#in front of her mother she's helpless and frightened and has no choice but to appease her mom in any way possible | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hobidreams · 4 years ago

Text

november 1869.

to remember what has been lost; to protect what still remains.

pairing: joseon king!yoongi x reader genre: drama. words: 2.4k contains: descriptions of blood/death, a reckoning.

moonlit throne index. this is drabble 26. start from the beginning?

Before Queen Jeonghui’s tomb, you stand with hands bowed in reverence, mind laden with warm memories as sticks of incense burn above your fingertips.

“We all miss you, daebi-mama. I hope you are resting well,” you murmur, letting the smoke mingle with your breath in the air as you bow, deeply. “Happy birthday.”

A little ways away, the single guard that accompanies you is also offering his thoughts to the raised, grassy mound that the queen lies beneath. You’re glad it’s Myungho to come with you today. He’s a good man, one who allows you as much freedom as possible. He understands your need to escape sometimes. Nearby, the horses you rode here are grazing on the field, quietly snorting as their tails swish from side to side.

As you look upon the tomb, you wonder wistfully if mother has found the queen in the spirit world. If they’re playing the game of janggi they so loved in life, when both could find the rare time to continue their decade-long (friendly) rivalry while indulging in cups of strong, dark tea. The thought brings a smile to your face even as fresh tears fall at the remembrance.

In your peripheral vision, you see a swish of fabric, the sign of someone approaching. You give one last bow and slot your incense in the traditional tray, realizing it must be time to leave before it gets too cold and your limbs begin to freeze even under the layers of clothes. You must go back eventually, you know it, but that doesn’t make it easier.

But when you turn, the man that stands beside you wears royal robes — the scarlet fabric and golden dragons unmistakable.

“Jeonha?”

The king’s face holds only sorrow as he holds matching incense in his hands. Staring straight ahead, he bends into a bow, dipping his head repeatedly low, low, lower until he’s almost on the dying, waterlogged grass with it, the lit grey tips flickering in the wind as they are nearly doused from the force of his movements. He bites his lip hard, so hard he draws blood as he punishes his own legs with the bows but he doesn’t stop.

You watch him with emotion clinging to your throat, but you swallow the questions you want to ask as you swipe at your wet cheeks. Why are you here? Why did you change your mind? How are you? Are you okay? All these impertinent questions are for you, to satisfy your own curiosity, and that’s not what he needs right now.

Quietly, steadily, you wait until he has finally stuck in the incense in the memorial ash. You wait until he opens his eyes, red-rimmed as they are, and finds your gaze.

“I… decided at the last moment,” he murmurs. “You… were right. I had to see her.”

You nod. Think you understand everything else he means as well, even if he’s left it unspoken. “Me too.”

“She would have liked that you’re here.”

That simple sentence threatens another wave of nostalgia and longing. You let it pull you under. Sink yourself into it. The mourning, the grief. And the love. The love that was there. The love that still remains, the traces of it held in you both. Your fingers twitch with a sudden, daring want to take his hand. To meet your palms and find the warmth and the life pulse that beats so closely, so resolutely just beneath the surface despite all this pain and all this loss. If you could just reach out. If you could just take another risk…

“Jeonha, run!”

The scream comes from the hill behind you. You both whirl.

The head of the royal guard comes running over with his sword drawn. His teeth are grit, hair blown from the wind that sweeps through the grass, rippling. His blade is already stained with a color that makes your stomach lurch at the implication.

“Hoseok— What’s going on?” The king yells back.

“Rebels! An ambush. We don’t have enough men!”

These few seconds are all the warning you get.

An incredible roar of voices comes exploding up and then you see them. The thick crowd of men that come surging over the hill, fighting their way towards you. The unforgettable clatter of metal on metal desecrates this once-sacred ground. Your legs go soft as you panic, scrambling. You’re trying not to watch as guards and rebels alike are cut down, but the enemies are steadily advancing still. What should you do? Where should you go?

“Myungho, get the horses!” The king barks out. But one look at the steeds tells you that they’re frightened, rearing back as men descend upon them. They’re off, running away on instinct to preserve their own lives while damning yours.

“Jeonha, what are your orders?” Myungho’s grip on his weapon is tight.

“Go. Help Hoseok.”

“Yes, jeonha!”

But as the battle wears on, the dread in you only grows. The king’s men are skilled, but it seems there were only a few to begin with. They are overwhelmed by sheer numbers, yelling for jeonha to escape but he doesn’t move. You don’t know what to do. You are at a complete loss, standing beside him with fingers growing steadily numb. You have to do something. You— You can’t just let it end here, at the hands of these men bellowing with violence and anger and pain.

“Jeonha, w-we have to run,” you stutter, forcing yourself to move, tugging at the fabric of his robes. But when you look back at the opposite side, your only escape route, a throng of rebels come scattering across the grass. Cutting you off; rendering you helpless.

“Myungho, cover the rear!” Hoseok spits out as he takes down another three by himself, the quick whip of his blade reflecting a beam of sun. But even he, with two other guards in front, cannot hold all of them off, though there are less of the rebels now that remain standing.

Caught in the middle, you can only watch your allies strain and sweat. In your heart, you promise desperately that you heal them in the end, if only they will hold on now.

With an awful cry, one of the guards hits the ground and a rebel uses that chance. Breaks through the line of defense and charges right towards you both.

“Fuck the king!” He yells, his face smeared with dirt, his sword raised as his bare feet trip upon the grass but he just keeps coming somehow and you have no weapons and you have no shields but the very first instinct, the most primal one you have is to throw yourself in front of the king and take his pain for him and—

Hoseok dispatches the rebel from behind just as you move a single step forward.

“You…” The king’s voice is hoarse. His eyes are wide with shock as he stares at you, at what you just did. Then he’s shoving you aside and stooping to pick up the abandoned sword from the ground.

You realize what he means when he sweeps up his sleeves, adjusts his grip on the worn handle. “Wait, no, jeonha, you cannot—”

“Stay behind me.”

“I cannot allow you to—”

“Do not argue with me.”

Again, he leaves you with no choice but to watch his back.

Fear pounds away in your body like a thousand drums, thunder booming through the pulse of your clenched heart in your ears as the king takes a first brutal swing at an enemy. Somewhat out of practice against the towering man, he’s shoved back by the sheer force of the clash, feet skidding across the wet grass but he refuses to yield. Stubborn as he always is, he rushes in again only to be pushed back. Again.

The king tilts his blade, slices it quick only to have one sent right back at him, barely missing his shoulder by an inch. He doesn’t even flinch as he stands firm. Adapts in the moment and tries a new strategy, a new tactic that has him spinning, robes fluttering in the winter air as his shuddering breath comes out in a puff of white and ends in a fury of red. And again. And again until finally, finally, only the strongest of the rebels remain standing with the few allies you left, along with your brutal, bloodied king.

Before you, all the men are panting, open mouthed, every last one of them desperate for a victory that spells the doom of the other.

“Come on then,” the king goads, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand in a show of nonchalance even though he’s obviously fatigued. “Attack.”

“You little shit!”

This man is enormous, easily a head above the king and he’s strong, muscles bulging from his torn tunic as he thrusts the sword ahead with surprising speed. The quick rush of air slices through two layers of robes, splitting the dirtied fabric open as the king narrowly escapes without a new scar. But his return stab doesn’t meet a mark and he’s slow on the rebound, steps lost some of the agility he had at the start.

Please. Please, you beg to whatever god may be listening, don’t let him die. But that rebel seems to have an endless strength as he forces the king back, meets him blow for blow for blow and you are so worried, terrified you’re going to see his last moments like this. Like this you will have been with him until the end just like you once stupidly wished. You’re so caught up you don’t realize what’s going on behind you.

“Su-uinyeo-nim! Watch out!” Myungho’s voice cracks as he cries your name, but you turn too slow. Myungho’s on the ground and the rebel that beat him is sprinting towards you, savagery in his scowl, his crude axe already suspended in mid-swing, just a few more steps, just one more shove to land right across your heart and you, you who has never held a weapon before in her life, you who has lived to heal and mend instead of hurt, what can you do right now but die?

“No!”

The scream is hoarse, a furious sound matched with a rush of robes that whip past your own.

You peel open your eyes in time to watch the king take the axe blow meant for you with his left arm. Despite his bark of pain, he swings with his right in exchange and it’s enough. The rebel falls, his axe plummeting uselessly beside him. Then the king falters too, sword clattering down as he finally drops to his knees.

“Jeonha!” You scramble to him. “Oh god, oh god, jeonha, why did you do that— Jeonha, how could you do such a thing? Jeonha!” You part the stained robes, stomach churning at the raw sight of his sacrifice. “We need to fetch you help. You need medicine, oh god, oh god.” This is panic like you’ve never felt it before as you look around, as if some miracle could occur, as if it hasn’t already occurred by the fact that you’re both still alive.

To one side, Hoseok is alone, gasping hard with the enormous rebel lying prone beside him, evidently having finished him off. Myungho has a gash running down his side, but he’s crawling towards you both still with a hand pressed to his wound for pressure. There is no one else. You have to do this on your own. You have to calm the hell down.

Using the nearby sword, you force yourself to focus and stop shaking as you cut strips of the inner layer of your skirt. You have to save his arm even as nausea swims in your mind, nerves making you want to empty your stomach.

“Hah...” The king’s chest lurches as he struggles for air. His eyes are hazy but he manages to fix them on you, as if to ground himself. “You’re… safe?”

Nodding frantically, you start to wrap the cloth around him, willing your fingers not to slip. “I-It’s deep, jeonha. Your wound is so deep.” You’re quietly sobbing as you tie the makeshift bandage to stop the worst of the bleeding. How could he be thinking of you at a time like this? It must hurt excruciatingly so, yet he is still trying to be strong.

Beside you, Hoseok is carrying Myungho’s weight, using the extra cloth to help his ally with his limited medical training.

“…Hoseok.” The king sucks in another long breath. “They… Those rebels were peasants, weren’t they?”

“Yes, jeonha… I think they were.”

He accepts this knowledge silently as you finish your preliminary treatment, but lack the resources to do anything else. You stare at the fresh red seeping through the flimsy cloth and hope desperately that it will be enough for now, until one of you can return to the palace and gather reinforcements to take you home. Feeling your fingers stop, he immediately tries to move his arm but winces, bites his lip at the sudden jolt.

“Don’t move, please,” you instantly say.

The king huffs a long, exhausted sigh as he sinks into the ground. Lets the tension seep out of him, though likely not by choice. His dark eyes flicker to the tomb briefly before they slide closed, the scar ever slashed startlingly crimson across the right side. Despite his best attempts, he is still winded, depleted. Human, after all. After all of this.

You brush matted strands of light hair away from his forehead, and pat at the drops of sweat that linger and prove how hard he pushed himself to fight. He shifts into your touch like a stray animal, allowing you take care of him for once without argument until his breaths even some, settling only in your arms.

“It seems it’s been a long time,” he says softly after a moment, his eyes remaining shut.

“Since?”

“Since I’ve protected someone.”

Your pulse catches. Blood thrums through you as you whisper, “but you did.” Your voice is viscous with relief, and gratitude. “You did.”

Only now do you dare to reach for his hand, to lend him some of your strength, even though you have seen again just how much of it he already holds in himself.

Wrapped in your warmth, he squeezes back just the once. Lets you know he is here, he is here, he is here with you still.

a/n: because i could never forget the way he wielded that sword in the mv. so... how you feel about our king now?

#ficswithluv #btsghostie #yoongi x reader #min yoongi #bts imagines #bts scenarios #bts angst #yoongi angst #historical au #moonlit throne #rain writes #things only continue to shift don't they?

890 notes · View notes

gukieater · 3 years ago

Text

Fic idea 1 : Apocalyptic Heart

Pairing: Jungkook x OC (f) X Taehyung

Genre: Post Apocalyptic World, Zombie, Special Ability (Jungkook), experiments, evolution, illegal medical trial, inhuman treatment, Survival, Angst, fluff (eventual smut), possible future yandere (Jungkook), blood, possible dismantling, biting, death of minor characters, age difference, noona.

Disclaimer: This is not a full fiction or story, merely a plot. Please read this post before proceeding. If you are reading this, you can reblog the post if u want to!

Music Recommendation: Wolves of Odin- Colossal Trailer Music

Plot or Synopsis: It is about an apocalyptic world where the human population is overthrown by mutated creatures, who once used to be human. L/N Y/N is a 21 year old girl surviving on her own. She's constantly on the road, salvaging supplies for survival, on her daily run, she meets lone or group of survivors but she never sticks around, living by her rule "Alone is Safe".

On her journey to survival she meets a pregnant woman who seems to be on the run and in a pretty bad shape. Around 3 years ago, Y/N lost her sister when the breakout started, and she remembered how she was helpless enough not being able to save her sister. Seeing the pregnant woman, she is reminded of her elder sister and gets attached. So she decides to stay by her to take care of her and her unborn baby and breaks the one and only rule she lived by so far, to survive alone.

Soon she realizes the woman is being chased by people, not just brain eating monsters. They seem powerful and battle ready. She kept asking the woman why she was being chased and she told Y/N the less she knew, the safer she will be. Running from them being the 1st priority, she doesn't press the woman for further explanation. One day while supply run, they are cornered by those mystery men's and they go into hiding. The anxiety and stress leads the woman to go into labor and she gives birth to a boy. But soon their hiding location is compromised and they need to run again. After the birth the woman is too weak to run. So refuses to go with Y/N saying she will slow them down. So Y/N now has a choice to either stay and get caught by those men or take the baby and run, leaving the mother behind. The woman insists she does the later. Y/N doesn't argue further, knowing that's the only logical thing to do. So even though she feels guilty, she vows to the woman to protect the child and runs away while the woman buys her time by tricking them thinking she has the baby.

Y/N is not the kind to stay in the same location for long as it draws the undead but she needs a place to keep the baby safe, since she can't carry him to her daily run. So she decides to settle down in some outskirt, to raise him in safety. But things starts to get complicated when she notices the kid isn't an average child. He is growing at an unprecedented rate and shows undisputable strength. By the time the child was 1 months old, he already grew into a 1 year old kid.

Although she decides to take the child in to protect it and raise, in the back of her mind she somewhat resents it, knowing it was the reason the mother had to sacrifice herself. It reminds of herself, how her elder sister sacrificed herself to a group of undead when they broke into her house in the middle of the night so she can buy Y/N some time to run away. If it wasn't for either of them, her sister and the mother would be alive. So she never cuddles the baby, only holds him when he's crying, doesn't name him, never shows any affection towards it. She feels kind of relieved for the child's growth as she didn't need to care for an infant for long. But there is something in the way the child looks at her, like she holds the moon and star for him, sometimes it bothers her as if the child sees through her.

After 4 months of settling down in a outskirt school near the hill, one day she returns home after salvaging for rations, she saw that the boy was not in the room. She clearly remembers locking the door when she left but seeing the door unlocked, she starts to panic. She starts looking for the boy and curses herself for not naming him. While calling out to the boy, she hears a faint voice. She followed the trail of voice and as she moved closer, the faint voice became clearer and she can clearly hear someone calling for 'Noona'. When she stepped into the backyard she could she the boy crouching down to a half-dead plant. As the boy touched the plant she watched in her dismay the plant coming back to life. Noticing her presence, the boy looked at her direction and calling out to her as "noona". She was both shocked and scared because she never taught him to speak neither spoke much around him. The boy observed her and watching her act distant and frightened around him made him upset. As he tried to approach her to hold her hand and comfort her, she kept looking at the plant. She saw the plant wither and eventually rot as he took a step further to her direction. She was startled, she tumbled on her feet and fall down on her back and called him a monster. With teary eyes he told her his name was Jungkook,not monster or "kid". Jungkook, that's what his mother wanted to call him.

She had a lot of questions to Jungkook. Like how he opened the lock, how he knew what her mother wanted to call him, how he knew how to speak and knew what monster meant and how was he doing that to the plant. He said that he felt sad and lonely so he wanted to find you, at first he didn't know how the lock worked but he figured it out. When he made it to the backyard, he the only thing that felt alive in there was the plant and it was dying. He felt like he could help it. When she asked how he knew what sadness and loneliness was he said he shared the memory of his mother from her pregnancy. She would often cry and feel restless what she termed as sadness or loneliness until she came along. That's how he knew who Y/N was, why he called her noona and how he knew he could trust her, as he described how his mother felt around her, safe & warm. She doesn't question further about the wilting plant. After talking to Jungkook, she started connecting the dots about why his mother was chased and how Jungkook was no ordinary child. She realized maybe keeping Jungkook safe won't be just as easy as raising him.

Jungkook learned and picked up on things quite easily so going to runs was getting quite easier but still uneasiness settled in Y/N's mind. She can't control the situation when she's away and the thought of Jungkook taken away or even worse getting attacked was quite startling. She never shows it but she deeply cares about the kid. Jungkook himself was quite clingy towards Y/N although she never reciprocates the affection. She simply keeps up the role of a provider. it's been already 16 months since they've been living in the outskirt and the undead are picking up on her scent due to her daily trail in the same direction as she keeps seeing more and more of them in the surrounding area.

So after a few close encounters and trial salvage run with Jungkook, she decides to move out of the outskirt and target bigger cities. She avoided bigger cities so far thinking the people chasing Jungkook's mother may still be looking for him. By the time living there, Jungkook already grew up to become a teenager so she reasoned, the people looking for him would be looking for a child, not so much of a well-build boy who looks like who is in his late teen's. She thought maybe it's time to move around. But maybe it was not a good decision after all. Things starts to shift, not always for the best interest. Few days in the city, Y/N starts to realize that Jungkook is perfectly fit to tend for himself and rather than keeping him safe, Y/N is the one slowing him down and making him vulnerable. If she's caught with Jungkook they can use her against him to make him comply but if she's not with him, he is perfectly capable and trained to slipping away.So she decides its time to go back to her old way of life. But things doesn't go as easy as she thought as with time she got extremely attached to Jungkook. On the other hand, Jungkook experiences the same thing unfold in front of him again. At first it was his mother, who was separated from him and now his Noona whom he loves very dearly is abandoning him again. He is upset and he doesn't understand why is she leaving him and it's driving him mad. He can't even read her as he promised he won't do it without her permission. Jungkook's heart is breaking but he departs from her without any objections.

On a run close to a suspicious facility, Y/N meets a survivor who she helps escape from people that looked a lot like the people chasing Jungkook's mother. The boy, not more than 2/3 years older than her introduces himself as Dr. Kim Taehyung, a young scientist from the facility. At first she doesn't trust him but things take turns and Taehyung proves to be someone reliable. Eventually she discovers a lot about the breakout, the undead and how the facility handled the things only to make it worse. Then he mentions something about the authority going crazy about a subject escaping the facility more than 1.5 year ago and Y/N becomes alert. The description of the escaped subject eerily matched with Jungkook's mother. So she questions taehyung about it and what she finds out leaves her frantic and full of fear & guilt. She sets out to find Jungkook with the help of Taehyung as soon as she can. When departing from Jungkook she knew they would both suffer but what she did not know that, growing up, the bond he shared with her, breaking it or separating Jungkook from her would take a big toll on Jungkook. With every passing moment without her, Jungkook will loose a piece of him that made him human, made him the boy Y/N knew & raised and turn him into more of a thing Y/N feared him to be in the beginning, a monster.

PS: is it a plot anymore? I'm not sure 😅. The plot I intended to write turned out to be more detailed than I would have originally liked but ehh, whatever. If anybody does decides to write about it, they have the full liberty to make changes into the plot or turn or take the story further in any direction they want. Whether they decide to give me a credit for it or nah, it's their discretion but if they do, it would be appreciated so the readers finding this blog may enjoy the full story as well ❤️

This picture is inspired by the entire storyline so far. The pictures I used to make this collage are collected from Pinterest, I don't own them.

#BTS #jungkook #taehyung #bts fic #apocalypse #zombie fiction #jungkook x noona #jungkook yandere #post apocalypse #bts world #jungkook fic #taehyung fic #special abilities #scientific fiction #bts fic idea

82 notes · View notes

futurewriter2000 · 5 years ago

Text

Worth the Wait

A/N: This is the longest fic I ever wrote. It took me good three days but I finished it. I would have done it sooner but school. Like oh my God. I’m proud I could pull this off. Hope you like it. Feedback is always welcomed. Tell me if I did it good cuz it’s too long to make go through it again after writing it for so long. I hope I did good. Also I threw a bit of Fred x reader in there. Just to spice it up a bit.

REQUEST:Hey can you do a fic where the reader is elder sister potter She's best friends with Cedric diggory since the first time they met on the train during first year She confesses it to Cedric during Goblet of fire, they are a couple And then when he dies she's screaming and heartbroken Time skip to the battle she dies saving Harry who is crying because she was his only family left Then Hermione says during the reader's dying breath "it's okay you can close your eyes and be happy with Ced" Thanx...

Sometimes it was not easy being your younger brother’s older sister. All he ever did was get into trouble and you couldn’t even figure it out how. How could that boy get into so much trouble without even knowing it?

Then again, he was your father’s son and you could say that it ran in the family because you yourself weren’t the saint of the family.

You however had a best friend who always got you into more trouble than you ever did him. The two of you met on a train, first day, and he was the sweetest boy you have ever met. He kept talking like he has lived 50 years not 11. He laughed so the whole train could hear him and he had one of the most wonderful laughs, The one you just fell in love with immediately. Since the first day, you knew he was going to be in your life. He was there when nobody else was. He was there when you were at your worst and unlike your previous “friends”, he didn’t leave. He stayed and he kept promising you that he will always and forever be there for you and your little brother.

Little did he know that your little brother was one of the unluckiest little boys, who ever walked the Hogwarts ground. Harry was a confused little boy since he was little but he had a temper that nobody could control. He was funny, sarcastic, definetly taking most of the traits after his father but if he has anything else besides your mother’s eyes, it’s definetly her heart.

The worry you held was always for your little brother. Always what kind of new trouble will he get into with his two friends but never have you thought that another person could worry you just as much as Harry could.

“You can’t!” you shouted at Cedric. “It’s not safe!”

“It’s not like I’ll be fighting a dragon, (y/n)!” Cedric groaned, getting up, hugging you from behind and swinging you left an right. “Don’t tell me you’re worried about me.” he kept cooing, knowing how much you hated when somebody talked ot you like you were a child.

With him it was different. When he hugged you, it was like a warm cloud taking you into the sky and letting you float under the sun. You loved his embraces, you loved him since Third year.

“Are you mad?” he continued to coo, causing a smile arrupt on your lips and making his laugh. He stepped back, pulling you with him until he tripped and fell on the bed with him. “Because I won’t let you go until you stop being mad at me.”

“I’m not mad, Ced.” you sighed, moving away from his grip and laying beside him. You played with your thumbs and with a deep breath, you told him your worries. “I just don’t want to risk losing you. I’m risking it every year with Harry and I just don’t want to...with you.”

He smiled in disbelief, pulling himself up on his elbow. “That’s what you’re worried about? Me entering a contest and not even being picked. We’ve done worse things that this contest- remember the giant squid back in Second year?”

You smiled, remeniscing that day perfectly. “Yeah.”

“Did we die?”

“Almost.”

“But did we die?”

“No, Cedric. We did not die.” you answered clearly.

“That’s because we are bloody tough and amazing. If we didn’t die that day with the squid, then we won’t die in this contest....if I get picked of course, which I definetly will because everybody likes me, and so will that goblet.”

“Firstly, you are extremely narcassistic, which you clearly get from your father.” you pointed your finger at him and he just rolled his eyes, chuckling. “Secondly, we? What do you mean we?”

“Oh, baby. We’re in this together.” he kissed your forehead, jumping of the bed and towards his warderobe.”Now, what should I wear.”

You melted when you heard him call you baby. The two of you were not together, only friends and at times like this you desperately wished the two of you were more than just friends. He caused so many emotions run through your body when he did little things such as take your hand, call you nicknames, kiss your forehead and so on but never did he do more than this.

“Earth to (y/n)!” he waved his hand in front of you and you quickly shot your head up.

“Yeah?”

“What should I wear?”

You rolled off the bed and stood up. “Maybe your school uniform?”

“How about this shirt?” he put the white shirt on top of his chest.

You rolled your eyes, bumping him away from the warderobe and surfing through his clothes. You noticed the red shirt on the bottom of the shelf and pulled it out. “Red.” you shoved it on his chest.

“I totally forgot I have this shirt.”

“Just put it on and let this be over with.” ---

But you were far from over, weren’t you. You thought your heart was dropped and stepped on when he was picked by the Goblet. He noticed it right away, hugging you and lifting you up. “I’ll win for both of us. You’ll see.” he whispered and put you down, giving you a reassuring smile.

It was until the Goblet threw out the second name that you felt like the whole world has turned against you. When all the contestants, including your little brother were in the room with Dumbledore, you stormed inside, fuming and boiling from all the fury.

“HE IS NOT GOING TO COMPETE IN THIS TOURNAMENT AND IF YOU KILL ME!” you stepped in front of Harry, glaring at the other in the room.

“Miss Potter-” Dumbledore started but you cut him off first.

“He is fourteen!”

“I agree but the Goblet-”

“He’s going to compete in this tournament over MY DEAD BODY!” you kept shouting, noticing Cedric approaching you raised your hand for him to stop. “Don’t.” you warned him before turning to your brohter and looking into his eyes.

He was frightened, you could see that so perfectly in his eyes. You read him like an open book, knowing there was no where in hell he dropped his name into that Goblet. He couldn’t. “Why you? Why always you?” you said, your eyes watering and your arms bringing him close.

“I didn’t do it, (y/n).” he tried to appologise but you knew he was telling you the truth. If anybody hated getting into trouble, it was your brohter. He just wanted to be a normal boy for once and it just won’t be given to him.

“He won’t.” you stood firmly your ground, glaring at all the responsible people.

“Miss Potter. The Goblet has chosen its contestants. The rules are rules.”

And before you could say anything you’d regret, Harry took your hand and looked at you. “I’ll be alright. I’ve lasted this long, haven’t I?” he gave you a weak smile and you felt helpless to do anything.

“If anything happens to him-” you glared at Bagman, glancing at the other three Champions, later at Dumbledore. “-I’ll make sure-”

“(y/n).” your brother touched your shoulders, giving you a more confident smile. “I can do this.”

“Oh, you better.”

---

You’ve tried not to worry too much about both Cedric and Harry but it was not possible. You thought your hair was going to turn grey one night and you’ll be someone who belongs in a looney bin. When you heard about the first task, you weren’t worried, you were so furious you wanted to scream. Cedric was avoiding you, mostly because he was afraid of you and your family temper but also because he knew how this would go.

“It’s nOt LiKE I’Ll bE fIghTING A drAgOn.” you mocked him as he closed the door in his dorm, jumping when he heard your mocking voice and chuckling.

“What goes around comes around.” he awkwardly scratches the back of his head, noticing the worry and the stress in your eyes. He opened his arms and gave you his one of a kind, comforting smiles. “Come on. Bring it in.”

“No.” you said, turning your head away.

“No?” he said as if he was offended, placing his hand on his heart. “As if you have a choice.” he scoffed, running towards you and knocking you off your feet. He grabbed you tightly with his arms, locking your own against your body. You laughed being unable to get out of his grip.

“Cedric!” you continued to laugh meanwhile he put his head on your shoulder and took a deep breath in through his nose.

“Ahh! Isn’t this hug just stress-relieving?” he closed his eyes and put his cheek on yours.

“If crushing my bones is stress-relieving, than sure, go ahead.” you continued to smile meanwhile he left a soft chuckle, breathing in your parfume and breathing out his hot breath, so it brushed your neck and send butterflies flying in your stomach.

His grip got gentler, so he wasn’t locking your arms anymore, but simply holding you in his own. You truned around, placing yourelf on top of his chest and looking down in his deep grey eyes. Your hand automatically moved to his hair and you mildly brushed your fingers through his hair.

God, you were in love with him. You were so deeply in love with his charming eyes and his devilish smile, His skin was so warm, his nose in such a perfect shape, his jaw a bit uneven but sharp despite it. His hands were big and soft, as if they haven’t worked a day in their life, his chest broad, his whole soul just burning yours through the eyes.

He always adored the look in your eyes. Whenever you gave him this look it sent him some sort of pleasure and joy through his bonest. In a way, with you or even just looking at you, he felt his mind go a little dizzy. He felt like he could tell you the world! Everything with you was just... safe. He felt safe with you.

It was a heavenly moment, between the two of you. It was only you and him, nobody else to break it up.

Until there was.

A letter flew right through the window, cutting in the space between the two of you. It was written in a beautiful handwriting... in a girl’s handwriting with a Ravenclaw’s stamp.

A jealous feeling started bubbling in your stomach as you got up and let him read it. A smile appeared on his lips as you asked. “Who is it?”

He looked up, completely blind to your discomfort. “It’s Cho’s. She said yes to be my date to the Yule Ball.”

Your heart jumped to your throat and you could feel your eyes burning. “You- you asked Cho Chang to Yule Ball. I thought we said we were going to the Yule Ball together?”

He could finally see the hurt in your eyes, which was a different kind he usually got from your fights. He realized what he said to you before he asked Cho. He was completely sure that Cho would say no but now... now he knew just how much he hurt you.

Except the pain was worse for you.

“Merlin, (y/n).” he got up and started to shake his head, eyes filled with guilt. ”I didn’t think she’d say yes.”

The jealusy turned into hatred in a second and the heart in your throat stopped to speak. “So I was just your back up plan?!”

“No!” he widened his eyes. “That’s not what I meant to-”

“You know what, Diggory?” you scoffed, pretending as if your heart wasn’t just crushed a moment ago. “Go to the ball with your precious Cho Chang. I don’t care. Go with anybody you want!” your voice started to raise.

“Why are you getting so mad?!”

And you couldn’t believe it. You couldn’t believe he is so blind to it. You know he feels it. You know it in your heart he feels something towards you but he just won’t admit it. “Because I’m in love with you!” was all you could say, regretting it the moment it came out. “And I thought you feel the same but clearly you-”

“Oh, (y/n)...” he shook his head, watching you with pitiful eyes. “You’re like a -”

“Don’t!” you stopped him, tears falling down your cheeks without your permission. “It’s not true. It can’t be.” you kept looking at him. You were so sure he felt it. So Goddamn sure he felt the same way.

“You’re amazing, (y/n). You are! You’re amazing and beautiful but I just don’t see us as- I mean, you and me- I mean- I- “

You shook your head more aggresievly this time. “I was so dumb to think that I won’t be like those other girls!” you told yourself.

“You’re not!”

“I clearly am, Cedric!” you shouted at him, tears coming out. “Because if I wasn’t then you wouldn’t asked me to the Yule Ball as a bloody plan B!” you continued, seeing as he wanted to argue with that but you wouldn’t let him. “But you know what, Cedric? I can get anyone I bloody want!”

And somehow that opened Cedric’s anger, making the unfamilliar feeling in his stomach speak instead of his mind. “Clearly not me! Just like the other girls, swooning over! Thinking you have a chance! I should have known you were just hanging out with me because you had a crush!”

The hurt was just never-ending, wasn’t it. “You really think that?” you tone was weak. “You really think of me as someone like that?” you said backing away.

“Isn’t it?!” he couldn’t stop himself. He couldn’t and he tried.

“Yes, Cedric. I trusted you and poured myself to you just because I wanted to fuck you like the whore I am. I wanted nothing but your dick and be famous for dating the Hufflepuff chaser.” you said, seeing his anger fade.

He threw his head back in disbelief. He hated when anybody spoke low of you, and there he was thinking the lowest of you. “I didn’t mean it, (y/n). I know you’re-”

“Just save the sweet talk for Cho.” you said. “I don’t ever want to talk to you again.” you started walking away but he quickly grabbed your arm.

“Please, (y/n)! Don’t leave! I didn’t mean what I said!”

“Clearly, you did.” you said. “Clearly, you think that I can’t live without you, Cedric Diggory but I’m going to show you just how much I don’t need you in my life.” you pulled your arm away from his grasp, walking away.

That day you never went back to your dorm, you went to Harry’s but before you could reach him, a ginger got to you first. You always thought of Fred as someone who was despite his humor incredibly charming and caring. Since Harry was in First Year, he always kept asking you on dates, flirting with you and being a real gentleman.

He noticed right away that you were hurt. He always noticed everything when it came to you and maybe you said yes because he was the only one who made you feel wanted but after a while, you saw you said yes because he was kind and caring for you like nobody else ever did.

The two of you got closer and so you did with the other Weasleys and their friends. Somehow, you realized you have gotten to Harry closer as well. He was much more open to you now then he ever was.

---

You loved spending time with Fred. He always made you laugh. Always made you feel so happy. On the day of the Ball, Fred was already waiting in the Hufflepuff common room, talking with some of your friends.

Cedric, who was still a bit uncomfortable that the two of you weren’t on speaking terms, walked over to Fred just before he went to pick up Cho herself. “Hey, mate. Can I talk to you?”

Fred raised an eyebrow, his grin staying in the same position. “Yeah. Of course.” he said, not knowing whether to like the guy or not.

“I know me and (y/n) aren’t speaking right now but I still do-”

He was cut, staring at the girl who was just coming down the stairs behind Fred. Fred turned around as well, scanning you from head to toe before locking his eyes with yours. His grin turned into a beam and he blinked, just to make sure that what he was seeing wasn’t a dream.

You weren’t wearing a dress as the other girls did. You remember Sirius giving you the dress your mother wore to one of the Balls with your father. She was a diviant and brave woman, choosing the right dress for her confidence. It was red, just like her hair, and long, clinging your legs and your curves. Your hair was curled, pinned on one side, let down on the other. You chose a daring makeup, red eyeshadow and red lipstick, sharping the outline of your lips. There was a cut on your right side, from knee below, showing off your red heels with a sparkly-silver strap above the ankle.

Even though you knew Cedric was standing beside Fred with his mouth on the ground, you kept your eyes on Fred’s brown ones, ignoring the grey ones behind and smiling triuphantly. “I’m ready.”

Fred’s eyes sparkled with mischief as he took your hand and kissed the back of it. “I can see that.” he said seductively, leading you away. “You look absolutely breath-taking.”

---

The whole dance, you saw eyes lingering on you. It made you blush more times than once. You were pretty convinced that you were red as a tomato the whole night but Fred, amazing as he was, kept distracting you by dancing and making you laugh. He was an incredible date. He constantly made sure you were hydrated, pleased and smiling.

“Fred, my jaw is hurting from all the laughing!” you laughed as the two of you made your way outside on some fresh air. “Be serious!” you sightly punched him in the chest.

“I can’t. You’re so gorgeous when you smile.” his voice got softer and he took a step closer. His hand took the fallen strand on your pinned side and tucked it behind your ear, looking down at you. “I want to be all dominant and romantic with this but I can’t help the feeling to ask you.” his cheeks flushed red and you furrowed your eyebrows at him.

“Ask me what?”

He looked up, scratching the back of his head and barely speaking. “Can I kiss you?”

Surprised by his question, you completely grew red in your cheeks, not knowing exactly what to say. This was your first kiss. You always imagined it would be Cedric but since the argument, you knew that was never going to be possible.

You trusted Fred. You liked Fred. So you nodded your head and put your hands on his neck. “I’ve never kissed anybody.” you said shyly and quetly.

“A beauty like you?” he grinned pressing his forehead on you. “I can wait if you’re not ready.” he said as you looked up at him with a glint in your eyes.

“No. I want you to kiss me.” you smiled and he leaned it, kissing you gently at first, only the surface of your lips before pulling away and looking at your reaction.

Your eyes were closed before you opened them, smiling and showing him you want him to kiss you again, deeper. And he did, slipping his tongue inside your mouth and taking the lead. Your cheeks started radiating heat as the kissing never stopped. You loved it. You loved kissing and you kept pulling him closer to you, smiling.

It wasn’t long until that kiss was broken. You couldn’t feel Fred’s suit under your fingers, nor see him in front of you. Your vision was blurred and you couldn’t figure out what exactly was going on until you saw Fred laying on the floor on your right and Cedric panting on your left.

“What-” you couldn’t quite figure it out. All three of you were panting, Cedric from fury meanwhile you and Fred had a different kind of cause for catching your breath. “What the hell?!” you looked at Cedric, narrowing your eyes at him meanwhile he turned to you, eyes widen from shock and his mind confused.

“Why in the bloody hell did you do that for, mate?” Fred sat up, rubbing his head as you ran up to him.

“I- I don’t know.” Cedric said, completely confused and watching you help Fred to his feet.

“Are you okay, Fred?” you asked meanwhile Fred gave you his usual grin.

“I’m fine, gorgeous. Why don’t- why don’t the two of you talk, huh?” he glanced between the two of you. “I’ll go get some ice.”

“But-”

“I’ll be fine.” he took your hand and squeezed it. “You need to talk.” he said before leaving the two of you alone.

As he was out of the view, you turned around, fuming, and shouting at the guilty boy in front. “WHAT THE HELL?!”

“I don’t know what came over me, (y/n), I swear. I didn’t mean to push him-”

“Oh, so you’re telling me that a House Elf possesed you and pushed him on the floor.”

“I was aiming for the punch but I was afraid of hurting you during, so I had to push him first.” he kept blabbering, only confusing you more. He shut his mouth, looking at you with wide eyes and afraid to say anything similar.

“You don’t get to interrupt my first kiss. You don’t get to do that after shoving a knife through my heart, Cedric!” you started to get furious, storming away and knocking his shoulder as you passed him by.

He grabbed you by the wirst as he always did when the two of you fought. He pulled you back and close to his chest, meanwhile you pushed away from him.

“Don’t do that!” you looked up at him.

“I was furious, (y/n)!” he shouted back. “I’m sorry for what I said that day! I shouldn’t have said those things to you, I realize that.”

“I don’t care anymore, Cedric. It’s all old bullshit to me.” you crossed your arms over your chest, backing away and deciding to leave.

“I WAS JEALOUS!” he shouted on top of his lungs. Stopping you. Due to the music in the Great Hall a corridor down, nobody else could hear except you and him.

You turned around, watching his face fall down in shame.

“I was jealous, (y/n).” he said once again as he started to get closer to you. “When I saw you so stunning in your dress... and then see you walk away with another guy, I just felt angry. I felt angry the whole bloody night, watching you dance him... watching you laugh with him... and looking at him like you used to look at me.” he paused as he stopped in front of you, still unable to look at you into your eyes until he took a deep breath in and raised his head up to lock those greys with your own. “He got to see you in this dress, he got the honor to dance with you in it, he got the pleasure of hearing your laugh, the bliss of getting adoration from your wonderful eyes and I couldn’t even get a slightly bit of attention from you. Not a glance, not anything. I got nothing from you and when I was watching you with him, I was barely keeping myself away. When I saw you walk out with him I couldn’t control my feet, so I followed and when I saw you kissing him, I got so angry and so jealous that I just stop restricting myself from you. I couldn’t keep myself away.” he took your hands and squeezed them tightly. “You’re my best friend, (y/n). I’m pretty much sure you’re my soulmate.” he smiled and you couldn’t figure out where this was going; hurt or love, so you kept your expression the same. “I’m ashamed of what I did- because I had that, I could have had that but I threw it away. I threw it away because I didn’t know that I’m in love with you as well.”

You gasped as he said that, feeling the air get caught up in your throat. Your heart fluttered, your stomach kept doing sommersaults but despite all of it, you couldn’t pretend as if he didn’t hurt you.

You hugged him tight and feeling his arms seal your embrace, his nose dig into the crook of your neck and breathing the parfume that tingeled his nostrills. He let out a breath of relief, feeling safety spread around him.

“I forgive you, Ced.” you said and he smiled to the shortage of his name which you call him. It always felt perfect when you said it. “But I need to figure out where I stand with Fred before I hurt anybody.”

He pulled away, placing his thumb on your chin and brushing it gently with it. “I’ll wait. I’ll always wait for you.”

---

It took you a few days and a few nights of frustration and over-thinking to get where you were. You and Fred had a long talk about everything, deciding to stay friends as it was obvious you were head over heels for Cedric. You could see he was hurt but he still put his usual grin on.

“Reckon, he’ll never had the honour to say he was a first kiss to the most amazing and beautiful girl at school.”

You smiled, feeling the redness wash over your cheeks again. “No, he won’t.” you said, taking his chin in your hands and kissing him on the lips one last time. You didn’t know why you did it but it felt right. Pulling away, you brushed your thumb over his lips and smiled. “It was a perfect first kiss, Fred.”

“Anytime.” he smirked, thinking for a moment then narrowing his eyes. “Shame. I always thought the Chosen one will become my brother-in-law.”

“Don’t give up hope yet. I think he and Ginny would make quite a pair.”

“Weasley and Potter. Has nice tone, doesn’t it.” he winked at you as you rolled your eyes.

“Don’t take it too close to heart.”

“Oh, I won’t. These Potters are dangerous when it comes to it.” he continued to tease.

“Goodnight, Fred!” you shouted.

“Night Mrs. Future-Weasley.”

---

You and Fred stayed close. It was a strong friendship and you could always count on him. It drove Cedric over the wall whenever he would see the two of you even slightly together but he had you. You were his girl and that was all that he needed.

When the second task came along, Harry was in quite a lot of distress. He was underground, watching three people closest to his heart being tied up underwater.

He didn’t know who to save. He just kept pondering it over until Krum swam by and untied Hermione first. Harry trusted Cedric he would untie you, so whatever happened next, was the thing that was causing you too much worry. You were sitting by Cedric, wrapped around in a towel and looking Ron’s and Fleur’s little sister’s head pop out of the water, but Harry? He was nowhere to be seen.

Cedric kept rubbing your back. “He’ll come out. He will.” but you worried so much that you almost felt yourself jump back into.

He finally appeared, making your heart-rate calm down. When he swam out, you gave him an enormous tight hug.

“Ger’ off.” he sturggled but you couldn’t let go. “You’re embarrasing me.”

“I don’t care.”

---

The night before the first task, you and Cedric were both laying wrapped in sheets, just enjoying eachother’s warmth and body. He kept making circles with his figner on your bare shoulder meanwhile you kept looking up at him with your googly eyes.

He looked down, grinning. “Dreaming of a life with a Triwizard Champion?” he wiggled his eyebrows and you laughed.

“Yeah. I think getting to say my brother is the Chosen one and a Triwizard Champion will be quite a privilage.” you replied and he scoffed.

“Oh, so you’re rooting for my enemy.”

“I just want this to be over and have you both safe in my arms.” your stretched your arms around his torso and placed your head on his chest, nuzzling closer.

His hand moved up to your hair and he gently scratched your scalp, causing you to doze off. “We both got this far, didn’t we?”

“Yeah.” you said sleeply, making Cedric smile. He adored your sleepiness. “I have to admit I was more sure you’d pull through than Harry. Looks like I underestimated him.”

“He’s bright, I’ll give him that. Must be in the family.” he said. “I don’t know what happened to you.” he teased, making your head shot up and your fist punch his chest. He laughed, taking your head in his hands. “I’m joking. You’re smart as hell.”

“Yes, I am.” you said, placing your head back on his chest, feeling his heart beat fast, then slow itself down.

“And you’re beautiful.”

“Keep them going.” you smiled and he chuckled.

“And sexy.” he left out a growl, pulling you up and kissing you.

“Don’t stop.” you smiled against his lips.

He kissed you again, this time softer and genlter and as he pulled you away, he looked deep into your eyes. “I’ll make you my wife one day.” he cupped your face once again. “And I’ll spoil you until the ends of Earth.”

“You’ll buy me small dog I can carry in purse?” you joked and he smiled.

“I’ll buy you a monkey if you say!”

“I think one is enough.” you patted his chest and he chuckled, grabbing you around the shoulders and squeezing you.

“Why are you so mean!?” he shook you in his arms, laughing and pinning you on the bed. “Don’t answer that.” he said quietly, observing your every feature. “I love you no matter your flaws.”

You widened your eyes, hearing him say those words from the first time and feeling a rush in your eyes as well as your heart. You threw your arms around him and pushed him on the other side of the bed. “I love you too.” you whispered in his ear.

---

The whole third task you’ve been impatient. Just this one task and everything will be normal. Cedric and you will graduate, both of you will get a job, you will be able to spent more days with Sirius, Harry will spend the summer with you- everything will be perfect.

You couldn’t stop smiling. You just couldn’t. This task was about to end your future is about to begin. You were so bloody excited. You just kept cheering and loving every second that passed.

And there it was. Cedric and Harry both appearing together. You were so happy! Everybody was on their feet, cheering and shouting. Everybody was so excited that the Hogwarts Champions won the tournament.

Until you heard Harry scream in agony and it you felt your legs being cut below your knee. You stared, watching Cedric pale and stoic, Harry covering him. You heard Cedric’s father scream in the same agony as Harry, you tumbled back being caught in Fred’s arms.

“No- no.” you told yourself before moving everybody out of the way and running on the field, tumbling over your feet. “No! NO! NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” you screamed throwing yourself over his body and screaming. “Cedric!” you screamed, framing his face with your hands and moving away his black hair. Everything that was alive last night was gone. There was no light, no smile, nothing.

You felt yourself unable to breathe, you felt your heart being ripped out of your chest.

You screamed for him. “You can’t! I love you! Remember! You love me! You said you’d get me the purse dog! You said we’ll get married!” you kept crying until Harry grabbed you and pulled you in his embrace, both crying.

‘At least Harry was alive. Harry is alive. Be thankful it’s not both.’ - you heard a voice in your head. ‘Harry. You still have Harry.’

But it didn’t cause any less pain and heartache. You just lost the love of your life, you lost your soulmate... you lost yourself.

---

The last time you walked through the gates of Hogwarts, you were a completely different person. Harry always told the others that you haven’t been coping well with Cedric’s death.

He was indeed, correct.

You graduated with nothing but emptiness in your soul. You didn’t talk much, you couldn’t. He was your best friend. He was everything to you. Life without him did not cease to exist for you and every night you cried yourself to sleep and every morning you woke up to an enormous headache and pain in both of your eyes because of that.

You didn’t care though. Since Sirius died, your sole mission was to protect Harry. Only Harry. He was the only family you had left. You protect Harry. That’s all you have to do but when you walked through those gates, through the gates where every single memory of Cedric splashed you like a rebel wave... you simply couldn’t hold yourself much together.

“You changed.” you heard someone say beside you. You turned your head to see Fred with his usual grin.

“Hey, Fred.” you wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“I’m sorry.” he whispered immediately. “For everything that happened to you.”

“I’m not the only one who lost a loved one in this war.” you said, putting your hand on his shoulder and giving him a weak smile,

But he saw it. He saw the pain in your eyes. He saw how broken you were just when he looked into your eyes. He also noticed something else. Something nobody else had. “You’re not afraid?” he asked but it sounded more as a statement than a question.

“No, I’m not.” you looked at him, taking his hand in yours. “I’m going to look that murderous snake in the eyes and I’m going to show him hell he hasn’t even imagined.” you snarled, looking at the distance and squeezing his hand.

He squeezed it back, differently than you, comfortly. You looked at him from the affection you were so foreign to and felt a smile reach your cheeks. “There’s the smile.” he spun you around slowly, making you giggle for the first time in a long time again.

“Thank you.” you said, letting go of his hand and glancing at the courtyart. “Ready to beat some Deatheaters?”

“Born ready, love.” he said, walking beside you.

---

You’ve been around Harry most of the battle until you lost him. Until there were Deatheaters coming from every corner and the two of you had to be seperated. You had eyes on most of the people. Remus and Tonks quickly disappeared somewhere into the towers, Harry was out of your sight after solid 30 minutes, Hermione ran into the castle, Ron behind her, George, Percy and Fred were all fighting together, covering their six.

It was just as you finished the last two Deatheaters when you locked eyes with him in the distance, remembering the boy who gave you your first kiss. He winked, shouting something to Percy before the wall behind him exploading, wiping your smile off quicker than anything you’ve imagined. You apparated at the rubble, coming to his aid and helping his brothers pull him out of the dust. Percy was screaming, shooting at the sky and other Deatheaters with so much fury and anger you have ever seen in that man. George was staring at his twin, almost as he didn’t exist anymore.

You framed Fred’s head, just as you did with Cedric all those years ago. Fred was dead... just like him. Tears prickled down your cheeks and you leaned your forehead on his, sobbing but quickly calming down.

He was one of your best friends. He was the one who made you smile when nobody else could. He was the only one who knew how to deal with your attitude when you were grieving after Cedric. He was there, always and now he’s gone. “I’m so sorry, Freddie.” you pressed your head into his shirt, taking his usual scent in your nostrills. “Thank you.” you paused. “For everything.” you kissed his lips softly before getting on your feet and feeling the same rage fill your body as it did with Percy.

You tightened your grip around your wand and made you way, searching only for one specific person. He was there, preparing to kill off your last family. You appeared in front of him before he got the chance, casting spells, one after the other.

Your attack was aggresive at first. It took Lord Voldemort by surprise and off balance at first. “YOU KILLED EVERYBODY I EVER LOVED!” you cried, shooting curse after curse and hitting him once with Crucio but only for a slightest moment.

People around you almost thought you’d win, your little brother thought that maybe, just maybe you could be the Potter to finish off Voldemort. But the Dark Lord was as well as immune to your crucio curse.

“You’re weak!” he cackled, shooting the crucio curse and making you kneel, agony running down your veins. “I should have killed you the day I murdered your pathethic parents! Should have finished you first before I moved to your weak brother! ALL OF YOU! WEAK!” he continued. “Maybe you can watch your little brother get the same fate as your mother and father?” he moved forward towards Harry, shooting a crucio curse at him. You broke free from his controll and jumped right in front of Harry.

Black.

It was hateful, it was powerful. You didn’t know how much hatred Voldemort had for Harry until you faced his Crucio curse intended for him.

You opened your eyes, your body burning, shaking, your brother holding you and crying. “Don’t leave me, (y/n).” he sobbed, pressing his forehead on yours.

You couldn’t speak. You just needed to know.

“You can’t leave me now. It’s over. We won. You’ll get healthy and- and-”

“Harry.” Hermione said gently, putting her hand on his shoulder. “She won’t make it. I’m sorry.”

“DON’T SAY THAT!” he shouted, rocking you in his arms. “You’ll be okay. You’ll be okay. I can’t lose you.”

Trying, forcing yourself to use the last bit of energy in your body. You put your hand on his cheek and gave him weak smile. “Remember, Harry.” you said, feeling blood rise up in your thorat but you forced it back down, tasting iron on your tongue. “You deserve the world. We’ll always-” you caughed, feeling drained and numb.

“I know.” he closed his eyes shut and cried.

Hermione was right beside you, forcing tears to stay in her eyes.’Take care of him for me.’ And it was like she could hear your thoughts, she nodded.

She put her hand on your cheek and smiled. “It’s okay. You can let go and be with Cedric now.”

And with that, you closed your eyes. As much as you thought that everything will get dark, you opened them to see familiar figure standing in front of you. “Cedric?”

The figure turned around, grey eyes smiling at yours. “I told you I’d wait for you.”

#cedric diggory #cedric #Cedric diggory imagine #cedric diggory x reader #hp fanfic #hp fandom #harry potter imagine #Harry potter imagines #fred weasley #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley x reaader

522 notes · View notes

apexqueenie · 4 years ago

Text

I’ve Missed You (Shoto Todoroki x Reader)

Warnings: Swearing, A N G S T

Hey everyone! I’m super excited to post the first request I’ve gotten by @bubblegum-bnha

Thank you all so much for reading!! Enjoy da spiciness❤️

“Sh-shoto,” you breathed, “again…?”

Shoto brushed his lips down your bare stomach, nuzzling against your soft skin. “Mmmmm why not?”

“Shooooooo-” you said as you playfully lifted his face off you. You looked into his dual colored eyes and smiled, happy to have such a wonderful boyfriend. “I have a patrol tomorrow and...I’d like to be able to walk you know…”

Shoto sighs in defeat and lifts his naked body off yours, shifting to cage your head in between his elbows. “You know I love you, right?” he mumbled, slowly lowering his face to yours.

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him into a deep and slow kiss, a complete 180 from the rough and passionate one you were having ten minutes before. He pulled away, leaving you nearly breathless. “I love you so much more Sho” you smiled.

He smiled back and sat up, allowing you to get off the bed and retrieve your clothes scattered around the room. “Are you sure you don’t want to stay the night?” he asked.

You shook your head no. “don’t wanna get caught by your old man again, remember last time?”

Shoto grimaced, remembering the ugly encounter the three of you experienced just a month ago. Endeavor caught you both (fully clothed) on the front porch, Shoto planting kisses along your jawline. Furious that his son was ‘tarnishing the Todoroki household’, Endeavor forbade Shoto from leaving the house for an entire week. He would hate to imagine what would happen if he caught the both of you naked. Sho still lived with his father just like his big siblings Fuyumi and Natsuo. As much as he wanted to move out into a place of his own, he was only 18. His pride wouldn’t allow himself to borrow his father’s money for a house. Instead, he bides his time, saving whatever he can from his hero career.

“Good point” he said, getting up to put on his own clothes. He watched as you slid your arms through your jacket and opened the window. You turned around, giving your lover one last ‘I love you’ before sneaking down to the roof of the second story floor. Shortly after he saw your figure disappear into the darkness of the night, he closed his window and sighed, walking to his door to grab a glass of water downstairs. That plan went to shit as soon as he opened the door.

Endeavor’s large stature filled the doorframe, radiating a mixture of anger and disappointment. “Shoto,” he said, dangerously calm.

“Father,” he replied, unfazed, mirroring the same glare he was given.

Endeavor sighed, bringing a hand up to his face to pinch the top of his nose, “I thought I told you to stop seeing that girl?”

Uneasiness hit Shoto’sentire body. Did his father find out about the two of you sleeping with each other? Relax, Shoto thought to himself, he didn’t say anything about that yet.

“I had someone install cameras around the property for...safety reasons…” Endeavor said, but Shoto could see right through the lies.

Shoto’s face scowled up at his father, “And?”

“And, I saw her come out of your window, Shoto. I understand you two do a lot of hero work together, but I think she needs to-”

“She has a name” he hissed.

“She-”

“(y/n)”

Endeavor sighed, getting more and more frustrated with his son’s behavior. Ever since the fire hero became number one in Japan, he’s tried to become a better father towards his kids, talking to them, spending time with them, giving them the attention they should’ve had a long time ago. Still, he hasn’t forgotten about making his youngest son the greatest hero in Japan. The Todoroki family has high expectations from the public, and with the elder siblings having no interest in hero work, Shoto was the only one to continue the legacy.

“Fine, I think that (y/n) needs to spend less time with you” Endeavor grunted, crossing his arms.

“Less time with me?” Shoto scoffed, “Enji, you don’t control me-”

Enji, not father, Shoto has struck a nerve. Endeavor’s face erupted in flames in a clear display of dominance as he glared down at his son. “Do you even hear yourself Shoto? You’re lacking at your job again, almost letting a civilian die the other day! Why? Because you failed to take your eyes off her when there were people in danger, (y/n)’s a hero for Pete’s sake! She can save herself when a civilian can’t!”

“I-“ For once, Shoto showed his father genuine emotion. His father was right, he did do everything that was just said. The guilt of that mistake crawling back to the pit of his stomach. “I thought the place was clear of civilians-” he started.

Lie. He knew there was one left, and he assumed the lady would run, but she didn’t. She was frozen with fear.

“And now you make pitiful excuses for your behavior?” Endeavor narrowed his eyebrows.

Shoto looked down, unable to say anything else in return. He remembered encasing the woman in ice before the debri could fall on her, but he could only do that because you were there, frantically pointing to the frightened lady before dodging one of the villain’s attacks. If you hadn’t done that, well...he didn’t even want to think about that. There was no excuse for his behavior. He turned his back on the helpless to focus on you, and that itself might as well be a crime.

His father sighed and extinguished the flames, placing a hand on Shoto's shoulders, “I understand that you love her Shoto, but this isn’t the first time this has happened. That’s four times this year so far, I can’t let you get distracted so easily when you’re putting civilian lives in danger-” Endeavor paused, bracing himself for what’s to come. He didn’t want it to come to this, but he had been pushed too far, so he said it.

One simple sentence, just one, was all it took to throw his son off track completely.

Shoto slapped his father’s hand away and stepped back in and anger. “What?!?”

“Shoto-“ Endeavor started

Shoto’s left side was the one erupting in flames now. “No, no I will not…I-“

“Shoto, it has already been arranged. Your mother has agreed to the arrangement as well.”

“M-mom?” Shoto stuttered, his parents actually agreed on something? The flames died down as he bowed his head, his anger dissolving into guilt. If his mom, his number one fan, had taken notice, then he really is screwing up.

“Yes, Rei is...worried about you Shoto, everyone is”

Silence.

“Of course, she supports this relationship anyhow, foolish if you ask me-”

Shoto couldn’t hear the words, it was all gibberish. He tried to get upset at his father, like he used to be, but he couldn’t. He knew it was his fault. Ever since he met you on the field, your quirk nearly outdoing his, he couldn’t help but awkwardly ask for your name, asking for a date, asking for your love. He was head over heels with you, the fire from your relationship burning brighter than what could ever be created through his left hand. But it was burning too bright, blinding him from seeing reality, preventing him from doing his part to protect the lives of others.

Endeavor looked at his miserable son, feeling slightly guilty from bringing this upon him so quickly. “You leave in 2 weeks son, I’m sorry but, this is what we think is best for you” he said before walking away to give Shoto space.

Shoto sat at the edge of his bed wondering what the hell he was gonna do now.

***

In the blink of an eye, two weeks have passed, and he couldn’t bring himself to tell you. You were always smiling with him. He'd rather see that for two weeks than dampen your personality with his own problems...but that backfired on him once he realized he had to tell you at some point, and that had to be soon. This was his last day with you, and you both chose to walk in the park at night, enjoying the emptiness and the cool spring breeze.

“Shoooooooo” you whined leaning up against your boyfriend’s arm “talk to me, you’ve been so moody today”. Your beautiful eyes looked up at his tired ones, pleading for an explanation. He stared back with sadness, striking anxiety in you, but you waited, giving him time to collect his thoughts. You thought you were prepared for anything...anything but this.

“I’m leaving”

Your eyes widened, “what? Waiiit, you’re just joking aren’t ya-“ but you looked at him, and he was dead serious.

“You- you’re done with me?”

The mood shifted quickly, the cool air surrounding you both turning ice cold.

“What? No, I’m leaving for America in about two hours. I love you more than anything (y/n), and I would never leave you”

You looked down at your feet coming to a stop in the middle of the pavement. That piece of news was just as bad as the last. Emotions flooded your system as you tried to process his words. America? That’s so far away.

“...For how long?” You asked quietly.

“Four years” he sighed.

Four years

Your stomach dropped as you struggled to absorb that information. “Sho, why-?” You started, biting back the tears that threatened to fall.

Shoto pursed his lips, unable to look you straight in the eyes, “My family said I need to focus on being a hero, that our relationship- that I was putting lives at risk-“

“And you agree with them?”

“Yes (y/n), I-“

“And you hadn’t bothered telling me you were leaving Shoto? You kept this from me until the last fucking minute when we said we wouldn’t hide anything from each other???”

“I didn’t have a choice (y/n)-”

“Of course you have a choice! What? Now that your daddy’s the number one hero, you have to-”

“My mother said it too (y/n)!” Shoto yelled. He never yelled at you, and seeing you flinch like that broke his heart. He reached out to you, your figure slowly backing away from him. “I’m sorry baby, I-“

“No” you interrupted, tears falling freely from your eyes “no, I understand, if...if your mom wants you to go then, then you should go”

Shoto tried to grab your arm, but you were fast, and quickly ran aimlessly through the park, ignoring your boyfriend’s cries for you to come back. You ran for what seemed like hours until you realized you were at the city limits. Away from the pain, away from the sounds of the city, away from Shoto- but the guilt was there, gnawing at your chest like a parasite.

You should have stayed.

You should have told him you love him.

You should have said goodbye.

But you didn’t, you let your emotions take control, you let your anger get the best of you and now you’re paying the consequences.

You placed a hand on your stomach, wincing at the physical pain that was catching up to you now that your adrenaline was gone

You should have told him you were pregnant.

It was too late now. Still, you ran back to his house, ringing the doorbell impatiently for someone to answer the door. Fuyumi answered, hair messy from just waking up, glasses sitting crooked at the bridge of her nose.

“(y/n)?” she blinked.

You grabbed her shoulders, shaking her wide awake. “Where’s Sho?”

“You uh, you just missed him, he was looking around for you for as long as he could but dad dragged him off to the airport” she said, clutching on to her glasses.

Shit

You fucked up big time, now he’s gone.

“Dammit” you cursed, sinking to the floor. “Fuyumi… I didn’t get to say goodbye” You wiped the tears from your face, but they just kept falling, one after the other. “He told me but...but I freaked out and ran away and imjustsuchafuckindumbassandijustwantshototocomeback-“

“Hush hush, let’s get you inside first before you catch a cold” she said, urging you inside. She made you tea and listened to you ramble on about Sho for nearly an hour. You really loved that idiot. After you calmed down a bit, she grabbed a hoodie from his room, handing it to you neatly folded. “Here, he’d want you to have this”.

You took the hoodie, holding it close as you breathed in his scent. “Thanks…” you sniffed. “I’ll get out of your hair now Fuyumi, thanks for listening to me”

“Are you sure you don’t need a cab home?” she asked, grabbing her phone to call a Todoroki family chauffeur.

You waved your hands “ah no thanks, its ok, my house isn’t that far from here anyways.”. You got up and hurried to open the door before she could insist any further.

“(y/n)?” she said. You stopped, the door halfway open. “You’re welcome to stop by anytime for tea”.

You smiled and whispered a thank you before embracing the cool night air again and starting the walk home.

***

For four years, you kept your child secret, careful not to make it known to the public that you were raising Shoto’s child without him. After a year of “hero vacation” you resumed your hero work as normal, re-designing your costume to cover your stretch marks. The public didn’t need to know the drama. The last thing you needed were headlines all over the news that Shoto had ditched you and… for him to read those headlines in America and forget about his studies to rush back to Japan.

Your beautiful baby boy was born with bright turquoise eyes, with the right one later reflecting the same color as yours. His soft hair bright red, definitely a Todoroki family marking. The physical similarities to Shoto ended there, the rest were attributed by none other than you.

You watched in adoration as your son sat on the floor, playing around with the action figures he received from “uncle” Deku and “auntie” Ochako, the only two who knew your secret. They were a godsend, regularly helping out with babysitting when it was your turn to go on patrols. Honestly, you didn’t think you’d make it this far if it weren’t for them.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t realized that your son had put his toys down and was staring right at you.

“Mama,” he said, “do I really have a dad?”.

Your eyes widened, astonished at how perceptive he is...just like Sho. No matter how many times you tell him the man in the pictures is his father, it doesn’t change the fact that he isn’t here in the flesh.

You slid off the couch to join him on the floor, pulling him gently onto your lap. “Baby, of course you have a dad-“

“-where is he?” He interrupted, looking at you with wide eyes.

“He’s….he’s not here right now baby, but you’ll see him some day” you replied, giving him a soft squeeze.

He pouted, “you always say that mama”

“I know, but it's true. You wanna see videos of him again?”

His eyes lit up. He loved watching old YouTube videos of Shoto’s hero work, amazed at how he used both fire and ice to take down the villains threatening the city. He excitedly made his way to the computer, both his Deku and Uravity figures forgotten on the floor, to watch his favorite hero in action.

Dinner was approaching in about an hour or so and you needed to quickly get some grocery shopping done. Just fifteen minutes or so, he’ll be fine right?

“Alright, I’m going to go get food ok? You sit here, understand? No opening the door for anyone except me, ok?”

“And papa?” He asked, eyes still glued to the screen.

You looked back at him, the door already open “sure honey” you smiled, and closed the door, locking it from the outside.

Your shopping trip took a little longer than expected due to the long lines, and overall, it took you about half an hour to get back home. You were planning to make cold soba, your son’s favorite. Plain and simple, yet it put a smile on his face every time. You hummed to yourself as you unlocked the door to your house, no longer hearing the blaring sound of combat from the computer. Your son must be tuckered out, possibly asleep on the desk.

You opened the door, preoccupied with your thoughts and the groceries to notice your son wasn’t passed out like you thought. “I’m home” you said, slipping off your shoes.

“Mama! Look!”

You looked up, expecting to see a giant mess of toys instead when you saw-

“Sho…?” You breathed, unable to believe your eyes.

There he was, dressed in just a plain grey sweater, jeans, and the same old haircut he had four years ago. Despite all this, he was noticeably brawnier, his muscles becoming more defined underneath his clothing. You didn’t think it was possible for him to get even more handsome than he already was, but here he is. He looked up at you with the same look of awe as he sat next to your son, cross legged on the floor with the Deku action figure in one hand.

“It’s papa!” Your son exclaimed excitedly, running over to give your leg a hug.

You reached your hand down to give your son a pat on the back, not taking your eyes from his dad. “Sho, how in the world-“

“Uh, sorry for intruding but, Midoriya sent me your address earlier. Apparently, I’ve been sending letters to an empty mailbox for quite some time now” he smiled sheepishly, pulling out a stack of envelopes from his book bag next to him. “Are you...wearing my hoodie?”

So he has tried to contact you. You thought all along that he’d forgotten about you, that he found some beautiful American girl while he was out there. Relief washed over you until another question nagged at the back of your mind. He had a phone didn’t he? You opened your mouth to say something, but it was like he could read your thoughts.

“Sorry I wasn’t able to call you, they didn’t allow phones in this school. After all...” he shrugged, “my father obviously had to pick the most prestigious hero program in America”.

Your son’s eyes lit up, “America? Papa, I wanna show you a thing!” he said before scrambling off to his room.

“Sho…” you said as soon as your son left, your voice cracking a bit with tension. You dropped the bag you were carrying and took small wobbly steps towards your lover. He sat up on his knees, arms wide open to catch you as you lunged forward, wrapping him up in a giant bear hug. You couldn’t hold back any longer and let your tears flow, quietly sobbing Shoto’s name in the crook of his neck. He rubbed slow circles on your back as he gripped you just as tightly as you held on to him. He pulled away moments afterwards to catch your lips in a sweet kiss, releasing all the pent up feelings you thought you could lock away deep inside your memories.

“I missed you so fucking much” he said. He rarely ever swore.

“Shhhhh, don’t teach our son how to swear this early” you smiled, pressing a finger to hush his lips.

Shoto sat back on his hunches, pulling you into a cradle with his strong arms, “so he really is ours huh” he said, bringing his hands down to your waist, “...I’m sorry I wasn’t here for him (y/n)...”. He looked straight into your eyes, reaching to squeeze your hand “I promise, I’m going to be here for him from now on, I’m not leaving you ever again.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time, as if he was afraid you were going to disappear. All those tears, all those years of anger and frustration, they all melted away as you two sat there, lost in your own world.

“Papa?” your son called. You smiled and got off Shoto’s lap, letting ‘papa’ stand up.

“We’re getting married next week, just so you know” he whispered in your ear before placing a kiss on your forehead and heading to see what his little rascal had to show him.

“About time” you mumbled with a grin.

#shoto x reader #todoroki x reader #mha x reader #bnha #my hero academy fanfiction #my hero x reader #mha angst #mha fluff #bnha todoroki #anime x reader

247 notes · View notes

prurientpuddlejumper · 4 years ago

Text

A Deep and Rapid River, Ch. 9

<- Chapter 8 | Chapter 10 ->

@sexy-opium-ravioli asked me to write a comfort Frankenstein fic so instead I did this [stares at the camera]

cw: suicidal ideation

Heavy raindrops pound on the wood-shingle roof, each impact combining into a chorus that roars in your ears in the pitch-black darkness. It’s like you’re being swallowed by a great beast. The entire building creaks, straining against the wind, making your heart race with the fear that it might all come crashing down on top of you as you lay clutching the covers in bed.

A deafening crack and blinding surge of light is followed shortly by a second, earthier crack and a dull thud on grass. Lightning hit one of the trees in the pasture.

In the middle of this raging tempest through which no living being could survive, there comes a scratch at your shutter. The curtains flutter as wind suddenly swirls inside, and the roar of rain grows louder. Something is coming into your bedroom.

Another flash of lightning reveals the silhouette of a massive figure, drenched and dripping, standing in front of the window. The blast of thunder that shortly follows makes the enormous figure jump, and rush, trembling like a kitten, to your bedside.

You take his deformed and scarred hand in yours, and squeeze it.

“I do not like thunder,” his grave voice whispers through gasping, timid breaths. Your beautiful, sweet creature. You never want anything to hurt him. An aching sadness washes over you anew, quivering your lower lip.

He notices you are shaking, frantic, frazzled, and puffy-eyed. He doesn’t look much better.

“When you did not come, I feared for you.” He licks his lips nervously. “I ascertained that you were within the house, but were under guard, and I could not reach you. Please tell me you are unharmed—if anything has happened to you, I shall not forgive my cowardice.”

Without warning, a sob chokes you, and hot tears roll down your face. The monster, filling up half your small cottage bedroom, doffs his wet cloak and pulls your crying form against his warm, broad chest like an extension of the furniture and holds you, rubbing your back and cooing soft words of comfort. You hide your face against him, trying to disappear as muffled sobs wrack your shoulders.

“What is wrong?” he asks with a voice so fragile from your silence that the answer might break him.

“Just let me hold you for awhile. Please.”

You feel him shudder against you, and surround you in his warm arms like a cocoon. It’s a long time before you can collect yourself enough to tell him what happened.

*****

“Like hell we are!” you snapped impulsively as soon as Ferdinand announced your “engagement.” Your fists clenched into tight balls of righteous fury. He was delusional. You were leaving.

Then your father stared at you—that dark, severe stare that threatened violence if you did not behave. “Mind your tongue, child!” he snapped, and your tongue stopped moving, and all of the smart words that had been on the tip of it just disappeared. It was so strange. You had been frightened to run, terrified, but you were ready. Just like that, all the oxygen seemed to drain from the room as Ferdinand, your father, and your mother surrounded you, reminding you of your place in the world and how helpless you were in it.

Your fiery ember dropped into a bucket of water.

You sat in the living room, trapped like a rabbit in a snare, crawling inside your own skin as reality washed over you. They laid out the situation. There were rumors around town—serious ones—that you’ve been consorting with the devil. Half the village thought you were a witch. It wouldn’t be long before something terrible came of it, but Ferdinand had graciously offered to make you his wife, and in doing so, put the rumors to bed. So you would marry him. He was well-liked among the superstitious factions, and could get them to leave you alone if he made you an honest woman. (You growled at the implications of that particular phrase.)

Ferdinand sneered with self-satisfaction, his voice dripping with honey as he said how much he worried for you.

They were pressing you into the marriage and would hear no arguments, no back-talk. They suspected you might run, and wouldn’t let you out of their sight—your mother, your father, and Ferdinand.

You were prey. There was nothing you could do to fight.

The sky grew ever darker and more ominous with each passing minute you spent ensnared, until you knew you had missed the rendezvous time. Your heart twisted—if your daemon were wise, he had left already without you. Thinking of the alternative—that he had stayed, and would be discovered—your chest twisted even tighter. Marrying Ferdinand was a get-out-of-jail-free card for you, but the creature’s life was in irrevocable mortal jeopardy.

“You can’t force me to marry him!” you whimpered to your mother, praying for a sympathetic ear when you were left alone with her for a moment. She was horrible, but she was a woman. She must understand, at least a little, what they were doing to you.

She patted you softly on the shoulder, but her eyes stayed hard. “Your grandmother remembered when they burned a witch right in the center of town. Believe me, this gossip is not something to take lightly. Making you a proper wife is the only way to make people see that you are a normal girl. If you do not, then you shall no longer be our daughter, and we cannot protect you from whatever shall happen next.”

You tried to speak, but your tongue was dry. You kept trying to swallow the dryness away, but it stuck in your throat. You wanted to rage, to scream against them, to be on fire, but your blood had all turned to ice.

This was happening, and there was nothing you could do but accept it.

*****

The creature strokes your cheek gently, his sympathetic and sorrowful yellow eyes glistening in the erratic flashes of light from the storm. “I am sorry I could not protect you. I am here now; let us depart under the cloak of night.”

Your head shakes in tense arcs before you decide to make them, your throat closing up. “You don’t understand—I can’t.”

The dark shadow shaped like his body becomes a tense, rigid statue. “What do you mean?” he says, cautiously.

“I can’t!” you repeat, as if he’s the one not making sense and your feelings should need no explanation, but you explain anyway, the words gushing out like a flooded river. “Maybe I wanted to, I thought I could, but it isn’t realistic. Look at the storm outside! I can’t run away in the middle of this—it frightens even you, doesn’t it? You couldn’t protect me should a thunderbolt strike me on the head! What will we do during weather such as this without any shelter? With my family monitoring me like a prisoner, I could not even finish packing—I haven’t the food and water to survive a week away from home! Where could we go, anyway? You cannot guarantee Victor Frankenstein will take us in! He may just as likely kill us! They think me a witch here, where everyone has known me since I was a baby. I will be a witch in the next town. We will be pariahs wherever we go.”

You wished he would yell, that he would argue, or be consumed in a fit of emotion—that would be better somehow—instead, he listens to your fearful list of excuses silently, with no reaction but his shoulders slowly falling and a soft, pained growl deep in his throat.

“D-don’t you see?” you explain frantically as if he had been arguing back. “We don’t need to run. They never spoke of you as more than rumor—those hunters, and Bess, they must not have been believed as any more than superstition. Every town has its ghost stories. There is no bloodthirsty mob, so long as I marry him. We can stay here and keep you hidden. We’ll be safe.”

“Safe?” he growls, but only softly and without malice. He can no longer bear to listen quietly. “You wish to marry him?” You hoped he would be angry, but his voice is a wavering medley of betrayal and confusion, and the pang it leaves in your heart is almost too much to bear.

“Of course not, but I have no choice.”

“Yes, you do. Run away with me tonight.” An angry bolt of lightning splintered another tree out in the pasture, making you both jump, and providing the counterpoint to his argument for you. “Tell me you want to marry him,” he reaches out with a large hand that could cover your entire head, and delicately strokes your cheek. His eyes glisten with longing. “Tell me you want this and I will go. I shall live the rest of my life a miserable wretch, but I shall bear it, knowing you are happy.”

“Y-you once told me you wouldn’t care if I was with other men, so long as I came back to you. Maybe we could…”

That finally gets a rise out of him. “We could what?” he snaps, cutting you off. “You desire to marry another, and keep me hidden away in a barn—a filthy secret for you to visit at your leisure—to make love to when you are not sharing a bed with your husband? Is that… what you want?” The energy and indignation he had begun with fades away to a lame sort of helplessness by the end.

You know how pathetic you sound. How weak. It was the last thing you expected of yourself, too. You had always walked to your own beat, never fit in, and never cared what anyone thought of you—at least not enough to change for their benefit. You always dreamed of running away one day.

But you hadn’t.

No matter how much you had dreamed it—and even one exhilarating day had packed a bag and chased an eight-foot monster into the forest, convinced that you might run away with him—you never actually did. So many years waiting in misery, and all of that time you could have run.

But you wouldn’t. The moment the fantasy began to crystallize into reality, you froze with terror. You never would.

You only wish you had realized this before hurting him. Your precious daemon stares back at you expectantly, fiercely blinking his watery yellow eyes to fight off tears he won’t let fall in front of you. He’s waiting for you to assure him that this is a mistake—that he’s more to you than a sexual pet—and your heart twists with shame.

“Here is bad, but here is safe. It’s that kind of bad that’s all I’ve ever known. That sharp, snow-covered peak you can see from the barn has stood there, unchanging since I was born. It was there watching over our valley before my parents were born. The alpine winds have shaped it for thousands of years, since before the great pyramids of Egypt. Maybe I am like that mountain. Maybe I can never change, no matter how much I want to.”

It’s not the answer he hoped for. His jaw clenches. He had come here thinking you were running away together at last, and finally, finally, the weight of what is happening sinks in. You watch as the hope goes out of his eyes. Lightning flashes behind him, a little more distantly now. His throat bobs as he swallows.

“Please don’t look away,” you sob, begging. Something inside you is breaking with him.

Footsteps creak on the stairs and the faint orange glow of a candle filters under the door. “Are you talking to someone in there?” demands your mother’s shrill voice just as the door to your bedroom swings open. Your mother gasps in horror.

“You’ve left the window open, you fool child!” She clucks disapprovingly and rushes to shut it, closing the drenched curtains over it once it is latched tight. The shadow of the creature is gone. “What were you thinking? Of running away?” she snaps.

Yes, you want to scream. You hate her. Pinpricks of tears sting your eyes, and you wish you had disappeared into the night, too, for a vengeful bolt of lightning to release you from your misery.

Then she does something that surprises you. She sighs, and sits at the edge of your bed, her weight making a sinkhole on the straw-filled mattress. “My baby girl, you’re crying. They say it isn’t right for a bride to cry on her wedding night, but we know better.” She smiles sadly and wipes a tear from your cheek. “I wanted to run away, too,” she says quietly. Her gaze drifts over the window thoughtfully, like she was imagining a different life. In the flickering candlelight, you wonder if she could almost see it, that other life. You wonder what it was. “But if I had, where would you be?!” Her voice is back to an accusing, judgment-laden shrill. “I’ve tried so hard with you, to get you to grow up. You finally came to your senses—you’re not a child anymore, you can’t just do whatever you want. Life isn't a fairy tale. Life isn’t about being happy… it’s about doing what you have to do. Don’t disappoint me.”

When she leaves and returns downstairs, you give a cursory but hopeful search under the bed and in the corners and shadows for the creature, but he is gone. You had seen him disappear into the loft at the slightest sound of footsteps dozens of times, and you know he had fled out the window and is miles away by now. You wonder if he had returned to the barn, but you know in your heart that he’s gone. It’s already too late. You saw the way he had looked at you before your mother interrupted. Betrayed. Wounded. Finished.

He must hate you.

You throw open the shutters again and look out on the dark, windswept landscape. Heavy, cold rain pummels your face, soaking your night dress instantly and making your squint and shiver against it. There is no sign of him, though above the howling of the wind, you imagine that you hear him howling, desperate and anguished. You could jump from here, you think. You could lash together your bed sheets and climb down undetected, and—

A bolt of lightning strikes a tree in front of the house and it explodes to splinters as a cataclysm of thunder bursts open your ears. The blinding-white flash fills your room and your senses, sets all your hairs standing on end, and for several moments after you can’t see or hear a thing. Am I alive? you wonder first. Is he scared? you worry a second later. When your eyes finally adjust to the dark again, you can see the smoldering embers of the destroyed trunk, its crown lying in pieces on the ground. One branch had scarcely missed the roof, and had you jumped from your window a moment before, you certainly would have been hit.

If only you had been, a part of you screams against your skull. It’s the only way out, now. Jump from the window! it insisted, its voice weaving harsh fingers of smoke through your mind. Run, slipping in the wet grass with your ankle broken into the night and find him, or be eaten by a bear. Let a branch fall and crush your pathetic body. Let the lightning take you to Hell.

You close the shutter, and latch it.

Shaking, you return to your bed and lay on top of the covers. The depression in the mattress from your mother is still flattening out. Wet spots on the blanket are the only memento of the creature’s visit. You remember what it felt like to be held, warm and safe in his arms just moments ago, and try to tuck the memory away somewhere it will never be lost. Somewhere you can look back at it in the years to come. You’ll never feel that way again.

It would be a mistake to run.

You're making the right choice.

You don’t want to die. Surviving means doing what you have to do.

You're making the right choice.

You repeat it to yourself over and over, shivering alone on top of your bed until the black sky turns to grey, and the birds start to sing a summer chorus—first one melodic song, then a jarring metallic buzz, a repetitive whistle, and more and more add their voices until it swells into a cacophony in the purple dawn. The storm must have passed some time in the night without your noticing. It doesn’t matter. You made your choice and broke your own wings.

You made the right choice.

#frankenstein #Frankenstein's Monster #monster x reader #the creature x reader #monster x human #my writing #lo siento por esto XD #I hope I don't make you wait another 4 months for an update >_>

75 notes · View notes

shadowsof-thenight · 4 years ago

Text

Where our story begins: Chapter seven

Story summary: This is a victorian era AU Home is where our story begins, but how does one know where home is?  

Julia has a good life. A calm life. She really doesn’t have much to complain about. That is, until a handsome stranger steps into their home in the country and all that calmness seems to disappear instantly. Who is this man that seems to terrorise everyone with his haughty ways? 

Ship: Bucky Barnes X OFC-Julia

Warnings: Angst and fluff for this one.

Words: 3965

***

A/N: I hope you will all enjoy this one! The ending of this chapter is what will really set things in motion for this story.

Anyway, reblogs, likes and comments are always appreciated!

And a special thanks to @gnomewithalaptop for the amazing help provided!

***

Masterlist

Story Masterlist

*** She was walking faster and faster, yet it was getting her nowhere. The door in front of her was as far away as it had been the entire time. Fear was gripping at her heart and she felt an immense urgency to reach that door before her. Why? Julia couldn’t really tell—but she recognised the hallway she was in as the one leading to her parents bedroom, and the door must have been theirs. She couldn’t remember how she had gotten here, nor what had brought her in the first place; she just knew that there was danger afoot. In particular, her father was in danger. Again no valid arguments, though it seemed abundantly clear to Julia nonetheless.

“Father!” she called out, but got no reply. She tried to run to the door, but found that the rug beneath her was simply piling up behind her and she was still not getting any closer.

Stopping for a moment she realised that, aside from her heavy breathing, there wasn’t a sound around. That was strange. It was the middle of the day; there should’ve been people out and about, but she appeared to be entirely alone.

Or was she?

“He’ll be okay, Julia. I promise. There is nothing you can do for him now.” James’ voice sounded from behind her, and she turned quickly. She was greeted by piles upon piles of rug—at least twice her height. He was behind them, she was certain—his voice was close by.

“James?!” she called out, stepping to the pile and realising it was solid, like stone.

“I’m here,” he replied, still close even if she could not see him.

Julia grabbed the hem of her wide skirt and bundled it up to free her feet as she began to climb towards the sound of James’s voice. She wasn’t getting any closer to the door, but perhaps James would be able to answer her questions.  The climb seemed endless, though her panting barely increased, as if she had suddenly found a power, an endurance she had never known existed. Reaching the top, she could finally see James standing at the bottom of the pile. A pile which somehow had gotten three times as high. Her feet slipped and she quickly dropped to her knees, the long drop to the bottom making her shiver.

“What is going on?” Julia asked nobody in particular, though James was the only one in the vicinity to answer. He didn’t say a word though. He simply offered her that sweet smile of his, while he stared at her with the same intensity as he had the night of the ball. She hoped it was love.    “James, I’m scared,” she said, her voice suddenly much smaller as fear tightened her throat.

“Don’t be. I’m here! I’ll always be here,” he promised and she really wanted to believe him. She wanted to put all her faith in him.

With that realisation, Julia stood up, carefully taking small steps down the enormous pile of solid rugs. She slipped a few times, desperately grabbing at any edge she could find, just to keep herself upright. She managed to keep from falling, though her hands were now full of dirt and blood. Apparently this wasn’t a pile of rugs anymore. Exhaustion pulled at her tired limbs, but she persevered—walking until she was ready to give up altogether. That was when James’s voice reached her ears again.   “Julia, I’m right here!”

“Help,” she called back to him, feeling weak and helpless.

She reached out to him, arms outspread, wanting him to hold her or catch her perhaps. But James wasn’t moving; he stood in the exact same position—unmoving. Julia was so exhausted though, too exhausted to go on. She kept reaching for James as her feet slipped again, and this time she could not stop herself from falling. She screamed as her world turned black.

“Miss! Are you all right?” Mary asked as Julia sat up in her bed with a start, cold sweat clinging to her skin.

Julia felt out of breath and slightly confused as she met the kind, worried face of her oldest friend. Placing a hand over her heart, she found it beating rapidly, and she took a deep breath in an attempt to steady herself. Flashes of her nightmare came to her, and she closed her eyes momentarily to banish them from her thoughts. She’d had nightmares before, strange ones, frightening ones, but this one really seemed to take the cake.

“My apologies, Mary. Have I given you a fright?” Julia asked, forcing herself to smile as her heartbeat returned to a normal pace. She opened her eyes slowly, seeing Mary still staring at her.

“I came to wake you, but then you screamed,” Mary explained, as she finally moved again and fetched some water to dab on Julia’s face—a gesture for which Julia was very grateful.

“I’m sorry, Mary. I must have been having a bad dream. I’m better now.”

“Would you like me to draw you a bath?” Mary offered, and Julia readily accepted. It would give her some time to gather her thoughts before she faced anyone else.

Julia had an inclination of where her anxiety came from, though it didn’t appear to have much to do with the events of her dream. Either way, she needed a little more time to gather her thoughts before going downstairs. Her mother would want to talk about the ball; she’d want to hear what Julia’s favourite parts of the night were, and her favourite dance. She might even ask who her favourite dance partner was—mostly because she had found the answer to it already and needed the confirmation. Julia had barely spoken to her parents at the ball, and they would want to know everything she had experienced. And since they would most likely have seen her smiling bright for most of the night, these were normal questions for a parent to ask their child.

She was certain, however, that her parents had missed the moment that had given her such anxiety to induce a nightmare. She was intent on keeping them ignorant of that fact. It would do them no good to share the fear she had momentarily felt. She would discuss it with Natalia first. She would know what to do.  Julia took the cloth that Mary had used to dab her face and took it to her neck. The cold sweat finally seemed to be retreating. Stepping out of the bed, she walked towards the bathroom attached to her room. Long ago it had been a dressing room, but when bathrooms had become a regularity, Julia’s grandparents had made the choice to place it in the dressing room. All these years later, Julia was grateful for the choice they made. Though, as she watched Charlie lugging buckets of water, she could only hope that her parents would continue the remodelling and modernising and include indoor plumbing. They were modern people — this should be a modern house, should it not?   When the bath was fully ready, she thanked Mary and Charlie profusely before gently shooing them out of the room and stepping into the warm water. A deep sigh escaped her as she lowered herself in the water and the steam rose up around her. Her hair had been expertly braided before bed and was now rolled up on her head to keep it from getting wet. It gave Julia the freedom to lean her head back, and she made a conscious effort to relax her body.

Her feet were still a little sore from all the dancing, and she smiled at the memory of her dances with James. She’d been nervous around him all of the sudden, and she had struggled to understand why, until her conversation with Natalia. She and James had never spoken of their intentions. Their walks, their conversations—they had all happened in such an organic manner that neither of them had ever stopped to think of it. However, Julia could not deny that, slowly but surely, it had gone from regular interactions with a guest to something akin to courting.

Eventually she would have to ask James if this was what he wanted. A conversation was necessary, for her heart was in the game, and she needed to know where they stood. For now though, she was intent on dreamily remembering their night and telling herself it was in fact a romantic connection that had grown between them.

Unfortunately for Julia, the night hadn’t been all fun. Lord Rumlow had been acting rather peculiarly improper. He had been most forceful in their conversations, and Julia had not liked it one bit. After their dance, she had escaped and found James, who had quickly been able to sooth her worries—even without knowing the full extent of them. But Lord Rumlow had quickly shown her that James could not always be around.   It had happened near the end of the night, when Natalia and Julia had taken a stroll around the manor to admire the hard work that Natalia had put into the decorations. The men had gathered in the drawing room where they were having a smoke while the band was taking a short break—they were joined by virtually every other man at the ball. At least one had slipped their notice though.  When one of the maids had come for Natalia with some questions and Natalia had followed her to another room, Lord Rumlow had been there to corner Julia.   “Julia, I must confess that our conversation wasn’t as I had hoped it would be,” he had started, and Julia had nodded, unsure what she could say. It certainly hadn’t been anything she had expected to happen.

“I apologise. I only meant to warn you,” Lord Rumlow spoke softly, glancing around. Probably to make sure there would be no eavesdropping.

The gesture made Julia nervous.   “For Lord Barnes?” she asked to clarify, “Who has been nothing but a gentleman, even in the face of your imprudent questions the other night?”

“You should ask him about his business with your father,” Lord Rumlow said. He spoke harshly, his patience clearly wearing thin.

“I shan’t. Now please, I must find Natalia,” Julia said, her voice steady and strong, despite her nerves. She’d always been a tad wary of her neighbour. Always felt an almost imperceptible anger radiating from him, simmering just underneath the surface. There wasn’t enough horsepower in the world to make her spend time alone with this man, she thought as she scurried away in search of anyone to cling to for company.

***   “I was hoping we could go for a ride today,” James said softly once they were seated at the dining room table. It appeared that Julia hadn’t been the only one with a slow start of the day, and instead of having food sent to their rooms, her parents had decided to make an elaborate early lunch. Or a late breakfast.    “It would be preferable to a walk as my feet might need some more time to recover from all the dancing,” Julia answered with a smile.

“As do mine, and I only danced a fraction of what you did,” James grinned.

“That’s because you only danced with Carolina and me,” Julia teased and James smiled back.

“I could’ve easily done without Carolina’s superb dancing.” James stared into her eyes as he spoke, and Julia could feel a flutter in her belly. Was she wrong to think that perhaps he had noticed the change between them as well? If so, he certainly didn’t appear to be pulling away.

“And accept only my mediocre dancing?” Julia asked, teasing tone still in her voice.

“My dearest Julia, your dancing was perfection,” James insisted and Julia felt her cheeks heating in a blush.

“What are you whispering about, little sister?” Alexander asked, smiling brightly as Julia scowled at him.    She should’ve known that her brother would stick his nose in her business now that he was here. And since the men had agreed on no business today, he had plenty of time to satisfy his curiosity. She couldn’t really blame him—they’d never been apart as long as they had been since his marriage, and while Carolina was a faithful penpal, he was not. Alexander often forgot to send a letter and sometimes to even write a reply. Julia loved him dearly, but he was a tad scattered at times, much like their father in a way.

“We were discussing the possibility of a little outing today,” James answered for her.

“An outing?” Carolina asked excitedly. “Like a walk?” She had known of the daily walks James and Julia took and had already expressed that she wished to be a fly on the wall for those—this would offer her a front row seat. Of course the conversations would be a tad different with Carolina there.

“Our poor feet might need some rest before we can return to our daily walks, so perhaps on horseback instead,” James said with a smile. He had hoped to spend some time alone with Julia to talk, but it wasn’t in him to be rude in the face of all the kindness that Carolina showed. He also didn’t think Alexander would let up on his curiosity about their interactions. He’d made several inquiries with James already. He had wanted to know James’s intentions with his little sister and James could not fault him for that.

“Could I impose myself on this outing?” Carolina asked hopefully, and Julia nodded with a smile.

“The more the merrier,” Julia said, before glancing at James and wondering for a moment if he was as disappointed as she was about the prospect of having company. As wonderful as said company was, she had hoped to speak to James in private—or semi privacy at least. Mary had been their chaperone for most of their walks, and she would never share a word of what she overheard.

*** 

“This was such a good idea,” Carolina said as she took a deep breath of fresh air. They’d left the manor some fifteen minutes earlier and were walking at a leisurely pace along the road that would lead them to a nearby forest. The afternoon sun was warm enough to battle the chilly wind that had been blowing all week and it was absolutely lovely—Julia wasn’t fully experiencing it though.

James and Alexander were walking a little ways ahead of them, laughing and joking with one another. Julia stared at their backs and wondered what her brother had said to make James laugh so generously—James wasn’t this relaxed very often. During the many weeks that he had been with them, she often saw the stress clearly displayed on his frame. The serious face, sometimes a frown, the tense raised shoulders—none of it had escaped her notice. Often it was better when they were on their walks, though she had seen him getting lost in thought a few times. On those occasions, the frown lines in his face had increased. There was something heavy weighing on him, and she wished she could help him carry the load. As it was, she could only hope that her brother could be of some assistance. After all, she was just a girl, and men rarely shared their burdens with the women in their life, especially if they weren’t married to them.

“Yes, Carolina, it certainly was. I’m glad I thought of it,” Carolina said mockingly, and Julia laughed as she was pulled from her thoughts.

“My apologies,” Julia said, and she glanced at Carolina to find the other woman smiling brightly.

“Do you think you could love him?” Carolina asked, looking ahead to the men.

“I think I could,” Julia confessed, and saying it aloud made it feel more real. The fluttering she had felt at the dinner table returned with a vengeance, and she decided that she liked the feeling.   “Isn’t that the most exciting feeling there is?” Carolina asked, love clear on her face as she looked at Alexander’s back.   “And a little frightening, honestly,” Julia said softly, a slight blush on her cheeks.    “But it can turn into such beauty, Julia,” Carolina said, and Julia smiled, a little unsure.    She trusted Carolina with all her heart, but there was so much that she didn’t know about James. And there were things that linked him to her father that caused tension. She wasn’t entirely sure how it was all intertwined, but she knew that it was. Julia never did well with being uninformed, but she knew better than to straight out ask any of the people involved. Perhaps at some point, James would inform her himself—if he felt for her as she felt for him.

‘Have you noticed that he rides one-handed?” Carolina asked a little while later.

“I hadn’t,” Julia said, looking towards the men. They were now nearing the tree line ahead. Suddenly it appeared clear as day that James was only using his right arm. His left arm was loosely crossed over his torso. She wondered why this was. She had seen him favour his right side before, though not quite this much.

“I wonder what that’s about,” Carolina said. Julia knew that her sister-in-law wasn’t half as curious as she was, so it would be up to her to figure this out. Not today though—today she had other subjects to discuss with James if they ever had a moment alone.

***  Julia squinted at the sunlight reflected in the water before them. They’d spent an hour or so riding and had decided on a well deserved break along the lake in the center of the forest. Alexander had spread out a large blanket and surprised everyone with wine and cake—courtesy of Maudlin.

“When did you arrange this?” Carolina asked, smiling as she took a bite of her cake, before leaning back against her husband’s shoulder. Alexander himself was leaning against a large tree and he looked very pleased with himself.

“When you were all getting changed into your riding frocks, I made some quick inquiries, and as it happened, Maudlin had already baked a cake for tea today,” Alexander said with a smug smile on his face.

“Please tell me she held something back for mother and father,” Julia asked, as she too munched on her cake. She was careful though; she’d always been told that a lady eats neatly and calmly. If she needed to convince James of her qualities as a wife, she would not do so by eating like a pig.

“Naturally, Maudlin would never let me take all of it,” Alexander chuckled.

A short while later James stood up from the blanket and turned to Julia. “Would you care for a stroll by the waters edge?” he asked, and Julia was eager to accept his hand to help her upright.

Standing, Julia took a moment to brush off some imaginary dust from her dress and catch Carolina’s eye. Her sister-in-law nodded her head encouragingly, almost imperceptible, but it was still clear enough for Julia to see and understand. At this moment, she was happy to know the other woman so very well.

“I was hoping to catch you alone today,” James confessed as he threw a small pebble in the water. It skipped three times before it sank.

“Me too,” Julia said, craning her neck to follow his movements as she tried to discover how he made those pebbles skip.

Catching her attempts to follow his hands, James chuckled and handed her a pebble. “Hold the flat part as the underside,” he started, “then take it between your thumb and ring finger, like this.” He demonstrated every move as he said it, really breaking down the action for her.  For him it might’ve been simple, but Julia was glad that he didn’t make her feel silly for not knowing.

“Now, pull your arm back, just like that.” James gently directed her arm into position. “And throw.”

Julia did as instructed, and her pebble skipped once before sinking. She happily turned to James, jumping in place with excitement.

“I’ve never been able to do that,” she said, a bright smile on her face.

James couldn’t help but smile in return—she looked utterly adorable in her enthusiasm. And the fact that he had been the person to cause this response made him feel emboldened enough to say the words he’d been wanting to speak. Looking back at their companions, he saw them engrossed in conversation together. They wouldn’t eavesdrop or interrupt them for now.  He could tell Carolina and Alexander were happy together; their body language spoke to that fact; both relaxed and sitting close together. He hoped to achieve that with Julia one day.

Now that he had assured himself that they were not within hearing distance, he finally broached the subject that had been heavy on his mind throughout the week, with it coming to a strong climax last night. He’d been fond of her from the get-go, but last night told him that it was more than that. He was falling for the beautiful lady standing next to him.

“Julia, I was wondering if we could talk about a few things.” His mouth ran a little dry and he suddenly forgot how to hold his arms. He’s been searching the ground for more pebbles, pushing the stones aside with his feet, but he knew he should not put this off any longer—who knew how long Alexander would give him? They would soon have to return to the house.

“Anything, James,” Julia assured him, and she felt giddy with anticipation. Would he say what she thought he might? What she hoped he would?

“I’ve really been enjoying my time here,” James started a little shakily. “In particular our walks, and our conversations.”

“I’ve been enjoying those as well,” Julia said, eager to agree with all he had to say. She was excited, nervous, and scared at the same time, which made it harder to stand still—but she knew she had to at least appear calm outwardly.

“When I first arrived, it had been to discuss business with your father, but our walks were a nice change in scenery.” Her responses were calming his nerves a little, but he was still very happy to have thought this conversation through beforehand. He knew what he wanted to say, and he was now more convinced that she would want to hear it. “I appreciated the friendship you offered, your honesty and your curiosity. It was refreshing,”

“And at times slightly unprecedented,” Julia countered, and nearly bit her tongue in response. Why couldn’t she just keep her mouth closed, she wondered. But James laughed, clearly not put off by her words.

“Perhaps to society, but I liked it,” James said, looking her in the eyes, trying to assure her of the honesty in his words. “I don’t know exactly when it changed for me, but I know that I would like to have more than friendship with you.”

“You do?” Julia asked, a little timid, blushing slightly.

“Yes, and I was hoping to ask you if you feel the same,” James asked, wringing his hands nervously as he awaited her answer. He wasn’t even sure when he had grasped them together.

“I would love to move beyond the friendship we’ve built, James,” Julia finally said and James had to control himself—he wanted to pull her into his arms then and there.

“If I were to speak to your father, would that please you?” he asked, just to be absolutely sure.

“It would, most definitely.”

#Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x OFC #Bucky Barnes Fanfiction #Bucky Barnes AU #Marvel Fanfiction #Where our story begins

4 notes · View notes

inspirationdivine · 4 years ago

Text

Chance Encounters || Frank and Lydia

Timing: Current Parties: @frankmulloy @inspirationdivine Summary: Lydia and Frank meet during one of Lydia’s hunts Warnings: None!

Hunting humans occasionally meant coming to places like… this. It wasn’t true terrible, if she was honest, but it also wasn’t the Artesian. After some of the places she’d been to watch Todd perform, this human singer’s choice of venue was more than acceptable. Shortly after she walked in, Lydia’s chest began to ring, like wind chimes in a breeze. Somewhere in here was a fae, she knew it. “Darling, do you mind waiting here a moment?” Lydia asked, walking away from their booth and over to the bar, until she spotted him, an incredibly beautiful man who couldn’t be anything other than fae. He had to be. Lydia slipped to the front, thrilled to meet another fae, so she reached over the bar to offer her hand to shake him. “Hi! I’m Lydia, it’s ever such a pleasure to meet you!”

Thus far into his shift Frank has abstained from engaging with any of the Pint’s patrons (not that he was overly chatty with any of them to begin with), he had instead isolated himself from them by cleaning the glass pints with a sort of silent determination, looking up only when an order was placed and back down again when it was satisfied. In true Mulloy manner, he had built his own space which few had ever dared to cross, that afternoon was one such exception. The introduction of one, Lydia, was like a plunged blade, spearing through his cocoon of isolated peace. Her beauty was undoubtedly singular, but it was her very being that sung to him. A moment of jarring silence lasted between them, and it only occurred to Frank then that he was holding his breath. Now Frank never shook anyone’s hand, a habit that he had carefully crafted for himself and yet he took hers. Wary flesh on a waiting one, and all at once it was like an electrical shock had been administered on a heart that was flatlining, and then Frank was breathing again. “Frank.” His voice sounded uncertain but that was most definitely his name.

"Frank! It's a genuine pleasure." Lydia replied with an effortless smile. When he took her hand, the bells rang loudest, like the bell tower had struck noon. He looked a little alarmed, but maybe most fae had better taste than here. Lydia looked around briefly, but there wasn’t anyone overhearing them. They were much too focused on getting the attention of whoever was actually serving them. Forgetting about the human she’d come here with altogether, Lydia smiled as she lifted herself onto a bar seat in front of him."This was the last piece I expected to meet someone like us. Have you been working here long?" Maybe he was just shy.

Frank’s eyes followed her every movement as she lifted herself up onto the bar seat, waiting perhaps for some sort of glamour to fall away and reveal that she was more or less exactly like the rest of them. That this sudden intensity was the subject of his own making, born from wishful thinking and helpless desperation. It did not. He wasn’t sure if relieved was quite the right word. This exact moment had transpired between him and the bar owner before, a man was also like him, like them, and yet even as history played out before him again, he was just as graceless with it the second time as he was the first. “Not that long--I’m sorry like us?” He’s heard of the existence of other subspecies of faes, though he could not name all of them even if you paid him. While she felt familiar, it still wasn’t exactly the same. Perhaps that was the source of his hesitation. Or perhaps it was the way she so obviously enjoyed herself. She carried with her an easy smile that he could not hope to imitate, and was still unsure of whether he even wanted to.

He was watching her ever so keenly, Lydia felt like she was in a room with Regan again. He was trying to understand her, or perhaps, more vainly, he just couldn’t take his eyes off her. She had that effect on some people and most humans. Until he spoke, that was, and threw all her expectations out of the window. Lydia's smile dripped off her face in surprise and concern. Oh no. She was dealing with another Regan, wasn’t she? How were there so many lost fae in this town? “Do you not…. Feel a similarity? Oh, darling. I’m ever so sorry, I didn’t mean to alarm you.” She said, unsure how to approach this. “Do you really not know what I’m talking about?” He was supposed to be working, this was hardly the time to drop something so significant.

Wait, what?—Frank shook his head, shaking off some of his initial surprise with it. Frank never liked surprises. Surprises either tried to kill him or rendered him stupid. Both were equally undesirable outcomes. The enchantment released its hold and slowly he began to find the functions of his brain again. Finally he regained the ability to put words and coherent thought together so he might be able to communicate with someone where no caution and distance were needed, because she was right, they were alike; the same. Was that not what Frank had always wanted? To be the same? “No, I mean, I know what you’re talking about,” he said, with perhaps the most articulacy he’s had in their entire short conversation, “I just mean you’re not…gancanagh. You’re like me but you’re not…like me. So what are you?”

He took a moment to resettle himself. Lydia didn’t mind to wait, concern creasing her features. Eventually, when he did speak, Lydia breathed a soft sigh of relief. “Oh, I was worried!” She tilted her head in surprise. He was not wrong, of course, once he explained what it was that he was. All fae rang the bell chimes in her chest in the same way, but she might have been able to guess by his beauty. “Well, no, I couldn’t possibly be. I’m neither a man nor at all masculine in any way. No more than you could be a banshee.” She smiled, leaning in as if to tell him a secret - she was. “Although we are perhaps more similar than you might expect. I’m a Leanan Sidhe. A muse. I inspire art.”

Leannán Sídhe. The name was familiar to him, attached to an old, distant, memory of his childhood. Of his mother telling him stories about beasts and faeries from their Irish folklore. Not that any self-respecting eleven year old boy ever paid much attention to stories about faeries, that was of course, before the wings started growing in. But even at his tender age, he did not have the heart to tell her that her bedtime stories were true, least of all those that were not exactly complimentary of the faerie folk. “But it’s never as simple as just inspiring art though is it?” He held her eyes as he answered the cost of that inspiration with a silent gaze. At least she inspired art, Frank was too afraid to even shake a stranger’s hand. The destruction left behind by both were much the same, and Frank was not ignorant of the woman whose eyes kept an unwavering hold on Lydia’s back. “Is she one of your...artists?”

Oh, he had merely been tongue tied. Lydia smiled, easing more comfortably into her seat now she wasn’t so worried of frightening him. The words meant something to him, and he was blunt in asking about her diet, which made Lydia smile. “No, but then again, no pain no gain, as the saying goes,” she replied, meeting his gaze unflinchingly. Lydia looked back to Kelly, giving her a small wave. She was so young, yet ever so enthusiastic to share her songs. Lonely, too, but that was the nature of humans that age. She couldn’t quite work out whether Frank was asking out of judgement or plain curiosity, and considering how wide and varied fae morality could be, she decided to play it safe, if always entirely honest. “Her interest is currently natural, rather than cultivated, if that’s what you’re asking. We’re on a thirty day free trial, as it were. What about you? This is not a bad place to work and find a meal for the evening. The company on the other hand…” Lydia looked around the room, and while of course she could not truly tell what anyone was, she was very confident that practically everyone here bar the two of them had to be human. They just had to be. “I imagine it has its ups and downs.”

Lydia served her own brand of cool indifference, far from concerned by notions of shame or guilt, on how or whom they survived on, and Frank had to suppress a shudder. Her smile was all winter and he had always struggled in the cold, but oh did she wear it so well. Her every word stroked gently at the hungry thing that lived in the marrows of his bones and the pit of his stomach, one Frank kept carefully starved with cheap whiskey and cheaper cigarettes. “I don’t mind, I’m not much of a people person anyway,” he said mildly, and then added, “the shepherd’s pie isn’t so bad…and the stew tastes pretty decent on the nights they remember to season it right.” It was a truth well known that faes couldn’t tell a lie, although Frank had become very good at living one. To pretend to himself that his judgement was from a place of righteous morals, and not from a place of deeper, venomous, resentment that she was so free to do as she was ordained and without remorse for being exactly as she was. It was her nature, as it was his, but why was he the only one telling himself that it was wrong?

"Really? Now that is a surprise." Lydia knew a fair few gancanagh, who she would have described as the definition of people persons, but there were exceptions to every rule. Horrifically, her mind turned to Jax, the Gancanagh who had worked at the ring, using his silver tongue to force Remmy to fight for his own personal gain. Frank seemed nothing like that man, and by all means, if Jax had been manipulating any other zombie, Lydia might not have minded so much. “I’ll keep the recommendations in mind if I ever bring someone who needs to eat around,” she chuckled, pushing her thoughts far away from Remmy. "By all means, let me know if I'm bothering you. I just… really like to introduce myself to fae when I run into them. It’s easier in this town than most, but still, and I don’t think I’d seen you at Faetal Attraction."

Frank answered Lydia’s surprise with his own, evident in the arch of his brow and the slight part of his lips, as if he wanted to say something but was unsure of the words. He was an oddity to her, it seemed, which begged the question of how many faes like him did she know? And then a small voice added most delicately: was his father among those acquaintances? He quickly guided his curiosity elsewhere, back to the present, to the name of a place he was not yet familiar with. He hasn’t been in White Crest all that long and much of his time was spent divided between tending the bar at the Pint and then at Soul, with little spared to himself, or anything else. A poor habit that needed amending, not that Frank was in any great rush to do that either. “Fatal attraction? Like the movie?”

Lydia stared at him for a five-count, before laughing in her bewilderment. “No, like the bar,” she chuckled, pressing her hand against her chest. “I’m not laughing at you, I’m ever so sorry. This town has a propensity for puns which results in just this sort of confusion. F-A-E Faetal.” Her chuckles had subsided, as she looked at him questioningly. “It’s a place for people like us to meet other fae. Oh, come on, now you have to let me take you sometime. Sometime when you aren’t working, we’ll make a night of it.” Better than this place, certainly, but who was she to judge? “I know you said you aren’t a people person, but there are quieter times that we could go, and it’s fun, even for a short while.”

Her pretty promise came with an even prettier smile, and Frank was immediately put ill at ease. He had developed an almost instinctual aversion toward charm, and charming people, and Lydia was practically dripping with it. A series of practiced excuses were laid out on his tongue (this was not the first time Frank had to talk his way out of doing something or going somewhere he did not want to), but underneath the coiling chain of dishonesty, a little presence at the back of his consciousness demanded his attention: curiosity. Frank has never been in a room with more than one fae at a time. People like us. He had always been intrigued by how many of them they were, how many species of faes existed beyond those he already knew of (which was not many at all), what was this community like that his ‘normal’ upbringing had deprived him of? Frank was practiced in denying himself a great many pleasures, but always failed at refusing his own curiosity. To curb any great display of enthusiasm, he resigned to her invitation with a measured, “I’ll think about it.”

He hesitated. Lydia just couldn’t get a read on him, not yet, but she would. With every passing day, her loneliness threatened to suffocate her a little more. At least a gancanagh would understand that part of her. All the same, she smiled in relief at his measured response. “Alright. Well, when you make up your mind, please drop me a line.” Lydia pulled her business card from her wallet, and looked at the quickly accumulating pile of dirty glass ware that she was distracting him from. “As much as I’m enjoying meeting you, I should probably not get you in trouble with work.” And she ought to return to sweet young Kelly, and her hunt.

Lydia Griffin. Art Conservator. Her contact information craftily spelled out beneath in fine print. He put it inside his jacket pocket with no great care. At the time, he didn’t think he would ever come to need it. It wasn’t as if they socialised in the same social circle. Frank wasn’t social at all! You need only look at their dress to realise their differences, which was stark. Outwardly, anyway. What stopped him from throwing the little rectangle of (probably expensive—it looked expensive) paper away altogether was a feeling. He wasn’t sure when, or under what circumstance but they would meet again, of this he had no doubt. Frank looked at the young woman at the table; still waiting. Evidence of impatience present in the increased frequency of glances she kept shooting in their direction. “Right, I should let you get back to your guest.” Frank took a moment, not as certain in his own pleasure at having met Lydia. He said instead, “I’ll see you around.” And he would, even if he didn’t know it yet.

#wickedswriting #para #chatzy #frank

8 notes · View notes

pickalilywrites · 4 years ago

Text

Heroine

Mikasa Ackerman. EreMika. Canonverse.

5103 words.

Buy me a ko-fi! or Read on AO3!

She’s broken and bruised, but Mikasa still rises like all those times before. She walks among fallen friends and comrades, her feet treading across the dusty, shattered streets that she had once walked as a child. Dust and ash fill her lungs with every ragged breath she takes, but Mikasa chokes it down as she marches on. The only sounds that can be heard across the torn-up city are the distant blazing of burning buildings and the heavy clomp of Mikasa’s boots as she drags herself across the street. This whole scene looks just like a snapshot of her past, except this time she is the one responsible for the destruction and carnage, and this time, instead of running away, she has come to end it once and for all.

She stands like an ant among giants, the Wall Titans towering above her like silent columns as they face their master. Mikasa had seen them earlier walking towards the Founder, their mindless nature making them oblivious to the destruction they created with every step they took. They crushed buildings and innocent civilians underfoot, the dried blood of corpses staining the soles of their feet.

Monsters, Mikasa had thought reflexively even though she knows better than to blame them for their actions. It’s not their fault that they can’t control themselves. A long time ago they must have been just like her, someone with dreams and people to love. They were just dealt a bad hand of fate. In another time or place, Mikasa could have been just like them. It’s a thought she’s had many times and it still makes her shudder. No, if Mikasa wants to blame anyone, she should blame their master.

Unlike the Titans, Mikasa takes small steps, careful not to tread on even a single insect as she makes her way slowly towards the Founder. Mikasa is not sure what the Founder is meant to look like, if it had always manifested itself in the same monstrous form that appears in front of her now or if it has evolved with each Titan of Ymir that it acquired. It looks nothing at all like the Titans that she was familiar with. While the Titans she had seen before have all resembled a human, the Founding Titan is a ghastly skeleton of an ancient creature that stretches for miles and miles, making the Colossal Titan look miniscule in comparison. From this distance, Mikasa has no hope of finding the nape. All she can see is the back of the Titan, spikes protruding from its endless spine and steam erupting from its skeleton.

Mikasa discards her guns, letting them clatter to the ground. Even if they were still filled with bullets, they would stand no chance against the Titan. She reaches for her blades instead, discarding her dull ones for new ones. Wordlessly, she walks past the Wall Titans, not bothering to raise her weapon against them. They pay no attention to her as she passes by, and Mikasa feels no need to create more unnecessary casualties. Like them, her focus is solely on the Founding Titan.

The Founding Titan lifts its head, a skull with an elongated snout like that of a reptile, and lets out a guttural shriek that shatters the sky and shakes the ground. The sound is so powerful that the surviving buildings that had been standing crumble, leaving a pile of rubble where they once stood. The cry seems to wake the Wall Titans from their temporary stupor because they too lift their heads and emit similar cries albeit far quieter and less earth-shattering than their predecessor. Mikasa does not understand the language - she’s unsure if it’s spoken in a tongue at all - but the howls send shivers down her spine all the same.

She fights the urge to shout Eren’s name, desperate to call out to him, the only one who was ever sure of his purpose in this madness. Even if she were to say his name, Mikasa doubts that he would be able to hear her from where he stands, trapped in the prison he’s built himself.

The truth is, she was never supposed to be here. Mikasa has never wanted to be the hero. All she’s ever wanted was to be the bystander who somehow miraculously managed to survive despite the adversity of the world. She would have been happy if she never had to wield a blade in her life or save a life. That wasn’t the life she desired. It’s just the life she ended up following by chance. The truth is, Eren is supposed to be the one standing where she is. He should be the one with the blade in his hand, staring fearlessly up at the Founding Titan that is threatening to destroy the entire world beyond the ocean. He is the one who has always been a hero, sacrificing everything so that others might taste the freedom that he believed was everyone’s right. He wasn’t supposed to be the monster that Mikasa was meant to defeat.

But even now as Mikasa looks up at Eren’s ghastly form, she can’t see him as the villain. He’s still her hero - he’s always her hero - but he’s in a story that Mikasa no longer recognizes. It doesn’t matter that she understands the reasons for his actions or that he’s doing this for her and the Eldians of Paradis so that they no longer have to live as demons but as human beings. No reason can justify the amount of death and destruction that Eren is about to unleash upon the world, and so Mikasa finds herself raising her blade against the only hero she’s ever known.

------

Eren has always been Mikasa’s hero.

That fateful day when Mikasa had lost her parents, she had not expected anyone to come save her. She only had her parents, but they had been taken away from her so cruelly, their lives bleeding out of their fatal wounds while Mikasa could only stare in shock as her parents’ murderers dragged her away. Even if people were to discover her parents’ corpses, it would be too late to save them just as it would be too late to save Mikasa.

She heard them talking about her, their deep, gravelly voices grating against her eardrums. Mikasa closed her eyes and tried to drown out their conversation with the hopeless thought that someone might come to save her, but it was useless. She choked back sobs as they spoke about how much they could sell her for - a half-breed that they might be able to pass off as a full-blooded exotic Asian if the buyer were ignorant enough. They lamented the loss of Mikasa’s mother, although their reason for grief was different from Mikasa’s. It was more that they regretted that their profit would be lower because a corpse was worth nothing no matter how pretty it was. They said that they’ll just have to do with the little girl, and one of the wicked men leaned over to lift up Mikasa’s chin with a dirtied hand.

Mikasa's face was lifted against her will, but she kept her eyes down, not wanting to see the man’s sneer. She trembled at the touch of the man’s callused hands, shuddering violently when she realized that his hands were still stained with blood. Her startled movement amused the man, who threw his head back in raucous laughter, his face still close enough for Mikasa to smell his sour breath.

She didn’t remember the words he spoke to her then, but Mikasa remembered his voice was lower, softer. Timidly, she looked at him, wondering if he was taking pity on her after seeing how frightened she was, but the smile on his face was cruel and she realized then that he was simply playing with her like a cat plays with its food. She stared at him, frozen, and he snapped at her suddenly, snarling like an animal, and she jolted backwards, her head knocking so hard against the cabin wall that her vision went black for a moment.

As the man roared with a laugh that sounded like the barking of a rabid coyote, his companion snapped at him, telling him to leave the young girl alone. His words were not spoken out of pity or kindness. He made it clear that the child would be worth more if she wasn't scared stiff and half-driven mad. If she were to be traumatized, then it would be better to have her turn into a vegetable after they’ve traded her for money.

She was left alone after that, watching as the shadows in the room stretched across the room and migrated from one wall to the other until they blended in with the darkness. The shadows were replaced with new ones later in the night, shadows that flickered against the light of the burning candle that one of Mikasa’s captors lit. Mikasa watched as one of her kidnappers began to nod off while the other sat in a wooden chair across from her, driving his dagger into the table and carving mindless lines into it to cure his boredom.

Mikasa decided then that she would die. It wasn’t as if she had a choice other than to accept her fate. Against these men, she was a powerless child. How her death would come to be was beyond her. Perhaps it would be at the hands of these villains, their hands twisted around her neck as they choked the life out of her, or maybe it would be at the hands of another cruel stranger, somebody she has not met yet. However she died, she would be alone and helpless, that much she was sure of.

Knock, knock. The sudden rap at the door startled Mikasa and she looked immediately at the door, eyes wide. It was too much to hope that it was her saviour waiting behind the door, and yet her lips began to part, ready to cry out for help as soon as the door opened. One of her kidnappers, the one sitting across from her, noticed her half-open mouth and reached for her, grabbing her by her hair and clamping his hand over her mouth before she could even cry out in pain. He kicked the other man awake, nodding at the door as his partner groaned and stumbled to stand.

There was another knock at the door and the man stood up, one hand hovering above the dagger tucked into his belt. He waited for a moment, listening carefully for any sound on the other side. As he did so, Mikasa held her breath, also listening, but there was nothing to be heard. Finally, the man cracked open the door, careful not to open it too far. As his eyes settled on the unexpected visitor, Mikasa could see the man visibly relax.

“You’re a bit young to be out here all on your own,” the man said, his voice pleasant. He leaned down a little bit to talk to the person on the other side. “And it’s so late too. Shouldn’t you be with your parents?”

“I was with them a little while ago, but I must have wandered off too far,” the person responded. Mikasa was so surprised at how young it sounded. It had to be a boy, one that had gotten lost late at night while he was playing in the woods. Mikasa wondered if he could detect the danger in the cabins, if there was a chance the boy would lean a little bit too far and see Mikasa tied up. Would he be able to run away if he saw her? Would he be smart enough to warn somebody and have someone come save her? But he must have not sensed anything because the boy continued to speak to the man easily, saying, “This was the first cabin I came across and I was wondering if you could help me.”

The man paused, unsure of what to do, before replying. “Well, why don’t you just tell me where your home is and I might be able to point you in the right direction.”

“Thanks, sir. I don’t think I have anything to repay you, although my parents might when we get back home,” the boy said. There was the sound of shuffling as if he was trying to search from something in his trouser pockets.

“Oh, no need to thank me,” the man told the boy, although he sounds more irritated than humble. He moved forward, attempting to slip out the door without exposing the inside of the cabin. “I’m just happy to help -”

An eerie silence followed the man’s words, and Mikasa wondered why the man was frozen in such an unnatural way. A few beats passed and the boy finally pulled the dagger from the man’s chest. Blood dripped onto the floor, staining the wooden slabs. The man crumpled onto the floor like a rag doll, and a boy stood there in the doorway, a bloody knife clenched in his fists.

“Fucking hell,” Mikasa’s captor cursed. He threw her to the floor, abandoning his dagger for the axe that sat nearby. The man is gargantuan, a giant compared to the young boy, but the boy didn’t hesitate as he charged at the man. Even as the man swung at the boy, the child managed to avoid the man’s blade and dug the knife into the man’s shoulder. Even after the man fell to the ground, the boy continued to stab at the man, pulling the knife out of the man’s body only to plunge it back into the man’s torso.

Mikasa sat in stunned silence as the boy stood up. He was covered in blood and breathing heavily, but he was otherwise unharmed. He had to be about her age, and yet he seemed to be nothing like the powerless child she was. He walked up to her kneeling down to untie the rope that bound her.

“I’m Eren,” he told her as he loosened the ropes. He untangled the ropes, letting them fall to the floor. “I’m Dr. Jaeger’s son. We were supposed to meet today.”

Mikasa remembered. Grisha Jaeger, the doctor that often met with her mother to discuss Mikasa’s unborn sibling. She vaguely recalled her mother telling her that the doctor had a son around her age. She had almost forgotten that the doctor was supposed to come at all. Did that mean that Dr. Jaeger had come by her house and seen the bodies of her parents? Did he know what had happened to her? Did he know that men had come to capture her and planned on selling her away?

The men, Mikasa realized. There were three. Two had stayed to watch her while one had run off to get supplies.

Panicked, she looked at Eren, grabbing him by the wrist. “There’s another man,” Mikasa said, her voice weak.

“What?” Eren said, confused.

“Another man,” Mikasa gasped. She didn’t know whether to run or wait for help. Tears began to sting her eyes in her panic. “There were three men.”

Eren began to put the pieces together, looking around the cabin to make sure that the missing man wasn’t lurking around in a corner. He nodded and gestured to Mikasa to follow him. “Come on, let’s get out of here while we still can.” He stepped carefully over the body of one of Mikasa’s captors and looked back at her. When he saw that she wasn’t following, he waved his hand again, urging her to come with him. “Come on!”

It was like slow motion seeing the third man emerge from the open door, creeping out of the darkness like the monster he was. He was carrying supplies with him, his pack heavy, but he dropped it with a huge clatter as he lunged for the boy in front of him. Eren didn’t realize what was happening until the man’s hands were around his neck, squeezing him until he could hardly breathe. While Mikasa could only stand and stare in shock, Eren struggled against the man’s grip, kicking and grasping at the hands around his throat.

“Fight!” the boy gasped, looking at Mikasa. His hands clutched at the hands around his neck. “If you want to live, fight!”

It was if those words awakened her, electrifying her and giving her life. All this time, Mikasa had been too afraid to even breathe because she had believed there was no one to save her, but here was this boy who was ready to put down his life for her. He had saved her life once just by appearing at the door, he had saved her life twice by killing her captors, and now he would save her life again by giving her the strength she needed to free herself.

Mikasa grabbed the dagger that Eren had left on the ground and ran towards the last man, the final barricade between her and her freedom, and plunged the blade into the man’s chest right into his heart.

Eren fell to the floor with a heavy thud, curling onto the floor as his hands moved up to rub at his throat. Mikasa, however, stayed where she was, staring at the man that swayed in front of her. Her hands hovered around the knife handle. She looked up at the man who had captured her, had helped to kill her parents, and she watched as his eyes grew dark and glassy. Finally, she pulled the knife from his chest and stepped aside as he fell at her feet.

“You saved me,” Eren gasped, still lying on the floor with his hands massaging his neck. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you,” Mikasa said softly. She walked over to him, offering him a hand to pull him up. You saved me first.

That night, he wrapped a muffler around her neck and led her home. It was then that Mikasa knew he would always be her hero.

Eren was her hero even after she came to know his childish side and she discovered his dislike of chores, how he spent more time daydreaming than helping out in the house, and how he was never as invincible as she thought he was. He fought bullies twice his size even though there was no way he would ever win, but Mikasa admired his fearless righteousness and so she fought his battles with him, lending him her strength because he was the one who gave her strength to begin with. He was the one who stitched her world together right as it was being torn apart and he was the one who kept it together when it began to rip at the seams again.

When Wall Maria fell and everything was taken away from them, Mikasa expected Eren to crumble just like she did when he first found her. She was ready to be the one to take care of him, to put him back together the way he did for her when they met, but he didn’t need her to. He saw their future torn down in front of them and he decided to forge them a new one even if it meant signing his life away the moment he was old enough to enlist in the military.

It wasn’t something that Mikasa could understand, sacrificing herself for the sake of other people. She would never be as righteous and selfless as Eren was, but she followed him anyway because she knew she could never convince him. Even if she pleaded or cried with him, Eren would never budge. He was doing this for the greater good - a purpose bigger than him or her or they could ever be - and she couldn’t hate him for that. Instead, she stayed by his side, enlisting beside him even though it was far from the life she had dreamed for them.

Training was grueling, but it was far more painful for Eren who didn’t exhibit the natural athletic ability that Mikasa did. If she practiced for an hour, Eren practiced twice as much in order to perform half as well and he oftentimes spent his extra time mastering skills instead of socializing with others. She would have told him to relax more, try less, but the fear that only she would enter the top ten and leave him behind forced her into silence and she watched as Eren pushed himself every day to surpass their classmates.

What Eren lacked in physical prowess, he made up with sheer willpower and determination. When others grew tired and began to give up, Eren trained harder, nearly collapsing from exhaustion by the time he retreated for the night. He would have worked himself to death if he didn’t have a mission to complete. After all of his hard work, Eren managed to place within the top ten in their class and Mikasa rejoiced internally only to remember that he would never follow her to the Military Police. She only had to ask him once if he could reconsider his choice, but his dismissive glance at her suggestion told her that he would never budge and so she followed him even though she believed it would be the death of them.

Her worst fears were proven true the night of the graduation. With a clap of lightning, the Walls outside of Trost District collapsed and Mikasa found herself dragged away from Eren, forced to defend the civilians while Eren and the rest of her classmates were ordered to the front lines. Her position offered her more safety than the rest of her classmates. She should have been grateful, but her mind kept wandering to Eren and she found herself struggling not to rush the civilians forward as they tried to make their escape. Even as the numbers of the civilians dwindled, Mikasa felt herself becoming antsy, her grip tightening around the handle of the blade. As soon as the last civilian went through the gate, she fled, ignoring the cries of her team leader to stay put.

She knew what had happened even before she reached Armin, and yet she approached him with the hope that she might be wrong. “What happened?” she asked, but she regretted the words as soon as they slipped out of her mouth.

“D-dead. Th-they’re all d-dead,” Armin whispered, trembling as Connie wrapped an arm around him. “Eren was eaten b-because of m-me. He s-s-sacrificed himself … f-for me...”

Mikasa didn’t know why she felt so shocked when Eren’s death was inevitable from the start. From the beginning, he was a hero and he stayed a hero until the very end. Tears of anger dripped down Mikasa’s chin, burning across her skin, although she didn’t know why. There was nobody to blame, not even Eren for choosing such a reckless path. He knew that this was a possibility, that he might die, and he chose it anyway. He valued the possibility of freedom over his own life. That was just his nature.

She gave up living for the second time then, believing it was no use if Eren wasn’t by her side. Without any thought, she flew through the air, slaying every giant that stood in her way. If she was going down, she would take down as many monsters as she could with her. It was as close to revenge as she could get. Mikasa ignored the cries of her comrades behind her, disregarding their shouts that warned her of her rapidly depleting fuel. She ran out of gas in midair, falling from the sky as if in freefall. She found the reason for her demise as she fell down - a thirteen-meter titan that looked vaguely human but its facial features were far too distorted. Looking up, she expected to be frightened, the fear of death seizing her the way it seized others that had gone before her. As the Titan reached for her, Mikasa began to accept her fate until a bolt of lightning ran through her body and familiar words echoed in her mind.

Fight. They were words spoken to her so long ago she had almost forgotten. If you want to live, fight! They were the same words that Eren had spoken to her all those years ago, words that gave her the strength to live and she had almost forgotten them so carelessly. How could she give her life up so carelessly when Eren had given his life so that others would not just simply survive, but thrive.

Fingers began to close around her, but Mikasa still reached for the blade that was just within her reach. Just when she believed she was done for, another Titan appeared, its hand outstretched as if to claim her as his meal. The new Titan lifted its other hand into a fist, pulling it back as the thirteen-meter stared at it with a slackened jaw. There was something familiar in the way the new Titan moved, how it threw its fist in a punch that sent the other Titan flying and how it turned to face the other Titans that had begun to circle it. Before she could think about it any further, she was whisked away by Connie and Armin. When they later learned that that same Titan was Eren, somehow Mikasa was not surprised. Only Eren would find a way to come back to life and finish the impossible goal he had set for himself.

Eren’s resurrection was a blessing and a curse. For every danger he put himself through, Mikasa cried a hundred tears until she was sure she could fill an ocean with all the tears she shed. She cried the night of their first expedition, she cried the night Eren had been kidnapped during the uprising, and she cried the night the Scouting Legion was decimated by the Beast Titan and its comrades. Eren saw all of those tears and although he comforted her, he did nothing to stop them from falling. Even if he was the reason for her tears, it couldn’t be helped. Eren was destined to be a hero even if it hurt her in the end.

She pulled through it by telling herself it would be over soon. There would be a day where Eren was satisfied with the work he had done and the sacrifices he had made. She hoped, a little too foolishly, that it was the day the Scouts had managed to save Trost District. She thought Eren’s newfound powers would somehow earn him special treatment, but they only encouraged the Scouting Legion to thrust Eren into more danger, and Eren eagerly accepted every challenge they gave him because it meant he would be closer to obtaining the freedom he had always wanted. Even worse, the more dangerous their obstacle, the more Eren seemed to thrive, growing even more determined even though everyone around them only grew more desperate. After the defeat of the Female Titan, Mikasa thought they might have the chance to rest, content that the threats around them had subsided even if only for a little bit, but their next mission called them and Eren leapt forward not even a second after the orders left the Commander’s mouth. They fought through unexplained Titan resurgences within the Walls, an uprising, and a battle that wiped out almost the entire Scouting Legion, and still, Mikasa saw a fire burning in Eren’s eyes that blazed just as fiercely the night she met him.

They reached the ocean when they were nineteen. It was further than she thought any of them would ever get, but if anyone could make it, it was Eren. He had always said he wanted to see the ocean, feel the sand underneath his feet, taste the saltwater on his tongue. And yet even as they looked out into the ocean, Eren looked deeply unsatisfied. While their companions looked at the sea, marveling at the expanse of water before them, Eren looked even further, searching for something. It was then that Mikasa felt her heart drop and she realized that Eren would always be looking for something to fight for even if everyone he loved was safe beside him. It wasn’t because he craved the attention or that he loved the thrill of battle. He just knew that they deserved more than the lives they knew right now. He knew they deserved everything the world had to offer, and he would never be satisfied until he gave it to them or died trying.

Mikasa grasped for Eren’s hand, intertwining her fingers with his and giving it a quick squeeze. It’s fine, she wanted to tell him. We’re here. You can stop now.

Eren’s hand didn’t tighten around hers, but he did turn to Mikasa. He smiled at her, but his eyes were far away and Mikasa knew she would never be able to reach him.

-----

Eren was her hero then, and he’s still her hero now even as the world threatens to collapse underneath his feet. But Eren is a hero in a story with an ending Mikasa doesn’t want to be a part of. She could wait for another to come and end this nightmare, another white knight who could give this tale the happy conclusion that Mikasa had always wistfully dreamed of, but there are no more heroes. Mikasa is the only one left. Ten years ago, being alone in such a situation would have petrified her, but she’s no longer the helpless child she was the night Eren had saved her. She was older now with a blade in her hand and the realization that she was the only one who could save herself.

She reaches the head of the Titan, wanting one last look at Eren before she says goodbye. As she rises into the sky, her blade raised high as Mikasa aimed for the nape of the Titan’s neck, she sees Eren’s eyes - a pitch black abyss. When the green fire in his eyes burned to ash, Mikasa doesn’t know, but it must have been long ago. The Eren she knew is here no longer, and yet she’s still filled with remorse as she slashes the fatal blow across his neck. She doesn’t look back. She already knows what will happen next.

There’s the thud of the Titan’s carcass as it falls to the ground. Mikasa feels the heat against her back as the body begins to evaporate. She closes her eyes, listening to the steam rise, and it almost sounds like a sigh of release.

#eremika #mikasa ackerman #eren jaeger #snk #canonverse #ah my bf has become a better beta #that's good though #!!!

37 notes · View notes

screamingatanemptyroom · 5 years ago

Text

I Can’t Eat Love Side Part 4 - Edith

One more side part after this one. This is from Edith’s perspective. I’ll go ahead and warn you now, it isn’t happy, obviously. After this though is the Queen, and i’m really looking forward to her part!!

Master post linked here.

Enjoy!

_________________________

In a previous life…

Everyone has a place in life. A shining spot belonging just to you. And if you are able to sit in that spot, your life will be happy and blessed. This is what I’ve always believed.

There is a girl who stole that place from me.

I learned about this while I was still young.

“Mother, why doesn’t Father like me?” I was crying, a feeling of frustration and helplessness overcoming me. Even a simple conversation with my father led to criticism, he looked at me as if… as if I were something worthless. Something dirty.

My mother, the Countess of Erand, was a beautiful woman. She had large eyes, a pitiful expression which inspired sympathy and love. She shook her head at my question, smiling strangely.

“That’s because he isn’t your father, silly.” What a shocking thing to tell a young child, but she didn’t seem to sense any inappropriateness to her words. Mother quickly explained my true parentage, that my father was the Duke of Armeny, one of the most powerful noblemen in the kingdom.

“Why don’t we live with him?” I felt upset, looking at the poorly furnished room we sat in. In our home the outer sitting rooms were luxuriously furnished, but it was only a front. The Count of Erand was not a wealthy man, and so our actual living quarters were quite humble.

“He married another woman.” Mother smiled despite the terrible words. “He didn’t have a choice, his heart will always remain with me.”

I stared at her in shock. “Can’t you win him back?”

“I wouldn’t want him to be unhappy, or mire his name in scandal.” She shook her head slowly. “He has a wife, and a daughter now. She’s actually close to your age.” A small sigh escaped her. “She’s your half sister, but she looks a lot more like your father than you do.”

“Is she… better than me?” I whispered, my heart breaking at the sight of my mother praising another girl.

“She’s raised by your father, so naturally she will be more noble and refined.” Mother shrugged, not noticing the despair she caused with these few words. “I want you to become friends with her, but make sure to always treat her well! Don’t embarrass your mother by acting poorly in front of her! She’s HIS precious daughter after all.”

“O- of course, mother.” I smiled, the expression at odds with the coldness I felt in my heart. I was young, but even I could sense the unhealthy light in my mother’s eyes as she spoke about that man and his daughter. She loved him, to the point of madness, until she could ignore everything and everyone else.

I thought love was a fairly pointless thing, then, if it made you like this.

I wanted to ignore her words, but a seed had been planted in my mind. No wonder I was unhappy. I wasn’t where I was meant to be. The place in life I was meant to have had been taken, which was the source of all my misery. If I just could take it back…

Thus began my obsession with my half-sister, the girl who stole my place.

_________________________

“Hi, I’m Lenora.” A smiling young girl, with light colored hair and bright eyes, curtseyed prettily in front of me. She seemed happy, secure, and comfortable in the luxurious environment around us.

I felt immediate dislike for her, a thick wave of jealousy choking in my throat.

How dare she look so content? How dare she enjoy the shining spot that was meant to be mine? She had wealth, a position of power, and her father at her side.

I wanted… I needed to take it all from her.

_________________________

I pretended to be Lenora’s friend. It was surprising easy. Despite her position she was desperately lonely, pathetically latching on to any attention I would give her. All it would take was the threat of ignoring her to get her to do what I wanted. Sometimes she would resist, however

“Give me the doll.” I held out my hand, demanding the item she held to her chest with an imperious expression.

Lenora shook her head, clutching the ratty toy tighter. “No, Edith, this was a present from the Queen. I really love it.”

“Why do you care if the Queen gave you a toy?” I smirked. “It’s so poor looking, it’s better if you don’t have it.”

“No! The Queen says one day I’m going to be her daughter! I’m going to marry the prince and live in the castle with both of them!”

She held onto the doll tighter, tears forming in her eyes.

She was going to marry a prince? My gaze narrowed, and without further thought I reached out, ripping the toy from her and tearing it to pieces.

“If you had just given me the stupid doll I wouldn’t have had to do that! Now it’s ruined and it’s all your fault!”

She burst into tears, the frightened sobs racking her small body. I felt a bright smile form across my face, a relaxed feeling taking over. I knew then, it wasn’t enough to simply take my spot back.

I had to make her regret ever having it in the first place.

_________________________

As I grew older, my methods became more complex. I bought over her personal maid with the money I had saved and the promises of future favors for her brother. With Angela’s help, it was all too easy to dress her in ridiculous clothes, convincing her it was the height of fashion. I took her out to the royal gardens almost every day, urging her to try to catch a glimpse of the prince. I wanted her to love him. I wanted all of her hopes to be set on him.

“Your highness! ” I met Prince Ronan “by accident” one day in the gardens when Lenora was ill. “I’ve heard rumors that you were handsome and intelligent looking, but I think you are even better than what people say!”

Shameless flattery, but from what I heard, Ronan was a simple man.

“I am pretty great!” He smiled brightly at me. “What’s your name?”

I curtsied, keeping a shy expression on my face. “Edith, Your Highness. I’m a… acquaintance of your fiancé.”

“My fiancé? That foolish girl my mother wants me to marry?” He sneered. “How dare they try to tell me what to do?!”

“I agree… Lenora says that the Queen will force you to marry her no matter what! It makes me so sad to think of a wonderful man like you being trapped by a woman like that!”

I dabbed my eyes with a handkerchief, forcing a few tears from my eyes. From the corner of my vision I stole glimpses of the prince’s face, satisfied by what I saw.

Ronan looked furious.

_________________________

It was simple to pull him over to my side. Constant flattery, with mixed in hints of how Lenora was an arrogant girl who thought she was better than him. As his opinion of me improved, I added on sob stories of being bullied by Lenora, enjoying his righteous anger on my behalf.

Lenora, foolishly, had no idea. I had made him promise to be polite to her, to pretend nothing was wrong. Of course, if he wanted to pull pranks on her publically, like tripping her at her birthday party… I couldn’t object to that. That was just free entertainment.

Everything was moving along as planned.

_________________________

As we grew older however, I noticed a worrying change in my half-sister. She disagreed with me more often, trying to spend time with other girls and make friends. She frequently quoted the queen when she was disagreeing with me, not immediately capitulating to my opinion as she had in the past. One day I visited her room, only to find her in a beautiful gown.

“What is that?!” I forced a disgusted expression. It was difficult to hide my shock. The dress was beautiful, a delicate violet ballgown with light blue embroidery, highlighting her petite frame.

Lenora hesitated, looking shy. “I designed it myself! Do you like it?”

“Where did you get the idea for something like this?” Every gown I helped her buy was hideous! How could she design something like this?!

“I wanted to wear something more like the Queen.” She smiled brightly, touching the small sapphire amulet hanging around her neck. I hated that necklace. It was a gift from the Queen, a family heirloom that was to be passed down to her daughter.

That should be mine! How dare she wear it!

“You look nothing like the Queen.” My voice was cold. “You look ridiculous in that.”

Her face paled. “I do?”

“Yes. Hurry and get rid of it, before someone sees you in it and laughs.”

I watched her eyes fill with tears, satisfied for a moment. But soon it was replaced with a feeling of panic.

I’m losing control of the situation. I need to hurry things along.

_________________________

“Your Highness!” I sobbed loudly, burying my face in his shoulder. “Please break off your engagement with that girl! I can’t live without you!”

“Don’t worry.” A warm hand patted my hair gently. I frowned as it mussed up the careful styling, the expression hidden by his coat. “At my birthday, dearest! I’ll be a legal adult, I can break the engagement without my parents’ approval and I’ll announce you as my future bride the same day!”

“Really? What about your mother?” I sniffed, pretending to be consoled by his clumsy gestures. “Won’t she try to interfere?”

“Who cares if she does?”

“The nobility care…” I whispered these words, however, knowing he wouldn’t understand. If the Queen was there she would stick up for Lenora. She doted on her too much already. I knew I would have to take matters into my own hands if i wanted a perfect defeat of my half-sister.

Even though the one she should dote on is me!

A simple poisoned tea made the Queen too sick to attend, and the party went off without flaw. The prince renounced Lenora publically, holding me to his side. His eyes were filled with affection as he looked down at me, but I immediately looked away, all of my attention on the crying young woman being helped out of the room by our father.

WHY ISN’T HE LOOKING AT ME?!

I was taking my proper place as the future queen. The place Lenora stole from me! She was broken, defeated… but still he only glanced in my direction once at the beginning, with the same haunted guilty eyes he always had when he saw me, before turning back to Lenora.

The glass in my hand cracked under the tightness of my grip. I brushed it off with a gentle laugh, saying I was nervous. Everyone smiled at me, including the prince. I was the center of attention.

But still I could only stare at the empty doorway where they had left without a single glance behind.

I almost quit my plans then. I had taken her engagement, taken her place… I should have been happy. But it wasn’t enough. I had to keep going.

She wasn’t miserable enough.

_________________________

I worked with Angela to intercept all letters between the Queen and Lenora. I started rumors, making sure to repeat them frequently to Lenora, that the Queen had no interest in her anymore. Each time I saw the agony on her face at the abandonment, I felt happy. But the feeling was fleeting. It wasn’t enough.

Even without my help, the Duchy of Armeny came to ruin. Their debts were called in, their home was taken, and Lenora moved out with her parents.

I hired people to keep an eye on her, trying to find enjoyment in the day to day life as a future Queen. It was difficult. Mrs. Rendler, the etiquette instructor, disliked me. She only agreed to teach me after a direct order from the prince, and yet she frowned whenever she was looking at me.

“Lenora was a hardworking girl. Intelligent too. She mastered this much more quickly.” Her words were barbs underneath my skin. I tried to ignore them, but they struck at each weak point I had, making me lash out. I fired her, hiring a new teacher, one without a connection to my half-sister.

Ronan doted on me as usual. The King ignored me, for which I was grateful. His eyes were cold, and I couldn’t help but feel the schemes he hid in his smile. I knew that he would easily destroy me if it worked for his plans.

As for the Queen…

I tried my best to form a relationship with her. I brought her gifts, invited her to parties, visited daily… but each time she would politely thank me for the attention, and then turn back to the window, where she always looked out, as if searching for someone. It made me furious.

How was she any better than me as a future daughter in law! Why, even when that wretched girl is gone, does she still only think of her?!

I needed to act soon. I had convinced the Queen through messages sent by Angela before the fall of the duchy that Lenora despised her, and never wanted to see her again, but I knew it wouldn’t be long before she looked to see her again. I just needed an opportunity…

And one day it came. A young girl around our age was murdered on the streets. As soon as I got the news, I had one of my people make the face unrecognizable. I then approached the Queen with a sad, teary-eyed face to give her the good news.

“Lenora is dead. They found her body this morning.”

I left her in agonized tears, feeling elated that soon the Queen would see me instead of Lenora. She would forget all about her. And that girl’s stolen place in her heart would belong to me.

But it didn’t work.

No matter how many months passed, the Queen refused to stop mourning. She stayed in her rooms, with only the butler to take care of her, refusing all invitations. I was furious, but everything I tried was useless.

_________________________

I came across a notice from my men one morning. Our father was dead. He had been murdered by a loan shark who he had borrowed money from, his body recovered in a gutter. I paused as I read the report, unsure of how to feel.

I’m glad that Lenora is in pain. And what did that man ever do to me? He only stared occasionally at me and felt guilty. What use was he? An uneasy feeling remained in my heart, but I irritably brushed it aside.

I lost track of her for a while, after her mother died and she last came to find me. I panicked when my men lost her, unsure of how she escaped my view. I felt empty… confused… lost. As more and more time passed, I worried that she had found a new place, become happy, had taken more things from me.

But finally I found Lenora once again.

_________________________

She was begging streets, slowly starving to death. Wherever she had been, whoever had been helping her was gone, and now she was alone. I was content once more, reading my daily reports on her activities. I arranged to ride by her street with Ronan, flaunting my wealth and happiness.

I grabbed his arm once we passed by her, smiling brightly. “I’m so lucky to be able to marry a wonderful man like you! But, some days, I just feel so guilty that I stole Lenora’s place…”

“Lenora? “I’m glad to be rid of her. Who would want her when they could have you?” Ronan reacted exactly as I hoped.

I looked down, hoping she would cry. “Yes, who would want her?”

_________________________

Close to the end, Lenora finally sold the necklace I hated so much. A priceless treasure, all for a loaf of bread. I bought it immediately, and kept it by my side, frequently taking it out to look at it. I considered breaking it to pieces, but still I held on, waiting.

The day Lenora died, I tossed the necklace to the Queen, and told her the truth of what I had done. I smiled at the despair in her eyes, enjoying her pain. I had already poisoned her, so there was no fear of her telling anyone else. It was a painful,l pathetic end.

Exactly what she deserved. Who told her to love Lenora and not me.

I had won.

A strange emptiness came across me at the thought. I went back to my lavish rooms, sitting down and looking around.

I had done it. I had taken my place back. Lenora was broken, and gone, her body thrown to the forest for the animals to tear apart.

She was dead.

My eyes began to burn, and to my utter horror, I felt tears… genuine tears… fill my vision, overflowing and tracing down my cheeks. My throat burned, my breath came in gasps, and above all I was undeniably…

EMPTY.

I shook my head. What was I thinking? I won! I had taken Ronan from Lenora.

I lived in a loveless marriage with a fool I despised.

I was going to be Queen.

In a country that was financially bankrupt, with a scheming king who saw me as a pawn.

Lenora had lost her parents.

My father died too, never caring once about me except to feel guilty. My mother had died only a day after hearing the news. The horrific end to her obsessive love.

She had lost everything. I had everything!

My entire life had revolved around Lenora. What did I have now that she was gone? What special place? What bright and happy life? I was more miserable now than I ever was when she had everything I wanted.

I had nothing.

I was…. Empty.

Hysterical laughter gave way to screams of pain, the sounds tearing themselves from my throat as I sank weakly to the ground.

_________________________

In another life...

“Edith.” A familiar voice woke me from my sleep. I turned in place on my hard cot, looking through the bars. My cell was small, but furnished, having been built for nobility who had committed crimes against the crown. At my status as a count’s daughter I normally wouldn’t have been kept there, but Ronan had requested I be moved there to be more comfortable. The only concession his father would make. I sighed loudly, sitting up and facing my visitor.

“Ronan, what brings you here?” My voice was cold, emotionless. I had no reason to pretend to care for him anymore. I had tried in the beginning, hoping he could pressure the king for my release… but it had come to nothing, and I gave up the farce after a while.

The prince smiled at me, but his eyes were angry. “I wanted to see the girl who ruined my life.”

“Ruined your life?” I couldn’t hold back a laugh. “How many years have I been locked up again?”

“You deserve it, for your crimes.”

I smiled at him calmly, despite the rage in his voice. “You haven’t visited me in years, and now you come back to berate me about this old matter? I didn’t even manage to kill her.”

“You lied to me!” His hands shook, and he clenched them at his sides. “You told me Lenora was a fool! You convinced me to break ties with her!”

He began pacing back and forth as he spoke. “But day after day that’s all I hear about. Lenora is a genius. She’s a prodigy at diplomacy and etiquette, a master of business and economy. Tilendria has flourished under her and Nate, becoming much stronger than us!” He paused in his steps, glaring at me. “They laugh at me! Mocking me through songs! I’m the foolish prince who dumped the girl who became a marvelous Queen.”

I felt a pain in my chest at the mention of her, but it was a dull ache, the years spent away from my half sister causing a slow detachment in my heart. I hated her. I despised her still. But it seemed to matter less now, within the confines of this cell. “Why bring this up now?”

“I saw them.” Ronan whispered, his eyes haunted. “I saw them both at a diplomatic function. They were happy, smiling. They spoke about their lives… children.”

BAM!

His fist struck the bars, causing me to jump back a little at the loud sound. “THAT SHOULD HAVE BEEN ME! I WAS SUPPOSED TO BE HAPPY!”

BAM!

“YOU LIED TO ME, RUINED MY LIFE!”

BAM! The bars shook, but stayed firmly in place, the skin of his hand tore at the repeated blows, blood dripping onto the stone floor at his feet, but he continued to stare at me, ignoring the wound.

“Because of you that bastard took my place! Nate took my wife, my family, my happiness! Even my mother! His kingdom flourishes, while ours goes under.” He sat on the floor, his legs seemingly giving out from under him.

“The Duchy of Armeny seceded. They officially joined Tilendria. They were the cornerstone of our economy, our foundation… “ He chuckled bitterly. “I will become a king of nothing. And it’s your fault.”

“Is it really?” I stared at him, a flicker of recognition within me

He nodded. “Yes! You and Nate! He took everything from me! He took my place! My happiness!”

“…” A silence fell between us.

I began to laugh. A quiet, almost silent expression, which soon grew louder and louder, echoing off the bare walls of my cell. It took a long time to regain my composure, but I slowly did, looking up at my former fiancé whose face was pale with rage.

“It was never your place. None of it belonged to you. Even if I hadn’t lied to you, even if you had married her, you would have never been as happy as they are now.”

“How could you say that?”

“Because we’re the same.”

I had a feeling deep down, that even if my plan had succeeded, I wouldn’t have been happy. How could I have been content when everything in my life had always been focused on her happiness?

I stared at the prince sadly for a moment. I knew if he was saying these things to me, he had likely said them elsewhere too. I had heard rumors that Lenora kept spies in Reterand, and had a feeling she would show little mercy if he tried to plot against her family. He would not have a happy end if he continued down this path.

“Go home, Ronan. Try to forget them. Find your own place. Find your own happiness.”

I leaned back on my cot, staring up at the ceiling, refusing to look his way again.

“Before it’s too late.”

I closed my eyes.

“Before you end up like me.”

#writing #i can't eat love #edith's side part #she's not a nice person #one part left before it's all over #i can't believe it

168 notes · View notes

klarosims · 5 years ago

Text

Another Set of Daughters

KCAUweek2019 for @klaroline-events

Day Seven: Canon-ish

I’m a little late but I would never forgive myself for missing out on the last day. So here’s a rushed little drabble about one of the scenes in TVD that really disappointed me.

Summary: What if Klaus was there when Caroline came to New Orleans with her daughters. But he was already Marcel’s prisoner.

“Hello? I’m looking for Klaus Mikaelson?”

The woman at the St. James Infirmary stared at Caroline and her two daughters. “Why would you be looking for Klaus Mikaelson?”

Caroline could sense she was a witch but felt safe enough to be honest in the pub that was devoid of magic. “I’m a friend and I’m told he often comes here.”

“Klaus has friends?”

Caroline whips her head around to find an army of vampires by the entrance. The one who spoke was a tall and dark handsome man Caroline has never met before but it felt like he already had it out for her.

She holds her daughters tight behind her.

“Easy,” he says with his hand raised above his head. “I’m not going to hurt you or your kids. I can take you to him.”

Caroline purses her lips. She turns back to the woman but finds that she’s gone, making Caroline even more paranoid.

“What about Elijah? Or Rebekah?” At the sound of the blonde original’s name, Caroline saw him tense.

“They left,” he grits through his teeth. “It’s just Klaus now.”

Caroline glares at him now because even after such a short time with them, she knows how much family means to all of them. They would never leave Klaus behind, “You’re lying.”

The man laughs. “I can prove it to you. Let me show you to Klaus.”

“Mommy,” Lizzie tugs on her pant leg, “I wanna go home.”

“Mommy? A vampire compelling herself children,” the man laughs, “now I’ve seen everything.”

Caroline snaps, “They’re my daughters. I gave birth to them.” That silences Marcel. “We’re only here to see Klaus, so if you so much as lift a single hair on my--”

“Hey woah..” he raises both of his hands, “I would never hurt kids, alright. I can promise you that no harm will come to them.”

Caroline turns away from him and lifts both Lizzie and Josie. She lets them snuggle against the crooks of her neck while she followed the man out into the streets of New Orleans.

***

“Illusions, Marcel? Really?” Klaus struggles against the chains holding him back. “Do you not think Tunde’s blade is enough?” Klaus glares at the woman standing in front of him and the children hiding behind her legs. He growls in anger, “How do you even know about her! Who told you!”

“Klaus...” Caroline’s voice came so soft that he almost wants to reach out to her.

“You’re not real,” he growls.

Caroline frowns and then quickly snarls at him, “Can’t you tell the difference? Honestly!” Klaus’ eyes widens and he has no choice but to listen to the voice he hasn’t heard in such a long time. “Telling me you can wait however long it takes like the arrogant jerk you are and now I’m standing in front of you after 9 years and you’ve already forgotten who I am!”

He blinks at her twice. “Caroline?” he whispers weakly. “It can’t be...” the blonde woman only glares at him. “What are you doing here! It’s not safe!”

“It’s not safe anywhere!”

Caroline can finally feel all the life-threatening stress get to her. She left Texas to take her daughters to safety, away from Rayna Cruz, but now she’s found herself in a worse situation where even the original hybrid is chained up like a common prisoner in his own home.

“Rayna’s back and-- she almost got me--”

Klaus feels the pain in Caroline’s voice and he understands that her fear for her life was nothing compared to how frightened she is for her daughters.

“I’m truly sorry, love,” Klaus whispers.

“No,” she shouts at him and marches forward, “you do not get to be sorry right now. You’re the big bad wolf and you’re the only one who’s strong enough to help us. Please, Klaus.”

Klaus stares at her pleading eyes but a cough from the entrance reminds him who else is in the room.

“I’m impressed, Klaus. I never knew you had such a ‘friend’ you’ve been hiding from the world. And from the way she believes in you, I can only guess how much you mean to her.”

Carolines snaps her head toward Marcel, “You!” She points her finger at him, “I don’t know who you think you are but an immortal vampire hunter is on the loose and if we’re gonna have a chance against her, we need Klaus.”

“Caroline...” Klaus calls out to her.

“Caroline. Caroline. Caroline. You don’t seem to understand how much more dire this situation is. How about I demonstrate it for you?” Marcel bares his fangs but before he could sink them into her neck. Caroline grabs his jaw with her baby vampire strength and stares at him straight in his blood-red eyes.

“I didn’t come here to get in the middle of you and Klaus’s alpha showdown. I’m here to keep my daughters safe.” Lizzie and Josie reach out from behind their mother and grab onto Marcel’s legs. He can feel them slowly siphoning his strength like greedy little children. “But that doesn’t mean we’re helpless, Marcel-was it?”

Marcel quickly steps back and leans against the wall, his legs almost giving out beneath him. The two girls raise their palms up toward him, making him flash away out of the dungeon.

“Caroline--”

“We don’t have enough time,” she quickly leans down to her daughters. “Can you girls siphon the barrier around Mr. Mikaelson?”

Josie nods but Lizzie crosses her arms, “And then what?”

“Then,” Carolines bite her lips, “I’ll let you burn a lot of stuff on our way out. Does that sound like fun?”

The two girls yell excitedly at the same time. They run to the barrier and start sucking the magic out of it.

Klaus stares at the two little girls in awe. He stands straighter now, almost losing the feeling of Tunde’s blade inside of him. “How could I ever repay you, Caroline?”

Caroline crosses her arms, standing between her daughters and the entrance to the dungeon. “You can start by helping me keep them safe.”

Klaus smiles at her and then grins. “You need not ask, love. I’ll protect them as my own.”

#kcauweek2019 #Klaroline #klaroline fanfiction #klaus mikaelson #caroline forbes #vampire diaries #the originals

92 notes · View notes

winterisakiller · 5 years ago

Text

Get Better - Chapter Ten

Title: Get Better

Chapter: 10/18

Character: Tom Hiddleston/Cath Richardson (OFC)

Genre: Romance

Rating: Teen and up

Summary: Love. Companionship. Family. These are all of the things Tom Hiddleston desperately wanted. But his life and his choices left that a distant and unlikely prospect. So he did his best to move on and live his life as is. When an opportunity to return to the theater arises, he jumps at the chance and along the way finds that maybe, just maybe, those distant and unlikely prospects are closer than he could have imagined. Sequel to Brave Face.

Authors Notes/Warnings: So as I was writing Brave Face I knew that Tom’s story wasn’t over, even if that particular part of it was. And while I knew, more or less, what the overall ending to the story would be, its taken me a while to figure out the time in between. Thanks to @redfoxwritesstuff for letting me continually throw ideas off and at you. I still can’t fathom why you put up with it, but I am eternally grateful you do. This story will update on Thursdays.

Tag list: @tinchentitri @noplacelikehome77 @theheartofpenelope @blacksuitofdoom @nonsensicalobsessions @messy-insomniac-bookgirl @wolfsmom1 @just-the-hiddles @theoneanna @hiddlescastle @echantedbytwh @alexakeyloveloki

Previous Chapter

CHAPTER TEN

Allie clung to her uncle’s hand, babbling excitedly, as they made their way through the park and back towards the house. Laughing, Tom did his best to follow the girl’s rambling but found it to be of little effect; not that he really needed to do anything save smile and nod along. But still, he tried. Bobby tugged at his lead as they passed the busy park gate, forcing Tom to keep a tighter grip lest the furry beast make another escape attempt.

“Not on your life, dog,” he rebuked sharply. Bobby let out a soft yip of protest but quickly fell into line.

“Bobby bad!” Allie shouted, giggling and pointing at the spaniel who let out a small whimper.

Tom chuckled and shook his head. Out of the mouths of babes.

More than a few people had stopped at watched the party as they passed. Allie noticed and waved happily at them. A few waved back and whispered amongst themselves when Tom turned and caught their gaze. It was strange still, the attention. Even after years of it, Tom still found himself a little taken aback.

It didn’t bother him over much, as long as people were respectful (and usually they were). But the impact it had on those around him…Allie was young enough to think that her Uncle Tommy just had lots of friends. And had responded accordingly, with smiles and waves of her own. His eldest niece, Cora though…She had been there when things had been at their most chaotic (and there were sadly multiple pictures to prove it) and he’d known Sarah hadn’t been thrilled about any of what had happened. It was one thing to drag himself through the mess, she’d told him disapproval etched clearly across her features, and quite another to involve others who had little to no say in the matter. And she’d been right. He hadn’t been thinking in those few chaotic months. He’d just thrown himself in headfirst and hadn’t bothered to consider the consequences until far, far too late.

Tom clung tighter to the young girl’s hand and quickened his pace. He kept his attention on the path ahead of them. If Allie had noticed the change in her uncle’s behavior, she made no comment on it, simply skipping along beside him, hand still tightly clasped in his. It took another five minutes before they were safely through the gate and Tom was unlocking the front door. He pushed it open and ushered both spaniel and niece inside. Bobby barked and hopped around excitedly (much to Allie’s delight) as Tom freed him from the leash and harness and took off like a shot down the hallway. Allie squealed (a frightening amount of noise from someone so small, Tom noted with a wince) and took off after the spaniel shouting “Bobby! Bobby!” at the top of her voice, her coat laying in a pile on the floor behind her.

Tom shook his head and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it, Allie’s small coat (which he’d grabbed and shaken out), and the harness on the hall tree. He padded towards the living room, finding Bobby curled up on his bed and Allie lying beside him, head on his stomach. He quickly pulled out his mobile and snapped a photo, texting it without comment to Emma. The answering series of heart-eyed emoticons he received in reply made Tom chuckle aloud.

Allie sat up, looking at her uncle quizzically. “What funny?”

“Your mum. She thinks the picture I sent her of you and Bobby is adorable and has told me so quite enthusiastically.”

“Picture?” Allie’s eyes lit up. “Show me! Show me! Show me!” She leapt up off the floor and charged at Tom, arms outstretched and reaching towards the mobile in his hand. Tom laughed and knelt on the ground besides her turning the mobile so she could see the message between himself and mother, and scrolled quickly up to the picture he’d sent. Allie giggled in delight. “Allie pretty!”

Tom nodded, kissing her on the top of her head. “Yes, my darling Allie is very pretty indeed. And smart and funny. And my favorite youngest niece ever.”

She beamed at him and wrapped him in a tight, enthusiastic hug. “Bestest Uncle Tommy ever!” She boldly declared and Tom’s answering smile made her giggle all the more.

With a grin of his own, Tom scooped Allie up into his arm, delighting in her squeals, and dropped her bodily onto the couch. Ignoring her cries of protest, Tom initiated a tickle attack and both were soon laughing and shouting at the top of their lungs. Bobby, thoroughly bewildered by his owner’s departure from sanity seemed to decide that if you can’t beat them, join them and threw himself bodily into the fray; barking and licking both Tom and Allie with unbridled excitement.

The scene lasted until Tom, out of breath and clearly knowing when he was beat, called for a cease fire. Allie pouted but was quickly won back over with the promise of watching her favorite program on TV. With Allie firmly enraptured on the couch, Tom climbed to his feet and wrangled the bright-eyed spaniel back onto his bed. He ducked into the kitchen grabbing himself a bottle of water and Allie a glass of juice which she greedily drank down.

At three o’clock on the dot the familiar buzz of his front gate echoed from the main hall. Tom pushed himself up from the couch and padded towards the control panel. Emma’s smiling face greeted him from the gate’s camera feed. “Ah, you’ve finally returned I see.” Tom joked, hitting the button that opened the gate.

Emma shook her head and laughed. “Yes, Sir Whine-A-Lot, I’ve come to claim my daughter from your unsavory clutches. Be up in a moment.”

The doorbell sounded shortly thereafter and Emma stood beaming up at her older brother. “So I see you’re still in one piece.”

“I am capable of minding children, Em. I didn’t even break her this time.” He wriggled his eyebrows and laughed heartily at his sister’s answering glare.

“Mummy! Mummy! Mummy!” Allie sprinted around the corner and threw herself at her mother’s feet, clinging tightly to her. “Missed you!”

Emma laughed, bending down to give her daughter a quick once over and kiss her on the head. “She seems to be in full working order. Thank you for not maiming my baby this time brother dear.”

Tom groaned good-naturedly. “How many times do I have to tell you that was freak accident? And she was fine…”

“You however,” Emma chimed in, chuckling, “Were an absolute mess. God, I wish I had recorded it. I would have made a mint selling it online.”

Tom narrowed his eyes. “And Luke would have murdered you…Right after I was done with you.”

Emma scoffed. “Neither of you scare me, Tom. You forget I’ve known you all my life.”

Tom narrowed his eyes a fraction more, his lips trembling with suppressed laughter, all but giving the game away. “Don’t you need to be off home?”

“Aww is big bad Tommy upset that his little sister knows how much of a softy he really is?”

“I am perfectly comfortable with my ‘softness’ as you seem determined to call it.” Tom retorted, crossing his arms in front of his chest which only made Emma laugh harder.

Allie pulled back from her mother’s legs and looked up at both adults. “Can we stay?”

“No, honey,” Emma started, sighing as the light started to dim in her daughter’s eyes. “Gran is coming to our house to stay with you tonight while mummy and daddy go out for a little bit. We need to get you home and ready.”

Allie frowned slightly and looked up at Tom, her eyes pleading with him to give in.

He smiled down at her. “I know you want to stay, darling girl. But you do have to go home with mummy. You mustn’t keep your Gran waiting. I know she’s quite excited to spend time with you. And besides all that, Uncle Tommy needs to get ready for work now.”

The young girl’s eyes immediately lit up. “You see Princess?”

Tom let out a soft laugh at the confusion in his sister’s eyes. “Maybe. Now come here and give me a hug.” Allie stood obediently and wrapped her arms around Tom, who had knelt before her. He kissed her cheek and stood. “Now be good for your Gran. She’s been through enough just raising your mum.”

Emma scoffed and hit Tom on the shoulder causing him to let out an involuntary yelp that quickly morphed into helpless laughter as he rubbed his arm. She narrowed her eyes at him and, with hands on her hips, snapped. “Thomas William!”

He only laughed harder, tears welling in his eyes. “Sorry, Em,” he coughed out between bouts of laughter. “But that only holds power when mum does it.”

Emma merely groaned and bent to pick up her offspring. “You are ridiculous, Tom. Completely and utterly ridiculous…And mum always liked me best.”

Tom clapped a hand to his heart, a frown quickly spreading across his face. “Fair lady, you wound me.”

“Save the theatrics for the stage, Shakespeare.” She adjusted her hold on Allie who was watching the interplay between mother and uncle with rapt attention. Outside the loud honk of a horn echoed. “Alright, that is our ride sweetheart. Say bye bye to Uncle Tommy.”

Reluctantly Allie did so and with the echo of another honk behind them, mother and daughter headed out into the late afternoon sun. Tom shook his head, waving as they climbed into the waiting taxi and shut the door.

He turned to find Bobby sitting in the doorway of the living room watching him with a cocked head. “Yes your friend had to go. You’ll see her again soon enough you ridiculous mutt.” He reached down and scratched the spaniel between the ears. He glanced at his watch, sighed, and took the steps up towards his room two at a time. He still needed to shower and change and make sure Bobby was settled before heading out. The theatre, as they always say, waits for no man.

—

Tom smiled as he joined hands with Zawe, Charlie, and Eddie as they looked out over the crowd and took their final bow. His smile brightened as the cheering and applause grew in volume. He let himself bask in the response from the audience. There was honestly nothing quite like the sheer rush he got from performing in front of a crowd, seeing their responses, feeling their energy. And while he enjoyed television and film work, there was nothing quite like the response one got from the stage. It was exhilarating and Tom knew he would not tire of it any time soon.

The night’s show, overall, had gone rather well; though Charlie had taken great pleasure in trying to make Tom crack during the restaurant scene. He nearly succeeded when a piece of melon flew off of Tom’s fork and into the front row. It had taken everything Tom had to hold his composure as Charlie’s eyes bugged nearly out of his head as the melon soared through the air. He covered with a large sip of his ‘wine’ and thankfully they made it through the scene with minimal damage. They’d both recovered well and the rest of the show had gone off, thankfully, without a hitch. He sighed, thinking how easily it all could have gone to pot; such was the way of theatre.

He’d caught Cath’s eye as he made his way off stage and towards the stairs leading to the dressing rooms. She smiled brightly at him before turning her attention back to Lorna. The two women appeared to be caught in a rather fraught conversation and Tom caught Lorna’s gaze flicking at him several times. It was strange and he couldn’t help feeling there was something happening that he was not privy to.

Shaking it off, Tom continued his climb and once in the dressing room headed quickly towards the curtain which housed his street clothes. Methodically, he began to process of shedding Robert and climbing back into his own skin. It was such a necessary part of his overall process, physically removing the parts of each character he embodied and taking back himself. He wouldn’t have been able to explain it had he tried and he had, several times, to family and friends who were not ‘in the business’ as it were.

From his hidden space behind the curtain, he could hear voices echoing up the stairs. Cath and Lorna followed shortly thereafter by Charlie and Zawe. Pulling his jumper over his head, Tom pulled the curtain back and headed towards Cath’s station to remove his stage make-up. Cath was waiting, something in her eyes he couldn’t quite read. They cleared and brightened as he approached which helped to ease the knot which had formed in his gut. He didn’t let himself think on the hows and whys of it, simply allowed her to lead him into the chair and begin to wipe his face clean. Her touch was light, gentle, and he found himself leaning into her hand as it rested on the side of his face.

“Another good night,” Cath started as she brushed a strand of hair from her face before tossing the used wipe in the trash and reaching for another. “No major mishaps from what I could see…Save the melon you generously donated to someone in the audience.”

Tom felt his face flush. “Well it was bound to happen sooner rather than later.”

Cath snorted, “Yes. Especially with the way you flail about.”

“I’m surprised he hasn’t taken my eye out yet,” Charlie’s voice chimed in from across the room. “Man is an absolute menace. I’m surprised the theatre’s got enough insurance to cover him.”

“Very funny.”

He turned his head and saw Charlie grinning widely at him. “Well I certainly think so.”

“Of course you do, Cox.”

Cath’s hand tightened on his chin, forcing him to turn back around to face her. “As much as I love watching you two old hens bicker, if you’d like me to get the rest of this lot off your face in a timely manner then I need to see said face.” Tom had the decency to look contrite as he settled further into the chair and let her finish her task. “Now was that so difficult?”

Tom rolled his eyes, smiling at her. “You have no idea.”

“Children,” Cath retorted, pushing at his back. “The lot of you.” Laughter echoed through the room. “Alright, you are good to go. Now scram. Go meet your viewing public.” Good natured grumbles carried the three actors out of the room and down the stairs towards the stage door and the waiting line of theatre-goers.

—

“Tom, you were wonderful!” Emma gushed, pulling her older brother into a tight hug as he walked into the backstage greeting room. He’d shed his coat upon re-entering the building (stage door had been its usual bustling self though the weather had taken a much colder turn since the late afternoon) and was grateful for his own forethought. The room itself was quite warm and he had no doubt he would have sweated half to death had he left it on. “You blew me away. Honestly.”

A broad smile spread across Tom’s face as he returned his sister’s embrace. “Thank you.” He pulled back and smiled at Jack who stood a few paces back, bottle of water in hand. “I’m glad you both could come.”

“Like we’d miss this,” Emma chuckled, nodding back at her husband. “It’s been far too long since we’ve had a grown up night out.”

Jack nodded in agreement. “Too true.”

“So,” Emma started turning her attention back towards Tom, amusement clear in her eyes. “Allie would not stop talking about the ‘pretty princess in the park’ all the way home this afternoon. Who’s the pretty princess, Thomas?”

A groan slipped past his lips and he shook his head. “The head make-up artist from the show, Cath. We ran into her after Bobby, being the wonderful and obedient creature he is, took off on us at the park. Luckily, she found and brought him back. You know Allie and her princesses. She got it in her head that Cath was a princess and Cath was thankfully wonderful about it.”

“Oh was she?” He did not like the look in his sister’s eyes at all and shot a quick glance at his brother-in-law for support. Jack merely shrugged and left Tom to the mercy of his sister. “Is she still here? I’d love to meet the woman who’s completely captivated my daughter.”

Tom rubbed the back of his neck with his hand. Everything in him was screaming that granting his sister’s request would only end in disaster. But before he could think of a polite way to turn her down, he caught the sound of Cath’s warm voice echoing from across the room. His eyes automatically sought her out, smiling at the way she laughed with Zawe and Lorna, her face alight as she listened to whatever story Zawe appeared to be telling.

“Oh ho, would that be the famous Cath over there then?”

He turned back to find his sister grinning knowingly at him with a spark in her eye that he simply did not trust. “Emma…”

“Don’t ‘Emma’ me Thomas,” she started. “I just want to meet the woman Allie won’t stop raving about. That’s not too great a request.”

This was not an argument he could win and Tom bloody well knew it. But that didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. “Em, she’s clearly busy…”

“It will take all of five minutes,” Emma countered before hurrying off across the room. Tom cursed under his breath and chased after her. His little sister on a mission could be a terribly frightening thing.

“Emma!”

But it was too late, Emma had come to a stop in front of Zawe and Cath hand outstretched and smiling brightly.

—

Cath shook her head, laughter spilling from her as Zawe launched into the story of the odd encounter she’d had wandering around the city earlier that day; her hands gesticulating wildly as she described the way the woman had stormed out of the shop leaving a stream of confused and angry patrons in her wake. Had it been anyone else, Cath wouldn’t have believed it. Only Zawe would manage to stumble into such an absurd situation.

Out of the corner of her eye she watched Tom chatting with a shorter, strawberry blonde woman; his sister she guessed as he’d mentioned her coming to the show tonight. She found herself watching them interact despite her best efforts to keep her attention on Zawe.

“Earth to Cath. Are you even listening to me?”

Cath blinked, her eyes snapping back to the actress’ amused face. “I’m sorry, what?”

Both Zawe and Lorna shared an amused look before breaking into a fresh wave of laughter.

“Could you be any more obvious?” Lorna snorted. “I mean seriously.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Cath felt the color rising in her cheeks and knew there was no way she could hide it. “I’m just tired.”

“Tired?” Zawe smirked. “Is that what the kids are calling it these days?”

“It’s nothing but me being ridiculous. Can we drop it, please?”

Lorna quirked an eyebrow. “It’s not ridiculous if it’s a mutual thing. And boy has been watching you…”

Zawe laughed and clapped her hands. “Oh yes he has.”

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” Cath sighed. Both women shook their heads. “Of course not.”

“Just because you are in denial doesn’t mean that it’s not true?” Lorna started.

“It’s not like that, and you both know it. We are friends. He’s a great guy but it doesn’t go beyond that. It couldn’t not without being a huge mess.”

“And why ever not?” Zawe asked incredulously.

Beside her Lorna sighed. “I’ve tried that route. Little Miss Stubborn over here won’t budge.”

“I’m not stubborn,” Cath retorted. “I’m just being realistic.”

“Realistic about what?” Zawe countered. “If you were being realistic you would be able to accept that Tom…”

A movement in the periphery of her vision caught Cath’s attention. She turned in time to find Tom’s sister moving with purpose across the room towards her, an exasperated Tom close on her heels. Cath blinked in confusion.

“Hello, I’m Emma,” the woman started, extending her hand towards Cath. “This one here is my dork of an older brother.”

“Cath.” She took the proffered hand and shook it firmly. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Behind his sister Tom mouthed, “I am so sorry.”

Cath couldn’t help the smile that spread slowly across her face. She knew all too well about overeager siblings and found herself wondering just what Emma had up her sleeve.

“…wouldn’t stop talking about you. Clearly you’ve made quite the impression.” Emma shook her head, laughing. “Allie’s quite taken with you.”

Everything clicked into place. With the way Allie must have talked it was no wonder the woman had seemed so eager to get to meet her. “You’re Allie’s mum! Oh bless, she is an absolute sweetheart! I quite enjoyed getting to know her. I do apologize if I got her all riled up. She was just so enthusiastic I couldn’t help playing along.”

“It’s no problem. She’s usually a complete chatterbox after spending any sort of time with this oaf.” She reached back and thumped Tom in the chest. “It’s like they feed off one another. Can’t get a word in edgewise.”

Tom grumbled and rubbed his chest. “I’m fairly confident she got the motor mouth from you. I just have had years of practice managing it.”

Emma rolled her eyes and smiled at the women standing before her. “You lot must be saints putting up with him.”

Zawe snorted a laugh. “He certainly makes the job interesting. Cath here’s the real saint. She’s the one that has to take that face and make it into something people actually want to look at.”

“Hey,” Tom cried. “I am right here, you know. I can hear you.”

“And we’re all thrilled you’ve not lost your hearing in your advanced age.” There was gleam in Emma’s eyes as she teased her brother, one Cath recognized all too well. She found herself heartened by the fact he was close with his family. True, he had spoken of them to her and to most of the cast and crew often enough, but seeing the bond he shared with his younger sister in person was something altogether different. It was another piece of the puzzle of him Cath was working to figure out. Another part of him that seemed to be exactly as it appeared.

Tom let out a resigned sigh and shook his head. “To think I was thrilled to pieces about becoming a big brother. Oh to be so young and naïve…”

Emma merely grinned, grabbing one of Tom’s hands and squeezing. “You love me and you know it, big brother. Besides what would life be like without me here to keep you on the level?”

“Infinitely quieter.”

“But so much less fun.”

“So says you.”

Emma stuck her tongue out at her brother and Tom dropped his head back, laughing heartily. Cath smiled, basking in the utter delight and amusement radiating from Tom. It was wonderful, watching him interact with someone he cared for. Seeing bits of him that he did not always keep on display; the long suffering and cheeky older brother.

“But on a serious note,” Tom started once he’d calmed enough to speak coherently, “we should probably get going before it gets too late.”

Cath ignored the jolt of disappointment at the idea of Tom leaving. Why should it matter? It wasn’t as if she wouldn’t see him the next day and the day after that. They had only just started the show’s run, there was still plenty of time to see and speak with him. She was being ridiculous and needed to get over this…whatever it was…and quickly. Cath smiled first at Tom and then at Emma. “Well then, I won’t take up any more of your evening.” She turned her attention towards Emma. “It was lovely meeting you, Emma. Tell Allie I say hello. See you tomorrow, Tom.”

Turning and pointedly ignoring Zawe and Lorna’s quiet protest, Cath headed towards the greeting room door, intent on heading upstairs to grab her bag and coat. The dressing room had already been set to rights and most of the stage crew had left for the night; it was about time she headed home.

“Wait,” Emma called.

Cath paused, turning back to find the woman walking towards her smiling with her hand held out.

“If you are heading out, why don’t you come with us?” Cath watched eyes Tom’s eyes widened then quickly narrowed at his sister’s words. The annoyance and frustration rolled off him in waves. Emma ignored the terse way her brother called her name, continuing on with her invitation. “We’re heading out for drinks and I’d love to pick your brain a bit more.” She paused, flicking her eyes towards Zawe and Lorna, before smiling. “All three of you. So what do you say?”

Next Chapter

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston x oc #tom hiddleston x original female character #tom hiddleston x orignal character #get better fic #Tom and Cath

43 notes · View notes

hollymartinswrites · 5 years ago

Link

Chapters: 5/? Fandom: IT - Stephen King, IT (Movies - Muschietti) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh Characters: Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier, Ben Hanscom, Beverly Marsh, Bill Denbrough, Mike Hanlon, Original Child Character(s) Additional Tags: Fix-It, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-IT Chapter Two (2019), Domestic, Light Angst, Family Feels, Childhood Trauma, Adoption, Kid Fic, Adopted Children, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Eddie Kaspbrak Loves Richie Tozier, Marriage, Eddie Kaspbrak & Richie Tozier Are Parents, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Minor Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends Summary:

Eddie and Richie embark on the most terrifying experience of all—parenthood.

Or, the author desperately needed a domestic, family fix-it for Richie and Eddie.

Chapter V: Richie and Eddie’s youngest daughter suffers from separation anxiety. Or is it something else?

“No, please, don’t do this to me, baby,” Eddie begged.

He tried to straighten and gently remove the arms that were locked around his neck but toddlers in the midst of hysteria apparently have the strength of twenty men.

“Tess, it’s okay,” Richie insisted over the loud sobs of their youngest daughter as he, too, tried to pry her death grip off of Eddie. “Daddy’s just going to work. He’ll be back later to play with us, I promise.”

He managed to free one hand from Eddie’s neck and, in her brief confusion as to why she was suddenly no longer in control of her hand, gathered Tess up in his arms. Her screams only increased in pitch. She launched a bodily attack this time, kicking and flailing with all her might. She managed to land one solid kick to his stomach, and he nearly doubled over.

“Just go,” he grunted at Eddie. “I’ll distract her.”

“Rich, I—”

“You gotta go to work, just leave, you’re makin’ it worse standing here.”

Eddie frowned as Richie turned, Tess still hysterical in his arms even though he kept telling her all the fun games they could play now. Eddie hated leaving the house like this but he didn’t have any other choice. He turned towards the door and quickly slipped out, locking it behind him before heading towards his car.

He collapsed in the front seat, and winced. He could still hear Tess’s hysterical cries from inside the house. Everything in his heart told him to ignore work and return to his daughter but he knew the parenting books he had obsessively read before adopting their first child were against that. He also knew that if he walked back into that house, he would quite possibly never return to work again.

He started the car, took a deep breath, and drove away.

“This can’t just be a phase.”

Eddie rubbed his forehead, incredibly exhausted. He looked up and watched as Richie haphazardly threw their clean laundry into their dresser. He couldn’t bring himself to care.

“I mean, separation anxiety is a thing, I get it, but shouldn’t it be for both parents?” Richie continued.

Eddie shrugged.

“Maybe not,” he said quietly. “Maybe it’s just because I’m the one who leaves every morning.”

Richie shook his head and ran a hand through his hair.

“It should be getting better though,” he sighed. “I mean, you going to work isn’t new for her anymore.”

Eddie rubbed his face.

“We need to find her a therapist,” he said.

“They have therapists for toddlers?”

Eddie nodded. Richie sighed again and sat beside him on the bed, his shoulders slumped. Eddie took his hand into his and ran his thumb along his knuckles.

“I hate this,” Richie mumbled. “I hate seeing her so upset.”

“Me too.”

“She made herself sick once.”

Eddie’s heart fell and he stared at his husband in shock.

“What?” he gasped.

“Like a month ago,” Richie admitted softly. “I thought it was because I gave her French toast for the first time but she kept crying so hard after you left and the next thing I knew, she lost her lunch all over the floor.”

Horror and pain and guilt whirled around inside Eddie.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked breathlessly.

“I told you, I thought it was just regular toddler throw up, but now I think she...I thought she was gonna get sick again today. Fuck!” Richie dropped his head into his hands and yanked at his hair. “I’m such a fucking shit dad.”

“Rich—”

“Our baby’s suffering and all I could think to do is put on Cinderella and rope Lydia into playing dress up to distract her.” Richie sniffed and shook his head. “I’m just like my parents.”

“What are you talking about?”

“My parents didn’t know what to do with me as a kid,” he murmured. “They loved me but they had no idea how to handle a kid with ADHD and anxiety. I mean, it was the 80s, they didn’t have the resources but we fucking do and I’m still fucking up.”

Eddie took Richie into his arms and held him silently for several long minutes until his breathing got under control. He rubbed his back and tried desperately to think of the proper thing to say but he had never had a way with words, not like Bill.

Richie exhaled shakily and straightened. He wiped at his eyes and sniffed again.

“Thank God it’s Friday, right?” he muttered, huffing a laugh. “At least we got a weekend to recoup.”

Eddie brushed Richie’s hair from his forehead and smoothed it gently.

“And we’ll look into a therapist for her,” he said. “We’ll figure it out. I promise, Rich.”

Richie nodded and sighed before resting his head on Eddie’s shoulder. Warmth spread throughout Eddie and for once, he felt like the stronger of the two.

“It’s been getting better,” Richie admitted. “She still cries more often than not but not like before. This week we got two days in a row without a freakout.”

Eddie’s eyelids fluttered. Tess was in his arms, fast asleep, on the living room couch, The Wizard of Oz playing softly on the TV. Though he was speaking quietly, Eddie could still hear Richie as he spoke on the phone in the kitchen. From the relieved happiness in his voice when he answered, Eddie assumed he was speaking to Bev.

“I don’t know,” Richie continued. “It’s clear she has some anxiety issues but hopefully we can nip it in the bud before it gets worse as she gets older. The therapy seems to be helping.”

Eddie glanced down as his daughter peacefully slept, curled up on his chest. He ran his thumb along her arm and smiled gently. She always looked younger and somehow smaller when she slept. Eddie wished, not for the first time, that she could look this calm and serene when she was awake.

“No, it’s still just when Eddie leaves,” Richie said, his voice dropping even lower. Eddie had the distinct feeling that Richie had assumed he had also fallen asleep in front of the TV. “And it’s not just that. Sometimes she gets these looks...like, far-off looks. I can’t explain it.”

Eddie swallowed. He, too, had noticed that particular quirk of their daughter’s, only he called them ‘long-gone looks’ because, for brief moments, it seemed as if Tess had disappeared somewhere deep inside herself. Her eyes would go out of focus, her entire little body would still, and for a moment, she was gone. It had frightened him the first time he had seen it but she would always blink and smile up at him and Eddie would nearly collapse under the overwhelming relief.

“I know, I know, you think I’m crazy,” Richie sighed, “but I worry. It’s more than just being sensitive or anxious, Bev. It’s something else.”

Eddie tightened his grip around his daughter. He had never said it aloud to his husband, but he had been plagued by the same worry.

“I don’t know what to do,” Richie said. “I remember when we first started looking into adoption, I was so fucking...I thought I would be able to handle anything because of the shit we went through as kids but it turns out, I feel really fucking helpless.”

Well, Eddie thought sadly, it wouldn’t be the first time I’ve overlooked Richie’s feelings.

“No, they passed out on the couch watching a movie,” Richie continued, huffing a laugh. “Yeah, I’ll tell him. I will, I promise. Thanks. Give Ben a big kiss on the mouth for me, okay? With lots of tongue. Love you.”

Eddie froze. He briefly considered shutting his eyes and pretending to be asleep but to his immense relief, Richie merely pushed back his chair at the kitchen table and slowly walked down the hall to their bedroom. Eddie exhaled a breath and turned back to the TV. Dorothy was crying about not being allowed in to the Emerald City. He sighed and closed his eyes, gently rubbing his daughter’s back.

Rainy days had never been his favorite when he was a child. They meant loneliness, isolation, and long days with his mother fretting over him. He always had his worst asthma attacks on rainy days. Those had been dark and dreary days that never seemed to end.

Eddie glanced into the living room. Lydia was sprawled on the couch, munching on apple slices, while Tess played with Barbie dolls on the floor. The Lion King was playing on the TV. Through the windows, he could see the rain falling even harder. He turned back to the cutting board. Rainy days weren’t so bad now.

His phone buzzed. He picked it up.

Just got to the venue. Gonna grab dinner with my agent and the promoter before the show. I’ll call you before I go on.

Eddie swiped his phone open and began typing his reply.

Have a good time and break a leg. All’s quiet here. Lydia asked if she could stay up until you get home tonight but I squashed that.

Richie responded immediately.

Yeah, when I told her I had a show this morning, she told me you already did a show last month. She’s very persuasive.

Eddie smiled and shook his head.

Well, she’s fine now so go live it up down there in AC. But don’t go too crazy.

I’m gonna eat a burger and maybe since I’m feeling wild even drink a soda. Really let loose. I’ll call you later. Love you, babe.

Eddie smirked as he texted that he loved Richie back and put his phone away. He returned to the task of chopping eggplant and making sure it didn’t get too quiet in the living room. He and Richie had quickly learned that there was no sound more terrifying for a parent than silence.

Lydia was still loudly snacking on her apple slices and explaining the movie to her sister. Tess, meanwhile, simply hummed in response. From the music, Eddie could tell they were at the infamous stampede scene. He still didn’t understand how kids could enjoy that movie so much. It seemed so fucking dark. Richie said that because Simba gets adopted by two gay dads, they should let it slide (Eddie hadn’t bothered to ask if they were supposed to be Timon and Pumbaa).

He dropped the chopped eggplant into the pot and began working on the bell peppers when he heard Lydia insist with all the wisdom that comes with being an older sibling, “No, he’s not sleeping, he’s dead.”

“I know,” Tess replied. “But he’ll get up.”

“No, Tess, when someone dies, they stay dead. Mufasa’s not coming back.”

“Yes, he is.”

“Nuh-uh.”

“Sometimes they come back.”

“Tess, that’s not—”

“Daddy came back.”

The knife slipped and Eddie felt his stomach clench as he watched the blade miss his finger by millimeters. He was suddenly aware that he wasn’t breathing.

“What are you talking about?” Lydia continued. “Daddy’s not dead.”

“I know that,” Tess replied impatiently. “But he did die and he came back.”

“No, he didn’t.”

“Yes, he did.”

“No!”

“Yes!”

“No, no!”

“Yes, yes!”

“DADDY.”

“Girls, settle down,” he heard himself saying as he walked into the living room.

“Tess says you died,” Lydia said quickly, pointing at her sister, who merely looked puzzled at the fact that this was even an argument.

Eddie turned towards his youngest daughter and swallowed.

“Tess, sweetheart, what makes you say that?” he asked hollowly. “I’m right here. Quite alive.”

“I know but—”

“You shouldn’t lie,” Lydia observed importantly.

“Lydia, please,” Eddie sighed. He crouched down in front of Tess and took one of her hands in his own. “I’m right here. See? Everything’s fine.”

“I know that, Daddy, you’re okay now,” Tess continued.

“You can’t die and come back,” Lydia insisted again.

“Jesus did,” Tess shot back. “Grandma told us.”

Eddie pinched the bridge of his nose between his fingers. Great, now he and Richie had to have another conversation about setting boundaries with Richie’s family. He was not looking forward to that.

“Tess, sweetheart, what exactly are you talking about? I’m obviously alive and okay.”

“But I saw it, Daddy,” she insisted, a trembling whine in her voice.

“Saw what?”

“You and the monster and Papa. I saw it and I cried lots and lots but then you got better so I wasn’t scared no more.”

The blood rang in Eddie’s ears and he almost missed hearing his eldest daughter haughtily reply, “There’s no such thing as monsters.”

“And it hurt you but Papa made sure you got better and the monster disappeared forever. That’s why you have that boo boo.” Tess tapped him gently on the chest.

Later, Eddie would be amazed at his ability to compartmentalize. All he could think in that breathless moment was, I’m burning the eggplant.

He stood up on shaky legs, smiled (or at least attempted to) at his daughters, and told them to apologize to one another for arguing and finish the movie. He walked, as if in a dream, back into the kitchen, turned off the stove, and suddenly realized that tears were streaming down his face.

You thought you knew fear once, laughed a voice that sounded like a macabre combination of his mother and the clown, but you’re in for quite a ride, Eddie Bear.

“It’s back,” Richie exclaimed as he feverishly paced around their bedroom. “It has to be back. We didn’t kill It.”

“You don’t know that,” Eddie sighed.

“Then why did she say that?” Richie asked, his eyes wild. “It’s back and It followed us here.”

“That’s impossible.”

“No, what’s impossible is that a fucking space alien takes the form of a clown and a leper and fucking Paul Bunyan to fuck with us and kill people we love,” Richie insisted, breathless. “That’s fucking impossible but it fucking happened so why would it not happen again?”

“Rich, our scars are gone,” Eddie said, holding out his hand. “It’s gone.”

Richie shook his head. Eddie could tell by the look on his face and his frantic movements that he was on the verge of a panic attack. He took both of Richie’s hands in his and begged him to breathe with him. Richie snatched his hands away.

“We gotta call Mike,” he gasped.

“It’s two in the morning,” Eddie reminded him.

“So what? This is an emergency.” Richie stopped moving and pointed at Eddie. “And you should’ve called me as soon as it happened.”

“And what would you have done?” Eddie snapped. “Tell your manager, sorry, I can’t do the show, you gotta refund all the tickets because my four-year-old said something weird. Come the fuck on.”

“How are you so calm about this?” Richie asked wildly.

“Because it was probably just a dream she had.”

“Bullshit.”

“Think about it logically,” Eddie continued, “dreams are just our brains trying to make sense of the shit we see and experience, right?” Richie stared at him doubtfully. “Tess has seen the scar on my chest. Her little kid brain came up with an explanation for it.”

“An explanation that includes me and a monster and you dying?”

“We’re her parents, of course she’d dream about us,” Eddie replied. “And all kids are afraid of monsters.”

“She said you died and came back.” A tormented look crossed Richie’s face and his eyes were suddenly wet. “You did.”

“Parents die in all Disney movies. So her brain used that to explain the scar.”

Richie hesitated and ran a hand through his wild hair. Eddie noticed more strands of gray.

“I don’t know,” Richie murmured.

“I do,” Eddie said. “It was a dream. Tess had a bad dream. It’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to tell you so you didn’t have a freak out like this in front of her if she ever brought it up again.”

Richie’s shoulders slumped. Eddie bit his tongue. He hadn’t meant to make him feel guilty. Richie raised his eyes to meet Eddie’s.

“Are you sure?” he asked hoarsely. “Are you sure she was just talking about a dream?”

Eddie took Richie’s hand again and squeezed it reassuringly.

“I’m sure,” he lied.

Weeks went by, then months. Tess’s separation anxiety seemed to be improving and though she still got that long-gone looks occasionally, she never mentioned anything about death or monsters or people coming back when they shouldn’t have. She still threw tantrums, still favored being held and read to by Eddie, still was an exhausting four-year-old but both Richie and Eddie were more than happy with that.

Perhaps it all had been a phase. Kids could be weird, Eddie figured. He and Richie both knew that to be true. And she was the younger sister. She needed her moments to act out for attention, right? Nothing to fret over. Just typical, run-of-the-mill childhood. Eddie and Richie began to relax and enjoy the ride. Besides, with two clever and rambunctious children under ten, they were far too busy to constantly worry. Like today.

Eddie was packing the cooler with juice, water bottles, and snacks. Richie was searching for his sneakers and Lydia was in the midst of her now daily monologue about the merits of owning a puppy.

“Not now, kiddo, we gotta get going,” Richie said, emptying a duffel bag of old gym clothes onto the floor. No sneakers.

Eddie grimaced from the kitchen.

“You’re cleaning that up later and washing those clothes,” he called. “They stink.”

“We could get a tiny puppy,” Lydia continued. “One that doesn’t get big and slobbery.”

“Lydia, go get your sister and make sure she’s got a jacket on,” Eddie said as he was silently debating which brand of organic fruit snacks to pack.

“And I’d clean up after it, like how I always clean my room.”

“Your room is still a mess from Tuesday,” Richie replied, now on his knees in front of the hall closet. “Go get your sister. Your cousins are all waiting for us at the park.”

“But—”

“Ah-ha! Found them,” Richie exclaimed, waving a pair of old Converses in his hand. “Lyds, Tess, now.”

Lydia sighed dramatically before stomping off down the hall to her sister’s room. Eddie zipped up the cooler and watched Richie tie up his laces.

“You’re wearing those?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“What? They’re cool.”

“You know you’re not in high school anymore, right?”

“Forgive me for not wanting to dress like a grandpa.”

Eddie glanced down at his outfit.

“Grandpas don’t dress like this,” he insisted.

“Babe, no one dresses like that.”

Eddie was prevented from flipping Richie off by the arrival of their eldest daughter.

“Tess is being weird,” she stated, an odd look on her face.

“Did you tell her we’re leaving?” Eddie asked before he realized he nearly forgot the allergy pills and went back to the cabinet.

“Yeah, but she’s being weird,” Lydia repeated.

“I’ll get her,” Richie sighed. “Put your jacket on, Lyds.” He went off down the hall to retrieve their daughter.

Eddie rifled through the medicine cabinet, searching for the children’s non-drowsy allergy medicine and wondering if it was overkill to bring ibuprofen, too. He opened the bottle and peered in to see how many pills were left. He never got a chance to really look, however, because he dropped the opened bottle on the floor when he heard his husband scream their youngest daughter’s name in horror.

#reddie #reddie fanfic #it chapter 2 #richie tozier #eddie kasprak

8 notes · View notes

daniblogsthroughpandemic · 5 years ago

Text

War

This is not meant to be an explicitly religious or spiritual post, but it will end with a blessing. I am very fond of blessings. I find them kind and warm and sheltering. Distilled, a blessing is love, and we could all do with more of that. In times when it is a blessing that I seek to receive or to give, I go no further than a book of them written by poet, philosopher, and priest, John O’Donohue - To Bless the Space Between Us (see the link below).

I found myself reaching for my copy today after receiving news that we will be offering psychological first aid to our colleagues who are on the “front lines” of the pandemic. I work as a psychiatric nurse practitioner and have been on a team that performs psychiatric consults for (at this time, mostly) emergency departments across the state. We do so through a slightly more elaborate and, of course, HIPAA compliant version of Skype. I have had the absolute privilege to a)still have a job that I can b)do from home. So far, all of this has been so urgently present but also so distant. I am receiving a great deal of updates on the virus and the dizzying amount of resources that we are in need of but still don’t have. I cringe when I see the federal government’s response. I’ve tried to be a source of good, thoughtful information to the people in my real-life and digital social networks. I have desperately communicated the dangers and necessities to my representatives. I feel that, for two weeks, my brain space has been thoroughly occupied by the resident COVID-19. Still, I feel eons away.

It inched closer yesterday (the day before yesterday? I can’t keep up) when I read that an attending physician on a service I formerly worked on at an academic medical center had, in part due to rationing of PPE, been exposed to the virus. She is well, no symptoms as of now, though she is taking every precaution to protect her family and has been isolating herself. She has two young children she can’t see or hold for the immediate future. I hope her and her family’s sacrifice is self-evident and won’t pretend to know what she’s going through or what she hopes others take from it. She thoughtfully summarized her experience on her personal social media page – perhaps I can link it here with her permission.

The best thing I can liken to my own personal response, though, was survivor’s guilt. You can’t help but to think “Why her, not me?” I think that question will haunt a lot of us as some colleagues make more sacrifices than others by nature of their position. Some will be exposed and other won’t be for reasons both explainable, even preventable, as well as totally arbitrary. And of course, most agonizingly, some will fall ill and some will die while the rest of us eventually walk away to live out the rest of our lives. Walking away and living the rest of our lives feels far away and my imagination is too occupied to even take that leap right now, but every combat veteran I’ve ever known has told me that that is the hardest part. The rest of our lives...but I digress.

The organization is acutely aware of this present and future suffering, I’m sure, and is working on ways to address it. I am grateful for this insight and preparedness. I am grateful for my team that is willing to assist. This sounds selfish, and it is, but this all made the email today something of a balm. It was something to soothe a bit of the guilt by letting me think “Thank God. Finally, something I can do.” That said, the email held a lot of unknowns and non-specifics regarding the process, which is always anxiety-provoking and frustrating to me. I am high-strung and relatively inflexible (I know this. I’m not proud of it. I try my best.). I struggle when there is a lack of preparation. I want to do right by anyone who calls (maybe tonight!) and feel trepidation at the suddenness and enormity of the task, but quickly reminded myself - “So do they”. None of us are prepared.

This is the reality of the situation: We, as Emmanuel Macron put it, are at war. I don’t usually like war or battle metaphors, especially in healthcare, but this is how a lot of us feel. My colleagues were dropped in a war zone utterly ill-equipped. They have watched the enemy charging towards them from miles and miles away. Make no mistake: This crisis did not have the element of surprise, not here. They scoped it out – they knew what it was and what they needed and realized they didn’t have it. They asked for it but were told that the threat was not there, that the battle would not happen. The Commander treated an impending crisis with the logic of a child’s game of peek-a-boo – if you can’t see it, then it isn’t there. But it isn’t a game, and now the battle is here. The troops are fighting with grossly limited weapons, ammunition, provisions, etc. There is no central effort to amend this. As a result, there will be casualties that there wouldn’t have been otherwise. No matter what happens from here, that’s something that can’t be taken back. The sooner we act from here, though, the more damage can be reduced, and there’s something to be said for that, something enormous. They fight and they wait.

I do not know what the extent of this crisis will be. There are still many choices that will create many paths that we could end up marching down. Some are less perilous than others, and I hope that the least treacherous is the one we will be led down. I do know that tonight I feel very afraid and very grateful. I hope to be of service to alleviate the suffering that I can. I have been and continue to think of those on the front lines and, as we say, hold them all in the light. So on that note, I will offer this blessing, taken from page 141 of To Bless the Space Between Us, written for nurses, but applicable to anyone in the diverse occupations who are tirelessly serving the rest of us while exposed and, at times, seemingly forgotten in the trenches of a war:

Your mind knows the world of illness,

The fright that invades a person

Arriving in out of the world,

Distraught and grieved by illness.

How it can strip a life of its joy,

Dim the light of the heart

Put shock in the eyes.

You see worlds breaking

At the onset of illness:

Families at bedsides distraught

That their mother’s name has come up

In the secret lottery of misfortune

That had always chosen someone else.

You watch their helpless love

That would exchange places with her.

The veil of skin opened,

The search through the body’s night

To remove tissue, war-torn with cancer.

Young lives that should be out in the sun

Enjoying life with wild hearts,

Come in here lamed by accident

And the lucky ones who leave,

Already old and in captive posture.

The elderly, who should be prepared,

But are frightened and unsure.

You understand no one

Can learn beforehand

An elegant or easy way to die.

In this fragile frontier-place, your kindness

Becomes a light that consoles the brockenhearted,

Awakens within desperate storms

That oasis of serenity that calls

The spirit to rise from beneath the weight of pain,

To create a new space in the person’s mind

Where they gain distance from their suffering

And begin to see the invitation

To integrate and transform it.

May you embrace the beauty in what you do

And how you stand like a secret angel

Between the bleak despair of illness

And the unquenchable light of spirit

That can turn the darkest destiny towards dawn.

May you never doubt the gifts you bring;

Rather, learn from these frontiers

Wisdom for you own heart.

May you come to inherit

The blessings of you kindness

And never be without care and love

When winter enters your own life.

To Bless the Space Between Us: A Book of Blessings by John O’Donohue: https://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/books/123427/to-bless-the-space-between-us-by-john-odonohue/

1 note · View note

7deadlycinderellas · 5 years ago

Text

If the summer of our lives could just come again, ch10

AO3 link

At Winterfell

The two moons that turn waiting at Winterfell for Ned to return are hot. Perhaps not hot for King’s Landing, but far hotter than most of Winterfell’s residents were used to.

“It’s like the city is trying to reach out and drag me back itself,” Sansa complains, pulling at her neckline and fanning herself. In these rare hot days of summer, she comes to understands very well how silk became so popular.

Work has grinded to a halt. No one has the energy to do much. Of the children, only Gendry is thick-headed enough to try and keep his work up during the day.

Arya dutifully waits outside the forge, with a bucket of water to douse him with every time he shows his face.

“You’re going to catch your death in there,” she tells him when he elects to work through the mid-day meal. “Finish up and come follow us into the Godswood.”

“I have work to do.”

“Gendry, it’s more than four years until winter begins. The white walkers aren’t going to climb over the wall quite yet, and when they finally do, we won’t be better off if you keel over from heat sickness.”

And with a sigh, he finally agrees and follows her to the Godswood. Summer and Lady are lapping at the water in one of the pools, trying to regulate the heat they are unused to, and not made to withstand. The others are crowded under the trees in the meager shade they offer. Sansa is explaining to Jojen and Meera that the pools here are fed by the hot springs, and henceforth, too warm to swim in comfortably that day. When Arya and Gendry approach, Meera has removed one of her shoes and is gingerly testing Sansa's words. After a moment, she pulls it back out, cringing.

“So, what are the lot of you up to today, if not work?” Gendry inquires, flopping on his back in the grass.

“We’re trying to figure out if the rest of us are going to be able to keep up once Sansa leaves,” Bran admits.

Sansa shakes her head. It’s half false-modesty, half hiding the fact that part of her is still perplexed whenever they look to her to lead them.

“It’s true,” Arya tells her, stretching her legs out in front of her. The grass in this spot has begun to go golden instead of green, it’s been hot for too many days. If it doesn’t begin to cool or rain soon, it may become a fire risk.

“You were the one who’s actually ruled Winterfell before. You were the one who has dealt with all our bannermen and getting them to stop squabbling enough to deal with the facts at hand.”

“You have Mother, and Robb too. Robb is heir to Winterfell still, he’s been being groomed for this his entire life. “

But Robb doesn’t know, despite their stories, quite what is coming. And deep down, they all have questions about how his judgement went before.

“Also, you were the one who was in King’s Landing and the Vale and Winterfell the whole time, even with the horrors, you did get to see and hear quite a lot of what happened.” Bran mentions, “Most of the rest of us spent those years sleeping in the dirt, no idea what was going on.”

Yes, she was a fine spectator to that horrid game.

“I don’t even know what I’m supposed to do when we get there. I won’t be Joffrey’s betrothed again, I’ll just be the Hand’s daughter. I’m not even sure I could practice with my bow much without attracting attention.”

She had spent her days before in lessons, and sewing, and mooning over Joffrey to such a degree that she wants to vomit in its memory. After Ned’s death, she’s sure she spent her days doing something, but she remembers nothing but terror.

“Learn to play cards, or cyvasse, or a musical instrument of some kind” Gendry suggest, “Women in inns and taverns do that, they can’t always be in sewing groups.”

“And if you show a little interest, Septa Mordane will probably give you lots of books on all the things we were supposed to learn,” Arya tells her. “She always seemed sad that neither of us were very interested in history.”

“High Valarian could be useful too, “ Jojen suggests. He has taken well to learning the language and has taken to pestering Maester Luwin for extra lessons.

High Valarian just makes her think of Daenerys, and Sansa has tried to block the woman from her mind. Though always on the horizon, her life is completely out of their hands. Thoughts of her final days were bad enough.

These are all good suggestions, Sansa thinks, but still. Her stomach twists at the thought of having to spend her days dodging Joffrey’s cruelty with their futures hanging in the distance. The best she can probably hope for will be to escape his notice all together.

After a light supper of nothing that has to be cooked, the outside air finally begins to cool.

When everyone is clearing from the Great Hall, Sansa taps Arya on her shoulder.

“Want to go riding before it gets completely dark?”

Arya nods. When they leave the Great Hall, it’s still quite light, the summer still dragging on long. Unfortunately it means that it’s still humid, despite the small drop in temperature.

There’s just one stable girl left sweeping up, who nods when Arya moves to get the saddles and reins on.

“You can go on in Amma, I’ll put everything up when we’re done.”

The girl nods. Of course, Arya knows her name. She knows almost all the names of the servants in Winterfell’s employ, even the ones Sansa would have never spoken to before. She was Arya Underfoot, and the years had not changed that.

Eventually, Sansa pulls herself unsteadily onto the stout, gray, mare Arya had pulled out for her.

“You don’t like riding,” Arya says, frowning, while mounting her own horse, “why’d you want to go out?”

Sansa shifts her weight in the saddle, trying to get comfortable.

“I want to get better. I don’t want to ride in the wheelhouse all the way to King’s Landing this time. I want to be able to see the land as we pass through. Even if I end up with my thighs black and blue at the end of the day. I thought this would be a good enough time as any to start.”

Arya leads them, and they leave the stables. They can’t go into the wolfwood- it’s too close to night, and dangerous- but they can walk through the courtyards, and the training yard, and back around the glass gardens, without troubling anyone. And Sansa feels it’s easy enough practice.

“It’s not just you. Meera and Jojen are both still uncomfortable riding at faster than a trot and Gendry...Gendry rides a horse slightly less well than another horse might.”

Sansa laughs softly.

Arya purses her lips before talking again.

“I am going to miss you. Not just having someone to look to for guidance, but I am actually going to miss you. “

“For once, I will genuinely be just a raven away.”

She doesn’t want to admit how frightened she is. How alone she is going to feel. King’s Landing was a viper’s nest before, at best.

“I almost feel like I should go with you, like we did before.”

Sansa’s stomach tightens in a knot.

“No. Not again. You’re needed here. Whether or not you’re good at the diplomacy, and the other things I am, you’re needed. You and Gendry and Davos all fought the others, and you needed here on the line, helping to prepare. Far more than I am.”

They ride the rest of the way in silence. By the time they finish, the sun is completely gone, only a thin line of dark red-yellow remaining on the horizon. When they’re dismounting, and Arya is untacking the horses, Sansa asks her,

“Do you ever feel like some things in our lives are just preordained?”

Arya wrinkles her nose,

“What, like, they’re going to happen no matter what we do?”

Sansa nods.

“I saw Bran fall the other day. He hit a rock and his leg twisted under him, and he didn’t react fast enough. He hit the ground and cursed so loudly I saw one of the younger serving girls run off to find Maester Luwin. He kept saying something about the gods seeming to want him to stay helpless.”

“Fuck that,” is Arya’s take, “It’s not the gods who keep bringing you to King’s Landing, it’s fucking King Robert. The only thing that controls things in our lives is us, and if things seem to keep happening the same way, it’s because we’re still the same people making the same choices. Fuck destiny.”

She puts the saddles and blankets away and drags over water for the horses, before her and Sansa move to leave.

She reaches out and claps Sansa on the arm, squeezing her wrist tightly.

“And think about this. You didn’t make it to King’s Landing with Lady last time. Will you let anything happen to her this time?”

“No!” Sansa nearly yells. Her wolf is full grown now, quiet and often unseen. She will not become a victim of the Lannisters anymore than her own lady intends to.”

That is it. She will not be a victim this time. Bad things may happen to her, but she will go to them with a clear head. And with her wolf by her side.

When they’re walking back to the castle, a wolf howls from off in the woods somewhere. Arya smiles softly.

“That’s probably Nymeria.”

Sansa purses her lips,

“Doesn’t it make you sad that she’s basically wild again?”

Arya’s voice is a bit sad when she responds.

“I only had her for a little while. She ran wild and made her own pack. I can respect that. And she could have run off to the Riverlands with neither a bye or a leave, but she hasn’t. She’s stayed close.”

And with that, Arya nods, and heads off to bed.

Later, crawling under her covers and feeling terribly alone, Arya wonders if Sansa had ever managed that. To find anyone else who she considered pack. She’s considered Gendry that very quickly, and even Hot Pie to some extent, but she realizes she has no idea if Sansa came to view anyone that way. She hopes she did.

The next morning, on their way to breakfast, Arya and Sansa both encounter Bran, Meera and Summer heading out towards the stables with a tray of applecakes. This doesn’t surprise them, they’ve taken to occasionally eating breakfast with Willas, but Bran stops and grabs Sansa by the arm.

“Father executed both Ramsey and Roose Bolton this morning.”

Sansa’s head is suddenly swimming.

“How- are you sure-”

“I warged into one of the ravens they brought with them. We should be receiving a message in a day or two, but I thought you would want to know right away.”

Sansa’s head swims until they sit down at the table. When they do, she just puts her head into her hands and laughs.

There’s another raven that comes that day, from the Last Hearth. Even Sansa's bitterness at her memory of what they had done to Rickon and Osha couldn't distract her now. The last of the bannermen that Davos had needed to ride for, and the one that proved fruitful. His visit had coincided with the capturing a wildling woman fleeing the wall with her two young daughters. The Umbers live so close to the Wall, that they were well used to wildling raiding parties, but Davos writes that there had been no thefts and the three had been clearly running, not attacking. It still took some convincing to allow him to escort them back, instead of just executing them.

Davos writes,

I told them to listen to their story before we left. And if they captured any more, to see if they told the same. I gave them your edict too, that any who attacked or harmed people unprovoked could still be held to the law, but anyone who cooperated or surrendered should be sent towards Winterfell under guard for interrogation.

“That might be a tough sell,” Arya muses. “Us down here have basically been taught that the wildlings are boogeymen and up north most would rather die than trust a crow.”

“I suppose all we can do is hope that word will get around that their reports of...the wights, are being taken seriously,” Catelyn says, mouth still fumbling around her words.

They are important words, terribly. But Sansa can’t really discipline her mind this morning.

Her own boogeyman is dead.

True to Bran’s word, the raven from the Dreadfort comes a few days later.

She can barely stand to read Ned’s own telling of what he had found there. All of what Theon had told them had proved true, but there had been more. Among it, evidence and testimonials that Ramsey had poisoned Domeric, his own half brother and Roose’s heir.

When questioned alone, Ned wrote, nearly the entire household had been willing to testify to the horrific crimes that had occurred. Despite this, he was forced to stay for more weeks, both to root out loyalists and collaborators, and to deal with what to do with the remains of the household, and to decide what to do with the Dreadfort itself.

I think leaving it vacant is prudent for now, he writes. Both as a testament to the crimes committed here, and in case it becomes necessary as a fort or shelter in the years to come.

After the Boltons fall, the weather finally begins to cool off.

Davos returns to Winterfell before Ned does, bringing with him the three wildling prisoners. The woman’s name is Karsi, and her daughters are Johnna and Willa. Karsi herself is fierce and defiant in personality, but neither of the girls are older than ten, and seem more curious than anything.

When they come, Davos leads them tied with ropes. Catelyn and Robb are nominally in charge, but Sansa and the others are the ones who ask them most of the questions.

“Why did you come south?”

The three of them tell a story of their village being attacked, and though they killed the attackers, they wouldn’t stay down, so eventually, those who remained, splintered and ran.

“The people who attacked you, what did they look like?”

Karsi shakes her head, in seeming disbelief, but Johnna is the one who speaks.

“Weren’t people. Least not anymore.”

“Their skin was like ice,” Willa adds, “And their eyes were bright blue.”

“Just wights then,” Arya says, “You can burn them. Have to burn the dead bodies too, or you just get new ones.”

If Karsi expected that to be the response they got here, her face says the opposite.

“Did you have any other plans once you got over the Wall?” Robb asks them.

Karsi shakes her head.

“We just were trying to put as much space between us and those things as we could. “

“It’s enough for now,” Bran interrupts, “They won’t be able to get over the wall for a long time.”

Karsi’s face twitches,

“How’d you figure that?”

“Point being, “ Robb cuts in, “If you are willing to help us if it comes to it, and agree to obey our laws, you may stay here in the service of Winterfell.”

“And if we refuse?”

“You will be kept here as prisoners. You would still serve, but in chains. You could try and flee of course, but be assured, no one further south than this will have a single ounce of belief in the stories you tell. Most of Westeros still believes the others are fairy stories meant to frighten children.”

Willa, the younger girl, whispers as if a mouse, “I’m tired of walking.” Her older sister wraps an arm around her.

Meera eyes them,

“Either of you old enough to carry your own spear yet?”

“I am, but I have no spear,” Johnna tells her. “Willa’s too little still.”

“She won’t be for too long,” Meera says grimly, “Once you’re settled we should get them into both of your hands.”

When Catelyn gets up to help get them settled in, Robb asks them.

“What made you agree?”

Karsi looks him up and down.

“The man who brought us here called us Free Folk. Didn’t know southerners ever used that term. And you didn't seem overly concerned as to whether we would bend the knee.”

She spares her children a look, Arya is untying their ropes, and subtly checking them for hidden weapons.

“My ancestors would curse me for it, but I want my daughters safe more than I give half a fuck about the opinions of the dead.”

The three of them have mostly settled in by the time Ned has returned. They are guarded for several days in case they try to attack or run. Some of the servants question, but the three of them are good workers, so it mostly works out.

When Ned returns home, they give him a night to rest before they spring the King’s letter on him. He sighs deeply.

“I suppose you have all talked this through already?”

Sansa nods.

“And don’t try and fight me on going with you, we’ve already decided it’s for the best,” Even though inside she still wants to cry and never ever leave Winterfell.

Ned sighs again.

The day before they are set to leave, Sansa is finishing packing, with Lady watching her.

“Nothing will happen to you,” she assures the wolf, “You’re big enough to fight them now, any way.”

“Got anymore room in there?”

Sansa turns to find her siblings, and Gendry, standing in her doorway. Her heart swells.

Arya steps forward, and hands her a bow, and quiver full of arrows.

“Meera and I have been working on it for a few weeks. It’s nice and small, so you can carry it on horseback. Can’t go getting soft again just because you’re going among fancy southerners.”

Gendry hands her something as well. It’s a dagger, made of dragonglass.

“It was the first one we finished, just in case.”

He hands her another one, just made of regular steel this time.

“For the more human monsters.”

Both of them will fit neatly in the pockets she’s been sewing into the waists of all of her gowns.

Bran doesn’t have a gift for her, but he stumbles forward and hugs her tightly.

“It’s been wonderful, getting to act like we’re all a family again.”

This is true, it’s the truest thing Sansa has heard in weeks.

The next morning, when everything’s being packed and loaded, Davos presents her with a small carved wolf.

“Know you’re probably too old for this sort of thing, but I made one for Shireen before-” he cuts himself off.

Sansa smiles.

“I love it.”

And she embraces the older man too.

By the time she moves to hug Arya her arms are beginning to get sore from it all.

“Torment Joffrey for me all you can,” she says, tearfully, “but do it safely.”

Oh what a world they’ve come to live in, Sansa thinks, that Arya is lecturing her on safety.

Catelyn is the last in line.

“Just remember, this is your home, we are your family. Your father too, don’t let him forget that.”

Catelyn Tully, Sansa thinks, ‘Family, Duty, Honor’, personified.

As she mounts the stout gray mare that she has chosen to ride, Sansa tries not to eavesdrop on her parents’ goodbye.

There’s been a shift, since Ned’s come back. While him and Catelyn could still only be described as cordial in their interactions, those cordial interactions have become more...comfortable.

Looking back over her shoulder at Catelyn, Sansa wonders if her parents will ever be the same as they were.

She looks at the rest of them. Arya’s holding Gendry’s arm tightly, Bran’s hiding his face. Robb is trying to look dignified, but his lip is quivering. Even Davos looks misty eyed. Only Rickon, little Rickon who may be the only member of the family with no clue what’s happening or what’s at stake.

This won’t be the last time they see each other. Not this time.

#game of thrones #A Song of Ice and Fire #gendrya #time travel fix it #fic

6 notes · View notes

romanticsuspense · 6 years ago

Text

Rogergate: An Analysis

“What gets interesting about a story isn’t when some Big External Plot is set into motion. What’s interesting is when the agency possessed by multiple characters competes. This push-and-pull of character motivations, decisions and reactions is how stories that matter are created. Because they’re stories about people, not about events, and people are why we read stories.”—Chuck Wendig

Rogergate is one of the most frustrating, ridiculous, contrived plots in the entire Outlander series. And it’s even more frustrating in the book, because there are a few more layers of misunderstandings. I would argue that Gabaldon let the Rogergate plot dictate her character’s actions in Drums of Autumn. In my opinion, the show writers did a decent job of simplifying the Rogergate plot for the screen in a way that makes almost all of the character’s choices and motivations understandable and believable. Analyzing Rogergate in the book would be a lot harder to do, because the characters make some really nonsensical choices, in service to the plot, that I would find very difficult to rationalize. For example, it doesn’t make sense that Brianna wouldn’t tell everyone that Roger goes by Wakefield and MacKenzie. It doesn’t make sense that Brianna wouldn’t have described what Roger looked like much sooner than she did. It doesn’t make sense that they wouldn’t have thought to draw up a broadsheet with Roger’s face long before they did. It doesn’t make sense that, when they’ve been waiting around for Roger for months, Jamie doesn’t think to ask the stranger, who just arrived at the Ridge asking about Brianna, if maybe he’s Roger Wakefield. And even though I hate that Brianna had to go through the rape on the same night of the handfasting on the show, it does make it more understandable that Lizzie would make the assumptions she does about Roger. It is for these reasons that, in this post, I will only be discussing Rogergate as it happened in the show, not the book.

When I first read Drums of Autumn back in 2014, I blamed Lizzie for what happened to Roger. I thought by making assumptions about what happened to Bree and misidentifying Roger as Bree’s rapist, she set in motion Roger’s beating and subsequent enslavement. Her character is framed as a plot device in the book. She’s given her own storylines in later books, but in Drums, once she’s served her purpose, she’s mostly shunted to the background. I thought of her as the Briony Tallis (Atonement) of Outlander. Briony and Lizzie even have identical lines—“I saw him with my own eyes.”!

But, since rereading Drums in 2018 and seeing everything play out on screen, I have reevaluated my stance on who, exactly, is to blame for Rogergate. In a response to this post, I made the assertion “Brianna has been wronged, and Jamie is the one who wronged her.” Which sparked a debate in the comments about blame. The wheels started turning, and I decided to write this post partly as a response to some of those comments and partly because I love over-analyzing the shit out of things.

[Warning: This is a “long ass post” (6500 words to be exact). I realize that we’re in the middle of Droughtlander, and probably no one cares to read a ridiculously long essay on Rogergate but I hope you read it, enjoy it, and comment on it—I love discussion! There’s a colorful flowchart about halfway through, if that is at all enticing to you!]

WHAT HAPPENED

Brianna

‘The Birds and the Bees’ opens with one of the most heart-wrenching scenes of the season. Brianna returns to her room at the tavern after her assault, trembling, and in a state of shock. In her daze, I’m not sure she even fully comprehends Lizzie’s questions. When Lizzie asks if she’s been with “that man,” Brianna replies “Yes.” She crawls into bed, exhausted, has no interest in Lizzie’s offer of comfort. She just wants to forget what has happened to her. Compartmentalizing, she pushes the assault to the back of her mind. She’s on a mission. She needs to find her parents, and does.

Alone with her mother for the first time since their reunion, she confides in Claire about Roger and their handfasting, but keeps quiet about her assault. Ian tells her about how Jamie saved the life of a man named Stephen Bonnet, only for Bonnet to turn around and rob them, kill their friend, and steal Claire’s wedding ring. Brianna rightly concludes that Stephen Bonnet is the man who assaulted her. She pulls Claire’s ring out of her pocket, and contemplates the villainy of Stephen Bonnet: rapist, murderer, and thief. This man is dangerous. But, Brianna does not intend to tell anyone about her assault (remember she’s still compartmentalizing), let alone the identity of the man who assaulted her, so she keeps these revelations to herself. It’s not until she discovers that she’s pregnant, she realizes she has to tell someone. And that someone is her mother, Claire. In an attempt to shield Claire and Jamie from guilt, she tells Claire that she doesn’t know who the man was. Later, when Claire finds the ring, and confronts Brianna about it, Brianna elaborates further:

“Ian told me about what happened on the river. And I knew that you would feel awful for what happened to me because of the ring and Jamie would blame himself because he helped Bonnet escape. If he knows, he’ll try to find Bonnet. And I can’t let him do that. You’ve met the man, Mamma. You know what he’s like.”

Brianna doesn’t want Jamie to feel guilty about her assault, and she doesn’t want Jamie to confront Bonnet, because he could end up hurt or dead. Brianna is demonstrating great compassion here. After everything she’s been through, she’s thinking of her parents’ hurt and pain, and trying to prevent more of it. She asks Claire to keep this a secret from Jamie, and Claire reluctantly agrees.

Claire

In Wilmington, Claire, tells Marsali that ‘you can’t protect [your children] from everyone and everything,’ a foreshadowing of what would happen to Brianna later in the same episode. How helpless Claire must have felt when Brianna tells her that she’s been raped, she’s pregnant, and she doesn’t know who the father is. Claire is horrified. And quickly tries to reassure Brianna, saying, “It’s not your fault.” The scene where she tells Jamie is short, and I’m not sure how much detail, if any, Claire gives him. The gist is that Brianna’s been raped and she’s pregnant. Later, while doing laundry, Claire finds her ring in one of Brianna’s dresses, and rightly concludes that Bonnet assaulted Bree. She confronts Bree and the truth comes out. Bree asks Claire to keep this a secret from Jamie. Jamie and Claire don’t lie to each other, but they do keep secrets.

“But what I would ask of ye—when you do tell me something, let it be the truth. And I’ll promise ye the same. We have nothing now between us, save—respect, perhaps. And I think that respect has maybe room for secrets, but not for lies.”—Outlander

Putting her daughter’s needs above her own, respecting her daughters wishes, and understanding why Bree is asking this of her (to protect Jamie from guilt and physical harm), Claire reluctantly agrees to keep the secret.

Lizzie

In ‘Wilmington’, Lizzie walks into the front room of the tavern, sees Brianna being pulled outside by a strange man, and rushes to the window. It appears Brianna and the man are arguing. He grabs Brianna by the shoulders and Bree pushes him. He yanks Bree down the street and away, out of sight. Paralyzed by fear, Lizzie does nothing to intervene. She walks back up to her room. Concerned when, many hours later, Bree has still not returned, she walks downstairs and asks the barkeep if he’s seen her. It seems Brianna is still away with the strange man, but what can she do? She doesn’t know where he’s taken her, and she has no male companion to aid in a rescue. She heads back up to bed and waits.

Close to dawn, Brianna returns. She’s obviously been through some kind of trauma—she’s trembling and her nose is bleeding. Lizzie suspects the worst, and asks Brianna if she’s been with “that man.” When Brianna replies “Yes,” Lizzie’s suspicions are confirmed. Brianna begins to undress, and Lizzie sees the blood and the bruises. This has been a very violent assault. Lizzie tries to offer comfort. “Ye have my hand here, and my ear if ye need it.” But Brianna deflects, telling her to “please, go to sleep.” Lizzie doesn’t probe further. It’s obvious Brianna doesn’t want to talk about it.

Later on the Ridge, Brianna’s been having nightmares and crying in her sleep, and Lizzie knows that she’s suffering. When Lizzie sees “that man” near the road, she’s terrified and worried about Bree. What is he doing here? How did he find Brianna? Ian, seeing how frightened she is, takes her to Jamie. Memories of that morning have come flooding back. Almost as if she can’t keep it all to herself any longer, the details spill out of her in a rush—the bruises, the blood, even the smell of “his seed” on her. Jamie asks if she’s sure this is the man who violated Bree. She witnessed “that man” take Bree away, and Brianna herself confirmed she had been with him that night. She says she’s sure. Then she sees the look on Jamie’s face and realization hits her—Jamie intends to act on this information, and she wonders aloud, “What have I done?”

[Side Note: I’m not sure how much Jamie knows about Roger and Brianna’s night together, and I don’t think the show makes this very clear. I’m assuming that he was not made aware that Roger and Brianna were handfast and consummated the marriage. My assumption is based on two observations: (1) He doesn’t question Lizzie’s assertion that “She was a virgin when he took her.” (2) Jamie is confused when the truth comes out in ‘The Deep Heart’s Core,’ and Brianna has to explain that she and Roger were handfast and then had sex. So, when Claire tells Jamie that Brianna was raped “after Roger left” and she’s pregnant, he doesn’t know that Brianna had her first time with Roger earlier that night and the baby could be his. I’m guessing that Claire didn’t share these details with Jamie both to protect Brianna’s privacy, and because she knew he wouldn’t approve of his daughter’s hasty marriage and modern views of sex.]

Jamie

Jamie, upon hearing that his daughter has been raped and is now pregnant, becomes contemplative. He’s obviously shocked and disturbed, but Claire gives him time and space to process. Later, at the whisky still, Lizzie and Ian run up and tell him that a man is here who gave Lizzie a fright. Lizzie recounts what she witnessed in Wilmington. The details are horrific. He knew his daughter had been violated, but hearing about the blood, the bruises, he becomes outraged, no doubt remembering his own past trauma at the hands of Black Jack Randall. The man who violently assaulted his daughter is here…now. Ian asks if it’s possible the man has come to claim Brianna. Jamie doesn’t answer. If it’s true, and the man has come for Brianna, he has to do something, and he has to do it now. Is Lizzie sure this is the man responsible? Lizzie assures him he is. Jamie makes the rash decision to act on his rage. He stomps all the way to the road, fists clenched, intent on avenging his daughter. Without preamble, he throws a massive punch right into Roger’s face. Then another. Then another. Then another. Ian has caught up to him, yanks on his arm and tells him someone is coming, which finally pulls him out of his violence. “Get rid of him” he tells Ian. “Get him out of my sight.”

Here is where Jamie’s motivations become murkier. I struggle to understand why he would choose not to tell Brianna or Claire about what he’s done. [see ENDNOTE] Is part of him ashamed that he acted with such brutality? Or is it impossible to rationalize because the secret is necessary for the rest of the contrived plot to unfold as Gabaldon intended, for maximum dramatic effect? For whatever reason, Jamie doesn’t tell Claire or Brianna (the one person who deserves to know). Not even when he has a deep conversation with Brianna about vengeance, which would have been the perfect opportunity to fess up—“Dinna fash about him anymore. I beat him to a pulp yesterday, and ye’ll never see him again.” He then lies to Claire and tells her he hit a tree. Remember that quote from Outlander about secrets and lies? Claire kept a secret. Jamie told a lie.

Young Ian

Lizzie spots a man by the road and becomes agitated and scared. Ian takes Lizzie to the person he trusts the most: Jamie. Jamie would know what to do. He listens as Lizzie tells Jamie what happened to Brianna in Wilmington. He wonders aloud if the man has come to claim Brianna. Jamie doesn’t answer, but it’s obvious he’s mulling over that very question. The look on Jamie’s face turns from confused rage to fierce determination. He’s decided to take action. Ian takes Lizzie back to the house, then rides out to meet Jamie at the road. Jamie hasn’t noticed that a wagon is coming. Ian gets Jamie’s attention and they hide Roger’s limp body behind the tree. Jamie instructs Ian to get rid of him. But how? Does Jamie want Ian to kill him? No, but he leaves it up to Ian to decide what to do next. Ian rides off with Roger in tow, finds a group of Mohawk travelling through, and sells Roger into slavery—a fitting punishment for violating his cousin.

IN WHICH ALL IS REVEALED

Lizzie wakes Brianna from another terrible nightmare. She can’t stand seeing Brianna suffer. So, she breaks down and tells Brianna “he was here,” at Fraser’s Ridge. Brianna’s confused. How does Lizzie know Stephen Bonnet raped her? The truth is out. Lizzie thought Roger raped her. And now Brianna knows that Roger was here and Jamie beat him. Where is Roger now?

Enraged, she storms into the cabin and demands to know what Jamie did with him. Jamie’s confused. He thought Roger left, so did Claire. Claire looks at Jamie’s bruised hand and puts the puzzle pieces together. What did Jamie do? Jamie admits to giving a man a beating, but he didn’t know it was Bree’s historian (side note: I know that this is a moment of turmoil for the Fraser family, but I couldn’t help but smile when Jamie said “Yer historian”). Bree explains that her and Roger were handfast and had sex before he left. Jamie becomes defensive and starts jumping to conclusions. He accuses Brianna of lying about the rape once she found out she was pregnant. By accusing her of such a heinous lie, Jamie is calling her integrity and moral character into question. Hurt by Jamie’s words, Bree gives him a well-deserved slap on the face, and corrects his assumptions—“I was violated, you self-righteous bastard!” Jamie, realizing for the first time that he’s made a huge mistake, tells Brianna “I’m so sorry, Lass. I’ll make it right, you have my word as your father.” But Bree, still hurt and processing, isn’t ready to hear an apology. She calls Jamie a savage and claims Frank “would never have said the things you said to me.” By this point in the proceedings, Claire has moved to stand next to Bree, ready to offer support. In the aftermath of Bree’s trauma, Claire has continually put Brianna’s needs above her own, and she behaves no differently here. Though Claire is torn and distressed seeing the two people she loves most fighting, Claire embraces Bree and comforts her because Brianna needs her mother more than Jamie needs his wife.

But there’s still one last secret to be revealed. If it wasn’t Roger, who was it? Claire looks to Brianna and waits for her nod of consent before pulling the ring out of her pocket, thereby revealing Stephen Bonnet to be the rapist. Now everyone is in the know. Almost. Brianna still wants to know “Where is Roger?” Ian admits to selling him to the Mohawk. Bree gives him a well-deserved punch to the face. Her husband is 700 miles away, and could be dead. Bree is devastated. Hurt by Bree’s earlier reproach, but most of all angry at himself (for letting Bonnet go and for beating Roger), Jamie lashes out and knocks over a chair. When Brianna tells him that he doesn’t get to be more angry than her, she’s reminding him that she is the wronged party, and he is the one who inflicted that wrong on her. She thought Roger had gone back through the stones, but he didn’t. He came back for her! And now the man she loves, the father of her child (she hopes), has been beaten near to death by her own father. Bree is justifiably hurt and distraught, and angry at the man who wronged her: Jamie. Jamie is angry as well, but not because he’s been wronged; his anger is born of guilt.

THE BLAME GAME

“The way that the bulk of the blame for Roger’s situation was put on Jamie felt a bit unfair.” … “I just don’t think you can justifiably say the blame for this rests solely on Jamie’s shoulders and Jamie is the one who wronged Bree.” … “He believed-because no one bothered to name the rapist-even though they could have-that Roger had raped his daughter. Lizzie made a mistake, Bree and Claire lied by omission and Ian stood by his uncle. Just who wronged who here?”

During the course of the discussion on this post, it was posited that Rogergate was a result of a domino effect. In this “Rogergate as dominoes” scenario, the first domino to fall is Brianna withholding the identity of her rapist. The other dominoes in the lineup are Lizzie mistaking Roger for Bree’s rapist, Claire not telling Jamie about Bonnet, Jamie beating up Roger, and Ian selling Roger to the Mohawk. This explanation is neat and tidy, with each domino directly causing the next domino to fall. The problem that I have with this dominoes analogy is that it makes it seem like Jamie beating up Roger is a foregone conclusion. Rogergate is not as simple as a lineup of dominoes, with each domino inevitably causing the next domino to fall. In my opinion, the domino effect is an overly simplistic, black and white explanation for what happened, and disregards characters’ agency. How can blame be assigned if characters aren’t in control of their own choices and actions?

“Character agency is, to me, a demonstration of the character’s ability to make decisions and affect the story. This character has motivations all [their] own. [They are] active more than [they are] reactive. [They push] on the plot more than the plot pushes on [them]. Even better, the plot exists as a direct result of the character’s actions. […] Characters with agency do things and say things that create narrative. Plot is spun out of the words and actions of these characters. And their words and actions continue to push on the plot created by other characters, because no character has agency in a vacuum.”—Chuck Wendig

The figure below is a visual representation of how I rationalize Rogergate in my head. I’ve color coded it, to indicate which parts I see as benign (blue) and which I see as harmful (orange). The green boxes around Jamie are his motivations—his reasons for doing what he did.

Figure 1: Rogergate Flowchart

I’m going to start with an explanation of the green boxes, because I want to make something clear from the get-go. When I assigned blame to Jamie for Rogergate in a previous post, I was accused of disregarding that: (1) Jamie himself is a rape victim; (2) “Jamie lives in a time when you defend your family against such wrongs with action against the aggressor”; and (3) “We are talking about a Highland warrior in the 17th century.”

I am not disregarding Jamie’s past trauma, values and beliefs (which are shaped by the time in which he lives), or his desire to protect and avenge his daughter. I believe that these are Jamie’s motivations, and do not assuage his guilt. A murderer with a motive is still a murderer. Just because Jamie has valid reasons and motivations behind his actions, doesn’t mean that he is not liable for the consequences of his actions. So, I don’t think that his motivations have any bearing on how much blame he should carry. I do believe, however, that Brianna coming to understand his motivations (as well as time and Jamie’s letter) will be instrumental in her deciding to forgive him.

Next, is the blue MISINFORMATION box.

Even though this box is full of secrets, assumptions and misunderstandings, I would argue that this MISINFORMATION is not harmful in and of itself.

Bree suspects that if Jamie knows about Bonnet, he’ll confront him, and she doesn’t want that to happen, because she doesn’t want Jamie hurt or killed. So, when Bree decides not to tell anyone the identity of her rapist, her intent is to protect Jamie and Claire from guilt and to keep Jamie from confronting Bonnet. Bree keeping this information to herself and Claire keeping Bree’s secret does no harm to anyone. I also want to point out here that Claire finds out about Bonnet at the same time that Jamie is attacking Roger (on the show at least). So, even if she had told Jamie about Bonnet, it would have been after the attack, and too late to prevent the beating. It maybe would have saved them some time, and they possibly could have rescued Roger a lot sooner. But, that’s getting into a hypothetical tangent. Neither Claire nor Brianna are acting on this information, and they keep it to themselves precisely because they want to prevent any fallout. So, Bree and Claire are both in blue boxes. Their inaction is benign.

Lizzie is a bit more complicated. As you can see, her name appears in both blue and orange. That’s because Lizzie mistaking Roger for a rapist didn’t become harmful until she shared that misinformation with Jamie and Ian, who then acted on that misinformation. Therefore, Lizzie is the orange arrow connecting MISINFORMATION with JAMIE. I debated whether to make Lizzie’s arrow a third color, because sharing the misinformation does not directly harm Brianna, and yet it isn’t a “benign” action either. Lizzie is guilty only of passing on misinformation, albeit unknowingly, to Jamie. For that reason, I can’t bring myself to assign too much blame to Lizzie. She is merely the messenger.

I’m going to use a random example to illustrate my point here. Let’s look at this work-related conundrum presented on the advice blog Ask a Manager. In this scenario, a manager finds documents in the copier that she interprets to mean that layoffs are coming for her staff. So, she holds a meeting letting her employees know so they can get a head start on job searching. Well, it turns out that the documents were wrong, the boss misinterpreted it, and by the time all of this was revealed, her employees had already left for new jobs and they weren’t allowed to return to their old jobs. In this scenario, the documents themselves do not harm anyone. The documents do not actively lay off any employees. It��s only when the boss acts on the misinformation in the documents that trouble ensues. Now, imagine that it wasn’t the boss herself that found the documents, but her assistant. And that assistant passed the documents on to her boss, not knowing that the information contained in them was false. I see the documents as the MISINFORMATION. I see the boss as JAMIE. And I see the assistant as Lizzie. If I was one of the employees who lost their job because of this boss’s actions would I be blaming the assistant who passed along the documents? No, I wouldn’t. (I couldn’t find a way to incorporate Ian into this scenario, but I’ll get to him in a second.)

Figure 2: Rogergate Flowchart, Simplified

So, now we’ve made it to JAMIE, the person I feel should shoulder the majority of the blame for Rogergate.

I’m going to return to the Ask a Manager scenario again to illustrate my point and tie this back to character agency and choice. When that boss was handed those documents by her assistant, she had 3 choices: (1) Keep the information to herself; (2) Go to her own boss and ask what she should do about it; or (3) Let her staff know that layoffs are coming, so they can get a head start on job searching. The boss chooses option 3. She has good intentions by choosing this option, because she doesn’t want her staff to be unemployed. But, when she acted on the information, she made a mistake.

Similarly, when Jamie is given information by Lizzie, he has 3 choices: (1) Keep the information to himself and not act on it. (2) Go to Brianna and ask her what she would want him to do; or (3) Take justice into his own hands. Jamie chooses option 3. He has good intentions by choosing this option, because he wants to avenge his daughter. But when he acted on the information, he made a mistake.

Some fans are bending over backwards to find a way to shift the blame away from Jamie (It’s all Lizzie’s fault! If only Brianna had told everyone about Bonnet, none of this would have happened! Claire should have told Jamie about Bonnet!). But if you theoretically were to ask Jamie “Who’s to blame for Rogergate?” I believe he likely would answer “Oh, yeah, that was me. I fucked up big time.” Jamie, being the honorable man that he is, is not afraid to admit when he’s made a mistake, take responsibility, shoulder the blame, face the consequences, and then fix it. In the heat of the moment, he gets defensive (“You said he’d already left here.”), he accuses Bree of lying (“…and now I come to find ye claim yourself violated upon finding yourself with child!”) but then as soon as he realizes that it was he who made a mistake he apologizes and assures Bree that he intends to fix it (“I’m so sorry, Lass. I’ll make it right. You have my word as your father.”). Jamie clearly blames himself. He knows he’s culpable. He knows he made a huge mistake that has directly harmed Brianna. He knows he has to make it right. Jamie is the “King of Men” not just because of the way he leapt to defend his daughter’s honor, but because he owns his mistakes and is able to recognize when he’s brought harm to someone. “I will find him, lass. I wilna rest until I do. Ye have my word.” If Jamie can recognize and admit his own culpability, why can’t these fans who are trying to shift the blame away from him? (Remember also that Jamie feels so guilty for what he’s done that he volunteers himself in exchange for Roger at the Mohawk village.)

“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM?” she screamed. Jamie blinked and Ian flinched. They exchanged haunted glances. I put a hand on Jamie’s arm, squeezing tight. I couldn’t keep the quaver out of my own voice as I asked the necessary questions. “Jamie—did you kill him?” He glanced at me, and the tension in his face relaxed, if only marginally. “Ah…no,” he said. “I gave him to the Iroquois.”

So, Jamie tells Ian to “get rid of him” but doesn’t tell him how, as long as it’s not murder. Ian, being the loyal nephew that he is, obeys Jamie’s command and “gets rid of him” by selling him into slavery. From the book, as you can see from the quote above, it can be inferred that Jamie was the one who gave Roger to the Mohawk. [see END NOTE] I suspect that the writers made this change so that Ian would feel guiltier for his part in Rogergate, and his sacrifice in the finale would make more sense. Both Jamie and Ian know they have wronged Brianna and need to make it right. So, when the opportunity presents itself for Ian to make amends, he does so. If he had only a small part to play in Rogergate, then his sacrifice would be less understandable. Why would he trade himself for Roger, if he didn’t feel he was responsible for Roger being there in the first place? But, Ian does feel responsible, and rightly so.

If Jamie is responsible for 50% of Rogergate (by beating Roger), and Ian responsible for the other 50% (by selling Roger into slavery), why am I not assigning blame with an even 50/50 split as well? Why do I insist that Jamie shoulder the majority of the blame? For three reasons: (1) Jamie instructed Ian to “get rid of him”; (2) Ian is cleaning up Jamie’s mess; and (3) Jamie is the older, more mature adult in this scenario, and a father-figure to Ian—Ian would do whatever Jamie asked of him, and Jamie knows this. Sure, Ian could choose to refuse to “get rid of him.” But, because of the power dynamics at play here, I doubt that Ian really even considers refusal an option at this point. It actually makes me pretty uncomfortable that Jamie would allow Ian to be involved in this violent act, but I think Jamie is letting his rage overtake his rational thinking processes, and he isn’t considering how his actions may affect Ian (or Brianna, or Claire, or anyone else for that matter).

So, to answer the question “Just who wronged who here?” — Lizzie wronged Brianna when she shared details about her assault with her father and misidentified Roger as the rapist. Jamie wronged Brianna when he beat Roger nearly to death and instructed Ian to get rid of him. Ian wronged Brianna when he sold Roger to the Mohawk. Jamie wronged Claire when he lied to her about what he had done. Jamie wronged Brianna when he didn’t tell her about what he had done.[see END NOTE]

I’m not a fan of the domino analogy but I’ll try a different one: If Rogergate were to go to trial, Jamie would be the perpetrator and would be charged with assault and battery and attempted murder. The prosecutors would say that Jamie’s motive was to avenge his daughter. I believe Jamie would likely plead guilty and accept his sentence. Ian would be charged as an accessory after the fact. Lizzie would be an accomplice? (I honestly don’t know what crime, if any, Lizzie could be charged with.)

ANGER FIRST, THEN FORGIVENESS

“I guess I just thought that Brianna shouldn’t be so harsh on Jamie considering Jamie himself was raped. I never had a problem with her being angry. I just felt it went overboard in some ways.” … “Brianna focuses her anger at everyone on Jamie. It gives her a place to put her frustration and her feelings of helplessness at the situation.” … “Jamie is a convenient scapegoat. Being mad at him gives her a place to focus her anger and gives her the satisfaction of feeling like she’s doing the ‘right’ thing by Frank.”

Whether you feel that Brianna’s anger at Jamie is justified or out of proportion to the wrong committed against her is largely subjective and dependent on whether or not you believe Jamie is to blame for his own actions. As I hope I have sufficiently explained in this extremely long-winded post, I personally believe that Jamie is the most culpable for Rogergate. Therefore, Brianna’s anger is directed at exactly the right person. Brianna has been wronged and Jamie is the one who wronged her. Furthermore, I don’t believe that Brianna is overreacting. Those who disagree with me (and are trying to shift the blame away from Jamie), will likely say that Brianna is overreacting and that her slapping Jamie was taking things too far.

So, why did Brianna slap Jamie? Let’s revisit what exactly Jamie said to her to incite the slap. When Jamie finds out that he mistakenly beat Roger nearly to death, he makes the very hurtful accusation that Brianna had lied about being raped when she found out she was pregnant. Let that sink in for a second. By accusing Bree of such a heinous lie, Jamie is (1) calling Bree a liar; (2) accusing Bree of being manipulative (3) accusing Bree of taking advantage of their new relationship for her own personal gain; and (4) calling into question Bree’s integrity.

It’s understandable to me that when faced with such an insulting accusation that Bree would slap him, call him a self-righteous bastard and a savage and claim that Frank would never have said the things Jamie said to her. Jamie and Brianna both have a temper, and Bree is responding to an insult with another insult.

I also want to address this idea that Brianna shouldn’t be so angry at Jamie because she knows he’s been a victim of sexual assault as well. This may sound insensitive, but rape victims are capable of doing bad things and making mistakes and shouldn’t be excused from taking responsibility for their own harmful actions because of their past trauma. Nobody’s perfect. If we were to find perpetrators not guilty of their crimes, on the basis that they had previously been victims themselves, then our prisons would be nearly empty. Jamie’s past trauma does not excuse him from facing the consequences of his actions. Claire certainly blames Jamie for the wrongs he’s committed against her since his trauma (one notable example being his duel with Randall in Season 2).

I don’t think that it’s fair to expect Brianna to temper her own reactions or emotions because of Jamie’s past trauma. Jamie’s past suffering is not more important than Brianna’s current suffering. The hurt and pain and anger that she is feeling is very fresh and very real and very immediate. This moment, this fight, is not about Jamie being raped. It’s not even about Brianna being raped. It’s about Jamie committing a great wrong against Brianna. Jamie may have suffered in the past, but Brianna is suffering in the present.

I feel that Brianna taking a few months at River Run to process and heal before she forgives Jamie is reasonable. But, why do so many fans think that she’s holding a grudge? I think part of it is that these fans don’t blame Jamie for Rogergate, so they don’t believe Brianna should either. They wonder why Brianna could forgive Lizzie before she could forgive Jamie because to them, Lizzie is just as much to blame as Jamie is. Some fans also put Jamie on a pedestal. Whenever another character’s actions or words are perceived to emasculate or infantilize Jamie, or if that character is not giving Jamie the affection and adoration these fans believe he deserves, that character is vilified. But, that’s just my theory, anyway.

HYPOTHETICALLY SPEAKING

“If Jamie had beaten Bonnet to a pulp and sold him would he have been wrong??” … “I don’t believe for a minute that people would blame Jamie’s actions if he’d beat the shit out of Bonnet. Even Bree asks him if killing her rapist would help.”

I’m not really a fan of these types of hypothetical questions because my answer will depend heavily on my own assumptions and my assumptions won’t necessarily align with someone else’s. But, I’ve seen this question pop up quite a few times, so I thought I’d attempt to tackle it. Keep in mind that my answer is based on my own perceptions of these characters, and I have my own ideas about what is in or out of character for them.

Brianna is trying to process her trauma and move past it. Her first method of coping is compartmentalizing. We see evidence of this when she doesn’t tell anyone about her assault until she absolutely has to (when she finds out she’s pregnant). But she’s still having nightmares, she’s still struggling to cope. So, she begins to wonder if killing Bonnet would help. When she tells Jamie this, she’s not just saying that she wants Bonnet dead. She’s saying that she wants him dead by her own hand. She’s not asking Jamie to seek vengeance for her. She wants to seek vengeance for herself.

Given these assumptions about Brianna’s headspace, I believe that Brianna would be justified in being angry with Jamie if she found out he had beaten Bonnet. Because, at this time, she still believes that vengeance may be the path forward, and when Jamie sought vengeance in her stead, he took her agency.

I agree with @the-outlander-life, who made this comment on this post: “Even if the man Jamie beat up had been Bonnet he should have consulted Bree on what to do with him instead of trying to beat him to death, it was Brianna’s decision to make, not his.”

But there’s another part of this, too, that Brianna would be angry about: Jamie didn’t tell her what he had done. He beat her alleged rapist nearly to death, then had the gall to have a heart-to-heart talk with her about vengeance and advise her not to go down that path, when he just took action to avenge her. I guess it’s a matter of “do as I say, not as I do”? As I said above under WHAT HAPPENED, this is one of Jamie’s most baffling choices in this whole Rogergate debacle. When he sees that Brianna is struggling to move forward, why wouldn’t he tell her what he’d done? [see END NOTE]

So, if Jamie were to beat Bonnet, I don’t think that Brianna would be just as angry at Jamie. But, I also don’t think that Brianna wouldn’t have anything to be angry at Jamie about. He still would have taken vengeance on her behalf without talking to her about it first, and he still would have lied to her about it. I think Brianna would be justified in being angry at Jamie about those things. It might be a lot easier for her to move past it and forgive Jamie, and maybe even one day be grateful for what he’d done. But, at least at first, anger at Jamie would be warranted.

END NOTE

I recently (after I had finished writing this post, and it was sitting in my queue, ready to be published) joined TheLitForum, the online discussion thread that Diana Gabaldon frequents. And on that forum, there’s a very interesting ongoing thread on the topic of lies and deceit in the Outlander series: Let it be the truth. I gleaned some new information from perusing the thread. But, rather than go back and reevaluate and rewrite what I’ve written here, I’m adding this new information as an end note.

One user brought up Jamie not telling Claire or Brianna about beating Roger and Diana chimed in to provide insight into what Jamie was thinking and feeling at the time:

“She's upset, Bree's upset--and telling them that THIS just happened a couple of hours ago wouldn't calm them down any. Also--since he _didn't_ kill the guy, he doesn't want to tell Brianna that the man got that close to her...and he's still walking around. He hopes that Ian got rid of him in a way that will keep him from coming back, but as he doesn't yet know that for sure, naturally he isn't going to alarm Bree by telling her about it. And he isn't going to tell Claire yet, either, because she can't keep secrets from _anyone_ who knows her.”

I’m not sure if Diana’s insights really change too much of what I’ve said in this analysis. I still think that Jamie should have told Bree, especially when they had their chat about vengeance. But, I also understand that Jamie would believe he’s protecting Bree from worry that the man who raped her knows where she lives and isn’t dead. Diana also points out:

I don't know how one would see "evidence" as to whether or not Jamie would tell Claire or Brianna in future what he'd done--given that we aren't in his head, we have no way (other than Claire's observations of him) to tell _what_ he's thinking. He might well tell Claire about it later, and ask her whether he should tell Brianna.

But, didn’t weeks go by between the beating and the Reveal? Surely Claire and Brianna would have calmed down enough at some point during those few weeks for him to “break the news.” I understand why Jamie would keep this to himself initially (to protect Claire and Bree from worry, similar to how they protected Jamie with their secret), but I still don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell Claire or Brianna once things at the Ridge had calmed down. And things were relatively calm by the time All was Revealed.

Within that same discussion thread, I asked Diana to clarify what she meant by “[Jamie] hopes that Ian got rid of him in a way that will keep him from coming back, but as he doesn't yet know that for sure, naturally he isn't going to alarm Bree by telling her about it.” The wording of this made it sound like Ian sold Roger, which seemed to contradict Jamie’s statement “I gave him to the Iroquois” in Chapter 50, during the Reveal. I asked Diana whether, in the book, it was Jamie, Ian, or both of them who gave Roger to the Iroquois and she answered:

No, Ian did it, but at Jamie's instigation. In actuality, Ian gave Roger to the Tuscarora, who in turn sold him to the Mohawk. So Jamie didn't know immediately where he'd gone, but did know (from Ian) by the time Brianna drew her picture and All was Revealed. Jamie's just shouldering the blame here, feeling that this is all his fault.

So, there you have it. The show writers didn’t change anything by having Ian "get rid of him.” and...ahem...

Jamie's just shouldering the blame here, feeling that this is all his fault.

#outlander #outlander talk #jamie fraser #brianna fraser #claire fraser #brianna mackenzie #rogergate #monday musings

78 notes · View notes