door.

"Something's scaring him!" Tommy exclaimed as Sparky growled at the door.

"Mama?" Luna asked, watching as her mother's face became blank.

"Stay here," Wanda said, standing from the couch.

Wanda moved towards the door and opened it, causing Sparky to bolt outside.

"Sparky!" The kids yelled, running off behind their mother.

"I know this tech is from the '80s, but can we sharpen the visuals?" Hayward asked, watching the screen intently over Monica's shoulder.

"Working on it," Monica told him. "Maximoff located." She said as she flew closer to the house.

"Well done." Hayward complimented with a blank face.

"We can't see the drone on the broadcast," Clint announced from behind.

"Wanda's framing it out of the shot." Jimmy deduced.

"Just like all the jump cuts. Wanda decides what makes it onto her show and what doesn't." Darcy added.

"And here we go. You're up." Hayward told Monica.

"Wanda, this is Captain Monica Rambeau. Can you hear me? I just want to talk, that's it." Monica said into the headpiece, staring at the black and white screen, a black and white screen that showed Wanda's glowing red eyes.

"No joy." Hayward sighed.

"Wait, my controls aren't working. Reconnect patch." Monica said as an alarm began to ding beside her.

"Disregard. Take the shot." Hayward shook his head before turning to a man to the side.

"What? No. The drone isn't armed." Monica shook her head, glancing at the man to her side as she desperately tried to take control back of the drone.

"Take the shot," Hayward commanded before the screen fritzed out and died.

"What did you do?" Clint demanded, rushing towards the director. "What did you do?"

He repeated before several alarms began to blare.

"There's a breach, sir."

Everyone jumped to their feet and rushed outside as the alarms continued to blast.

Cars were loaded as everyone raced as close to the boundary line as they dared. When the agents jumped out of the car, Monica, Clint, Darcy, and Jimmy's noticed, much to their horror, that they were all armed.

The four and Hayward had just pushed their way to the front of the gathering when Wanda emerged from Westview.

Dragging behind her SWORD's drone.

"Is this yours?" Wanda asked, throwing the drone at Hayward's feet.

"The missile was just a precaution. You can hardly blame us, Wanda." Hayward tried to reason.

"Oh, I think I can. This will be your only warning. Stay out of my home." Wanda said, staring blankly at the director. "You don't bother me. I won't bother you."

"I wish it could be that simple. You've taken an entire town hostage." Hayward said, attempting to appeal to Wanda's moral compass.

"I'm not the one with the guns director," Wanda mentioned, staring at the weapons in disdain.

"But you are the one in control," Monica spoke up.

"You're still here." Wanda acknowledged, creating a ball of red energy in her hand.

"Wanda, I didn't know the drones were armed. But you know, don't you? A town full of civilians, and you, a telepath, brought a SWORD agent into your home. You trusted me to help deliver your babies. You trusted me with Y/N and Vision. On some level, Wanda, you know I'm an ally. I wanna help you." Monica told the woman.

"How? What could you possibly have to offer me?" Wanda questioned her.

"Well, what do you want, kiddo?" Clint asked, taking a step towards her.

"I have what I want. And you, all of you, will stay from them," Wanda said, glaring at Clint. "No-one is ever going to take them from me or hurt them again," Wanda said before turning to Hayward as her hand glowed red.

Every one of SWORD's agent's eyes burned a bright red as they turned their guns on Hayward.

"Whoa! Whoa! Whoa! Stand down!" Hayward exclaimed as Wanda turned away.

"Wanda!"

Wanda paid no attention to those calling her name or the chaos behind her as she neared the Hex.

Wanda appeared to almost rip the Hex apart as she entered it.

And the shock of everyone watching, the entirety of the Hex changed from a cool blue to a bright burning red.

"Hey, stranger." Y/N grinned as her husband exited Computational Services. "Want to walk me home?"

"You know you should never walk anywhere with a stranger." Vision scolded as he walked closer to Y/N. "The likelihood in which,"

"Vis." Y/N cut him off, raising a brow, continuing to smile.

"Sorry." Vision blushed. "I'd love to walk with you, darling." He smiled, taking Y/N's hand as the two set off for home.

"I told Wanda I was going for a walk." Y/N mentioned as she swung her's and Vision's hands. "I might have made her suspicious."

"Suspicious of what?" Vision wondered, turning his head to her.

"What I can't tell her," Y/N said. "I hate doing it, but I lied to her so I could talk to you. Privately. Vis, there's something weird about this town."

"I know." Vision nodded. "I, too, have noticed abnormalities in the town. As well as with the people."

"You mean with Agnes this morning?" Y/N wondered, frowning as she thought back on their neighbor's behavior.

"I mean with Agnes and Herb. Mr. and Mrs. Hart. Geraldine and her mysterious disappearance. And just recently with Norm."

"The guy in your office?"

"Darling, I have a confession." Vision sighed, pulling Y/N over to a bench. "We received an email about work regarding 'The Maximoff Anamoly.' Everyone disregarded it as a joke, but I had a feeling it meant something, so I looked into Norm's mind."

"Vis."

"I found a wall in his mind, and when I was able to breach it, he changed," Vision told her.

"Changed how?" Y/N asked, cocking her head slightly.

"He was scared, Y/N." Vision said. "And I believe he was scared of Wanda." He added.

"Wanda? Our wife?"

"Yes. Norm's memories seemed to have been blocked by Wanda, and so, I have to ask something of you." Vision said. Y/N caught onto his train of thought quickly and shook her head at the man.

"No Vis, we agreed," Y/N said, crossing her arms. "Even playing ground between the three of us."

"I understand that darling, but I don't remember anything before Westview." Vision revealed. "I have been through all my systems and processors, and nothing is stopping me from remembering. The memories just simply aren't there."

"And you want to see if Wanda has blocked my memories?" Y/N asked after a second of thought.

"Darling, I know how it sounds, but can you remember your family? Your parents? Where you grew up? Do you remember how we met? Because I don't." Vision told her.

"I can never remember our wedding," Y/N whispered as the pieces began to fall into place.

Everything Vision was saying made sense. She couldn't remember any of those things and never had been able to.

Y/N had always brushed the idea of not remembering anything to the side, scolding herself for being silly.

But maybe she wasn't.

"Okay. I trust you, Vis. You can break the rule just this once." Y/N said. Vision gave her a gentle smile before raising his fingers to her temples. Y/N's eyes closed as Vision entered her mind before he jumped back with a yelp.

"Ah!"

"Vis?" Y/N asked, eyes snapping open and staring at her husband in shock.

"There's something stronger than Wanda's wall blocking your memories," Vision told her, wriggling his fingers. "I'm sorry, darling, but I can't break it." He apologized.

"It's okay. You tried." Y/N smiled, grabbing his hand with hers. "I think we need to talk to Wanda."

"I think you're right." Vision agreed, rising to his feet with Y/N following.

"Sparky!"

"Come here, Sparky!"

"Sparky! Sparky!"

The four had been searching for the small dog for what felt like hours, but there was still no sign of Sparky.

"Hey, what's the trouble, kids?" Dennis, the mailman, asked as he walked past.

"We can't find our dog," Luna told the man.

"Ah, don't worry. He's sure to turn up. Your mom won't let him get far." Dennis promised. "Ma'am." He tipped his head.

"I just don't know where he could've gone." Wanda sighed as the four continued down the street.

"Sparky!

"Sparky!"

"Sparky! Sparky!"

The kids made it to the end of the street when the bushes began to rustle. The kids let out excited gasps of 'Sparky' before Agnes stood, holding a small bundle with a remorseful face.

Tommy let out a gasp as Wanda's face fell, and Luna clutched Billy's hand.

"I didn't want to come until I'd wrapped him up," Agnes said, staring at the four sadly.

"What happened to him?" Wanda demanded, moving closer to her friend.

"Found him in my azalea bushes. Don't know how many leaves he ate. I didn't find him until it was too late. Oh, Tommy, Billy, Luna, I'm so sorry." Agnes apologized.

The kids turned to each other with teary eyes before nodding.

"Wait. Don't. Don't." Wanda said, catching onto their plan.

"Don't what?" Tommy demanded.

"Don't age yourselves up," Wanda told the three as she bent in front of them. "The urge to run from this feeling is powerful, I know."

"It's too sad." Billy shook his head as Tommy took Luna's other hand.

"You can fix anything, Mama. Fix the dead." Tommy said.

"Please, Mama. Please fix this. Bring Sparky back." Luna begged, squeezing her brother's hands.

"What? No." Wanda shook her head as she pulled back.

"You can do that?" Agnes asked, staring at Wanda in wonder.

"I am trying to tell you that there are rules in life, okay?" Wanda said as she kneeled on the concert. "We can't rush aging just because it's convenient. And we can't reverse death. No matter how sad it makes us, okay? Some things are forever." Wanda told them.

"You said family is forever." Billy reminded her.

"He is family," Tommy said.

"Bring him back, Mama, please," Luna begged.

"Bring who back?"

The four turned at the sound of Vision's voice to see him and Y/N standing behind them.

"Oh, sweethearts." Y/N sighed, glancing at the bundle in Agnes' arms.

"Come here." Vision said as he and Y/N pulled the kids into an embrace.

When the six had arrived home, the kids had rushed directly to their rooms, refusing even dinner.

Wanda had taken it upon herself to console the children while Y/N packed away Sparky's belongings and Vision buried the dog.

"How are the kids?" Vision asked, moving to wash his hands.

"A little heartbroken, but they'll be alright," Wanda told him.

"The kids are tough. Give them time." Y/N said, throwing a ball into the basket.

"It's not often you get a dog and bury them in the same day." Vision commented, scrubbing the dirt from beneath his fingernails.

"Well, life moves pretty fast out in the suburbs," Wanda commented, taking the basket of Sparky's toys as Y/N and Vision shared a look.

"I spoke with Norm." Vision said, drying his hands on a tea towel.

"Oh?"

"I unearthed the man's suppressed personality and spoke to him free of your oversight. He was in pain, Wanda." Vision told her.

"Vision, listen, can we just,"

"Wanda, why is there a wall in my mind?" Y/N cut her off.

"Excuse me?"

"Vision saw. There are two walls in my mind."

"Sweethearts, it's been a long day." Wanda shook her head. "Can we just,"

"What? Watch TV? Turn in for the night so you can change everything over again?" Vision scoffed.

"No, Wanda." Y/N shook her head. "You can't run away from this. You can't run away from us."

"You can't control us the way you do them." Vision said, moving to stand beside Y/N at the island.

"Can't I?" Wanda tilted her head. There was an air of finality to her tone as she turned her back on her wife and husband and walked to the door. "I'm going to bed."

"No, you're not!" Y/N snapped, walking around the island.

"What is the 'Maximoff Anomaly'?" Vision asked, following after Y/N.

"The what?"

"I have to believe that this, whatever this is, was subconscious at first and that you only recently became aware of it." Vision said, glancing around the kitchen.

"Aware of what?" Wanda asked before walking into the living room.

"Wanda, whatever you're doing to the rest of the town, is wrong!" Y/N said, following after her.

"Norm has a family, Wanda!" Vision exclaimed his anger so vast he lost control of his disguise. "He has a family, and he can't reach them because you won't let him reach them!"

"I don't know what you're talking about!" Wanda yelled.

"Stop lying!" Vision shouted as he began to float.

"Wanda, what is happening here?" Y/N demanded as she and Wanda joined Vision in the air. "You can't deny what's happening in this town isn't normal."

"This, all of this is for us," Wanda told the two. "So let me handle it."

"What is outside of Westview?" Vision demanded.

"You don't wanna know, I promise you." Wanda shook her head.

"You're not allowed to make that choice for us, Wanda," Y/N told the woman.

"You've never talked to me like before. Neither of you has ever spoken to me like this before." Wanda shook her head sadly as she brought herself back to the ground.

"Before? Before what?" Y/N asked.

"I don't remember before! I don't remember my life before Westview! I don't know who I am!" Vision yelled. "I'm scared!" He declared.

"You are my husband. You are Y/N's husband. You are Billy, Tommy and Luna's father." Wanda said as Vision and Y/N slowly lowered themselves to the ground. "Isn't that enough?"

"Wanda, why don't the kids have any grandparents?" Y/N asked her. "Why can't I remember the last time I saw my family? Why haven't I spoken to them since we moved here?"

"Why are there no other children in Westview?" Vision added.

"Will the two of you just stop?" Wanda asked, walking away from the two.

"No. We won't."

"The playground stands empty every time I walk past it. Why? Why have I never spoken to either of your parents? Where are mine?" Vision asked her.

"Do you two really think I am controlling everything? That I am somehow in charge of everybody in Westview? I'm walking their dogs, mowing their lawns, getting them to their dentist appointments on time? I mean." Wanda emotionlessly chuckled as she collapsed onto the couch. "I don't know how any of this started." Wanda finally admitted.

"Wanda, what you're doing here is wrong." Vision said, kneeling beside her.

"What you're doing to these people is wrong." Y/N tacked on, sitting on the coffee table before the doorbell rang.

At the sound, the three all perked up and looked over at the door.

"I didn't do that." Wanda shook her head at the noise. "I, you don't believe me." Wanda realized, shaking her head.

"I want to, but at this point, I'm ignoring statistics entirely," Vision told her.

"You still haven't answered any of our questions," Y/N said when Wanda looked over to her.

When the doorbell rang again, Wanda wiped the tears from her eyes and walked towards the door.

With a sigh, Y/N and Vision rose to their feet and stood behind Wanda to see her freeze at the man on the other side of the door.

"Wanda, who is it?" Vision asked, staring at the white-haired man.

"Long lost bro get to squeeze his stinkin' sister to death or what?" The man wondered.

"Pietro?" Wanda whispered, staring at the man in confusion. "Oh." She happily sighed when he pulled her into his chest.

"Who's the popsicle and the broad?"

Taglist is open throughout the entirety of the series.

@x-uglyprincess-x @imthedoctorlove @loveinnoya @unknownalien3388 @bindythedemon @summersimmerus @buckmesidewaysandcallmesteve @natasharomanoffismywife @mcsteamy4ever @monxpeet @amywinehouseisgod @milleniumloki @buckybarnesplumwhore @kennedywxlsh @drpepperobsessed @madamevirgo @superbsccissorsdeanexpert @itty-bitty-witch @essenceproxima��@severusminerva @okkulta @mrscasnovak @niki-is-a-thing @sunshinepower17 @pinkninja200 @iflostreturntoflynnrider @simp4mcuwomen @blackfarrahfawcett @angelicl-y @bromieeeomieee @persie33 @ambria @1awesomemeash @montygator17

#wanda maximoff #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff x reader #vision x reader #vision x wanda #wandavision #wanda x reader x vision #scarlet witch x reader

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internalsealpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Respectful Cannibalism

Summary: Watching mystery movie with a bunch of detective was a bad idea

A/n: While this is part 3 to my Space Case series, you’re not required to read Art Gallery Smile or Cosmonauts to understand the context to this. The only note I do have is that Dick and Steph are friends with Reader much to Tim’s everlasting horror. Special thanks to @littleredwing89 and @glorified-red for proof reading this mess.

Warnings: Tooth rotting fluff and a confusing amount of batkids in one scene.

Main Masterlist

Tim Drake Masterlist

Tim coughs, loud and ragged into the speaker. You find yourself wincing at the phone tucked against your ear. Tim sounds like he’s dying or, at the very least, he’s on his way there.

“I’m so-”

“Fucking tired of saying sorry that you decided to go skinny dipping in Gotham Harbor? Yeah. Great, I’m sick of hearing it too. Glad, we’re on the same page, Space Cadet.” You exasperate, pulling on your jeans violently enough for Tim to hear the angry shuffling of fabric.

“Skinny dipping?” Tim huffs, a fond smile playing on his lips as he drinks in the timber of your voice. Even when you were absolutely exasperated, your voice was still soothing or maybe he just misses your company. God, he’s such a sap.

You shake your head in disbelief. That was his take away? “Yes, Timmy, Buck-ass skinny dipping,” you laugh, coming out derisive and sharp. Tim groans this time filled with guilt. The first few sounds of another ‘I’m sorry’ form in the back of his throat as he runs his hand through his bed head. For once, you’re thankful that you’re nowhere near Tim because you are one apology away from decking him and you’re pretty sure that that’s a terrible thing to do to a sick person, especially one with no brain cells to spare.

“I- You were really looking forward to this (Y/n), don’t try to deny it.” You weren’t going to. He was right. You were looking forward to this date. You were impossibly, unreasonably giddy over the prospect of going to the planetarium with Tim this afternoon. WITH Tim. Sure, you’re pretty down about it but you were the tiniest bit more concerned about the fact that your boyfriend had water in his lungs and almost died of hypothermia for a hot second. You pinch the bridge of your nose, hoping that worry and murder radiate off of you in equal measure. “I was also looking forward to my letter from Hogwarts,” you sneer, pausing dramatically to look at your watch, “and it’s been roughly a decade.” You hear Tim swallow and the hairs on your neck bristle in petty satisfaction.

Tim chortles, a lively sound that startles you, then coughs but the sound comes out somehow sounding doubtful and teasing. Embarrassment flares up in you. “You were too!” you protest, hackles drawn to full height. A short breathy laugh leaves Tim and you feel the flush on your face ease into something softer and more rounded. All the sharpness in your veins dissipates as the flash of fondness for that stupid laugh takes over. You can imagine him warm under the covers smiling at the phone at your blunder. “Please, (y/n), my hopes were dashed when I was 4 and still not in the Jedi order.”

“Bullshit, you were never a child,” you snort, sharpening the grin on your face into something vicious. “I refuse to believe you were ever a child! You probably sprang out of a textbook fully formed- Wait, I’m getting off-topic. ” Tim hums innocently and you narrow your eyes at the phone, hoping he can feel the ‘I am revoking your breathing privileges’ look. “You always are.” Tim says before falling into a coughing fit.

“Sorry, Cosmo, I just keep getting lost in your eyes,” you whisper, pitching your voice rich and caramel smooth. There’s a sound on the other line. Tim is babbling you realize. You hear a shuffle of fabric and a body rising. Tim sucks in a breath, red-faced and caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. He can practically see the cocky grin playing on your face, the light of the sun reflecting as golden flecks in your eyes. “You can’t even see them!” Tim stammers, glowering at you through the phone. You cackle at him as if sensing the venomous look he’s giving you. “You can barely open them!” Tim rolls his, very much, open eyes, falling back into an unnecessarily large pile of pillows that Alfred insisted was necessary for bed rest with a loud ‘fwoof’. “Yes, I can,” Tim mumbles, sounding young for once. You do your level best to smother a grin on your face. “I’m just really drowsy from the chamomile tea Alfie gave me.” You stop dead in your tracks, one hand half in your coat the other on the doorknob. You blink. “You’re at the Manor?”

Tim pauses, making a frustrated noise. He shouldn’t have said that. “Dick and B… insisted.” This draws another one of your sharp laughs. He says insisted as if it was ever negotiable. “Did they ‘insist’ before or after they blow-dried and hung you out to dry?” Tim squawks and you hear shuffling again. Tim tries to remember why he doesn’t hate you. “Tell me again how you found out about me getting sick? Steph? Cass?”

“Hmmmmmm, Dick.”

“THAT TRAITOR”

“Funny way to pronounce older brother,” you hum smug. You can feel Tim glaring daggers at you. “You-”

“There’s a home theater, yeah?”

Tim pauses, this time longer. “I don’t like where this is going.”

“Answer the question, Space Case.”

He sighs. “Yes.”

“Great! It’s a date then,” you say, mentally preparing a route to the Manor from the vague directions Steph told you once. You could just use the maps app-

“NO!” You freeze. Tim flinches at the volume of his own voice. He whispers an indiscernible ‘I’m sorry’. You turn it over in your mind before speaking. “No?” You ask, trying your best to sound hurt instead of amused. Maybe you should have pitched your voice higher, more shaky. “Look, Tim, I-” Tim heaves a loud sigh. “-(Y/n), you’re fine-” Well, you aren’t, you think. You bite your tongue, physically to make sure you don’t say anything unnecessary. “-It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s- It’s just my siblings...” Tim knows that his siblings have been talking about you.

“Timmy, I can take whatever shovel talk they can give me,” you say with the confidence of someone who has never been dangled over the edge of a roof top. Ok, to be fair, YOU had nothing to worry about. Tim, on the other hand, was going to get roasted alive. Maybe he can persuade you into not- Tim hears the tell tale sputtering of your bike’s engine and he feels his blood pressure spike. The engine genuinely sounds like a death rattle.

“You’ll get sick.”

You swear and he hears another sputter of the engine. “You’ll get sick,” he croaks again, louder this time hopefully over the dying engine. Maybe if your engine dies right now, he’ll be spared from a slow agonizing death via siblings. “Relax Cosmo, I have the strongest ward against whatever you got,” you say, giving the engine a light kick. Tim hears a few metallic clunks then the engine stutters to life. Tim looks up past the ceiling trying to glare at whatever cosmic being resurrected your engine.

“Which is...”

“Being broke. It does wonders for your health.”

“Yeah, I don’t think that’s how it works,” Tim says, shifting burying his head against the too soft pillows. The soft fabric makes his eyes feel heavy. He yawns. He hears the sputter or your laugh. It’s hard to tell from the sudden drowsiness making his head swim.

“I promise I’ll explain to your typical rich kid ass when I get there, Tim.”

“That’s not how it works,” Tim slurs, face pressed into a pillow.

You laugh, he’s sure this time.

“I’m-” Tim’s mind unfocuses and the words you say garble together ”-Tim. ”

Tim blinks, mouth moving to ask you to repeat that but the last thing he hears is a soft click.

On the bright side, it would just be him and Alfred at the manor.

_________________________________________________________

Batmanisfake: I heard (y/n)'s coming over😶

Nightwingingit:👀 How do you even know that?

Batmanisfake: What are you? A cop?

Nightwingingit: say that again but slowly 🙄

Batmanisfake: ...

Damian: He bugged Drake's phone. For blackmail purposes, of course.

Nightwingingit: JASON

The Cool One: Shush Dick! He's onto something

Batmanisfake: Thank you

The Adult: I for once had nothing to do with it😌

Theactualbatman: I'm assuming we're all coming home tonight?

The Cool One: I'll bring popcorn

Damian: Nonsense Pennyworth will likely have some prepared

The Cool One:😭 We really do not deserve that man

Nightwingingit: Definitely

thesaneone: We're recording Tim's face when he sees us, right?

Batmanisfake: From all angles

The Adult: You're all horrible

Batmanisfake: Please like you're not hacking into the cameras as we speak, Babs

The Adult: You have no proof👀

_________________________________________________________

Tim’s head felt thick and gooey like one of Alfred’s custards. He feels like he’s floating, like he’s in a fish tank. There’s a sickly Chlorine smell clogging his nostrils; it smells powdery and sterile and reminds him vaguely of aspirin. Tim blinks. His eyes hurt; they feel puffy and sore and hot. His vision is further obscured by a thick layer of fleece blankets Alfred had piled high over him. He shuts his eyes still feeling too overwhelmed by the low light coming from the window.

Tim thinks he hears his window open with a soft click. Tim quiets his breathing. His hearing is too muddled to process anything beyond it. There’s a soft thud of heavy boots in the room; it’s imperceptible and dreamlike the way it reaches his ears that it has him shifting under the covers trying his best to discern the sound. A dozen lighter footsteps follow it and he can sense 6 shapeless bodies hovering over him.

“Should we wake him up?” asks a voice that vaguely sounds like Cass.

There’s a shuffling sound. Leather, he thinks. “Wait, lemme take a picture.”

“Red, why? It’s not like you can blackmail him with pictures of him sleeping.”

“Because, flashlight, I need proof that Timbo sleeps. ”

“Because?”

“Ok, how many times have you seen him asleep?”

“Uh...”

“Exactly!”

Tim hears a laugh that distinctly sounds like Dick. “Does it count if Alfie drugged him?”

“Maybe?” Steph says, shrugging.

“It doesn’t, Brown.”

“Damn it.”

“Does that mean B doesn’t sleep?”

“Nope.”

Maybe if Tim keeps sleeping, they’ll go away on their own. Tim wraps the sheets tightly around himself, hoping the large stack of fleece would be enough to muffle his siblings.

“I’m pretty sure I have dibs on waking him for opening the window for you shits.”

“Red, anyone could have opened that,” Duke laughs, stepping slightly behind Cass, who at the moment was paying more attention to the moving pile of fabric. Maybe if Tim stays really still she’ll turn her attention to something else.

“Cass and Dickface would have just broken it.‘

“I would not!”

“Sorry, Cass, you would.”

“Steph, whose side are you on?”

“Why is no one defending me?” Dick sighs.

“No one cares, Dickface. And Blondie’s clearly playing for the right team-” Steph cackles. “-none of you have any finesse.”

“Not all of us can be drama queens, Todd.”

“You’re like the third to the last person I wanna hear this from.”

“Third? You’re ranking us now? Who gave you the right?”

“Alfred,” Jason deadpans, “And yeah. Bruce and Dick are first and second.”

“Hey!”

“Can it Mr. Pretty Man Down.”

“That was one-”

“What rank am I?”

“uh … fifth.”

“Fifth?!”

“Sorry, Blondie, Cass has you beat with that ballet kick thingy.”

“Ok, yeah I can accept that. What about Babs?”

“What about Babs? The woman can kick my ass six ways to Sunday. ”

Tim’s head throbs all over. There are soft pin pricks pressing on the sole of his left foot; his leg jerks involuntarily. He wants to scream. Tim swears under his breath. A gloved hand pries the covers away from Tim’s face. Tim squints his eyes open only to be greeted by Dick’s kind, but still very punchable, face. Tim takes a long rasp, pinching his features in a mix of annoyance and despair. “Why are you-” Cough! “-here?”

There’s a slight quirk to Dick’s smile.“They wanted to meet (y/n),” Dick explains in a sweeping theatrical motion of his hand across the room directing Tim’s attention to the expressions on his sibling’s expressions which were all a variation of devious scheming.

“How did-” cough. “- you even know-” cough. “-(y/n) was coming?” Tim asks, shooting up from his pile of pillows causing a couple of blankets to topple to the floor to the ground. Tim’s lightheaded. He suddenly feels a shift in his balance, a feeling of vertigo. He nearly topples to the ground, his blood not quite catching up to his movements, when feels hands wrap around his shoulders. “Woah there Baby Bird, slowdown.”

“Answer-” Cough!

“It was Todd.”

“You mutant sperm!”

“Jay, aren’t we all mutant sperm?” Steph laughs, slinging one arm over an irate Damian’s shoulders and another over a fuming Jason’s shoulders. Tim groans, sounding pained. “How much do I need to pay each of you to get all of you to go away?”

“A lifetime of IOUs,” Dick says, casually.

“NO!”

“All of your share in W.E.,” Duke says, laughing. Steph elbows him lightly, also laughing. “You’re shooting prelow there, Slick,” Steph teases. Duke shrugs still grinning. “Gotta keep it realistic, yanno?” Steph and Duke keep bickering.

“Drake, kindly, pay with your life.”

Tim scrunches his nose. “I’m already on my deathbed, you know, dying. What else do you want from me?”

“A more agonizing death.”

Jason grins, tilting his chin. “C’mon, Timbo, we can help with your little impromptu date.” Tim groans, placing his face in his hands. “Please just help me dig my own grave.”

“What would be the fun in that, Timbo?”

“For you or for me?”

“Come on, Tim, it’ll be fine,” Cass says, clearly not believing the words herself. All seven of them dissolve into another round bickering. Damian, Jason, and Steph hellbent on giving Tim an aneurysm. Duke and Cass playing at being neutral; Duke leaning on Tim’s side but laughing way too hard at Steph’s well placed jabs; Cass is only mildly siding with Tim to spite Jason. Why this time? Tim has no clue.

The string of banter is broken up by the echoing the doorbell. Tim’s heart seizes as they all fall silent, enraptured by the odd sound of a doorbell filling the hallowed halls of Wayne Manor. The chiming of bells ends with the creaking of the large oak doors in the front of the manor.

Before Tim’s sluggish brain could even formulate a thought, all of his siblings are all bounding towards the door, bouncing off the walls and flipping over obstacles. Tim scrambles, lagging, after the hoard of vigilantes barrelling towards you. Tim tries to shout after his siblings but his voice is drowned out by raucous laughter and bickering.

You stand at the door, head haloed by the pale afternoon light as the sky catches fire, flecks of snow sparkling in your hair. You tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear as you sheepishly thank Alfred as he takes your coat.

Tim struggles to breathe an he genuinely doesn’t know if it’s because of his lungs, you, or the fact that of all his siblings, Babs was the one who got there first and Tim genuinely doesn’t know if Babs is there to hold off the gaggle of vigilantes or to scare you off. From the jovial grin wrinkling your features, Tim’s pretty sure Babs just gave you some blackmail material instead of putting you through the ringer- an equally scary outcome. For your part, you don’t look even slightly phased by the fact that Babs is in a wheelchair or even by the way she’s clearly sizing you up. All of this rolls off of you with an easy motion of your shoulders as you answer her questions in the most frustratingly oblique way based off of Babs’s expression. Tim can’t help the curve on his lip as you blatantly dodge another of Babs’s questions with a smile. You spot him, winking, and the tips of Tim’s ears flush.

Your cocky demeanor fades when a gaggle of batbrats crowd you; nervousness creeps into your form, ironing out your posture into something unnatural and defensive. “Is this a bad time?” You ask through a tight lipped smile. Babs glares at them but doesn’t make any effort to hide the satisfaction at your shaken demeanor. “Don’t mind them, Sweetie,” Babs says, patting your back and guiding you away from the gaggle. You shuffle awkwardly, trying to coax your spine back into a more natural curve.

“(Y/n)!” Tim manages between gasps for air. Making a person with non functioning lungs run has to be some sort of human rights violation. His voice is louder than he anticipated. He realizes, but the apprehension in his body flits away when you beam at him-a wide cheeky smile that has his body vibrating with delight. He made you smile like that, Tim thinks, heart swelling almost enough to soften the impact of the next few words. “Hey, Duckie!” you chirp tilting your face in a cute lopsided smile.

“Duckie?” Jason sniggers.

Duke’s face passess from confusion, realization, then amusement in a matter of three seconds.“Duckie? As in ‘quack quack’?” Duke asks, pretending to still be dumbstruck.

“Yes, Duckie, Tommy Terrific,” you say, the lopsided smile curving into a playful grin. The dumb nicknames earn you a loud, surprisingly nonthreatening, approving laugh from Jason who then says “We’ll keep those nicknames in mind” which just drags pained looks from both Tim and Duke. Dick and Damian on the other hand look absolutely delighted.

“(Y/n), tell them about the other nicknames,” Steph says, grinning savagely. Your eyes widen and you wrinkle your nose, mouth twitching from side to side, trying to pretend away the heat rising from your cheeks. “Not on your life, Stephie.”

“Aaaaaw! Not even for lil ol’ me?” Dick pouts, throwing his arms around you. The familiarity of the action has Tim bristling. “Pleeeeeaaase,” Dick whines; a smile hidden in your hair, “not even for Alfred’s cookies?” You make a noise caught between a laugh and a groan. “Hmmmm… maybe? Throw in some candy.”

“Deal.”

Tim blinks. “You’d betray me for sugar?”

“Cus I ain’t getting any while you’re sick,” you cackle, grinning along with Dick who looks way too pleased with the outcome of the conversation. Tim desperately wants to melt into the floor. Looking at all his siblings who are eagerly awaiting for the litany of nicknames, Tim cuts in. “Let’s just go watch that film.”

“What are we watching?” Cass asks, leaning to look over your shoulder, clearly shoving Dick out of the way. Dick does his best to not budge.

“What do you mean ‘we’?”

“We are under a communist regime, Timbo. We’re all watching it together,” Jason says, slinging Tim over his shoulder.

“Have a heart, Drake. We only want to spend family time together,” Damian says, somehow still looking imperious even from where Tim is dangling. A dull ache starts spreading across Tim’s like his skull is being squeezed.

“Hope you guys like Clue,” you say, fishing it out of your cornucopia of unhealthy junk food. “I figured you detectives would like a good mystery.” Dick snorts taking the disc from you and reading over the contents efficiently. “Bet you I can get the ending even before any of you.”

“No, you won’t,” Jason barks, setting off a long winded argument about who the best detective is.

“Didn’t you say you would eat me if I spoiled another mystery movie for you? Are you planning to eat my entire family?” Tim croaks quietly. You scrunch your nose, twitching your mouth four times to the left and four and a half times to the right. “Technically, what I said was ‘I’ll respectfully go back to juvie for cannibalism if you spoil another movie that night’,” you hiss low, trying not to draw attention to your conversation. Unfortunately for you, his siblings have good hearing.

“And this is different how?” Tim asks, this time not bothering to control his volume.

“You’ll never figure out the ending,” You say smiling innocently. Tim rolls his eyes and huffs a ‘we’ll see’. It doesn’t wipe the smile off of your face.

As it turns out, the Wayne Manor theater is less of a theater and more of a bean bag storage closet with a large screen. Jason tosses Tim unceremoniously into one of the random bean bags in front of the couch before gracefully pirouetting into the couch. You chuckle and continue your search for something to put your Bluray in, just now realizing that you should have probably just asked for their Netflix password or something. Alfred appears out of nowhere handing Jason and Cass each a bowl of buttery popcorn and scolding Jason about manhandling his brother in front of a guest. Jason looks unrepentant. No surprises there. With a swat on the back of Jason’s head, Alfred turns to you, gloved hands extended out to you. “I can take that."

“Oh… Uh thanks- Thank you,” you stammer. To your left, Tim snickers and your hand slip, somehow the blanket Babs handed you finds its way to Tim’s face. “Shut up, Ducktective. He’s practically your grandpa and I kinda wanna make a good impression,” you hiss, cheeks warming. Tim coughs, a little dumbfounded. Somehow it hadn’t occurred to him that you were nervous about this.

Tim checks if his brain is on straight before speaking. “Relax, you haven’t physically assaulted me or any of my family yet so you’re immediately at the top of Alfie’s list.” You open your mouth to speak then curl it into a frown, looking appalled and concerned. Apparently, his brain wasn't on as straight as Tim thought. "Am I going to have to fight your exes? At some point?"

"No!"

"Yes!" Steph says, handing you a red bean bag. Tim scowls at Steph as he watches the color drain from your face. She just shrugs and goes off to annoy Dick.

“Mr. Boddy?” Damian asks incredulously, reading the box summary again. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope,” you laugh, setting your bean bag next to the one Jason dropped Tim in. Damian rolls his eyes. “This is a stupid movie. Do people really consume this drivel?”

You scrunch your nose but don’t put too much heart into glaring. Thankfully, color is now returning to your face. “The movie hasn’t even started yet!”

“Relax (y/n), the tiny mutant sperm is just playing elitist,” Steph says, plopping next to Jason and eyeing his bowlful of buttery popcorn.

“As long as it isn’t as bad as the Happening-”

“Dude, you live in a city with Poison Ivy. That thing is pretty much a documentary,” Duke says hesitantly taking the spot between Steph and Cass.

"Please, for the love of Alfie, please, talk about something else," Dick whines, plopping a bean bag next to Tim. Jason’s face twists in confusions before his eyes light up and untwists into an expression with amusement. "Is it because of the-" Dick hits him square in the face with a pillow, all the while screeching "Think of the children!"

"Where, Dickface?" Jason ask, prompting Dick to point(jazz hands) at Damian who rolls his eyes. Jason does the same, looking younger than the toughened exterior suggested. "That's a gremlin, Dickface. Not a child."

"He is-"

"SHUSH! The movie is starting!"

You giggle, curling into Tim's side and placing your head in the crook of his neck where you usually like to put it. Tim's insides shiver from the contact and his hands automatically coil around you, pressing his nose into your hair.

"Jeez, her melons are big," Babs says flatly taking another handful of Dick's popcorn from Damian. Cass snorts and Tim feels embarrassment creep into his skin. He flicks his eyes to you, only to find you smiling into his side.

"They're almost as big as Dick's," you chuckle.

"Nah, Jason is bigger," Cass pipes.

You eye Jason openly which makes the large man cross his arms over his chest. "Huh, you're right," you note with more confusion than anything.

"Bruce has moobs too!" Jason protests, red-faced.

"Son, why?"

The chatter falls silent when the figure at the edge of the room settles itself into the large leather recliner in one corner of the room. You squint your eyes to distinguish its features from the rest of the shadows in the room; only to be greeted by the solemn features of Bruce Wayne. Your breath catches and you feel your skin jump twenty feet in the air. Everyone else in the room seems to have about the same reaction even as he pulls a lever to raise the foot rest. You all follow his movements with interest.

“Is Bruce trying to relax?” Duke whispers to Cass who shrugs in response. Steph rolls her eyes, reaching over Duke to try and snatch some popcorn from Jason who just raises his bowl higher. “Shhhhh, Duke, let the B man try to play human,” she says, snatching at the popcorn til the bowl just falls on Jason’s head.

“He’s trying I guess.” This draws a startled chuckle out of you that you try to press in Tim’s neck. The vibrations against his skin has him shivering.

“B, are you ok?” Dick asks. This makes Bruce’s features move in a slightly concerned fashion which in Bruce speak is very concerned. “Yes, why?”

“Ooooh, no reason, old man.” He turns to Babs. “Yeah that’s not Bruce. Five bucks says it’s a robot.” Babs snickers, grabbing a ten from her purse. “Ten says it’s an alien.” You twist to look at them, taking out a twenty. “Twenty says it’s just Mr.Wayne.” Jason sneers at you, taking your money. “You clearly don’t know the old man.”

“Can we please just watch this film in peace?” Bruce groans, running a hand over his face, finally looking more like the long suffering single dad of eight kids that he should be. Babs looks over her shoulder, slinging Bruce an absolutely disbelieving look. “Do you even know your children?”

“Yes, father, have you even watched us bond?” Damian asks, using his free hand to do air quotes for the word ‘bond’ while using the other to try and swipe some popcorn from Cass. It doesn’t work.

“That definitely isn’t Bruce,” Dick hisses, trying to shield his own bowl of popcorn from an irate Damian.

“SHHHHHH! I can’t hear the movie!”

“It’s definitely the butler,” Dick declares. Damian scowls, throwing a pillow at him which Dick catches with ease. “Grayson, the movie has barely started.”

“It’s definitely the butler. It’s gotta be. It’s always the butler.”

“That’s very offensive to Alfred, Dick,” Cass says, grinning. Alfred sniffs poshly in his own recliner. Dick recoils but Jason piles on. “Very classist of you, Dickiebird.”

Duke snorts. “Nah, I think he’s just saying it because Tim Curry was Pennywise the Clown.”

“Why would you trust a clown?”

“Oh my god, why are you guys comparing Alfred to a clown?”

“We are not!”

“This conversation is a trainwreck,” Tim groans into your hair. “Dunno, Tim, it sounds like a success,” you laugh, pressing closer. His eyes flick between you and his siblings. “You planned this.” You look up at him, failing to flatten a smile. “Nope.”

“I say it’s Ms. Scarlett,” Bruce says, rubbing his chin contemplatively.

“You’re just saying that cus she reminds you of Selina,” Tim huff, grinning and you’re half tempted to pinch his cheeks. Bruce cuts him a scathing look that has you shrinking; the grin on Tim’s face just broadens which just makes the playful scowl on Bruce’s face deepen. “Need I remind you who pays for the internet?”

“Alfred?” Tim asks, innocently.

“Careful Tim, B man might actually do it. Hell, he’ll probably do it if he finds out what you did last Thursday.”

“Do you mean the explosion on Fifth?” you ask, turning to Steph. Steph gives you a firm nod; in the corner of your eye, you can see Bruce arching a brow. Tim gapes at you looking absolutely gutted. “What happened to snitches get stitches?” Tim protests.

You shrug, grinning. “Sorry, Duckie, I stand by my cookie dealer. Who do you think sneaks Duke and me cheetos in Western Civilization? I stand by my fellow barbarian.”

“You know Duke?”

“I pay him to-”

“Shhhhh!”

“You guys are talking too!”

“At least, it’s movie related!” Damian hisses.

You throw up your hands with an exaggerated flail. “Fine!”

“I say it’s the shifty looking lady,” Jason declares, reaching over Duke and Steph to try and snatch some popcorn from Cass. You wonder why Jason doesn’t just snatch some from Alfred since he’s closer. You try to ask Tim but he just shakes his head at you. “Ms.Peacock?” Cass asks, shoving Jason’s face away with butter covered fingers. Duke tries to snatch a few kernels in the confusion only to get his hand swatted. “I think he means Mrs. White,” he says, waving his hand. “Yeah that one.”

“It’s the butler! It’s always butler!” Dick protests.

“I will fucking riot if it’s the butler!” Steph shoots back.

“It can’t be the butler.”

“Why not, Dami? He has motive.”

Damian rolls his eyes.“Gordon, why are you siding with Grayson?-” Babs opens her mouth to answer but Damain continues before she can get another syllable out “-nevermind. He doesn’t have as much motive as the rest of them. Besides, does he really look competent enough to hold a gun left alone with a knife?”

Tim raises his chin from your head. “Demon Spawn, your standards for butlers is too high. Alfred is-”

“You say this like you have plenty of references.”

“Oh, Tommy Terrific, Duckie here is a posh bastard,” Jason sneers ruffling Tim’s hair. From the way, some of his hairs stick up you could guess that he still had some butter in his hand. Tim makes a face of disgust; you try your best to help him with his hair. “Jay, you say that but you’re like Mr. I need the correct type of wood for my bookshelves,” Steph laughs. “Just because I’m not a slob like the rest of you walking disasters doesn’t mean I’m posh.”

“Yes, it does. You lived here. Yanno with Alfie,” Dick says, pulling out another pack of snacks he’d managed to snag from your bag. You’re not gonna ask at this point. Tim gives you a look which roughly translates to ‘I am very sorry for my trainwreck of a family’. You snort at him before turning towards his sibling. “I mean look at Cass. She’s still feral.” If looks could kill, the look Cass give you would melt your bones. Thankfully, Damian opens his mouth. “They’re all feral.” You have a sense that you’ve also been insulted. You hear Babs to your right laugh derisively. “You say this like you’re any less feral than the rest of us.”

“I am-”

“Are any of you still watching the movie?” Bruce asks and for the second time that night, your body tries to divorce your soul. You had almost forgotten that yes, you are watching Clue with the fucking Batman. You shift in your seat suddenly feeling a twinge of nervousness. Before the discomfort could nestle in you, Jason speaks up. “No, Bruce, we’re just watching Cass vacuum the popcorn into her stomach. What do you think?”

“You guys didn’t ask,” Cass says through a mouthful of popcorn knowing full well that’s a lie.

“How can any of you be watching it? All you’ve done is talk over the dialogue.” You almost laugh at how exasperated he sounds. Beside you, Tim just snickers and shakes his head.

Damian just looks at his father from his bean bag next to Dick. “Father, we can talk and listen. ” Dick, like the mature adult that he is, slaps his knee laughing. “I don’t think B is capable of that.”

“PREACH” was followed by a chorus of AMENs.

"Alfred, what have I done to turn my children against me?" Bruce asks, tiredly leaning back into his recliner.

"Master Bruce, how would you like me to list it?"

"Alfred not you too," Bruce groans, putting his hands in his eyes.

"Yeah! Alfie's on our side!" Jason cheers.

"Quite."

"Alfie is always the sensible one," Cass chuckles sensibly between bites. You hear varying noises of agreement and Bruce ages from suave debonair to extremely tired single dad.

"I assume Alfred is actually the boss here."

"Yeah, Bruce is actually on the bottom of the food chain here," Tim says. You tilt your head in contemplation. "Yanno that makes Batman so much less scary."

"B-man's just a giant softie," Steph chirps, slinging her legs over Duke and Cass's laps narrowly missing the nearly empty bowl of popcorn.

Dick turns to you winking. "Yeah, just give him the puppy eyes and he'll get you anything you want in 2 seconds flat."

"Dick…"

"It's true!"

"Even a carnival?"

"Can we please just watch the movie?" Bruce says, in an almost pleading voice.

"I wouldn't hold my breath, old man," Jason chuckles, earning a glare from both Bruce and Damian. "It's not like you know how to shut up, Todd."

"Sorry, I don’t speak gremlin."

"That's bull Jay!"

"MOVIE IS STILL GOING ON! SHUT YOUR CAKE HOLES."

“I TOLD YOU IT WAS THE BUTLER.”

“Yes, yes, it has been publiced and noted, Birdie,” you giggle into Tim’s side, shaking your head. He wraps his arm around you, pressing a kiss into your hair, winking at you. “Does it count?” Tim asks over his shoulder. A look passes between him and Cass. “I don’t think so,” she says grinning.

“It so does! It’s one of the endings,” Dick protests vehemently. Jason’s mouth flattens then curls into a grin. “By that logic, the old man is right too.”

Dick thinks for a moment, tapping his chin. “Well, we can’t have that.”

“Why not?” Bruce protests.

"I'm still sticking with the butler. I'm sorry this is the only logical conclusion."

"He wasn't even an actual butler you butter brain!" Steph protests, throwing a pillow at Dick.

"I'm sorry but can we address why you're all mounting a mutiny against me?"

"Teenage rebellion!" Dick answers.

"Chum, you're not even a teenager."

"Father's right. At most, Grayson is five years old," Damian pipes from beside Dick seemingly unaffected by his brother's pout.

"Alfred, you're going to have to check my blood pressure before patrol."

"Quite, sir."

“They’re all so dramatic just like you said,” you whisper into Tim’s shoulder.

“I AM NOT DRAMATIC”

“Ah, yes, because the pretty man pose is so pragmatic.” Damian deadpan.

"That was one time, you assholes!"

"Hey, what else did Timmy say?"

"Well he- Oh wait!" You fish out your phone and Tim snacthes it away faster than you can blink. "No-" cough "-you don't." Cough.

Jason snatches it from him, snickering at the photo of Tim kissing you on the cheek. You're pretty sure Tim has a matching photo with you kissing him on the cheek. "Nice lockscreen, (y/n)."

"Oh, you should see the homescreen!"

"No. Please don't. You might need eye bleach."

"Relax Space Cadet, it’s not that one."

"Ohohoho, what didn't you want big daddy bats to see? Haaa, Timbo?"

Tim turns every shade of red before settling on fire hydrant red. "None of your business!"

Bruce clears his throat, looking at a stupidly expensive watch. “It’s time.” Dick springs up, stretching and showing off. “Is it really that time already?” Steph asks in almost a whine. Duke and Cass take the opportunity to shove her off and sadly, she lands with a loud thud and a mangled curse. You wince but laugh unsympathetically which simply earns you a face full of dust covered popcorn. You frown at her and she grins at you as Jason hauls her up by her hoodie. “C’mon Blondie. Let’s leave the love birds alone.”

“It’s not like they’re actually gonna be alone. Alfie’s here. So is Babs.”

“I’m going back to my place. You people give me a headache.”

“You say that like you weren’t having fun,” Dick teases, walking after her.

“I’ll be down in the cave if you need me,” Alfred says waving at both of you. “Will do, Alf,” Tim yawns, nuzzling into your hair.

Cass pops her head back in. “Make sure Tim doesn’t do anything stupid,” She calls back. You grin, bright and wolfish. “Don’t worry! He can’t do me while he’s sick.” You hear Bruce choke in the hall and you just know that you’ll mentally kick yourself for that later. Luckily for you, Tim physically kicks you now. “What the hell?!” Cough. “Sorry, got caught in the moment.” You huff, trying to look a little sorry. Tim just glares more. “You’re not even close to sorry.”

“Ok. Yeah.”

“I have no idea why I love you sometimes.”

“My amazing personality?”

“Sure.”

“Love you too, Tim,” you chirp, kissing him. Tim’s lips feel hot after the quick peck and he pulls you closer. “I love you but I was pretty sure my family was gonna eat you alive.”

“They would have done it,” you hum, pausing before adding, “respectfully.”

Tag list: @batarella, @anothertimdrakestan, @lucy-roo, @multifandomgirl-us, @idkmanicantenglish,@birdy-bat-writes, @boosyboo9206, @americasmarauders , @l-inkage, @arestorationofbalance , @cloudie-skay, @wunderstell @hyp-oh-critical @glorified-red

#tim drake imagines #tim drake x reader #Tim Drake #batfamily x reader #batfam #reader insert #dc fanfiction #dc reader insert #bruce wayne #Alfred Pennyworth #dick grayson #Damian Wayne #Jason Todd #stephanie brown #cassandra cain #duke thomas #batman #batfamily headcanon #batboys

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queenaryastark · 3 years ago

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Elia Martell: Quote Masterlist

In preparation for Elia Week 2021, I compiled all of the times Elia is mentioned in ASOIAF and TWOIAF. It’s not surprising, but it is very troubling how little we get of her actual personality and characterization. There’s clearly an overemphasis on her rape and murder, the quest for vengeance on her brother’s side, and how she compared to other women. We get one flashback/vision of her after Aegon’s birth discussion song and prophecy with Rhaegar which is the only time she actually speaks. Oberyn’s courtship tour story gives hints at her characterization, while Barristan, who wouldn’t have known her well, gives us details like: good, delicate health, kind, clever, and sweet wit. It’s pretty vague, but unfortunately that’s all GRRM gave us.

Anyway, the quotes are under the cut:

Her Murder

Princess Elia of Dorne pleading for mercy as Rhaegar's heir was ripped from her breast and murdered before her eyes. -- Dany I, AGOT ----- The Dornishmen burn to avenge Elia and her children. -- Dany I, AGOT ----- Some said it had been Gregor who'd dashed the skull of the infant prince Aegon Targaryen against a wall, and whispered that afterward he had raped the mother, the Dornish princess Elia, before putting her to the sword. -- Eddard VII, AGOT ----- Ned remembered the moment when all the smiles died, when Prince Rhaegar Targaryen urged his horse past his own wife, the Dornish princess Elia Martell, to lay the queen of beauty's laurel in Lyanna's lap. -- Eddard XV, AGOT ----- In Dorne, the Martells still brood on the murder of Princess Elia and her babes. -- Eddard XV, AGOT ------ The prince is a sentimental man, and he still mourns his sister Elia and her sweet babe. "My father once told me that a lord never lets sentiment get in the way of ambition . . . and it happens we have an empty seat on the small council, now that Lord Janos has taken the black." "A council seat is not to be despised," Varys admitted, "yet will it be enough to make a proud man forget his sister's murder?" "Why forget?" Tyrion smiled. "I've promised to deliver his sister's killers, alive or dead, as he prefers. After the war is done, to be sure." Varys gave him a shrewd look. "My little birds tell me that Princess Elia cried a . . . certain name . . . when they came for her." -- Tyrion IV, AGOT ----- "Prince Doran comes at my son's invitation," Lord Tywin said calmly, "not only to join in our celebration, but to claim his seat on this council, and the justice Robert denied him for the murder of his sister Elia and her children." -- Tyrion III, ASOS ---- I did not come for some mummer's show of an inquiry. I came for justice for Elia and her children, and I will have it. Starting with this lummox Gregor Clegane . . . but not, I think, ending there. Before he dies, the Enormity That Rides will tell me whence came his orders, please assure your lord father of that. -- Tyrion V, ASOS -------- "It is justice. It was Ser Amory who brought me the girl's body, if you must know. He found her hiding under her father's bed, as if she believed Rhaegar could still protect her. Princess Elia and the babe were in the nursery a floor below." -- Tyrion VI, ASOS ----- "I grant you, it was done too brutally. Elia need not have been harmed at all, that was sheer folly. By herself she was nothing." "Then why did the Mountain kill her?" "Because I did not tell him to spare her. I doubt I mentioned her at all. I had more pressing concerns. Ned Stark's van was rushing south from the Trident, and I feared it might come to swords between us. And it was in Aerys to murder Jaime, with no more cause than spite. That was the thing I feared most. That, and what Jaime himself might do." He closed a fist. "Nor did I yet grasp what I had in Gregor Clegane, only that he was huge and terrible in battle. The rape . . . even you will not accuse me of giving that command, I would hope. Ser Amory was almost as bestial with Rhaenys. I asked him afterward why it had required half a hundred thrusts to kill a girl of . . . two? Three? He said she'd kicked him and would not stop screaming. If Lorch had half the wits the gods gave a turnip, he would have calmed her with a few sweet words and used a soft silk pillow." His mouth twisted in distaste. "The blood was in him." -- Tyrion VI, ASOS ------ Justice is in short supply this side of the mountains. There has been none for Elia, Aegon, or Rhaenys. Why should there be any for you? Perhaps Joffrey's real killer was eaten by a bear. That seems to happen quite often in King's Landing. -- Tyrion IX, ASOS -------- "I am not lying. Ser Amory dragged Princess Rhaenys out from under her father's bed and stabbed her to death. He had some men-at-arms with him, but I do not know their names." He leaned forward. "It was Ser Gregor Clegane who smashed Prince Aegon's head against a wall and raped your sister Elia with his blood and brains still on his hands." -- Tyrion IX, ASOS --------- "The gout I cannot help," she said, "but my father had no use for grief. Vengeance was more to his taste. Is it true that Gregor Clegane admitted slaying Elia and her children?" "He roared out his guilt for all the court to hear," the prince admitted. "Lord Tywin has promised us his head." -- Hotah, AFFC --------- "My sister Elia had a little girl as well. Her name was Rhaenys. She was a princess too." The prince sighed. "Those who would plunge a knife into Princess Myrcella do not bear her any malice, no more than Ser Amory Lorch did when he killed Rhaenys, if indeed he did. They seek only to force my hand. For if Myrcella should be slain in Dorne whilst under my protection, who would believe my denials?" -- Arys, AFFC --------

Oberyn VS Gregor Clegane

The Dornishman slid sideways. "I am Oberyn Martell, a prince of Dorne," he said, as the Mountain turned to keep him in sight. "Princess Elia was my sister." "Who?" asked Gregor Clegane. Oberyn's long spear jabbed, but Ser Gregor took the point on his shield, shoved it aside, and bulled back at the prince, his great sword flashing. The Dornishman spun away untouched. The spear darted forward. Clegane slashed at it, Martell snapped it back, then thrust again. Metal screamed on metal as the spearhead slid off the Mountain's chest, slicing through the surcoat and leaving a long bright scratch on the steel beneath. "Elia Martell, Princess of Dorne," the Red Viper hissed. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." Ser Gregor grunted. He made a ponderous charge to hack at the Dornishman's head. Prince Oberyn avoided him easily. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children." ------- But the Red Viper of Dorne was back on his feet, his long spear in hand. "Elia," he called at Ser Gregor. "You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children. Now say her name." The Mountain whirled. Helm, shield, sword, surcoat; he was spattered with gore from head to heels. "You talk too much," he grumbled. "You make my head hurt." "I will hear you say it. She was Elia of Dorne." The Mountain snorted contemptuously, and came on . . . and in that moment, the sun broke through the low clouds that had hidden the sky since dawn. -------- Prince Oberyn tilted his dinted metal shield. A shaft of sunlight blazed blindingly off polished gold and copper, into the narrow slit of his foe's helm. Clegane lifted his own shield against the glare. Prince Oberyn's spear flashed like lightning and found the gap in the heavy plate, the joint under the arm. The point punched through mail and boiled leather. Gregor gave a choked grunt as the Dornishman twisted his spear and yanked it free."Elia. Say it! Elia of Dorne!" He was circling, spear poised for another thrust. "Say it!" Tyrion had his own prayer. Fall down and die, was how it went. Damn you, fall down and die! The blood trickling from the Mountain's armpit was his own now, and he must be bleeding even more heavily inside the breastplate. When he tried to take a step, one knee buckled. Tyrion thought he was going down. Prince Oberyn had circled behind him. "ELIA OF DORNE!" he shouted. Ser Gregor started to turn, but too slow and too late. The spearhead went through the back of the knee this time, through the layers of chain and leather between the plates on thigh and calf. The Mountain reeled, swayed, then collapsed face first on the ground. His huge sword went flying from his hand. Slowly, ponderously, he rolled onto his back. The Dornishman flung away his ruined shield, grasped the spear in both hands, and sauntered away. Behind him the Mountain let out a groan, and pushed himself onto an elbow. Oberyn whirled cat-quick, and ran at his fallen foe. "EEEEELLLLLLIIIIIAAAAA!" he screamed, as he drove the spear down with the whole weight of his body behind it. The crack of the ashwood shaft snapping was almost as sweet a sound as Cersei's wail of fury, and for an instant Prince Oberyn had wings. The snake has vaulted over the Mountain. Four feet of broken spear jutted from Clegane's belly as Prince Oberyn rolled, rose, and dusted himself off. He tossed aside the splintered spear and claimed his foe's greatsword. "If you die before you say her name, ser, I will hunt you through all seven hells," he promised. ------ Clegane's hand shot up and grabbed the Dornishman behind the knee. The Red Viper brought down the greatsword in a wild slash, but he was off-balance, and the edge did no more than put another dent in the Mountain's vambrace. Then the sword was forgotten as Gregor's hand tightened and twisted, yanking the Dornishman down on top of him. They wrestled in the dust and blood, the broken spear wobbling back and forth. Tyrion saw with horror that the Mountain had wrapped one huge arm around the prince, drawing him tight against his chest, like a lover. "Elia of Dorne," they all heard Ser Gregor say, when they were close enough to kiss. His deep voice boomed within the helm. "I killed her screaming whelp." He thrust his free hand into Oberyn's unprotected face, pushing steel fingers into his eyes. "Then I raped her." Clegane slammed his fist into the Dornishman's mouth, making splinters of his teeth. "Then I smashed her fucking head in. Like this." As he drew back his huge fist, the blood on his gauntlet seemed to smoke in the cold dawn air. There was a sickening crunch. Ellaria Sand wailed in terror, and Tyrion's breakfast came boiling back up. He found himself on his knees retching bacon and sausage and applecakes, and that double helping of fried eggs cooked up with onions and fiery Dornish peppers.-- Tyrion, X

General

Viserys, was her first thought the next time she paused, but a second glance told her otherwise. The man had her brother's hair, but he was taller, and his eyes were a dark indigo rather than lilac. "Aegon," he said to a woman nursing a newborn babe in a great wooden bed. "What better name for a king?"

"Will you make a song for him?" the woman asked.

"He has a song," the man replied. "He is the prince that was promised, and his is the song of ice and fire." He looked up when he said it and his eyes met Dany's, and it seemed as if he saw her standing there beyond the door. "There must be one more," he said, though whether he was speaking to her or the woman in the bed she could not say. "The dragon has three heads." He went to the window seat, picked up a harp, and ran his fingers lightly over its silvery strings. Sweet sadness filled the room as man and wife and babe faded like the morning mist, only the music lingering behind to speed her on her way. -- Daenerys IV, ACOK

------

She nodded. "There was a woman in a bed with a babe at her breast. My brother said the babe was the prince that was promised and told her to name him Aegon."

"Prince Aegon was Rhaegar's heir by Elia of Dorne," Ser Jorah said. "But if he was this prince that was promised, the promise was broken along with his skull when the Lannisters dashed his head against a wall." -- Daenerys V, ACOK

------

No doubt he was waiting for Prince Viserys to mature, or perhaps for Rhaegar's wife to die in childbed. Elia of Dorne was never the healthiest of women. -- Jaime II, ASOS

------

The king reminded Lewyn Martell gracelessly that he held Elia and sent him to take command of the ten thousand Dornishmen coming up the kingsroad. -- Jaime V, ASOS

-----

When the word reached court, Aerys packed the queen off to Dragonstone with Prince Viserys. Princess Elia would have gone as well, but he forbade it. Somehow he had gotten it in his head that Prince Lewyn must have betrayed Rhaegar on the Trident, but he thought he could keep Dorne loyal so long as he kept Elia and Aegon by his side. -- Jaime V, ASOS

-------

"It was when I visited Casterly Rock with my mother, her consort, and my sister Elia. I was, oh, fourteen, fifteen, thereabouts, Elia a year older. Your brother and sister were eight or nine, as I recall, and you had just been born." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

--------

The cell they gave me had a featherbed to sleep in and Myrish carpets on the floor, but it was dark and windowless, much like a dungeon when you come down to it, as I told Elia at the time. Your skies were too grey, your wines too sweet, your women too chaste, your food too bland . . . and you yourself were the greatest disappointment of all." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

----------

"Cersei promised Elia to show you to us. The day before we were to sail, whilst my mother and your father were closeted together, she and Jaime took us down to your nursery. Your wet nurse tried to send us off, but your sister was having none of that. 'He's mine,' she said, 'and you're just a milk cow, you can't tell me what to do. Be quiet or I'll have my father cut your tongue out. A cow doesn't need a tongue, only udders.'"

"Her Grace learned charm at an early age," said Tyrion, amused by the notion of his sister claiming him as hers. "She's never been in any rush to claim me since, the gods know.

"Cersei even undid your swaddling clothes to give us a better look," the Dornish prince continued. "You did have one evil eye, and some black fuzz on your scalp. Perhaps your head was larger than most . . . but there was no tail, no beard, neither teeth nor claws, and nothing between your legs but a tiny pink cock. After all the wonderful whispers, Lord Tywin's Doom turned out to be just a hideous red infant with stunted legs. Elia even made the noise that young girls make at the sight of infants, I'm sure you've heard it. The same noise they make over cute kittens and playful puppies. I believe she wanted to nurse you herself, ugly as you were. When I commented that you seemed a poor sort of monster, your sister said, 'He killed my mother,' and twisted your little cock so hard I thought she was like to pull it off. You shrieked, but it was only when your brother Jaime said, 'Leave him be, you're hurting him,' that Cersei let go of you. 'It doesn't matter,' she told us. 'Everyone says he's like to die soon. He shouldn't even have lived this long.'" -- Tyrion V, ASOS

---------

"As children Elia and I were inseparable, much like your own brother and sister." -- Tyrion V, ASOS

----------

"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Dany. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl, and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?"

"It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. The Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady, though her health was ever delicate."

Dany pulled the lion pelt tighter about her shoulders. "Viserys said once that it was my fault, for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl." -- Daenerys, ASOS

--------

"Aye. I will." Ulmer, stooped and grey-bearded and loose of skin and limb, stepped to the mark and pulled an arrow from the quiver at his waist. In his youth he had been an outlaw, a member of the infamous Kingswood Brotherhood. He claimed he'd once put an arrow through the hand of the White Bull of the Kingsguard to steal a kiss from the lips of a Dornish princess. He had stolen her jewels too, and a chest of golden dragons, but it was the kiss he liked to boast of in his cups. -- Samwell II, ASOS

--------

"Do you recall the tale I told you of our first meeting, Imp?" Prince Oberyn asked, as the Bastard of Godsgrace knelt before him to fasten his greaves. "It was not for your tail alone that my sister and I came to Casterly Rock. We were on a quest of sorts. A quest that took us to Starfall, the Arbor, Oldtown, the Shield Islands, Crakehall, and finally Casterly Rock . . . but our true destination was marriage. Doran was betrothed to Lady Mellario of Norvos, so he had been left behind as castellan of Sunspear. My sister and I were yet unpromised.

"Elia found it all exciting. She was of that age, and her delicate health had never permitted her much travel. I preferred to amuse myself by mocking my sister's suitors. There was Little Lord Lazyeye, Squire Squishlips, one I named the Whale That Walks, that sort of thing. The only one who was even halfway presentable was young Baelor Hightower. A pretty lad, and my sister was half in love with him until he had the misfortune to fart once in our presence. I promptly named him Baelor Breakwind, and after that Elia couldn't look at him without laughing. I was a monstrous young fellow, someone should have sliced out my vile tongue."

Yes, Tyrion agreed silently. Baelor Hightower was no longer young, but he remained Lord Leyton's heir; wealthy, handsome, and a knight of splendid repute. Baelor Brightsmile, they called him now. Had Elia wed him in place of Rhaegar Targaryen, she might be in Oldtown with her children growing tall around her. He wondered how many lives had been snuffed out by that fart.

"Lannisport was the end of our voyage," Prince Oberyn went on, as Ser Arron Qorgyle helped him into a padded leather tunic and began lacing it up the back. "Were you aware that our mothers knew each other of old?"

"They had been at court together as girls, I seem to recall. Companions to Princess Rhaella?"

"Just so. It was my belief that the mothers had cooked up this plot between them. Squire Squishlips and his ilk and the various pimply young maidens who'd been paraded before me were the almonds before the feast, meant only to whet our appetites. The main course was to be served at Casterly Rock."

"Cersei and Jaime."

"Such a clever dwarf. Elia and I were older, to be sure. Your brother and sister could not have been more than eight or nine. Still, a difference of five or six years is little enough. And there was an empty cabin on our ship, a very nice cabin, such as might be kept for a person of high birth. As if it were intended that we take someone back to Sunspear. A young page, perhaps. Or a companion for Elia. Your lady mother meant to betroth Jaime to my sister, or Cersei to me. Perhaps both."

"Perhaps," said Tyrion, "but my father—"

"—ruled the Seven Kingdoms, but was ruled at home by his lady wife, or so my mother always said." Prince Oberyn raised his arms, so Lord Dagos Manwoody and the Bastard of Godsgrace could slip a chainmail byrnie down over his head. "At Oldtown we learned of your mother's death, and the monstrous child she had borne. We might have turned back there, but my mother chose to sail on. I told you of the welcome we found at Casterly Rock.

"What I did not tell you was that my mother waited as long as was decent, and then broached your father about our purpose. Years later, on her deathbed, she told me that Lord Tywin had refused us brusquely. His daughter was meant for Prince Rhaegar, he informed her. And when she asked for Jaime, to espouse Elia, he offered her you instead."

"Which offer she took for an outrage."

"It was. Even you can see that, surely?"

"Oh, surely." It all goes back and back, Tyrion thought, to our mothers and fathers and theirs before them. We are puppets dancing on the strings of those who came before us, and one day our own children will take up our strings and dance on in our steads. "Well, Prince Rhaegar married Elia of Dorne, not Cersei Lannister of Casterly Rock. So it would seem your mother won that tilt."

"She thought so," Prince Oberyn agreed, "but your father is not a man to forget such slights. He taught that lesson to Lord and Lady Tarbeck once, and to the Reynes of Castamere. And at King's Landing, he taught it to my sister. My helm, Dagos." Manwoody handed it to him; a high golden helm with a copper disk mounted on the brow, the sun of Dorne. The visor had been removed, Tyrion saw. "Elia and her children have waited long for justice." Prince Oberyn pulled on soft red leather gloves, and took up his spear again. "But this day they shall have it." -- Tyrion X, ASOS

-------

"Was she a fair maid?"

"She was," said Meera, hopping over a stone, "but there were others fairer still. One was the wife of the dragon prince, who'd brought a dozen lady companions to attend her. The knights all begged them for favors to tie about their lances." -- Bran II, ASOS

--------

"I was the oldest," the prince said, "and yet I am the last. After Mors and Olyvar died in their cradles, I gave up hope of brothers. I was nine when Elia came, a squire in service at Salt Shore. When the raven arrived with word that my mother had been brought to bed a month too soon, I was old enough to understand that meant the child would not live. Even when Lord Gargalen told me that I had a sister, I assured him that she must shortly die. Yet she lived, by the Mother's mercy. And a year later Oberyn arrived, squalling and kicking. I was a man grown when they were playing in these pools. Yet here I sit, and they are gone." -- Hotah I, AFFC

-------

"Tyene. Obara is too loud. Tyene is so sweet and gentle that no man will suspect her. Obara would make Oldtown our father's funeral pyre, but I am not so greedy. Four lives will suffice for me. Lord Tywin's golden twins, as payment for Elia's children. The old lion, for Elia herself. And last of all the little king, for my father -- Hotah I, AFFC

-------

"He went beyond anything I asked of him. 'Take the measure of this boy king and his council, and make note of their strengths and weaknesses,' I told him, on the terrace. We were eating oranges. 'Find us friends, if there are any to be found. Learn what you can of Elia's end, but see that you do not provoke Lord Tywin unduly,' those were my words to him. Oberyn laughed, and said, 'When have I provoked any man . . . unduly? You would do better to warn the Lannisters against provoking me.' He wanted justice for Elia, but he would not wait—"

"He waited ten-and-seven years," the Lady Nym broke in. "Were it you they'd killed, my father would have led his banners north before your corpse was cold. Were it you, the spears would be falling thick as rain upon the marches now." -- Hotah I, AFFC

-------

"And what is it I want, ser?"

"The Sand Snakes freed. Vengeance for Oberyn and Elia. Do I know the song? You want a little taste of lion blood."

That, and my birthright. I want Sunspear, and my father's seat. I want Dorne. "I want justice." -- Arianne I, AFFC

-------

"With me?" That is so like him. "For Lord Tywin and the Lannisters you always had the forbearance of Baelor the Blessed, but for your own blood, none."

"You mistake patience for forbearance. I have worked at the downfall of Tywin Lannister since the day they told me of Elia and her children. It was my hope to strip him of all that he held most dear before I killed him, but it would seem his dwarf son has robbed me of that pleasure. I take some small solace in knowing that he died a cruel death at the hands of the monster that he himself begot. Be that as it may. Lord Tywin is howling down in hell . . . where thousands more will soon be joining him, if your folly turns to war." Her father grimaced, as if the very word were painful to him. "Is that what you want?"

The princess refused to be cowed. "I want my cousins freed. I want my uncle avenged. I want my rights." -- Arianne II, AFFC

-------

Black cats brought ill luck, as Rhaegar's little girl had discovered in this very castle. She would have been my daughter, if the Mad King had not played his cruel jape on Father. It had to have been the madness that led Aerys to refuse Lord Tywin's daughter and take his son instead, whilst marrying his own son to a feeble Dornish princess with black eyes and a flat chest. -- Cersei V, AFFC

--------

"Her duty." The word felt cold upon her tongue. "You saw my brother Rhaegar wed. Tell me, did he wed for love or duty?"

The old knight hesitated. "Princess Elia was a good woman, Your Grace. She was kind and clever, with a gentle heart and a sweet wit. I know the prince was very fond of her."

Fond, thought Dany. The word spoke volumes. I could become fond of Hizdahr zo Loraq, in time. Perhaps. -- Daenerys IV, ADWD

-------

The lad flushed. "That was not me. I told you. That was some tanner's son from Pisswater Bend whose mother died birthing him. His father sold him to Lord Varys for a jug of Arbor gold. He had other sons but had never tasted Arbor gold. Varys gave the Pisswater boy to my lady mother and carried me away." -- Tyrion VI, ADWD

-------

Seventeen years had come and gone since the Battle of the Bells, yet the sound of bells ringing still tied a knot in his guts. Others might claim that the realm was lost when Prince Rhaegar fell to Robert's warhammer on the Trident, but the Battle of the Trident would never have been fought if the griffin had only slain the stag there in Stoney Sept. The bells tolled for all of us that day. For Aerys and his queen, for Elia of Dorne and her little daughter, for every true man and honest woman in the Seven Kingdoms. And for my silver prince.

"The plan was to reveal Prince Aegon only when we reached Queen Daenerys," Lemore was saying. -- JonCon I, ADWD

--------

That time was done, though. "No man could have asked for a worthier son," Griff said, "but the lad is not of my blood, and his name is not Griff. My lords, I give you Aegon Targaryen, firstborn son of Rhaegar, Prince of Dragonstone, by Princess Elia of Dorne … soon, with your help, to be Aegon, the Sixth of His Name, King of Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, and Lord of the Seven Kingdoms."-- JonCon I, ADWD

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Prince Doran frowned. "That is so, Ser Balon, but the Lady Nym is right. If ever a man deserved to die screaming, it was Gregor Clegane. He butchered my good sister, smashed her babe's head against a wall. I only pray that now he is burning in some hell, and that Elia and her children are at peace. This is the justice that Dorne has hungered for. I am glad that I lived long enough to taste it. At long last the Lannisters have proved the truth of their boast and paid this old blood debt." -- Hotah, ADWD

--------

"A start?" said Ellaria Sand, incredulous. "Gods forbid. I would it were a finish. Tywin Lannister is dead. So are Robert Baratheon, Amory Lorch, and now Gregor Clegane, all those who had a hand in murdering Elia and her children. Even Joffrey, who was not yet born when Elia died. I saw the boy perish with mine own eyes, clawing at his throat as he tried to draw a breath. Who else is there to kill? Do Myrcella and Tommen need to die so the shades of Rhaenys and Aegon can be at rest? Where does it end?"-- Hotah, ADWD

--------

"Oberyn wanted vengeance for Elia. Now the three of you want vengeance for him. I have four daughters, I remind you. Your sisters. My Elia is fourteen, almost a woman. Obella is twelve, on the brink of maidenhood. They worship you, as Dorea and Loreza worship them. If you should die, must El and Obella seek vengeance for you, then Dorea and Loree for them? Is that how it goes, round and round forever? I ask again, where does it end?" Ellaria Sand laid her hand on the Mountain's head. "I saw your father die. Here is his killer. Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night? Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?"-- Hotah, ADWD

--------

It was his failures that haunted him at night, though. Jaehaerys, Aerys, Robert. Three dead kings. Rhaegar, who would have been a finer king than any of them. Princess Elia and the children. Aegon just a babe, Rhaenys with her kitten. Dead, every one, yet he still lived, who had sworn to protect them. And now Daenerys, his bright shining child queen. She is not dead. I will not believe it. -- Barristan II, ADWD

-------

A bride for our bright prince. Jon Connington remembered Prince Rhaegar's wedding all too well. Elia was never worthy of him. She was frail and sickly from the first, and childbirth only left her weaker. After the birth of Princess Rhaenys, her mother had been bedridden for half a year, and Prince Aegon's birth had almost been the death of her. She would bear no more children, the maesters told Prince Rhaegar afterward. -- JonCon II, ADWD

--------

Griff had heard enough of the captain-general's cowardice. "We will not be alone. Dorne will join us, must join us. Prince Aegon is Elia's son as well as Rhaegar's."-- JonCon II, ADWD

--------

Rhaegar had chosen Lyanna Stark of Winterfell. Barristan Selmy would have made a different choice. Not the queen, who was not present. Nor Elia of Dorne, though she was good and gentle; had she been chosen, much war and woe might have been avoided. His choice would have been a young maiden not long at court, one of Elia's companions … though compared to Ashara Dayne, the Dornish princess was a kitchen drab. -- Barristan III, ADWD

--------

She will never wash the stain away, no matter how hard she scrubs. Ser Kevan remembered the girl she once had been, so full of life and mischief. And when she'd flowered, ahhhh … had there ever been a maid so sweet to look upon? If Aerys had agreed to marry her to Rhaegar, how many deaths might have been avoided? Cersei could have given the prince the sons he wanted, lions with purple eyes and silver manes … and with such a wife, Rhaegar might never have looked twice at Lyanna Stark. The northern girl had a wild beauty, as he recalled, though however bright a torch might burn it could never match the rising sun.

But it did no good to brood on lost battles and roads not taken. That was a vice of old done men. Rhaegar had wed Elia of Dorne, Lyanna Stark had died, Robert Baratheon had taken Cersei to bride, and here they were. And tonight his own road would take him to his niece's chambers and face-to-face with Cersei. -- Kevan, ADWD

------

Fire and blood was what Jon Connington (if indeed it was him) was offering as well. Or was it? "He comes with sellswords, but no dragons," Prince Doran had told her, the night the raven came. "The Golden Company is the best and largest of the free companies, but ten thousand mercenaries cannot hope to win the Seven Kingdoms. Elia's son... I would weep for joy if some part of my sister had survived, but what proof do we have that this is Aegon?" His voice broke when he said that. "Where are the dragons?" he asked. "Where is Daenerys?" and Arianne knew that he was really saying, "Where is my son?" -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

"Gregor Clegane ripped Aegon out of Elia's arms and smashed his head against a wall," Ser Daemon said. "If Lord Connington's prince has a crushed skull, I will believe that Aegon Targaryen has returned from the grave. Elsewise, no. This is some feigned boy, no more. A sellsword's ploy to win support." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

"I... it would give great joy to my father if Elia's son were still alive. He loved his sister well." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

So it was. "I was seven when Elia died. They say I held her daughter Rhaenys once, when I was too young to remember. Aegon will be a stranger to me, whether true or false." The princess paused. "We looked for Rhaegar's sister, not his son." Her father had confided in Ser Daemon when he chose him as his daughter's shield; with him at least she could speak freely. "I would sooner it were Quentyn who'd returned." -- Arianne I, TWOW

-------

Meanwhile, King Aerys was becoming ever more estranged from his own son and heir. Early in the year 279 AC, Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone, was formally betrothed to Princess Elia Martell, the delicate young sister of Doran Martell, Prince of Dorne. They were wed the following year, in a lavish ceremony at the Great Sept of Baelor in King's Landing, but Aerys II did not attend. He told the small council that he feared an attempt upon his life if he left the confines of the Red Keep, even with his Kingsguard to protect him. Nor would he allow his younger son, Viserys, to attend his brother's wedding.

When Prince Rhaegar and his new wife chose to take up residence on Dragonstone instead of the Red Keep, rumors flew thick and fast across the Seven Kingdoms. Some claimed that the crown prince was planning to depose his father and seize the Iron Throne for himself, whilst others said that King Aerys meant to disinherit Rhaegar and name Viserys heir in his place. Nor did the birth of King Aerys's first grandchild, a girl named Rhaenys, born on Dragonstone in 280 AC, do aught to reconcile father and son. When Prince Rhaegar returned to the Red Keep to present his daughter to his own mother and father, Queen Rhaella embraced the babe warmly, but King Aerys refused to touch or hold the child and complained that she "smells Dornish." -- TWOIAF

-------

Chief amongst the Mad King's supporters were three lords of his small council: Qarlton Chelsted, master of coin, Lucerys Velaryon, master of ships, and Symond Staunton, master of laws. The eunuch Varys, master of whisperers, and Wisdom Rossart, grand master of the Guild of Alchemists, also enjoyed the king's trust. Prince Rhaegar's support came from the younger men at court, including Lord Jon Connington, Ser Myles Mooton of Maidenpool, and Ser Richard Lonmouth. The Dornishmen who had come to court with the Princess Elia were in the prince's confidence as well, particularly Prince Lewyn Martell, Elia's uncle and a Sworn Brother of the Kingsguard. But the most formidable of all Rhaegar's friends and allies in King's Landing was surely Ser Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning.-- TWOIAF

-------

And when the triumphant Prince of Dragonstone named Lyanna Stark, daughter of the Lord of Winterfell, the queen of love and beauty, placing a garland of blue roses in her lap with the tip of his lance, the lickspittle lords gathered around the king declared that further proof of his perfidy. Why would the prince have thus given insult to his own wife, the Princess Elia Martell of Dorne (who was present), unless it was to help him gain the Iron Throne? The crowning of the Stark girl, who was by all reports a wild and boyish young thing with none of the Princess Elia's delicate beauty, could only have been meant to win the allegiance of Winterfell to Prince Rhaegar's cause, Symond Staunton suggested to the king..-- TWOIAF

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As cold winds hammered the city, King Aerys II turned to his pyromancers, charging them to drive the winter off with their magics. Huge green fires burned along the walls of the Red Keep for a moon's turn. Prince Rhaegar was not in the city to observe them, however. Nor could he be found in Dragonstone with Princess Elia and their young son, Aegon. With the coming of the new year, the crown prince had taken to the road with half a dozen of his closest friends and confidants, on a journey that would ultimately lead him back to the riverlands. Not ten leagues from Harrenhal, Rhaegar fell upon Lyanna Stark of Winterfell, and carried her off, lighting a fire that would consume his house and kin and all those he loved—and half the realm besides..-- TWOIAF

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From Dorne, in defense of Princess Elia, ten thousand spears came over the Boneway and marched to King's Landing to bolster the host that Rhaegar was raising. Those who were there at court during this time have recounted that Aerys's behavior was erratic. He was untrusting of any save his Kingsguard—and then only imperfectly, for he kept Ser Jaime Lannister close at all hours to serve as a hostage against his father..-- TWOIAF

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Birds flew and couriers raced to bear word of the victory at the Ruby Ford. When the news reached the Red Keep, it was said that Aerys cursed the Dornish, certain that Lewyn had betrayed Rhaegar. He sent his pregnant queen, Rhaella, and his younger son and new heir, Viserys, away to Dragonstone, but Princess Elia was forced to remain in King's Landing with Rhaegar's children as a hostage against Dorne. Having burned his previous Hand, Lord Chelsted, alive for bad counsel during the war, Aerys now appointed another to the position: the alchemist Rossart—a man of low birth, with little to recommend him but his flames and trickery. -- TWOIAF

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The Red Keep was soon breached, but in the chaos, misfortune soon fell upon Elia of Dorne and her children, Rhaenys and Aegon. It is tragic that the blood spilled in war may as readily be innocent as it is guilty, and that those who ravished and murdered Princess Elia escaped justice. It is not known who murdered Princess Rhaenys in her bed, or smashed the infant Prince Aegon's head against a wall. Some whisper it was done at Aerys's own command when he learned that Lord Lannister had taken up Robert's cause, while others suggest that Elia did it herself for fear of what would happen to her children in the hands of her dead husband's enemies.-- TWOIAF

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Dorne continued to be closely allied with House Targaryen in the years that followed, with the Martells supporting the Targaryens against the Blackfyre Pretenders and sending spears to fight the Ninepenny Kings on the Stepstones. Their loyal service was rewarded when Rhaegar Targaryen, Prince of Dragonstone and heir to the Iron Throne, took to wife Princess Elia Martell of Sunspear, and sired two children by her. But for the madness of Rhaegar's father, Aerys II, a prince of Dornish blood might very well have one day ruled the realm, but the upheavals of Robert's Rebellion brought about the end of Prince Rhaegar, his wife, and his children. .-- TWOIAF

#elia martell #eliaweek2021 #asoiaf

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capesandshapes · 4 years ago

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Yours (Ladynoir)

Summary:

Marinette is crushed when Lila shows up to lunch with a matebite of her own, insisting that it's from Adrien. The shock finally leads her to make a decision, one which her kitty is hesitant to agree to.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.” “I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.” "Bite me."

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

Cold.

She wasn’t sure if it was her or the slow breezes rolling through Paris that night, lifting stray strands of hair and depositing them in her eyes when she needed them the least. She brushed them away, securing the hair behind her ears as she pulled herself daringly closer to the edge of the rooftop she sat upon, eyes glimpsing momentarily out to the city before her arms wrapped around her knees, pulling them in so that her chin could rest upon them.

Inwardly, she cursed the effects of biology, hot tears biting at the corners of her eyes that likely wouldn’t exist if DNA had assigned her any other role. Alpha or Beta, she could have lived with those, she could have fought through this if it were one of them-- but Omega? Of course she had to be born like this, of course she had to have that building sensation gnawing at her stomach that made actual rational thoughts a haze.

And of course Lila freakin’ Rossi had to claim to receive his mate mark, the telltale purple ring of teeth marks making it undeniable. Adrien wore scent maskers for his own sake, but it made sense that the overwhelming smell of Adrien branded cologne would have been crafted from him.

What was supposed to be another normal lunch date with Alya had quickly devolved into her walking away alone, Lila repeatedly reassuring Alya that she gets it because, you know, Omegas are just so emotional sometimes ! Lila might have been a Beta, but she was also a Cancer and that made her extra empathetic.

Marinette was not a fan of astrology… or Lila. Or, as of half an hour ago, Adrien Agreste.

How could he mate ��her ? Out of all the people, why Lila?

Was Marinette really that blind?

And now she was the last one! Everyone else had already gone around biting each other-- and even if her parents said that things don’t always happen quite as early, Marinette was sick of it! Sick of being alone, sick of shivering in her nest with nothing to hold and no one to hold her-- of waiting again and again for someone to see her--

Of sitting in black and red alone on rooftops alone, because that was the only way she could even hope to escape the pinkened haze that overcame her. At least when she was Ladybug, she could think. At least when she was Ladybug no one gave her pitying looks, smelling the oncoming wave of heat approaching her and noting the perfectly pale and unmarked skin on her neck. At least when she was Ladybug, she was never really alone.

“Hey bug,” a voice from behind greeted her as if on cue. His body easily slid into the space beside her as his arm ran around the small of her back in greeting, head falling against her shoulder as he very clearly took in her miserable expression.

She didn’t speak. There was nothing really left to say, not in this situation. Instead, she let her head slump on top of his, hand finally relinquishing the grip on her knees if only to respond to him.

She was expecting him, though she wouldn’t say it. She always expected him at moments like this. She wouldn’t tell him that, or even admit it to herself but, that was the reason that she came out there half the time.

She knew, and he must have been aware as well, exactly what her partner was. She knew it from the way that one touch never felt enough, the way that he always knew the exact moments she needed him the most, and that desire that kept coming in waves over and over again to just have something-- just a little bit of him-- to keep as her own.

Chat was an Alpha and she was another blushing Omega trying to fight the tides of nature.

“You want to talk about it?” he asked, thumb drawing long, gentle strokes just below her ribs.

“No,” she lied, the hint of a sob immediately betraying her. God she was pathetic, crying over the matebite of a boy that she never had any claim to to begin with.

“Mhm.”

His disbelief was evident, coaxing out of her, as it always did, the truth of her misery. She tried to bite it back, but it came tumbling out as usual, every little thought that she didn’t want anyone to know. “Do you ever feel like we’re falling behind? Like everyone else is onto something and they’re moving on, and you’re just dragging on behind them. Everyone has someone, absolutely everyone now, and here I am just struggling to get by.” Her eyes drifted to his neck, momentarily eyeing the pale, unmarked skin there, “well not everyone, but--”

“You feel alone,” he summarized, voice sounding like he knew about being alone in the seemingly endless ways that she did.

“Very alone,” she confirmed, allowing her knees to fall to the side and her body to slump further into his with a sigh of defeat. “Someday you’re going to have an omega and I’m not going to have this anymore, and I’m going to have to learn to get by. You’re going to be in love and I’ll be happy for you, but miserable at the same time.”

“I’m not going to have an omega,” he laughed, pulling his head out from under hers with a grin. He leaned further into her vision, exaggeratedly rolling his eyes at her. “How would I get the time? I told you, I’m a college student and I plan to be a college student for many years more. There’s no way I can balance that, being a superhero, friends, and work all at the same time. By the second week she’d be wearing turtleneck sweaters around me in case the thought so much as crossed my mind.”

“You say that now…”

“I say that every single time you bring up that ridiculous idea,” Chat shook his head, settling back in beside her. “Besides, I told you, I have a lot to get over before I can so much as think of meeting someone new,” he said pointedly, eyes trained on the city but a hint of a smirk still on his lips.

Right.

“What if it was me,” she began. It was normally a hypothetical statement, one which he responded to with grandiose visions of moonlight nights, well-padded nests, and an insistence that he would wear the mark on his neck as if one of honor. She loved when he responded like that, when he gave her all those fantasies to fixate on later in the night. That night it didn’t feel so hypothetical.

“You’ve gone delirious from heat,” Chat said, his eyes dropping back down to his lap.

“I’ve not,” she said, though her heart had begun to beat like she was already gone. Too much excitement, too much want. Chat, chat, chat, chat-- how could she ever imagine Adrien at her side when Chat was the one who was always there?

Mating didn’t have to be about love-- but could she deny that she loved him just a little bit?

“Ladybug,” he warned.

She wouldn’t listen to him, wouldn’t let herself be swayed by things such as logic and reason. “Ladybug and Chat Noir, we’re two halves of a whole! It makes sense!” She insisted, grabbing his hands as he began to pull away, hoping that the clarity in her eyes would convince him of how overwhelmingly present she was at that moment. “Chat, I--”

“What about the other guy?” He interrupted, pulling back.

“He has someone,” she replied, the immediately flinched at the way that his eyes widened. Before he could pull away, she lunged forward, face just inches from his as she tried to keep his gaze. “It’s not like that, we’re not like that. I mean maybe I realized because of that but you’re--” She exhaled, hands tightening around his as an overwhelming need to pull closer gnawed at her. No doubt he saw her pupils grow as she looked at him, really looked at him.

It was biology, plain and simple. They’d been sidestepping the boundaries of desire through suits and determination, now she was really looking at him and she couldn’t fight back the blood of an omega loudly begging for more.

“You’re an alpha,” she said, voice shaking as she crawled closer, admitting the facts that they’d long ignored. “I’m an omega.”

“I know,” he replied miserably. “You need to start pulling away, you’re starting to warm up and I can almost scent you.”

She was, wasn’t she? She was starting to feel miserably warm, miserably close to the edge of the cliff known as heat-- a place where logical thoughts and awareness went to die. She didn’t want to drop it, to lose herself to desire and have him write it off as a onetime moment of insanity. More than that, she didn’t want him to give in and the moment to be lost to her in the haze of need. “Bite me,” she half commanded, half begged him. A part of her was terrified that he wouldn’t agree, that she was so terrible an omega that he no longer wanted her.

His eyes clenched shut, hands desperately clenching down onto hers as he tried to inhale and gather enough air to hold his breath. Unfortunately, there was too much of her lingering in the air for him not to recognize.

His eyes snapped open, body jerking back as the scent of vanilla and cinnamon lingered in the air, her wettened eyes staring back at him. She knew from that motion alone, a hint of a sob escaping her as doubt, the kind bred by those awful hormones, began to overtake her. He knew, he knew exactly who she was now.

His hands pulled away from hers and a sob racked her body, the fear of rejection overcoming her. It wouldn’t be because she was Marinette, Chat liked Marinette for who she was, it would be because she’d waited too long. It would be because he’d actually already done the moving on thing, he’d just lied to placate her.

His body turned to face her wholly and it was worse, so much worse than knowing Adrien had chosen Lila. It was worse than sitting alone, worse than looking at the mark on Alya’s throat and being reassured that it would happen someday, worse than every single time he vanished at an Akuma’s hands and she had to worry whether he would come back or not.

No, with this he would change it all. They’d still work together but there wouldn’t be moments like this. He would pull away, he would--

His lips gently touched the tip of her nose, bringing her back to reality.

“Do you hear me, Marinette?” he said, checking that it was still here, that she was not lost yet. His face was close, far too close, and her lips fell open in awe at the way the gold of his hair caught the moonlight. “I said yes,” he explained, thumb brushing a stray tear from underneath her eye. “Only if you’re here, but yes.” A beautiful smile crossed his lips at her ragged exhale, his forehead brushing against hers. The smell of apple, cheese, and that little bit of sweetness was overwhelming, so much better than the expensive cologne she’d once inhaled. “I need to hear you say it, I’m not going to mark you if you’re gone.”

“I love you,” not at all the words she meant to say but looking at the deep green in front of her, she couldn’t say anything else. It didn’t matter that she didn’t know who was under the mask, or that someday she’d have to explain the mark to someone else. It most certainly did not matter that Lila had Adrien’s mark because, looking at the man in front of her she knew; it was Chat, it was always Chat.

And to him, it was always Marinette.

One bite, and that was all it ever would be.

There was nothing comparable to his responding smile, she was almost disappointed by how suddenly it was taken away when his lips brushed against hers, pressing a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth. Her eyes closed as he moved to her neck, exposing that juncture between throat and shoulder to her so easily. One inhale, the pressure rising in her chest and…

“I love you too, Marinette.”

The world flashed as teeth collided with flesh.

#adrienette #ladynoir #adrien agreste #marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #love square #ml fanfic #my fanfic #fanfiction #omegaverse #I GOT TOO EXCITED ANYWAY #QUEEN OF TRASH CAPESANDSHAPES #original content

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wedreamedlove · 4 years ago

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Xu Mo and Loneliness [Character Study]

Surprise! It's essay time again ᕕ( ᐛ )ᕗ! Disclaimer: I use CN translations because Elex...

One (of the many) things I love about Xu Mo's character is his juxtapositions [Character Study]. He is one of the loneliest men in the world due to his archetype and nature [Into Your World] but also the most susceptible to loneliness.

Throughout the game, he's dropped hints about his fear of being left behind:

"... But the sensitive artist was also afraid the butterfly would one day grow tired of being beside him, and so he thought about catching the butterfly and putting it in a glass jar. Like this, the butterfly would never be able to leave him." [Drowning in Love SSR - Artist and Butterfly Call]

"... But if I really did encounter the one and only color in my life, then I certainly wouldn't let them go." [Drowning in Love SSR - The Only Color Call]

"... No matter what the truth may be, I'll always be with you. Until the very moment it arrives... I just hope that, at that time, you won't want to push me away." [CH12 - Truth and False Call]

MC: Don't worry, I'll be alright on my own. Xu Mo: But I'm not alright alone. [CH13.4]

But, at the same time, he's accepted the adage that "'tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all":

"The grain, which is also golden, will bring me back the thought of you. And I shall love to listen to the wind in the wheat." [CH9.14]

Just to expand on this for those who are unfamiliar with The Little Prince story, when the Little Prince is going to leave the fox, the fox says that it is going to cry. The Little Prince feels that his taming of the fox has done it no good at all, because now it's hurt, but the fox denies this because now it has the color of the wheat fields.

"Since she was willing to gently embrace all that he was, then why not accept this pain in his heart that was caused by her alone." [Overseas Date]

"Forget it, he'll just be foolish once more with this foolish girl." [True Love Date]

One other aspect of his juxtapositions is how his wants and needs are in conflict and I think people are naturally picking up on this, which is why he's viewed as having a really intense relationship with the MC.

I'm just going to define my words in this context to make things clearer but a "want" is your desire in life, while a "need" is your raison d'etre, essentially your reason for living and your goal in life. It's not necessary for all stories or characters to have this, but they're certainly more captivating with this. (As an aside, Zhou Qiluo has this going for him too while Li Zeyan and Bai Qi do not... and maybe why Bai Qi keeps getting hit with the vanilla and boring label LOL).

So, what does Xu Mo want? To love the MC and, as a byproduct, never be alone again. What does he need? The continuing survival (and evolution) of humankind, even if that means walking a path that will leave people behind him and end with him being alone.

This internal conflict is something we see again and again in the game:

[CH13] He reveals his identity to her as Ares, but lets her go. He even sacrifices his eye and the ability to see her color.

[CH16] They're "enemies" and they draw a clear line between them at the news conference, but he then saves her and returns her home. He sacrifices their experience together in the dream world and his answer to her question about whether or not he'd even offer up the person important to him for his goals.

”Before I met you, I would be annoyed at the pace of the people with me. Everyone has their own destination and a person walking by themselves would be quicker. Mm, this isn't a good custom. But on my path, whenever I turn my head back, I would always find that you had already caught up to my side. This time as well. Perhaps, in this world, you're the only person who can make me unable to resist looking back. Or perhaps you're the only person who can reach my side again and again. So, in the future, I won't let go anymore. On this day, next year, you'll be at my side too.“ [2019 (2nd) Birthday Call]

Now, the entire reason I wrote up this post—LOL. I'm actually half-serious because his [Endless Path Date] is amazing in how they distilled his character to one of his core themes and represented that facet entirely in this AU date.

I'm going to be jumping around chronologically in the date to show how he was in the past, to the present before MC regained her memories, to after she regained her memories.

PAST

Xu Mo: I hope you don't regret the choice you made this day.

MC: ... I admit I hate them, but I don't wish to be the same as them because of this.

MC: I don't want to become a murderous demon.

Xu Mo seemed to be a bit surprised and then, after a few seconds, the crimson in his eyes faded and became a calm purple, scrutinizing me.

Xu Mo: A murderous demon... Do you believe that I am one as well?

His voice carried a smile, but I felt a formless pressure and sense of terror surround me and I shuddered.

MC: You aren't. You saved me.

Although the way was to turn me into a vampire... in a sense, he gave me a "new life".

Xu Mo: Save? It appears that, in your understanding, when vampires are hunting for food they are saving people.

MC: I'm just being factual. Also, the word "hunting"...

The corner of Xu Mo's lips pulled up.

Xu Mo: There's no rush. In the future, you will experience for yourself whether or not the word I used is accurate.

I was stunned and suddenly remembered the thirst towards fresh blood in that hut earlier which had dominated me.

Xu Mo seemed to have no intention of bothering himself with me again and turned around, preparing to leave.

MC: Um... please wait a moment.

He silently looked back, his expression indifferent and cold under the moonlight.

I summoned up my courage and looked straight at Xu Mo.

MC: Can... can you give me your blood?

MC: I heard that this was the only way to become a true vampire; they won't have to drink blood and they won't lose their reasoning, so...

Xu Mo: So I have to answer your request?

Xu Mo interrupted me, as if he heard something laughable.

Xu Mo: Vampires are not gods who never refuse a request. Or is it that all humans are such selfish creatures?

MC: N-not at all! In exchange, I can...

The wind blew through, rustling the leaves of the trees. Xu Mo calmly listened to my words and was silent for a long while before he lightly sighed, but it also seemed like a laugh.

Xu Mo: Alright, I agree.

Under the moonlight, the hand that was held out to me was pale and slender. I took a step forward and also stretched out my hand—

PRESENT

Xu Mo blinked, slowly without hurry, and swept his eyes over in my direction.

He saw me and didn't appear to be surprised at all; instead, it was like he knew I was there all along, witnessing everything.

His smile wasn't anything different from usual and even the way he set down his glass and held out his hand to me was like that day, two years ago.

Xu Mo: [MC], you came.

The color of crimson blurred my vision and the smell of blood was like a wave threatening to engulf me.

I felt like breathing was difficult and my legs were unsteady; I could only lean against the wall.

Xu Mo saw that I didn't move and walked directly over to me. It was as if everything around him had no effect on him and those two crimson eyes reflected only my figure.

He came to me like this, step by step, and the strange thing was... that I actually didn't feel any fear.

He raised a hand to support me and this let me see his eyes clearly. There seemed to be a faint worry in them.

FUTURE

Xu Mo: Do you remember everything?

A gentle voice landed beside my ear and, as I recalled the scenes of that night, I looked at Xu Mo and mumbled.

MC: I promised you that, no matter how long, I would always...

He blinked and those crimson eyes crumbled into purple, a faint smile appearing in them.

Xu Mo: Mm, you said you would be at my side forever.

The reason I transcribed these three scenes is because they're so good at showing his assumed indifference, to how fast he caved into the temptation of not being alone, to how he continues to hold this hope despite MC having "broken their promise", to the future where they get to walk in an endless night together forever.

IT'S SO GOOD. I'm a sucker for immortality concepts and PG nailed this vampire version so well; his ancientness in the past, the longing for companionship, and then the sharing of a life.

Anyway, I was actually going to post this essay after I read his newest Halloween card because, after seeing he was an exiled prince with Snow White themes, my guess was that it was going to have a heavy and explicit theme about loneliness again.

But I got impatient seeing as how I have to wait until the end of the event to redeem him. So, I guess I'm throwing it out there that this is my prediction??? For those who have read that date, you can tell me if I'm hot or cold LOL. I'm going to look like a fool yelling about loneliness themes if that isn't the case this time though.

MIMICRY

Semi-switching gears and bringing back my [Into Your World] post, I just want to add that in addition to being so intensely curious about the MC's world and trying to understand her, I've noticed that MC and Xu Mo share something pretty unique to them that's less obvious with the others.

This is the mimicry that they do to each other.

There's been psychological studies that looked into the social aspects of mimicry (Baaren et al 2009) and mimicry and attraction in romantic relationships (Nicolas Gueguen 2009). In short, mimicking someone appears to promote social harmony, comfort, and trust in the other person; it can also make you more attractive to them LOL.

I really don't think Xu Mo is doing this intentionally and that, instead, this supports his (alienated) scholar archetype, his hobby of people watching, and trying to understand the MC's world. The same goes for MC, she wants to understand his world and a part of that is experiencing things in his way.

The reason I believe this is less obvious (if at all apparent) with the others is because, when I compare Xu Mo's dates to Bai Qi dates, all of Bai Qi’s dates are more like experiencing activities together, which Xu Mo has as well, ex. [Winery Date], [Sunrise Date], [Hot Spring Date], etc.

But Xu Mo has dates where they specifically mimic each other, such as:

[Blossom Date] He covers her eyes, she then covers his eyes.

[Archery Date] Technically, he teaches her but after he gets bull's-eye, she copies the form he taught her and also gets bull's-eye.

[New Year's Eve] He gets taught and mimics the way she makes dumplings.

[Qixi 2018 Mini Story] He and the kids ended up copying the MC's flying fish.

[Rainy Night Date] The flashback about how she folded origami cranes and then taught him and they make strings of them.

They also—and this I swear is unique solely to Xu Mo—mimic each other's words or sentence structures and phrases:

[Blossom Date] Tao Yao poem and how they quoted it back at each other, essentially finishing each other's stanza.

[Endless Path Date] The beginning of the dates shows an inside joke between them where MC tries to ask Xu Mo difficult questions to stump him, because he can see through her. But he guesses the herbs she bought by the smell on her fingers. Later on, she guesses that he's going to a party based on his use of the cologne she made him and which he only uses for parties. She explicitly brings up the beginning and how she can deduce things about him too via scent.

[CH13.15] Xu Mo quotes 1 Corinthians 13:12 at MC and [CH16.12] MC quotes 1 Corinthians 13:2 at him.

[CH16.12] During the conference, MC literally quotes the words he said to her [CH13.17] back at him to go against him.

[Dumbstruck Date] Heck, this whole date was MC repeating words that the original Xu Mo said to her and making Winter!Xu Mo jealous as heck LOL.

Throughout the story, where MC draws her strength from how the other men are as people (Li Zeyan's stability and permanence, Bai Qi’s core of justice, etc.), she seems to draw extensively on the words Xu Mo has said to her, or references to the same body of literature.

EDIT: Forgot to mention, but IMO this is why he reacts the worst out of all the men to MC’s disappearance in Chapter 25+.

#love and producer #mlqc #mr love queen's choice #mlqc lucien #mlqc xu mo #love and produc(ing) meta

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fallenrepublick · 4 years ago

Note

I'm horny for maul tonight (who am i kidding every night), so I'm requesting Maul smut where reader is taking a shower and maul just decides to drop in 👀👀

Girl, lemme tell you, I am horny for Maul during literally all hours of the day, so I feel that. Also, I dig this request, because shower sex is something I’ve been wanting to try writing, so thank you.

Warnings: Fingering, generally nsfw, because duh

It had been quite a day for you.

Not only did every limb ache from the grueling training you had undertaken for one reason or another, but your consistent worrying about where your beloved Sith Lord was all day had sent a pounding headache into your brain that you desired to be rid of as soon as physically possible.

The bathroom in your current house was surprisingly large, with twin sinks on dark marble counters against the far wall, with a wide window tinted enough to allow you to see out, but to deny others any vision into the room. The walls were a dark tile, a perfect ambiance for your sensitive state.

You discarded your clothes on the floor, desperate enough to be rid of your pain that you’d decided to put them away later, though you left the door cracked, allowing you to hear if Maul returned from his mission. You ran the water in the walk-in shower, steam rising from the streams up to the ceiling, seeming to welcome you into its depths. Hot as the water was, the condensation wasn’t enough to cover the glass doors, not caring to leave anything to the imagination of anyone who might walk in. Stepping in delivered almost immediate relief, the water that dripped down your body carrying with it the pain and tension that had consumed you seconds prior.

The sound of the water hitting the floor created a soothing white noise, blending with the soft glow of city lights outside your window, creating a haven for you that distracted you completely from your lover’s entrance into the house.

Maul removed his cloak, hanging it by the door and scanned the room, finding it empty of your presence. As he tread towards the bedroom, he found the bathroom door ajar, steam seeping from the doorway and your hums of contentment echoing echoing off the walls. A moment of contemplation about his options revealed to him that going in would be most… beneficial to you both.

You had your head tilted up, the water from the showerhead washing over your face, droplets beading and falling from your hair and streams creating pathways down your skin as a river does on a mountain pass. The image resembled a goddess in Maul’s eyes, and a soft purr rumbled from his throat practically on instinct.

“Well? You’re not going to stand there all day, are you?” You laughed softly, having sensed his presence when he entered. The invitation flipped a switch within him, and his clothes were off before even he knew it.

He pulled open the door, his desire driving his every movement now, and the clear sight of you before him, wet from head to toe, body glistening in the dim lights, was enough to drive him mad. He needed you, more than the air he breathed, more than life itself.

When he entered, he took your face in his hands, calloused and rough against your soft features, and pulled you to him, your lips meeting his, mouth opening for his tongue, craving to explore inside of you. He was impatient, ready to take you here and now, but each moment sent shocks of electricity into his mind, sending him through a rare and powerful euphoria that he dare not rush through. Instead, he moved slowly, drinking in your taste with each movement, hands roaming down your body, stroking every piece of you, but pulling away just soon enough that it left you aching for more. Your arms curled around his neck, keeping him close and filling any space that might’ve been left between you two.

He moved down, kissing your neck, biting and sucking at your flesh, tugging at every bit of you he took in his mouth, relentless until he knew the marks he left there would remain for days, weeks, even. If he had to leave again, he wouldn’t even consider leaving you unbranded. The more he bit, the closer you held his head down, begging him to keep going. In response, he pressed you against the wall, icy stone colliding with your back, a shocked gasp escaping your lips, which he quickly silenced with yet another kiss.

Unchecked hands massaged your breasts, running over your hardened nipples with his thumbs, following the paths drawn for him by the droplets of water.

“Perfect,” he growled against you, mouth continuing to devour every inch of your upper body. “You’re so perfect.” A hand moved between your legs and you could feel his fingers drawing up the inside of your thigh, slowly and thoughtfully. It was agonizing how slowly he went, your desire for him only wanting him to hurry up and fuck you till you couldn’t think anymore, until your mind was rattled with thoughts of him and only him. But he didn’t oblige, taking slow, deliberate movements with your body as he pleased, counting the seconds it took for him to perform every duty allotted to him.

The higher his hand went, the faster your heart beated, the feeling of each of his fingers on your leg sending your mind further in time, playing out for yourself everything that he could do to you. Your hands found their way up to his horns, stroking them and gripping on in a way that could only be described as mind-numbingly sensual. He purred at the motion as you pressed your body against him eagerly, your undeniable need for him overpowering your sense.

He had found his mark, fingers entering into your folds, thumb massaging your clit, rolling and pressing skillfully, eliciting a cry of excitement from your lips. You didn’t even know what you were begging for when you began, “Maul, I-”

“You’re so impatient,” he said to you, yet another finger entering and his breath hot against your skin. “You’re already so wet and we haven’t even begun.” His hand was pumping in and out now, fingers curling inside of you as he moved, your desperate gasps for more only encouraging him to move quicker, more powerfully. The sensation was blinding. His familiarity with your body and exactly what unraveled you gave him an advantage. He didn’t even have to do much to have you begging for him.

Sensing where you were, he removed his hands, licking his fingers to taste your juices. Before you could object or plead him to keep going, he was lifting your leg. Keeping you up against the wall, he had you wrap your legs around his waist, arms holding tightly at his neck. He entered you, each ridge on his cock that you felt going inside you pulling a resounding moan from your vocal chords, as if the mere feeling of him inside you was enough to write a whole chorus for the gods. His face was buried in the crook of your neck, your back arched against the wall.

The sound of the rushing water wasn’t nearly enough to contain the unholy noises coming from the both of you as he moved. One of his hands held you up, fingers gripping tightly enough that there would surely be a handprint in the morning, but the other hand pressed against the wall, trying to stabilize himself as he felt your walls tightening around his hard cock. He did try to move slowly, taking in how good you felt around him, but every time he moved further in, your moans and pleas for more pulled him into pure instinct.

Inhibitions washed away with the water, he moved faster, pounding into you with enough force that you felt like you would snap. The ridges only intensified the feeling, the pressure of his width stretching your walls beyond bliss. Any hope of holding back was lost completely.

“My Starlight,” His nickname for you sounding like honey dripping from his lips. “Say my name for me.”

You struggled to even speak, your legs tightening around his waist. “M...Maul-” you stuttered, coherent thoughts failing to form in your head, the only thing you could concentrate on currently splitting you open from the inside. But you said it again, and again, getting louder each time, huffing and moaning between each repeat.

Hearing his name in your voice, the lust lacing every letter, was enough. He went harder, faster. Your head was back, eyes facing the dark ceiling, spatterings of stardust peppering your vision. The knot in your stomach grew unbearable.

“Maul, I can’t hold it much longer,” your words were tight, difficult to form. “I have to-”

“Come for me, my Starlight,” he purred into your neck, lips brushing your bruised skin. “Come for me and show me who you belong to.”

The release was intoxicating, your cum dripping down your legs, but being quickly washed away by the water. He set you back down carefully, hands running through your hair and gently caressing your skin, cleaning off any remaining liquids he had left on you.

When you turned off the water, he wrapped you in a towel, examining your skin for the marks he had left on you. They would be deeper in the morning, purple and clear as day, and surely, you’d wear clothes that would reveal them. The world would see, they would know that you were his, that you belonged to him. And by the gods, he would make sure it stayed that way.

#darth maul #darth maul x reader #darth maul x you #star wars x reader #star wars x you

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kustovshik · 4 years ago

Text

Talking.

This post is informative in connection with a dispute that one of the parties decided to make absurd. If you don't want to get involved, just skip it. I don't force anyone to look into it or read it.

Kust is in touch. As many people have noticed, there was a small(not small now) conflict between me and a couple of other people, which could have already been eliminated, but was brought to total clowning. Names/nicknames named in this post will not be in order to avoid any negative towards those people. Also, no correspondence will be shown here, although they will be mentioned. If someone asks , I'm ready to go and personally collect all the screenshots of the two conversations, without losing any moments.

As a person in some way responsible for the current situation, I have a desire to illuminate everything from the side of my vision of things.

The conflict conditionally began three days ago. Let's call the person who initially had a small argument with me a certain person "A".

Well. in March. March 24th. We can assume that almost 5 months ago I published a post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/613504425335586816/i-want-to-be-in-fiars-stomach-he-looks-like-a

Many people remember it, I hope. I'll attach an old screenshot here just in case.

The whole conflict initially started because of the double meaning of the context behind the work itself. The problem, I was told, was the tags. Namely, in the tag highlighted in the screenshot above: ‘safe vore(or is it?)’.

This tag was originally put up there not because I didn't know what type of vore to call it, but specifically so that people themselves would sit and think: what do they want to see in my drawing. Simply put, a drawing with an open context. And it seems like no one has had any problems with it for few months.

That's what person A didn't like. I was told in a very unpleasant way for me personally that the person was very offended by this use of tags. And other problems with how they don't like 'fatal vore'. It was also suggested to me that I don't know about how fatal can be quite a painful experience for some.

I admit. My answer was quite abrupt. I can't deny it, and I won't, because that's the kind of person I am. My language is harsh on words and expressions. Instead of a thousand words and a selection of expressions, I usually tell people everything openly, or I am ready to openly indicate that something is wrong. Also, I fully admit that I have problems controlling my emotions, which makes it difficult for me to establish contact with strangers. I grew up in a different mindset, which is why I have a different view of many things. It's like putting two people who know the same language, but from different parts of the world, next to each other and forcing them to express their position on some moral principles or other things, and then wonder why their answers are different. A very exaggerated and crude comparison, but that how it looks like.

Why did I respond harshly? I am a rather rude person, and I do not like when people come to me in private messages, starting to talk about how bad they are feeling, because of things that can be safely ignored or blocked by them, so that there are no problems.

My first fatal mistake was when I decided to answer to "A". Afterwards, I talked to a couple of my friends and got cold feet. And then I apologized, trying to come to some compromise, adding the tag 'open ending' so that no one would be confused. But it seems that this was not enough, because “A” continued to say how it’s bad from what she found, even if not quite fatal stuff. Refusing to compromise in any way, as I suggested.

After that, we parted with apologies to each other, and neither of us wrote to each other again. I honestly thought it was over.

Now, before I go on to the man who has been driving me mad for the past two days, I will make a pure assumption and try to explain my indignation in a different way...

Out of human interest, I went through the 'safe vore' tag. Noted an interesting feature. Both tags had quite a lot of posts there. Namely, tags are 'safe vore' AND 'fatal vore'. Why did my post cause the problem? Have no idea.

Then another point became incomprehensible to me. How did a person get to this post at all? It would be difficult to find it through search, but you can: there is a lot of content by tag. I flipped the feed down from the second account for a long time and didn't come across my own post.

Then, in my little investigation, I looked into Tumblr's alerts. Likes, reblogs, well, you understand in short. And noticed it.

This is the first appearance of "A" in my notifications.

Hence, I dare to assume that "A" came across one of the reblogs of this post: https://kustovshik.tumblr.com/post/616227708116025344/a-new-player-has-joined-the-game And then "A" went to my blog, along the way ignoring the description specially written for such people at the very top of the blog, and came across my two-meaning post.

But after that, I had a rhetorical question: Why go to the blog of a person who has this written in the description, and hope that there will not be a fatal vore?

Of course, this theory is based only on my assumptions. But I think this scenario is quite real.

Thus, we can say that I have every right to be angry at the indignation expressed in my direction, because it is not my fault that the person ignored my preferences, scrolled down my blog page and started complaining.

Back to reality.

As you can understand, " A " shared our conversation with their friend, who the next day suddenly came to me with a long message about his position, offering help that was not needed.

Even then, I began to suspect that this person(let's call him "B") was somehow connected with "A". Moreover, the reason for the visit was the same for both of them.

I have already mentioned that I am an irritable and rather rude person. I was already stressed enough by the appearance of "A" and the consequences of my reflections that occurred after what I thought was an end to the conflict. And the repeated mention of the situation has already infuriated me.

I fully admit that I reacted very sharply to the "B" message. I had reasons for this that the other side chose not to consider.

Well. After receiving the message I gave sharp response expressing extreme dissatisfaction, but without insults to "B". Was there passive-aggressive speech? Yes. Were words said that I am not obliged to monitor the health of people who do not concern me? Yes. Do I have the right to think so? Yes. Does this fall under the moral code? It depends on the person's personal worldview.

Yes, I was rude due to the fact that on the second day I was exhausted and angry about this situation. I wanted to end this conflict and repeatedly asked both of them to block me and remain neutral. In addition, I tried to somehow explain that we are people of different mentalities and grew up with different life standards, so in this situation we see this conflict differently. Yes, in a rough way, but I tried to explain it.

I received a ton of direct insults, was accused of narcissism and high self-esteem, as well as refusing to take care of other people's problems. In addition, I received lines like, quote: "...but let me see you talk like you did to me or anyone else simply trying to converse with you over a serious topic and I will not hesitate to have your content and eventually your account removed from this site.".

Isn't this a direct threat?

I understand that passive-aggressive speech itself can offend someone. But you can't call it an insult. Passive-aggression is a hidden way of expressing negative feelings and emotions to a person. This is not an insult. But, Yes, I admit that this is a very harsh and rude way of communicating.

That's just after such an exchange of pleasantries, I snapped. 3 days of unquenchable conflict, when one side refused to listen to the other, at the same time. There were attempts on my part to end the conflict. There was one repeated request to block and disperse, so as not to inflame everything to the point of absurdity.

"Want to stay safe with your own preferences? "Please, God, don't touch me, that's all. Block me already and we will live in peace. "- This was the message of my answers. It's sad, but instead of just ending the conflict, I got the brand of a person with a capitalist mindset, the brand of a bitch-whiner, and other other charms.

And I swear that I was ready to just leave all this and stop responding to such outbursts in my direction, banal blocking "B", if they can’t themselves do it.

As here I get a notification with a post where this person changed my art / tags and basically uploaded the changed image to his blog, hiding behind good intentions. "B" did not receive permission for such actions. Even with an indication of authorship. I am most outraged by such actions at the moment.

Better look on the two images compared to each other.

And after that, everyone wants me to try to understand how bad I was and how poor they are, that from a simple argument that could have ended without even starting, it turned into an absurd clowning with offended people, insults and changing someone else's drawings and whole character reaction. Just a note. Fiar is not so nice, he’s a wild monster leech and he just grumbles about everything as much as he don’t understands why some people willing to let him eat them. He’ll never say something as “I’ll keep you safe”.

There it is. The comedy of a three days.

This post is for informational purposes only. Namely, how I see this situation.

All I want now is for "B" to delete the post, and for both sides to banal block each other, so that we never meet again.

I refuse to apologize to "B" for their latest act of outraging my drawing by completely distorting the meaning from a neutral drawing to something that only "B" and their friend like. In conclusion I can say, that I do not call myself a good one in that confrontation. I did some terrible mistakes while talking to both of those people. But it’s not only I’m here being on the bad side. People are not black and white.

After this I’ll not respond to any of the continuation of that conflict anymore. I’m tired of this.

#long post #Kust talking #trigger warning

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elsanna-shenanigans · 4 years ago

Text

December Contest Submission #20: Never shall you ask me

Words: ca. 4500 Setting: Viking AU / late 9th century Norway Lemon: no CW: strong language, mentions of animal sacrifice, blood

Elsa Agnarrsdóttir had never minded the cold. It was warmth that made her shiver.

The cold had been her constant companion for as long as she could remember: at first, long days spent by the seashore, waiting for her father’s drakkar to fly into Arnardalr’s harbour laden with riches from foreign lands, ocean breeze tearing at her braid and gown and salt wash speckling her skin. Then, after, silent marches through wintery woods, white as far as the eye could see, with no companion save the darkness and the numbing chill in her bones.

The warmth, though? Loge’s flickering child had danced through the straw and thatch and rafters of her father’s hall like a hungry houseguest as, below, her kinsmen had fallen to the storm of shining battle-flames. The warmth had seared her, marked her for its own. Even now she feared it, for it meant the din of cups and the laughter of men in the feast hall, the company of ravens and the courtesy of wolves.

Her maidservants shuddered as they stepped out into the cold from the heat of the mead hall and drew their furs closer, but Elsa stood proud and tall as a mast. She breathed in the sea breeze, felt the chill through the fabric of her dress. The guards outside—Hans’s—gave her respectful nods as she passed and fell in after them.

In silence, they proceeded outside the village and climbed the Thing hill, a bare, rocky knoll overlooking the harbour. Her grandfather, King Rúnharðr Rauðskeggr, had erected a runestone there, praising his deeds, but Hans had allowed the painted runes to weather away, so that only faded carvings remained. As the women and their guards ascended the hill, they passed through the crowd that had already assembled: housecarls and freemen from all around the valley, some with their sons, wives and thralls in tow, all arrayed in festive garments according to their means. They ringed King Rúnharðr’s runestone like waves in a pond, but made way for them. Some nodded respectfully as she passed. Others—far more—hid their faces and would not look at her.

Jarl Hans Haraldsson, called Hans Suðeyingr, stood at the top of the knoll, leaning on the runestone. Part of Elsa bristled at the desecration, but she knew there was no point in protesting. Hans gave her a wide smile that looked disconcertingly genuine, and one of her companions gasped with barely-veiled delight at the sight. Elsa resisted the urge to scowl at the swooning girl—even she had to admit that Hans was handsome, the very image of a young hero. His flame-red hair and beard were elegantly braided with golden ringlets, his mail shirt merrily glittered in the morning light, and his clothes were richly embroidered with gold and silver thread. His father’s many crowns certainly did not hurt his appeal, even if he was the youngest and least storied of King Haraldr’s many sons. Yes, Hans’s smile had an uncanny ability to make women swoon and fluster, there was no denying it—except, of course, for his betrothed, the woman he had swornhis eternal love a hundred times.

Well, former betrothed. Hans spread his arms as she approached, his smile widening. Elsa scowled at him. She knew better than to be taken in by his smiles and promises. “There she is! I’m glad we did not need to drag you here in chains.” Without paying her any further heed, he looked around. “Men of Arnardalr, you have heard my charge, and I have presented my witnesses. Now hear what she has to say for herself.”

The lawspeaker of the Thing stepped forth from the crowd. She knew Kai Lǫgmaðr well—he had served her father as a housecarl, once. Of course, he had then gone on to serve Hans as a housecarl, but he was not a southerner like the others—a good and loyal man, and wise, just like Gerðr his wife. She thought he cared for her wellbeing, but she had the feeling that would not help her today. “Lady Elsa,” he addressed her darkly, “Jarl Hans has accused you before the thing of murdering your sister, Anna Agnarrsdóttir, by drowning her in the sea five years ago. How do you respond to the charge?”

Elsa ground her teeth. She had been thirteen when Anna—aged ten—had disappeared. That had been less than a year after the southerners had come. With their parents slain and their foes living in their hall, the sisters had only had each other. They’d been inseparable. Except for that day. Elsa could not even recall why she had been mad at her little sister—something foolish involving Hans, no doubt. She had always resented the way Anna had idolised the son of their parents’ killer for every little kindness he had thrown their way like scraps to his dogs. Some stupid argument had sent her running back to the village while playing in the woods, leaving Anna behind. Her sister had not returned that night, and days of searching had come up with nothing.

Many years, Elsa had held on to the hope that somewhere, somehow, Anna might still be alive. I would have felt it, she had told herself and any who would listen. But as the years passed, this certainty had faded away, leaving only a dull ache and yearning, and the dreams that robbed her of her sleep. They had never found the body, but there were all sorts of danger in the woods for a little girl, from wolves to brigands. It was no use thinking about it—only regret remained: that her last words to Anna had been spoken in anger, and that Anna had never been baptised. Elsa prayed that meant Anna had gone to Fólkvangr, as her parents had taught them, not hell.

“Lady Elsa?”

She startled at Kai’s voice. “I reject the charge,” she then said. “I swear by the Virgin that I am guiltless. Moreover, I accuse Hans Suðeyingr of perjury, and call him a liar.”

A gasp went through the crowd, but Kai nodded. “You have that right. What witnesses do you offer?”

Elsa lowered her head. This was it. “None.” The crowd murmured, and Hans chuckled quietly to himself. “But,” she raised her voice, “I do not need any. I challenge Hans Suðeyingr to defend his lies. Is there anyone here who will brave the holmgang for me?”

The crowd fell silent. She looked around at weathered warriors who had raided with her father and stripling boys who had never held a sword. God, please. “Is there no drengr who will fight for me?” There was no response, and her heart sank. “Hear then how I will reward my champion! He shall take everything my father owned. And—” She swallowed. She knew what she had to say, but that did not make it harder. “And if he pleases, he may take me to wife.”

Still, there was silence. Hans’s hot breath brushed over her shoulder and she shivered. “Sounds like no one wants your frigid little kunta, dear. They know who owns you.” Elsa wanted nothing more than to draw her knife and stab him. If she was to be killed as a kinslayer, she’d happily take him with her. Even so, she knew he wasn’t wrong—year after year, she had refused one of the most eligible bachelors in Norway. People talked.

Silence. Elsa hung her head.

“I’ll fight for her!” The high voice had come from the edge of the crowd, where the thralls and younger sons stood. “Oh, sorry—excuse me—coming through …” Her heart sunk. Then, it leapt, as a vision of her father emerged out of the crowd. No—not her father. Still, for a moment, she had been fooled. The stranger was beardless and scrawny, scarcely fifteen winters under his belt. He had her father’s bright copper hair, though, worn long and gathered in a ponytail at the back, and large, eager turquoise eyes. He was simply-dressed in a green tunic and blue leggings, and had a small axe on his belt and a shield slung around his shoulders. An iron broach in the shape of a swan held his cloak. She had never seen him before.

The stranger grinned at her with such obvious enthusiasm she found herself returning a faint smile, even as her heart sunk. No, you fool, she wanted to shout, Hans is going to carve you up like a slab of meat, but no words came across her lips.

“I will fight for you,” he repeated, and took her hand in his. She nearly flinched from the touch, from the warmth of his skin. “But there is something you must promise me first.”

“What?” The question died in her throat.

The grin disappeared. Bright turquoise eyes stared at her, insistent and piercing. His words were like an incantation. “Never shall you ask me, nor trouble yourself to know, whence I have come, nor what my name and clan.”

An outlaw, then. A fugitive thrall. She wanted to laugh in his face. She whispered: “I … swear it.”

The stranger beamed, pure bliss in his eyes. “I love you, Elsa,” he blurted out, rushed in and pressed his lips to hers. For a moment, she froze as warmth sent shivers down her entire body. Then, she stumbled, jumped away from the kiss. The stranger seemed utterly unperturbed, but her face—and her lips, and something else—burnt like fire. “Now hear, Hans Haraldsson!” he shouted so all could hear. “Elsa Agnarrsdóttir is without guilt or fault—let it be known to you through Valföðr’s choice!”

Later, Elsa could not have said why she had ever underestimated her champion. Hans was a mighty drengr and an experienced viking, true, but the stranger moved with the grace of a cat and attacked with the ferocity of a wolf. Three times they met upon the island, and three times the stranger’s axe cleft deep into Hans’s shield. When the third shield split, the first drops of blood flowed. “Through Odin’s word, your life belongs to me,” the stranger had called out, the blade of his axe at prone Hans’s throat, then helped him up to his feet. “Take it as my gift, and use it well.”

And then it was over.

Even as an outlaw, no one dared lay hands on Jarl Hans or his loyal housecarls, so he quietly left the valley. Part of Elsa wished she had gotten her revenge, but at least this way he was gone. That left the oath she had sworn to save her life.

She barely spoke to her drengr over the next three days as they feasted and drank. The stranger sat at the head of the table, talking to jarls and þegns thrice his age like he had been born to it, while Elsa sat silently at his side, poking at her food. She loathed the heat and smoke of the mead hall. The flickering fire at its centre made her eyes water, while the shouting and laughter of the guests felt like horses galloping through her skull. But every time she caught the eye of her betrothed, he would smile at her, eyes wide and bright, as though she was the most precious hoard in the nine worlds. He would say something, and more often than not it would make her laugh, and by the time another well-wisher or petitioner came up to the high table it was easier to bear.

After three days of feasting, it was time for the ceremonies. Her groom bade her farewell with a chaste kiss as they parted—him heading for the grove, Elsa for the church with the other Christians. It was no more than a brief peck on the cheek, and yet the spot his lips had touched burned for hours afterwards. Was this what it was supposed to feel like? A few boys had tried to kiss her in the past, not the least of which was Hans, but she had always been repulsed and nauseated by the sensation. This was … pleasant. It made her burn, yes, made her body heat up like all the fires of Múspellsheimr were burning in her chest. But maybe, just maybe, the warmth was not all that fearsome anymore.

All warmth fled when she saw Hans Suðeyingr, standing at the front of the church. With clenched fists, she took her place next to him as the priest began his liturgy. “You’re an outlaw, Hans,” she hissed once the sermon had begun. “What in Loki’s name are you doing here?”

Hans gave her a sardonic smile. “I could hardly miss the wedding, could I? I have to say, I didn’t think you’d have it in you. How long have you been letting that thrall boy do you behind my back?” Elsa wondered if God would punish her for stabbing a man to death during Mass. “No matter. Tell me, though, how did he beat me? Did your thrall mother teach you Finn seiðr, or did you fuck a boar for Vanadís?”

“Maybe you’re just not as formidable as you think,” she hissed back.

He only smiled at that, handsome and infuriating as ever. “We’ll see.” Then: “So, which is he? A thrall or an outlaw? If he were an honest man, he wouldn’t have forbidden you to ask his name.” He smirked. “We wouldn’t want people to think your boy toy had beaten me through magic or trickery rather than God’s judgment. Don’t you think he looks a bit Finnish? Ah, no matter. Just remember when you try to wash away his stench—you could have had a king’s son. Pater noster qui es …”

She went through the motions of Mass. Hans left her alone after this, but his words lingered. The stranger—her husband, by day’s end—was a nobody. He might as well be a Finnish sorcerer, though she did not think there was more of her mother’s people in him than in her. He had no allies, no housecarls, no clan that she knew of, nothing but what she brought into the marriage herself. And yet, he had fought like one of the einherjar, and spoke well and gracefully like a jarl’s son. Had his family fallen prey to a blood feud, like her own? Would his enemies come after him? Whatever the case, she had to know. He’ll tell me once we’re alone. He must.

Her groom and the other pagans of the valley awaited them as they left the church, keeping a respectful distance from the churchyard. The stranger, hands and cheek covered in the fresh blood of sacrificial victims, beamed when he saw her, and Elsa’s cheeks warmed. But then, his face fell as Hans stepped from the church behind her, and he hurried towards them. “And here comes your pet,” Hans drawled.

Her champion paid him no mind. “Is he bothering you, Elsa?”

She ground her teeth. “It’s fine. Hans was just leaving.”

Hans gave her groom a pleasant smile, as false as any he had ever shown her. A crowd of spectators, churchgoers and pagans both, had gathered around them. “I merely wanted to congratulate you on the wedding. It is not often a man so young, or so lowly, marries the daughter of a king.”

Her groom’s hand went to his axe. “You call me lowly, níðingr?”

Hans spread his arms as if to address the thing. “I call you a thrall, and a seiðmaðr, who on the holm blunted my axeblade with evil galdrar. You spared him this question before the shield-clash, so now let me ask it before all the people: what is your name, your clan, your rank?”

Part of Elsa felt oddly flattered that the stranger’s eyes immediately shot to her, even as the crowd around them gasped at the allegations. But she could not deny that the question had made her prick up her ears. Would she know her husband’s name after all?

“I need not justify myself to an outlaw and a perjurer,” her groom exclaimed, keeping his eyes on Elsa. She thought she could detect a faint quiver in his voice. “Even were you a king, I would owe you no response. There is but one I must answer. Elsa …” The words died on his lips as he stared at her, pleading.

She could end it all right now. The stranger might have powerful enemies, but she was certain he was nobly born. The judgment of the holmgang would stand. Hans would be still be outlawed, and she would be free of both men, free to—at last—inherit her father’s estate in her own right. The stranger would, no doubt, have to flee his foes, but … she barely knew him. What was he to her? Big, turquoise eyes looked at her, a faint, nervous smile. Warmth rose to her cheeks. She said: “You all saw his good deed and his manly mettle. I trust my—my husband.”

No one had looked at her like that in years, and as Elsa beheld the overwhelming love in his eyes, she felt very strange indeed.

And then, they were wed.

With the ale-horn emptied, the swords exchanged and her bridal crown removed, the revellers had wasted no time in escorting them to the bedchamber in a flurry of bawdy jokes and flirtatious banter. Her husband gave as good as he got, but by the time they were left on their own in the bridal chamber, Elsa was on the brink of panic. This was the part she had been dreading. The bedding—and the liberties some of the men had taken in relieving her of her outer garments—had not helped matters. She sat on the edge of the bed, decorated with flowers and ribbons, hugging herself despite the heat of the hall, her shoulders pulled almost up to her ears. She was dressed only in a wool shift, and felt naked and small.

Her husband closed the door behind the last of the revellers. Then, he sunk against it and exhaled a sigh. “Alone at last,” he muttered, and turned to look at her. “Elsa …” She retreated further into herself, and he sat by her side, carefully keeping a thumb’s distance from her body. “I won’t hurt you,” he whispered. “I won’t let anyone hurt you, ever again.”

“Of course,” she murmured. Quietly, she cursed herself—a sane woman would have counted herself lucky to have a husband so considerate, kind, even. This was simply part of the bargain. A sane woman would have taken Hans up on his offer. “Let’s … let’s get this over with, shall we?” That probably wasn’t what he’d been hoping to hear.

Her husband sighed. “Elsa …” Abruptly, he rose and unclasped the swan broach. His cloak dropped to the floor, and he pulled up his tunic … Elsa pressed her eyes shut. She did not need, nor want, to see this.

Eventually, the rustling of cloth ceased. “Elsa,” her husband said. His voice was low, gentle. With her eyes closed, she let her imagination run away with the sound of her name on his lips. To hear it spoken with such love and affection might have made her giddy with delight if it was not her husband speaking it. “Elsa, look at me, please.”

She forced open her eyes. Then, she gasped. Her husband’s body, naked but for a small silver necklace, was toned, every muscle well-defined. More scars were carved on his flesh like battle-runes than befitted one so young.

It was also, quite obviously, womanly. A pair of small, well-formed breasts speckled in freckles sat on her husband’s … wife’s? … chest, and a thin patch of red hair between … her … legs not only drew attention to what wasn’t there, but also made her body tingle. Instinctively, she pressed her thighs together. Her breath hitched. “You … you’re a …” The word died in her throat. A valkyrie? A seiðmaðr, like Hans had said?

“A woman,” her … spouse replied. “Like you.” The stranger knelt in front of her, took her hands. Elsa tried not to flinch from the touch, even as it sent shivers down her spine. She’d noticed herself reacting in this way to other women’s bodies before, but never with such intensity. No doubt, the solitude of the bridal chamber and her shock had heightened her emotions.

“Forgive me,” her naked drengr explained. “I’m sorry for the deception. I intended only to protect you, not rob you of a chance at marriage.” She bit her lip. “I understand if you’re alarmed, but I promise that I’m not going to touch you. If you like, we can …”

The words fled her lips unbidden, like an evil curse. “What if I want you to?” She shut her mouth and flushed. So did the stranger. God, what a fool she was—maybe if she played it off as a joke? She opened her mouth to respond …

Once more, her drengr’s lips found hers, and her whole body lit on fire.

“I … I love … ah!”

“You look conflicted.” They lay facing each other, their bodies bare, sore and hot. It had been some time since the flood of their passion had ebbed, and it felt as though a sword’s blade lay between them, as each had suddenly grown hesitant to touch the other.

Her drengr bit her lip at Elsa’s question. “I feel like we’ve made a terrible mistake,” she murmured.

“Maybe. But it was a good mistake.” Once more she noticed the freckle right between her lover’s eyes, which she had so enjoyed kissing.

The other woman remained silent, so Elsa reached across to take her small silver hammer pendant in her hand. Elaborate knotwork decorated Mjǫllnir’s head. She had once owned a similar piece, but it had been reforged into a crucifix after her conversion. “You keep the old gods?”

“As your father did.”

She startled. “You know of my father?”

Her ‘husband’ flushed as though caught in a lie. “I know men who sailed with Sea-King Agnarr Rúnharðsson. They told many tales of his exploits.” She grinned. “And of his beautiful daughter.”

Elsa hid her red face in the pillow. She was clearly teasing, but still. “My father had two daughters,” she muttered, quietly, then looked once more at her lover. What would Anna look like now, had she lived? It was difficult to square the child she remembered with the woman she might have become.

“It’s strange,” she whispered at last. “When I first saw you, it was like waking from a dream. You seemed so familiar. Like I have seen you every night of my life.”

“Elsa, let’s not … let’s not go there.” Somewhat hesitantly, where before there had been only eagerness, her drengr leant in to kiss her, gentle and chaste.

“I don’t even know what to call you.” Hearing her name on her lips always sent shivers down Elsa’s spine. She wished she could repay that. Sitting up, she looked down at her drengr. “Now that I know you’re a woman …”

“No.” The response fell like an axe-blow. More softly, she added: “I cannot tell you who I am. Just … just know that I am no thrall. I am your equal in every respect, and my home is glorious. If King Haraldr himself offered me his crowns, I would rightly scorn them.”

“So what is this?” Flames rose in Elsa’s chest. “Do you just go around the countryside, saving maidens for sport? Is that why you won’t tell me, because you’ll abandon me for your glorious home?”

The drengr jumped up. “Never …”

“Then tell me!” Tears welled in her eyes. Her lover seized her wrists, she struggled. “How can you claim to love me, when you won’t give me even that? How can I trust you’ll stay with me when every day I live in fear?”

“Elsa, please!”

“Tell me!” She freed herself, stumbled backwards, raised her finger at her. “Tell me your name!”

“Stop!”

“Whence you have come!”

“I beg of you!”

“And what is your clan!”

The woman staggered as if struck by a hammer-blow, collapsed on the side of the bed, hid her face. Elsa lowered her outstretched finger. Hot tears streamed down her cheeks.

“Woe,” the drengr whispered, “woe to our bliss.”

Once more, they dragged her out to the thing hill. This time, it was the woman who only yesterday had made her feel like a goddess who stood before King Rúnharðr’s stone. There was nothing but disgust in the eyes of the men around her, disgust for her, the oathbreaker who had asked the forbidden question, even as Elsa stood in the mud and snow unable to look her beloved in the face. “I could refuse Hans,” her drengr said, her voice flat, “but never you.” She closed her eyes. “Hear then how I answer her forbidden question—and hear if I am not as noble as you.”

“In a distant land, far across the swan-field’s roar, there stands a fortress which is ‘Jómsborg’ called. Five score ships lie at anchor in her harbour, and a thousand men feast always in her mead hall, who call themselves Jómsvikingar. Of their number, one in ten goes bear-skinned, one in ten wears the skin of Viðrir’s hounds, and one in a score with boar-skin bristles. Each of their ranks is blooded in the sword-din, and many men to Valhöll they have sent. Those who from Jómsborg go a-viking, who fight in foreign fields for fame and wealth, bring glory to them all.

“Now hear how I honour my wife’s forbidden question: a Jómsvikingr am I, raised from childhood on. My fathers were Brynjulfr Sløngvandbaudi, who killed Fúlnir Ímisson on Orkneyjar, Engill Rúmfari, who died in Grikkland, and Strut-Haraldr, who taught me manly arts of war. But before that, I was sat on the knee of Styrbjǫrn Ólafsson, known as Styrbjǫrn Sterki, who rules as jarl in Jómsborg.

“When I was a child of ten, I was lost in the woods and set upon by three wolves. I grasped a sharp rock with which I slew one and drove off another, but the third would have killed me, had not Styrbjǫrn Sterki found and saved me. He took me to Jómsborg and raised me a Jómsvikingr. I was an orphan girl ere he made me a shieldmaiden, as I am now. My mother’s name was Iðunnr in Finna, who was the freedwoman and wife of my father, King Agnarr Rúnharðsson, but I myself am Anna Agnarrsdóttir called!”

Elsa hung her head, and Anna left.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Me neither,” Elsa confessed. Anna grinned at that and pulled her into a deep embrace. Her body was warm, soft, inviting. “But I am here.”

The snow on the holm creaked under their feet as they gathered their things. “You didn’t bring much,” Anna pointed out. “It’s a long journey to Jómsborg.”

Elsa gave her a faint smile. “I had to pack in a hurry. Besides …” she leant in to kiss her—chastely on the cheek, for now. There would be time to renegotiate their new relationship later. “I’ve got my sister back. That’s all I need.”

A cold north wind flew over the holm, tearing through their cloaks, and Elsa shivered. “I ought to have brought more furs,” she said.

Anna smirked at her, and that smirk shone more brightly in the night than Surtr’s sword. “That’s alright,” she said. “I’ll keep you warm.”

#elsanna #submission #december 2020 contest #prompt: warmth #cw: animal sacrifice #cw: blood

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littlegrrl7 · 4 years ago

Text

A Dance for Three

Ikemen Vampire Big Bang 2021

Pairing: Comte/Leonardo/MC

Smut with plot 18+ NSFW

Masterlist for 7 chapters 17k words

read on Ao3

Chapter 2- Temptation

The stiff crinoline of Niamh’s skirts crinkled in the tight confines of the carriage. She crossed her legs again in a rustle of mauve taffeta and starched black lace, drawing Leonardo's attention. Comte had picked the day dress for her to wear on the outing. The neckline was a low oval that left her feeling like the tops of her breasts were on display, like an offering. The day was far too hot for a wrap, but she had brought one anyway, draping it over her shoulders for some bit of modesty. She could feel his eyes skim over her quivering flesh at every bounce of the carriage. Niamh struggled not to blush, but it was an uphill battle.

Suddenly, the carriage pitched backward, tossing her into his lap. Apologies log-jammed in her throat as her face pressed against his broad chest.

Niamh breathed in.

Ahhh, the scent of him, that sweet tobacco and clove that clung to his skin. Her hands fisted in his lapels, trying to right herself.

“Easy, cara mia, the road can be rough here. Would you prefer to sit next to me? I’ll hold you steady.” Leonardo's strong arms lifted her, seating her next to him on the poorly sprung leather bench. Leo held her close, his arm casually laid over her shoulders, drawing Niamh into his chest. She breathed in again, god how she had missed the virile scent of his skin. They had never gone beyond a single passionate kiss; Leonardo had put up too many walls. But she had missed him holding her close.

“Thank you.” She settled her gloved hands awkwardly in her lap.

“Is there a reason you wanted to come to town with me today, Niamh?” He lit a cigarillo and slid the small window open, flicking the ash out of it.

“We haven’t spent much time together lately. To be honest, I’ve missed your company.” She looked up at him, her pale blue eyes so earnest. “We never did speak of what happened.”

“Did you feel a need to? You seem content.” Leonardo lounged, long legs stretched out before him. He inhaled again, blowing the smoke out a small window.

“I am... we are. But you didn’t expect me to remain in this time, did you?” She was still looking up at him, but he slid his eyes away, gazing out at the passing streets.

“Comte is a good man and my oldest friend. You make each other happy, it’s enough for me to be happy for you.” She didn’t miss the small bitter twist to his lips. Niamh studied his profile a moment, from the sweep of his ash-brown hair to the tenseness of his jaw. Inevitably, his gaze returned to hers.

Her breath hitched at the longing in his burnished gold eyes.

“The two of you have a good thing,” Leonardo continued, taking her hand. He brushed a light kiss over her knuckles, warming the silk of her glove, “I know he will always cherish you.” Then he released her to gaze again out the window and said no more. The only sound within the carriage was his inhaling as he took the soothing smoke from his favorite vice into his lungs.

Niamh watched Leonardo fix things from a park bench across the way. His usual crowd of admirers surrounded him. That familiar ache had never gone away, the loss of him. She closed her eyes for a moment remembering the first night she had met Leonardo. She had been in such a panic, stirred up over her predicament. Falling back in time two hundred years into a den of vampires? It had been too much.

Then he had kissed her, surrounded her in his comforting warmth, and her plight didn’t seem so bad. Niamh remembered the feel of his broad chest pressed to hers. The safety of Leonardo's arms around her like corded steel, lifting her to him. The softness of his lips caressing her mouth, teasing her lips open. And oh, the taste of him, virile strength, she had melted against him, her body surrendering to his whims.

But he had asked for nothing but her companionship. They had so many good memories together. But he had never let their relationship progress, even when it was obvious they both wanted more.

Her eyes opened, and she watched as another person thrust some broken thing at him to mend in the park square. That was him, fixing the broken, always giving, never taking anything for himself.

Not even her when she offered.

Niamh blinked back tears at the familiar pain of the night he turned her down. Oh, Leo had been gentle enough, but he still made it clear she should return home. It was Comte who found her crying in the gardens later that evening. Comte, who gently took care of her, who soon confessed his love to her, who eventually asked her to stay.

Niamh gazed up at the bright blue summer sky of Paris, watching the birds flit from tree to tree in the park. It had been over a year; she loved Comte, he was a sweet, attentive man.

But she never forgot her feelings for Leonardo.

“Cara mia,” Niamh looked up, and he stood before her haloed by the sun, his ancient golden eyes so warm. Leonardo held out his hand to her with a smile, “Let’s get you some lunch, yea? You can’t be ogling me all day on an empty stomach.”

She swatted at him with her tiny purse. “The conceit! I wasn’t ogling you.” Niamh placed her hand in his, relishing the warm roughness of it. So different from Comte’s smooth gentleman hands.

“Scusa,” he grinned that jackass smile of his, tucking her hand into the crook of his arm as they strolled down the street, “and what would you call it?”

“Merely appreciating a master at his work.” She glanced sideways at his handsome profile, a grin tugging her lips.

He patted her hand consolingly. “If that is what you would like to call it-“

“Leonardo!”

His grin got wider.

Leo paused, studying her a moment as she huffed at him in mock affront. She had always been adorable. He loved getting Niamh all stirred up, seeing her fiery side lit. Unconsciously he steered her toward her favorite outdoor café, one they had been to many times. Sweet memories of the two of them flitted through his head as he held the chair out for her. Leonardo’s eyes roamed again over her figure; his fingers lightly brushed her bare shoulders as he pushed her chair to the table.

“You look lovely today, Niamh, that dress is an attractive color on you.” His eyes weren’t on the mauve dress, but on the way the black lace framed the mounded curves of her breasts that swelled over the cusp with each breath.

“Thank you, Comte picked it out this morning.” She picked up the menu, her eyes moving over the script.

Leonardo busied himself with a napkin in his lap.

Comte, what are you doing to me? Why send the woman you love out dressed like a tempting confection?

He breathed in. Niamh smelled of crisp linen and lilacs. After breakfast she must have bathed, eradicating the enticing scent of her morning pleasure to be replaced with the sweet innocence of her own perfume. Leonardo’s eyes skimmed the bare curve of her neck, the skin unblemished. At least Comte had healed her before sending her out into society. It wouldn’t do to have lover’s marks on display in public for all to see. His gaze wandered downward, wondering if the stiff cloth of her expensive dress hid any private marks. Visions of undressing her filled Leonardo’s thoughts. His lips covering her flesh where Comte’s had, tasting him on her skin, that heady mix of arousal and possession overtook him, and he could feel his cock stirring. It pressed uncomfortably against the confines of his pants.

“Are you getting anything, Leonardo?” Her eyes were still on the paper menu, pink lips pressed together in thought. He remembered the pillowy softness of her lower lip as it was sucked. Leo shifted in his chair, sliding the napkin over his tenting trousers.

“Dessert, the apple tarts here are delicious.” It wasn’t the sweetness that he desired, but it would have to do. He gave her up, a decision he would have plenty of time to regret. He might as well enjoy the day with her, pretending for a short time that Niamh could be his again if only in his mind.

Her meal came and with it the blissful peace of not having to make conversation. Of being able to covertly watch those luscious lips accept food, watching her enjoy each mouthful. Niamh’s expressions of pleasure were so unrestrained he could only imagine if she was like this in public how much more so she would be in private.

In his room...

Straddling his lap while he made love to her.

Leonardo tore his eyes from her, spooning another bite of the apple tart into his mouth. It tasted of ash. Nothing had brought pleasure since he denied himself her. He looked out into the park with its perfectly groomed pathways and rose hedges. Couples walked conversing, children played; it was an idyllic afternoon to spend with someone you cherished.

He cleared his throat.

“Comte tells me you are thinking of restarting your travel tour business?” Leonardo covered the rest of his dessert with his napkin, leaving it unfinished. Niamh raised one perfectly arched brow.

“It’s a consideration, I was going to start with guided tours of Paris and see where it goes from there.” She finished her meal, taking a sip of her drink. “I’m trying to talk Comte into hiring a few maids. It’s ridiculous to expect Sebastian and me to manage the entire mansion and its residents. That should free me up to pursue my own interests.”

“Would you be giving these tours yourself?” Leonardo paid for the meal, then taking her hand, he tucked it into the fold of his arm. They'd walk along the river, Leo decided. Somewhere it was quiet so he could enjoy her company alone for a short time.

“Well, initially, yes, but eventually I would want to manage a staff.” Niamh looked down at the cobbled path, her dainty black boots peeking and disappearing from her voluminous skirts as they walked. They were as fashionable as everything else she wore, Comte made sure she wanted for nothing.

“Scusa, cara mia, but there are parts of Paris that are quite unfit for a lady.”

“Well, I wouldn’t be giving a tour of those parts, silly.” She gave him a playful swat, and his heart fluttered. Niamh’s blue eyes sparkled brighter than the June sky. “Besides, I could always ask one of the residents to come along, I am sure Napoleon or Jean wouldn’t mind escorting me.”

Her skirts rustled seductively against his legs as she walked beside him. The scent of Niamh’s perfume cradled his senses, igniting his fantasies of being tangled with her in the throes of passion. Her breast brushed his arm, where she leaned into him, and every nerve felt inflamed. The tingling of desire chased around his body to tighten things low in his groin.

“I would do it,” Leonardo’s voice came out edged with need. He turned to face her, pausing them under the long, secluding branches of a willow tree. His burnished gold eyes didn’t hide the affection he still held for her.

“That is very sweet of you, Leo.” Niamh smiled again, and it held all the warmth of the summer sun. Impulsively, she stood up on her toes, brushing an affectionate kiss over his cheek. “I could always count on you.”

Leo turned his head, capturing her lips; he shouldn’t, she wasn’t his to kiss. But she was there, and his, if only for this moment in his mind. God, she was so warm. The taste of her was even sweeter than he had remembered. Leonardo brought his hand up to tenderly cup the back of her head, his other hand pressed the small of her back, holding Niamh close.

To his surprise, she didn’t pull away or resist. She melted against him, her mouth opening to his gentle pressure. Her hands gripped the lapels of his jacket, she teased and tasted and then moaned so softly against him. Leo explored her slowly, feeling every bit of her, sucking Niamh’s pouty lower lip, as he had dreamed of doing. He took a breath, leaning his forehead against hers.

This was his oldest friend’s lover, he shouldn’t-

Niamh threaded her hands through his hair, pulling him back down to her. Her mouth angling over his, greedily. Sharp teeth grazed his lip, and he let out an anguished cry before she soothed him with her tongue. Leonardo buried his hands in her strawberry blonde hair, ravaging her lips, and she returned his attentions passionately. He leaned her back against the tree, pressing his full body to hers. Niamh’s thighs opened, and he stood in the crispness of her skirts, desiring the fabric gone so he could feel the press of his flesh against hers.

“Leonardo…” His name traveled out on a breathless gasp. How many times in his fevered late-night fantasies had he dreamed of his name on her lips as he pleasured himself? And now here she was in his arms…

But she’s not yours…

An annoying voice echoed in his head, he couldn’t do this. Leonardo reluctantly pulled away from her heated embrace.

“Apologies, Niamh, I forgot myself. Let me escort you back to the carriage to take you home.”

In her eyes was the same disbelieving look she gave him the night he said he wouldn’t be her lover. Her face flushed as anger replaced it. She took a step away, straightened her clothing, then the stinging slap came.

He deserved that. Leonardo turned his face from her. He let the pain of it coat his cheek and stab into his heart.

She’s not yours, and never will be.

Niamh's leather shoes clacked an angry staccato against the cobblestone path as she returned the way they had come. Reluctantly he trailed after her, damn Comte to hell for ever putting him in this situation. And damn himself for not showing a modicum of restraint when entrusted with another man’s woman.

When they reached the carriage, Leo put out a hand to help her up, which she ignored in favor of awkwardly wrestling with her skirts. She sat ramrod straight, eyes ahead as he watched her from the door. With a long sigh, he asked the driver to take her home, repeated the address, and closed the door, watching the carriage depart.

Maybe he was a coward, but he couldn’t sit for over an hour with her in that tight, confined space. He couldn’t smell her perfume on his clothing, taste the heat of her passion, and pretend nothing had happened. This made the previous kiss they had shared pale by comparison. Leo raked a hand through his hair. He had undoubtedly botched this. He should have continued to stay in the shadows.

Niamh stared out the carriage window as they pulled away. He wasn’t coming?

Fine.

It was all just fine.

How could he kiss her like that? What right did he have? And dammit, why the hell did she kiss him back? It would have been easy enough to pull away, to act shocked, to laugh it off. To do anything but what she had done.

She melted into his arms like she belonged there.

Damn it.

Niamh tapped her fingers along the wood frame of the window. How was she going to tell Comte this?

Oh, by the way, I snogged Leo today. It was every bit as delightful as I thought it would be. Tea? Baguette?

Perfect, just perfect. Comte was loving, attentive, romantic, he fulfilled her every need - why on earth would she ever look outside her relationship with him?

To something that was…

Unresolved.

She crumpled the delicate fabric of her skirts in her hands, unconsciously turning them into a wrinkled mess.

She wouldn’t mention it. Niamh doubted Leo would say anything. It was a mistake, an error. She was only human, after all.

She could still feel the heat of the passion he held for her in his kiss. The way his large calloused hands had stroked over her, pressing her body firmly to his. Leonardo’s sweet tobacco scent still clung to her clothes, overloading her senses with desire for him.

Just perfect.

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