#may we long remember the eras that have fallen to bring us here

[honeyedlashton]

goodbye goodbye goodbye, you were bigger than the whole sky 💛💜🩵🧡🌈

[memlost]

Barbarous

Words: 821

A letter written by Sir Isaudorel Valeroyant of House Valeroyant. Sixth Astral Era, 1562. 

To my dearest friend Vallerin, 

I am writing this to you with my heart heavy with both concern and fear. I ask that you keep the contents of this letter between both you and I. And when you finish reading it, I ask that you burn it to ensure what I have written in here does not get out. I wish I could write to you in a better situation but this is of utmost importance. 

It has been a while but do you remember our operation from a while back? The Children of Nidhogg were finally brought to a swift end with the help of your lances and my sword. But there was also the unfortunate matter of their captive and what it was we were supposed to do with it. You suggested we simply throw them into The Brume. The others there would not leave them to suffer and whether they survived or not would not be in our hands. I did that as instructed, of course. 

But as you well know, my son had fallen ill. His sickness had taken him not long after. I couldn’t bear the thought of my assets going to waste should I meet an early demise. And I’d rather die than have a single Gil of mine be handed over to my bastard brother. May Halone forgive me for this but my mind went back to that heretic child. And how if I squinted my eyes just right, I could almost see my son in them. 

And so I went right to the Brume and swept them away. No one suspected a thing. How could they? 

Would the sewers miss a rat if it were taken by a cat? Would the fields miss a flower if it were taken for a bouquet? 

I named them Celestaux and raised them like a son. I educated them in the ways of becoming civilized. There was something off about them though. They rarely spoke and they always had that empty look in their eyes. It was like if you looked hard enough, you could see that even light refused to reflect back at you. It just sucked in everything in its line of sight like an endless abyss. But yet again, I did nothing. I thought it was good that they hardly spoke. That meant they were less likely to embarrass me and tarnish the family name. 

They were loyal. Took orders well. The perfect child for a lord like me for their first few years.

I should have known something was wrong then and there. 

Just a few nights ago, I heard a bump in the night. I thought I was being robbed by those rats in the Brume. They’re not above thievery. But all I was going to do was scare them away just to make sure that they didn’t come back. 

They didn’t deserve what Celestaux did to them. 

Oh Vallerin, it was the work only someone as barbarous as Celestaux could do. There was blood everywhere. Torn limb from limb as if they were mauled by some animal! And in the middle of the carnage stood Celestaux. And he had the audacity to smile at me, asking for praise. “I took care of the rats like you wanted,” he had said. When did I ever ask for such a thing? How could someone do that and not even flinch? Just what creature did I bring into my home? Into Ishgard? 

I do not want him anymore. I have to get rid of him. Not just away from me, but away from civilized people as we know it. I know you are long since retired from the Knight’s Dragoon but you must do me this favor. I’ve convinced him to cease his study of magic for now and to, instead, pick up an actual weapon. He’s been drawn to the lance and it’s given me an idea. 

Use your connections to make him a Dragoon. Send him out on the most dangerous missions you can think of. 

And when you have the chance? Leave him to the dragons and pray to Halone that they devour him in pieces instead of whole. I fear he’d just cut his way out of their stomach should he be left intact. 

Please. I’ll pay whatever you need, whenever you need it. Just respond as soon as you can.

He doesn’t know it but I see him. I see him when he sneaks into my room at night and stares over my bed with those empty eyes. Now that he has tasted blood, am I next on his list? Will I go to sleep one night and wake up in pieces the next? I don’t know.

And the unknown scares me, my friend. 

Yours truly,

Sir Isaudorel Valeroyant of House Valeroyant

[porgthespacepenguin]

Trios and Qcard (a Qcard meta)

As I wrapped up my last post on episode 2.8, I realized this part was actually way too long, and I was going to hit Tumblr’s stupid 10 images limit within 5 minutes.

So, it’s getting it’s own post, because why the heck not.

(Spoilers under the cut.)

When I first watched the Teresa/Rios scene in 2.8, I couldn’t believe it. I had to pinch myself. Then, I told myself I was imagining things, and waited, with bated breath, for @celestialwarzone​'s assessment, hoping she’d tell me I was crazy.

Turns out if anyone is crazy, it’s the writers for doing this to us.

Teresa/Rios, one (1) whole-ass romantic couple, implicitly parallels Qcard.

Yep! They went there. And it’s frankly surreal.

Mise en abyme

So, remember Teresa little story-within-a-story?

"Pretend we're married. We used to spend every second together. Now it feels like a business partnership. We talk, but we don't talk. Then we get stuck. Literally. Driving to see family for Christmas and breaking down. We're stuck in a shitty motel. We go to a bar and hang out. I've been thinking about having an affair with my friend from work.

At this bar, you tell me something. About yourself. I've known you for ten years and it just... It brings me to tears. I never knew that. That's what I want you to tell me now. Before you fly away. A fundamental, deepest truth, that in another life, it took me a decade to learn about you.“

This narrative technique is called mise en abyme:

In literary criticism, mise en abyme is a type of frame story, in which the core narrative may be used to illuminate some aspect of the framing story.

I wonder what, exactly, the show is trying to illuminate for us here.

Setting the scene

Rios and Teresa are speaking Spanish, a shared language between them that nobody else in the show speaks. Remind you of anything?

That’s right, in the same episode, both Q and Picard speak French, seemingly out of the blue. Of course, they’re not speaking to each other, because communication has broken down between them, but it’s not a coincidence, either.

@celestialwarzone​ pointed out that both French and Spanish are Romance language, and are often considered romantic languages.

Speaking from the heart, anyone?

Anyway, back to our players.

Teresa describes her (happy) life with her son as “chaos”. Yet she comes from a strict, disciplined background,

“I had a different upbringing. Boundaried. Reserved.”

But she has accepted her flaws:

“I’m not perfect, but I’m not that.”

Teresa, altruistic and strong-willed, who works tireless to save others at great personal cost, functions essentially as a more emotionally integrated version of Picard.

Rios, sarcastic, brooding and deep-down, a romantic, serves in this scene as a Q stand-in. Something the show cheekily hinted at earlier:

Right before he decides to risk his own life to protect Teresa.

Remind you of anyone? Oh, yeah:

“I intervened!”

Of course, Rios is ostensibly talking about the butterfly effect, but if you’ve read my meta “Death and the Butterfly”, you know that Q is symbolized as a butterfly.

And if that wasn’t enough, tell me this doesn’t sound like Qcard:

“I'd like to have more in my memory bank than all the times I saved your ass.”

“I like to think we saved each other.”

(Love that in this specific moment, right before the story, Q and Picard are inverted, perhaps foreshadowing Picard finally reversing their dynamic and saving Q in season 3.)

One brief moment

Anyway, Teresa and Rios can't be together, and they both know it. They are too different. Different worlds, different eras... Everything separates them, yet they have fallen in love. Soon they will have to part, never to see each other again, because they have no other choice.

Immediately, what came to my mind (and @celestialwarzone​'s, without any input from me whatsoever) was Qcard circa episode 2.10.

Q and Picard are as different as two beings can be, and yet, something in their hearts draws them to each other in spite of their difference. But Picard has to go back to the Stargazer, to the future, to mend the timeline and save the galaxy. Duty calls.

And Q cannot follow, because he has to die to save Picard. As far as they know, they’ll never see each other again. Cue heartbreak.

(I’m hurting myself just thinking about it, if you can’t tell.)

Tell me a story

As you’ll see, with a bit of tweaking, Teresa’s story applies strangely well to Q and Picard, almost like... a mirror.

So let’s take the story bit by bit.

Note how Teresa starts by asking Rios to pretend. So we shall also pretend. This is an allegory, a mirror.

Still, we know from showrunner Akiva Goldsman that Picard and Q’s relationship:

“(...) is as significant as any other love life in Picard’s life, and in Q’s life.”

So as narrative shorthand goes, “married” is appropriate.

At the end of AGT, Picard and Q parted on (at least) friendly terms. With Q’s help, Picard saved humanity and they reached an understanding, with the hope of more (in whatever form) in the future.

But now Picard’s all business again, cold and captain-like, reminiscent of their Farpoint days, seeing Q as his adversary and even enemy.

I also wonder if “business” is a subtle reference to Q’s annoyance at the end of AGT:

“Is that all this meant to you? Just another day at the office?”

Picard and Q haven’t had a proper conversation in ages. Probably since AGT, actually. In episode 2.2, they weren’t talking to each other so much as at each other, and definitely not hearing each other.

And since then, they haven’t talked at all: only through intermediaries (first Soong, then Guinan).

Interestingly, in episode 2.1 Soji says, at the diplomatic party,

“You can’t ask for trust through an interpreter.”

And so communication has broken down between Picard and Q.

Need I even explain this one?

They’re trapped in 21st-century LA (”the shitty motel”). Trapped in the past. Picard is literally stuck in his head for an entire episode. You name it, they’re stuck there.

Their ship has broken down (without the Borg Queen, they can’t travel to the future). Oh, and they’re here to help Picard’s distant family (Renee!).

Now we getting into the meaty part. Laris is Picard’s friend, and they work together at the vineyard (not to mention, she’s also his housekeeper).

Picard is thinking about moving on with Laris, but something in his heart holds him back. He’s not quite sure what. Perhaps he’s been waiting for someone else to come back, but now he has to choose.

Now for a truly amusing tidbit: the affair part echoes the “pretend we’re married” line from the beginning, obviously, but that’s not all.

Back in episode 2.1, when Picard goes to talk to Guinan at her bar, his thoughts full of Laris, there’s a long shot of him walking into the bar, then a long closeup of Guinan, while this music plays:

“This road is paved with good intentions

There’s something ‘bout me I forgot to mention

I’ve got a cheating heart...”

Unhinged, I tell you.

Foreshadowing? One can dream

Anyway, now that we’ve set the scene in this little story, with Q as Rios and Teresa as Picard, we get to the truly galaxy brain part. Considering all the horrible foreshadowing we’ve had for Q recently, I think we’re owed a bit of fun.

So let’s dig in.

Teresa and Rios switch back to English. We’re no longer rehashing the past, safely behind us. No, this part hasn’t happened yet. This part is fragile. Communication is more difficult, success isn’t assured.

“At this bar, you tell me something. About yourself. I've known you for ten years and it just... It brings me to tears. I never knew that.”

A bar is metaphorical neutral grounds.

So, at the end of everything, somewhere neutral where they can be themselves, Q tells Picard something about himself he had never known, had never let himself know:

That Q loves him.

“That's what I want you to tell me now. Before you fly away. A fundamental, deepest truth, that in another life, it took me a decade to learn about you.”

We’ve seen in this episode that Q is fading, and I’ve speculated in my timeline mini-meta that Q may die sending Picard forward in time.

Perhaps, if they had had more time, Q would have told Picard later, or differently. Or never.

But Q is out of time. He now has a lifetime, and not even a single decade ahead of him -- hours maybe, realistically not even minutes, before he has to metaphorically fly away.

In episode 2.1, also at the diplomatic dinner, Soji also says,

“True connection can only be forged when the heart has spoken.”

More foreshadowing: Q and Picard’s relationship, broken down by fear and suspicion, will be forged anew once Q shares his deepest, most fundamental truth.

What else could this truth be, if not Q’s love for Picard?

What else could unlock the white door of Picard's heart, if not this key, given by Q to him along with the choice to use it.

And in fact, that’s exactly what Rios tells Teresa once she finishes her story: that despite all reason, he’s fallen in love with her.

And Teresa kisses him.

Make of that what you will, but I know I’m going to hoard that thought close to my heart like the greedy Qcard gremlin that I am.

(If you came here from my 3rd post about 2.8, you may want to go back.)

[darkimaginarydesires]

Obsession (Part II) ▪︎ Dark!James Potter x Reader

《 harry potter fandom • dark!james potter x reader • marauders era 》

☆ you are responsible for your media consumption. this content has extreme warnings / triggers. this content may make some people uncomfortable. please be safe and take warnings seriously. if you need help or need to talk to someone, i am available for anyone ☆

♡ warnings: noncon/dubcon, sexual obsession, delusional obsession, physical abuse, mentions of death, definitely 18+ ♡

《 summary: when the reader does not reciprocate love for James Potter, he snaps into a complete delusional obsession with her. 》

○ part one: ○

-

James had fallen asleep holding you. You don't know how you managed to get away from him without him waking up, but you did. You ran harder than you'd ever ran before. Partly from fear, but partly because it felt good to feel your heart pound against your chest. It reminded you that you were still alive. You were almost back into the castle when you collapsed onto the stone ground, unable to move your legs any further. Your whole body felt like jello, similarly to your mind, which was in some distant land refusing to return to accept the events that had occurred. You were sobbing and shaking uncontrollably. You were so far gone, you didn't even feel Severus' arms when they wrapped themselves around you and picked you up. You buried your face into his chest as he carried you to the hospital wing.

-

James awoke in a panic, feeling you not in his arms. He looked around, realizing you were long gone. He should have gone to look for you, but he couldn't help but stop to smile at the thought of you. He could still taste you on his tongue, smell your perfume on his clothes, feel the shape of your lips against his, hear your soft moans. He got hard just thinking about the expression you had when he made you come.

"She loves me," he reminded himself.

He stood up, grabbing your bookbag from under the tree before confidently strolling back down to the castle. He made his way to his dormitory, setting your bag down and sitting on his bed. His mind continued to be overwhelmed with the thought of you. He reached into your bookbag, curiosity overcoming him. He pulled out random study books, stopping when he reached the potions one. He flipped it open, a note falling out of the front page. He opened it, seeing it was a note from Snape.

"I know you are upset you got a bad mark on the last quiz. The professor only gave you a bad mark because you're better than them. Seriously, (y/n), you are amazing at potions making. One day, you'll be working as the Potions Master and I'll be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts and we'll be able to give bad marks to all the kids we don't like. Keep your head up. - Severus"

James slammed the book shut and hastily put it back in your book bag. He was furious that someone would talk to his girl like this. He was furious that you would keep a note like this from someone like Snape. He crumpled the note, tossing it into your bag as Sirius, Remus, and Peter came running into the room.

"Where have you been?" Remus asked, clearly stressed.

"Where have you been?" James retorted, his anger from the note translating into his question.

"(Y/N) is in the hospital wing. Madam Pomfrey won't tell us anything. We've been trying to look for you!" Sirius said.

"Come on!" Remus called out, already making his way out of the room.

James quickly followed them, his mind racing with worry for his girl. What could have possibly happened since he saw her last? He thought to himself as they all quickly made their way to the hospital wing. When they arrived, James saw Snape sitting outside of the room. Anger immediately filled him. He knew he would have killed him if it was his fault (y/n) was hurt. He went to confront him, but Sirius grabbed his shoulders roughly.

"Come on."

They all walked into the room. James saw you curled up in the corner of the room and his heart broke for you. He wanted to wrap you up in his arms and never let go.

"(Y/N)? What happened?" Sirius asked.

"No visitors!" Dumbledore yelled.

James looked at you, waiting for you to look back at him, waiting for you to tell the headmaster you wanted him to stay, but you never did. They left the room, the door slamming shut behind them. James thought of you, how you had gone from happy in his arms to the broken girl in the hospital wing. He looked over at Severus, anger immediately engulfing him.

"Snivellus," he called out antagonistically.

He began making his way over to him, but Remus grabbed his arm and held him back.

"Not now, James. Severus is the one who brought her here. He helped her," Remus explained.

"What happened, Snape?" Sirius asked.

"I don't know," Severus responded, his voice showing his irritation.

He clearly did not want to deal with the four idiots. He was more focused on his friend's safety.

"When I found her, she was..." he broke off, having a hard time thinking of the state he had seen his strong friend in. "Someone assaulted her."

James tried to push past his friends to get to Severus, but they held him back.

"Stop!" Sirius yelled. "This is not what she needs right now!"

James ran a hand through his hair, trying to control his anger. Dumbledore opened the door and looked between all of the boys.

"Mr. Snape, you are being requested."

It took everything for James to suppress his anger as Snape stood and entered the hospital wing. The door shut and James mind raced with ideas that only fueled his rage. He remembered how your body felt as you came, he remembered how it felt to slip his cock into you, and then he imagined Snape doing the same things to you. He imagined you moaning his name, kissing his lips. James imagined rushing through the doors and smashing his face then grabbing your face and kissing you. James walked up to the hospital wing door, trying to swing it open, but it wouldn't budge.

"Dumbledore put a charm on it, James. It won't open," Remus explained. "Come on. We'll come back tomorrow."

-

You laid curled up on the bed in the corner of the dark hospital wing, unable to sleep. Severus had left at curfew and you could feel the loneliness echoing off of the room, you wished he could have held you forever. At least in his arms, you felt safe, you felt like someone was looking out for you. You were lost in your thoughts, enslaved by the memories of the night.

The door to the hospital wing slowly creeped open, a sliver of light from the corridor shining through. Adrenaline poured into your system, intensifying every feeling in your body. You reminded yourself of the enchantment Dumbledore had placed over the room. You reminded yourself you were safe.

"Sev?" You called out. "Is that you?"

The door opening widened, but there was no one there. You sat up in the bed, looking intently at the door as if to see if it was truly open or if your mind was deceiving you. You went to stand to close it, but you were stopped in your tracks. You heard footsteps slowly making their way closer towards you. You pushed yourself back on the bed, your back firmly against the headboard. At the foot of your bed, the invisibility cloak slowly lifted, revealing James. You were locked in place, unable to move or scream even though you wanted to.

"Baby, what's wrong?" James asked, his voice sending shivers down your spine.

He moved to sit beside you on the bed. He wasn't touching you, but your skin crawled with the memory of his last touch.

"Get out," you said firmly, somehow finding the strength.

"Get out?" James laughed. "Come on, baby. You know you want me here. Otherwise, how would I have gotten in?"

You never knew confusion was such an intense emotion until that moment. You tried to deny it, but remembered the charm. Did you want him here? Did you want him? Your thoughts were broken by James' hand grabbing your thigh, his thumb gently caressing your skin. You reached for his hand to push it away, but he caught it, bringing it up to his lips. You pulled away aggressively, but James didn't seem to notice.

"Stop, James."

His eyes were focused on your lips as he moved closer to you. He grabbed your ankle, pulling you down onto the bed as he hovered over you. His hand went to your face, cupping it softly. You pushed against his chest, trying to push him off. You could feel his hard on pressing against your stomach.

"James, get off of me! Please, stop!" You screamed.

"Don't do that, baby," he soothed. "I love you. And you love me, you know that."

His hand moved down to your neck as he pressed his lips against yours.

You jolted up in a panic, looking around the empty room frantically. You were out of breath, your throat dry and sore. You pressed the palms of your hands against your forehead, imprudently trying to force the nefarious memories and thoughts from your mind. You spent the rest of the night with your eyes searching the dark, empty room for any sign of movement, paranoid your nightmare would become a reality and you would be forced to relive your worst experience all over again. Somehow, the castle now seemed to be home to many more ghosts.

-

You spent the next week in the hospital wing. Severus brought you all of the classwork you were missing so you were not falling behind. He spent as much time as he could with you, making you feel far less lonely. Professor Dumbledore and Professor McGonagall were incredibly patient and understanding of the incident. They came to check on you at least once a day and never pressured you to leave the hospital wing. You knew it was time to return to your usual daily routine, but the idea of being forced to interact with James felt like a nightmare. You laid on the hospital bed, your books and parchment sprawled out as you worked.

“What happened to you?” Madam Pomfrey exclaimed, breaking your concentration and causing you to look up from your papers.

Severus walked through the doors with a vibrantly purple and black eye. His hair fell over it, but it was impossible to hide.

“It’s nothing,” he said. “I’m just here to visit (Y/N).” 

Madam Pomfrey allowed him to walk past her, but continued to shake her head as she walked over to her healing potions on the side of the room, scanning through them for the appropriate one.

“What happened to you, Severus?” You asked, sitting up on the bed and immediately reaching your hand out to push his hair behind his ear. “That looks awful!”

“It’s nothing, (Y/N). Would you stop?”

He pushed your hand away as he sat on the bed next to you. 

“Was it them? Tell me, Severus.”

“Why don’t we just focus on you? You’re the one in the hospital wing after all.”

“So are you now, Mr. Snape,” Madam Pomfrey stated. “Sit still and look up.”

Madam Pomfrey applied a thick cream to Severus’ eye. The colors dissipated and the swelling went down until eventually the ailment almost completely disappeared. By the time Madam Pomfrey finished treating Severus, it was time for him to leave for his next class. He grabbed his books and began walking out of the hospital wing.

“Wait-” You called out, surprising even yourself. 

You collected you classwork before standing and making your way over to Severus.

“Are you leaving?” Madam Pomfrey asked, clearly contemplating whether to allow you to go.

“Yes, Madam. Thank you for everything,” You said before turning to a shocked Severus. “They know better than to mess with us when we’re together. Let’s go.”

[theimpossiblehologramtree]

Making Queen members flower crowns would include

Pairing: Queen members x reader

Word count: (altogether) 1800+

Warnings: some sickening fluff, oh and swearing but that’s a standard, some slightly suggestive themes in john’s (implied sex) but nothing accually happens except a kiss

A/N: Hello you beautiful people! I’m back (don’t get used to that tho lol) I thought of this two years ago when i first saw Bohemian Rhapsody (SO 2 FUCKING YEARS AGO). Freddie’s is gender neutral. I tried to add a “keep reading” button but I’m not sure it works tbh because this hell of a side never cooperates.

Please keep in mind that English is not my first language.

🐝masterlist🐝

REQUEST IF YOU WANT MORE

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Gifs aren’t mine. Credits to the owners.

Brian May

You were laying on Brian's lap, the sun hitting your face pleasantly. This week the weather was nice and warm, which was something extremely unusual in England, so the two of you decided to head out to the country and have a little picnic.

After what felt like hours spent in the car ("Brian, for Christ's sake, would you open the bloody window, I can't breathe!" and "Bri, I love you, but if we don't get there in five minutes, I'm going to murder you, I swear") you finally found a nice clearing, where you could relax and forget about the stresses of city life.

Brian put down a blanket on the grass, near a small stream that flew through the forest. He brought the bag with food and drinks (you didn't have a basket, so you had to improvise). 

You quickly put some sunscreen on your face and laid down, keeping your head propped on Brian's lap. He put a hat over his face and fell asleep, his chest rising steadily. 

After some time (that fucking wasp didn't let you sit in one place), you stood up and noticed many beautiful flowers, growing on a nearby bush. You got lost in picking up the most beautiful ones, admiring each one carefully. When you got enough, you sat back down and started tying the stems together.

Suddenly you got an idea. Careful not to wake him up, you began sticking the flowers in Brian's dark curls. 

Your now decorated boyfriend woke up and stretched, not noticing the colourful addition to his hair. This made you chuckle softly, but you decided to see how long it would take him to realize.

+"What is it, babe? Do I have something on my face?"

"No, Bri, I just remembered a funny joke, that's all."

"Oh tell me, then."

"What’s the difference between a lawnmower and an electric guitar?"

"Hm?"

"You can tune a lawnmower!"

You both enjoyed the rest of the day swimming in the stream, sunbathing and eating the snack you brought. And Brian somehow still didn't notice.

Until it was time for you to get home.

You got in the car ("Open the window now, it's like in the oven in here!") and Brian looked into the rear-view mirror.

+"Hey, (Y/N), what the fuck is that? I love it."

Roger Taylor

So honestly it would probably happen during one of his concerts.

You were backstage watching the show, enjoying every second of it. Freddie was in the middle of shouting some (very inappropriate) compliments to Brian's ass, slapping his buttcheeks. The crowd immediately went wild hundreds of fans screamed in unison. You chuckled under your breath, flashing a white smile at your beloved boyfriend Roger and his bandmates. You felt an arm wrap around your shoulders. Surprised, you turned around, your eyes meeting Mary's.

+"What's up, kiddo?" she smirked and patted your back.

"Oh, nothing much. Just Freddie being Freddie," you replied, making both of you erupt with laughter.

Suddenly you felt a familiar feeling form in the pit of your stomach. Out of nowhere, your hands became shaky, your breath shallow and quick. Feeling like you need some fresh air, you excused yourself.

+"Are you sure you're okay, (Y/N)?" Mary watched you carefully, her hand supporting you in case you fainted.

"Yes, Mary, I just need some fresh air. I'm extremely tired, and I haven't eaten anything since this morning" you reassured your friend. "I'm just gonna sit outside for a while."

"Do you want me to come with you?" she asked, still not convinced about your well-being.

"Yes, I wouldn't want to spoil the gig for you. I'll be back before you know it" you squeezed her hand and, after promising her to be careful, you headed outside.

You took a walk alongside the small patch of lawn beside the exit. After taking a couple of deep breaths, you noticed some daisies grow in the green grass. Without thinking much, you sat down and started picking them up and tying their stems together.

Your fingers worked quickly, making a beautiful flower crown, mindlessly.

Meanwhile, on stage, the boys were singing She makes me - a song that reminded Roger of you. He quickly glanced to his right, expecting to see your beautiful figure standing with Mary. But, much to his surprise, he couldn't see you anywhere. It was no secret that his eyesight was shit but, bloody hell, it wasn't that bad. His blue eyes were searching for you, frantically.

When the song ended, he quickly motioned to Freddie to take a quick break, while he went to check up on you. He practically sprinted to Mary, almost knocking down his drumkit and John.

+"You dumb fuck, watch where you're going, Rog!"

Usually, Roger would reply with some snarky comment, but at that moment he really didn't care. When he reached Mary, he didn't even need to ask her about you. 

+"She's outside. Needed some fresh air" the girl shooked her head towards the exit. 

Roger quickly walked outside, knowing that he couldn't stall the audience for too long. But at the same time, he must have made sure you were all right.  

He got out of the building and searched for you. He spotted to sitting on a small patch of grass, holding a pretty flower crown in your hands. His heart ached at this sight. 

+"Hello, love" he whispered, kneeling next to you. "Are you all right?"

"Yes, I am, Rog" you kissed his cheek. "I just felt a bit off, that's all." 

You felt your boyfriend press a kiss to your hair. You smiled at the feeling, leaning into his touch. 

You finally placed the finished flower crown on his head, brushing away loose strands of sweaty hair from his face, your hand gently brushing his temple. He took your tiny hands in his and kissed your fingers.

+"Do you wanna go back in there, sweetheart?" he asked sweetly, looking deeply into your eyes.

You nodded and pecked his lips, "Of course, Rog, I wouldn't want to miss any more of your show."

He smiled and lead you inside, placing his hand on the small of your back. You returned to Mary and wished your boyfriend good luck. 

Roger kept the flowers on his head throughout the whole gig, sending you a dashing smile and winking at you every now and again.

I just think Roger would look sososo pretty in a flower crown.

John Deacon

It was a lovely afternoon in London. You and your fiancé John decided to take a walk after the whole day in the studio, recording songs.

Taking a walk in a nearby park was a great way to destress and release the tension accumulated during the day. It was something John realized pretty early on in your relationship and took full advantage of it. He loved wandering along the pebbled pathways that swirled around beautiful trees and bushes full of colourful flowers. Being in the presence of nature made him feel at ease and helped him relax.

But the real reason why he enjoyed your walks so much was you. He adored seeing your face light up with joy when you saw a squirrel run up a branch of an old oak or when you spotted a particularly beautiful fish in the small pond. He could watch you pick up fallen leaves for ages and hear you talk to little kids in a playground, showing them the shiny rocks you collected along the way.

To be honest, he always dreamt about starting a family with you and seeing you get along with kids so well only increased that desire.

Often after a walk, he was in the mood™, which, considering his shy nature, always took you by surprise.

Oh man, he just loved taking a walk in the park.

And today was no different.

You were walking hand in hand, admiring the blossoming flowers. Occasionally, you would stop and pick them up, making a small bouquet in the process. White daisies, pink clovers and blue forget-me-nots accumulated with every step you took.

John was telling you about the new idea he had for a song, kissing your cheek every now and again.

Listening to him, you started to fiddle with the flowers, tying them in knots. After a while ("And then, I think, we could include a gong, you know?") you were done with your creation.

You put the flowers on John's head and kissed his temple.

+"What's that, darling?" he asked you, surprised.

"Nothing, but I think you look sensational, my love" you replied, smiling innocently.

You felt John's hand bring you closer to him. He kissed you, entangling his long and incredibly skilled fingers in your hair. The kiss soon turned into more heated one.

+"I'll show you how sensational I really am, pretty girl."

Freddie Mercury

So with Freddie, it was probably at one of his parties.

He invited you along to have a drink with him and his bandmates.

You usually weren't the one for big and loud parties, but he kept asking you and you gave in.

+"Oh okay, Fred, I'll do it," you said after the twentieth time he had asked you.

"Fantastic, (Y/N)!" he exclaimed, loudly clapping his hands. "Just remember to wear a costume."

But you didn't really want to dress up in fancy dresses or costumes from different eras. Calling Mary, you asked her for advice and she told you to just wear some accessories.

So before the party, you went to a small flower shop and bought a small bouquet of purple lilacs. At home, you made a flower crown, hoping that dressing up as a nymph would be enough.

When you got to Freddie's house, you were greeted by a crowd of people in colourful skirts and suits with fashionable patterns. That's when you found Freddie, Roger, Brian and John, chilling on a couch with their dates.

+"Oh, (Y/N), you look marvellous, darling!" exclaimed Freddie dressed as a king, while he stood up to embrace you in a warm hug.

"Thank you, Fred, I made it myself" you smiled shyly.

You got some champagne and joined the conversation.

Suddenly, you felt a pat on your shoulder, and, when you turned around, you saw Freddie holding out a hand to you, asking you to dance with him. You gladly accepted and got up. 

+"I really meant it, darling. You do look marvellous tonight" he whispered in your ear.

"Thank you, Freddie, you can have it if you'd like" you sent him a warm smile.

You took off his golden crown and set it aside. Gently taking off the flower crown from your head, you placed it on top of Fred's. He beamed at you and put his own crown on top of your head.

+"Now you rule here, darling."

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[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 4/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest. This time, with duel-shenanigans as well! (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3)

Dearest Readers, 

This Author recommends that young women prone to swoon do not read this most peculiar of updates without someone there to catch them, as the most shocking of scandals has broken, and not, as one might expect, from the city but rather from the country.

If you have guessed that it involves our two unlikely friends out for a country jaunt, you would be correct, but we doubt even the most voracious of readers would guess the nature of the scandal. It turns out Mr. Grantaire is not an only child, as many have supposed, but instead has a sister of the marrying age. Why she was not presented to society is anyone’s guess, but we expect she’ll be along soon enough, given what has occurred. 

Details are still forthcoming, but suffice it to say, the Marquess of Enjolras, perhaps least likely amongst his cohort to find himself in this situation, appears to have been found in a compromising position with Mr. Grantaire’s sister. A quick, quiet wedding is the fastest way to deal with a scandal of this nature, but the salacious nature of this situation doesn’t end here:

The Marquess has allegedly refused to marry Mr. Grantaire’s sister, so Mr. Grantaire publicly challenged the Marquess to a duel for his sister’s honor, and the Marquess accepted. 

Tales of Mr. Grantaire’s prowess in physical contests are well-known, so this Author hopes for the Marquess’s sake that his aim with a gun is less impressive. Fear not, dear Reader. This Author suspects that both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire will emerge from the duel with all limbs intact, but we also suspect that Grantaire will emerge with a soon-to-be brother-in-law – and the Marquess with a fiancée. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 4 May 1831 

It was, charitably speaking, ungodly early when Enjolras was roused from his bed by the ever dour-faced Le Cabuc. There was not even a hint of sunlight when he glanced out the window before getting dressed, and when he and Grantaire set off a half hour later, there was still just the beginning rays of sunlight creeping over the horizon.

Usually, Enjolras did not mind waking at an early hour, though he was more inclined to work late into the night and have a bit of a lie-in the next morning whenever possible, but he had slept poorly the previous night. Undoubtedly, he thought sourly as he followed Grantaire away from the house, because of what they were setting out to do.

Not that he had much real cause for concern – after all, if Grantaire was going to shoot him, surely he would have done it long ago.

That said, he would also have felt slightly more comfortable if he was carrying one of the guns, rather than Grantaire carrying both as he currently was.

But he suspected his tossing and turning was more related to the grand scheme they were attempting to pull off, and his very real concern that they were not going to be able to. Thus far, certainly, all pieces of the plan had fallen in place, but that as much as anything was setting him on edge. After all, it would take but one thing going awry from the whole arrangement to unravel, and Enjolras was not thoroughly convinced that—

Grantaire heaved a sigh and glanced over his shoulder at Enjolras. “Could you please be quiet?” he asked, sounding as tired as Enjolras felt.

Enjolras scowled at him. “I haven’t said anything!” he protested.

“No, but I can hear your mind going a mile a minute,” Grantaire groused, waving a dismissive hand. “It is positively spoiling what should otherwise be a magnificent morning.”

It was a lovely morning, Enjolras supposed, especially as the sun inched further up in the sky. “There is only so much I can do about the relative volume of my mind,” he told Grantaire, half-smiling as he did.

Grantaire pursed his lips slightly before shaking his head. “No, I suppose not,” he said, pausing in his stride to allow Enjolras to fall into step besides him. “Which means that I shall have to distract you instead.”

“And how do you intend on doing that?” Enjolras asked, more amused than curious.

“Well, I could regale you with what little I know about the vegetation in this area,” Grantaire offered, and when Enjolras wrinkled his nose, he laughed. “Very well. Then what conversation topic would you prefer?”

Enjolras considered it for a second. “I suppose you could start by telling me where, exactly, you’re taking me.”

“So banal,” Grantaire said, half under his breath, and he laughed and dodged when Enjolras tried to elbow him in the ribs. “Fine, fine. There’s a field not far outside of town that’s up on a small bluff. Isolated so that no one will see, but the elevation and lack of foliage between the field and town will allow the sound to carry, which is what I am banking on.”

“Not a lot of shooting out this way?” Enjolras asked, mostly jokingly, though Grantaire seemed to consider it for a moment before shaking his head.

“No. A fox hunt every now and then or something or the sort, but usually advertised well in advance and taking place further afield.”

The terrain sloped upward at that point, and both Enjolras and Grantaire fell silent as they trekked along. Finally, the slope evened out, and as Grantaire had promised, they were standing on the edge of a fairly flat field overlooking the town below. “Well,” Grantaire said, rather unnecessarily. “Here we are.”

He handed one of the pistols to Enjolras, who took it, feeling unusually out of sorts, even though this was hardly his first time wielding a weapon. “Ten paces?” he asked, mostly for lack of anything better to say.

“I suppose so,” Grantaire said, before winking at him. “Of course, in keeping with our attempt at verisimilitude, I could shoot you, if you wish. Just a flesh wound, in the shoulder maybe – just a little something to demonstrate how coerced you were into this whole affair.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “While I am certain that you would have no compunction shooting anyone, I really don’t think that’s necessary.”

Instead, he squared his shoulders and dutifully marched ten paces away before turning to face Grantaire again. “Here?” he asked, but Grantaire was frowning, his gun held loosely at his side.

“What do you mean by that?” he asked.

Enjolras blinked. “I mean, is this the correct distance?”

“No, by my not having any compunction about shooting anyone.”

There was something unfamiliar in Grantaire’s tone and Enjolras frowned, trying to figure out what exactly he had said to put Grantaire out. “I meant no offense,” he offered.

Grantaire shook his head. “I do not necessarily take offense,” he said. “But I would still wish to know what precisely you meant.”

Enjolras considered him for a moment. “I know that you are an accomplished boxer,” he said after a moment. “And I have it on good authority that you know also how to wield a blade, so it can only stand to reason that you know how to use a gun. That s all that I meant.”

“Know how, yes,” Grantaire said, “but I’ve never shot anyone, and I’m not certain that I could bring myself to, were it to come to that.”

Now it was Enjolras’s turn to frown and ask, “What do you mean?”

Grantaire shrugged, glancing down at the gun in his hand. “I mean, with boxing, with fencing, hell, even with street brawling as Bahorel and I are wont to do—”

“Wont is certainly one word for it,” Enjolras said sourly, too aware of how many times those two had gotten themselves into scraps.

“—with all of those,” Grantaire continued, ignoring him, “the goal is surrender. You wound or injure to get the offending party to back down. But with a gun?” Again he looked down at the gun in his hand, hefting it as if testing its weight. “With a gun, the outcome is too often death, no matter the intent. And I am not certain that I could bring myself to shoot a man, knowing the likely outcome is his death.”

It had not been at all the answer Enjolras was expecting. “Oh,” he said, a little stupidly. “I suppose I did not think of it that way.”

“What of you?” Grantaire asked, with a wry half-smile, as if aware of the absurdity of this conversation when the two men were facing each other with pistols in hands so as to duel. “Have you ever shot a man?”

Enjolras shook his head. “No,” he said, “but I don’t think I would have the same hesitation you would. Death is a tool, and there are times when, in order to bring about the best future possible, killing someone is the only option.” Grantaire shifted as if he was about to interrupt, but Enjolras did not let him. “But the law of progress is that this will no longer be the case some day, and that is the moment for which I would fight, and kill if necessary, so that none after me would face that choice.”

Grantaire was silent for a few moments after, and he was too far away for Enjolras to be able to read every line in his face like he normally would be able to. “I understand,” Grantaire pronounced finally, the two words spoken almost like a vow. 

Enjolras felt strangely tongue-tied at that, and looked away. “Shall we?” he asked, his voice strangely thick, and Grantaire nodded.

Both men faced each other once more, lifting their pistols to aim in the rough direction of the other, ready to get this over with. Later, Enjolras would never know what possessed him in that moment, but as he stared down the barrel of the gun at Grantaire, he could not help but blurt, “I could have sworn that you were going to kill that soldier.”

Grantaire lowered his pistol, his brow furrowing. “What soldier?”

Enjolras lowered his weapon as well. “Do you remember the demonstration we hosted outside of parliament last spring?”

“I am fairly certain the authorities deemed that less a demonstration and more a riot,” Grantaire said, a small smile twitching at the corners of his mouth.

“Even so,” Enjolras said, refusing to allow himself to get distracted. “Soldiers were called in to ‘enforce the peace’, though I am certain they were more violent than any of us—”

“They certainly were,” Grantaire murmured.

“—and there was this one soldier in particular who seemed quite determined to…”

Enjolras trailed off, and Grantaire cleared his throat. “To beat you to death in the street?” he supplied, a false, sharp cheerfulness to his words. 

Shaking his head slightly, more at the memory than in disagreement to Grantaire’s words, Enjolras swallowed before continuing, “That’s one way of putting it.” He met Grantaire’s eyes. “But you stopped him.”

“Yes.”

“Quite violently, as memory serves.”

Grantaire’s expression didn’t so much as flicker. “Yes.”

“But you did not wish to kill him?”

“Oh, I wanted very much to kill him,” Grantaire said, an ugly look crossing his face. “But I did not.”

Enjolras had the sense that continuing too far down that path was not going to end well, so he changed tacks slightly. “So then you too agree that death is a sometimes necessary tool.”

Grantaire jerked a shrug. “I suppose, yes,” he allowed. “If the circumstances were right.”

“And the circumstances were not right that day?” Enjolras asked, because he couldn’t resist prying, just a little.

Grantaire shook his head. “No.”

He did not seem inclined to elaborate any further, and Enjolras frowned. “Because you feared that you could have been arrested?” he asked, though he doubted that was the case, as Grantaire had been arrested as many times as any of their number.

Indeed, Grantaire snorted derisively. “As if the threat of incarceration has ever once stopped me,” he scoffed, before arching an eyebrow at Enjolras. “Or you, for that matter.”

“It helps knowing that you or I would only be incarcerated until the police realized who we were and released us,” Enjolras said dryly. “The perks of nobility – or gentility, I suppose, in your case.” 

“Gentility,” Grantaire repeated, smirking again. “I dare you to use that the next time you’re arrested, just to see what the officer placing you in irons has to say in response.”

Enjolras just rolled his eyes and ignored him, steering the conversation back on track. “What did stop you, then?” he asked, and when Grantaire looked confused, he elaborated, “From killing the soldier, if not the possibility of incarceration.”

Grantaire’s expression was unreadable as he locked eyes with Enjolras. “You were no longer in danger,” he said simply.

The stark words left Enjolras feeling as if his chest was suddenly a size too small, and it took him a moment to compose himself. To know Grantaire had reacted that way when the man was not convinced he could take a life, and all because Enjolras had been in danger...it was too much. Finally, he met Grantaire’s eyes once again, and hoped the two words he could muster conveyed everything that he wished they did. “Thank you.”

Grantaire seemed suddenly flushed, and he cleared his throat and looked away. “In any case,” he said loudly, “can we kindly get back to the business of shooting each other?”

Enjolras rolled his eyes. “Shooting at each other,” he corrected.

Grantaire smirked at him, all traces of the previous conversation disappearing. “Is that not what I said?” he asked innocently.

Again Enjolras rolled his eyes before once again raising his gun and aiming it in Grantaire’s general direction. Grantaire followed suit, a half a beat later. “Are you ready?” Enjolras asked.

“As ready as I will ever be,” Grantaire said. “On your count?”

Enjolras jerked a nod. “On my count,” he affirmed, taking a deep breath before counting, “One...two...shoot.”

Both guns went off with a flash of powder and smoke, the gunshots echoing loudly in the still morning air, loud enough to make Enjolras wince – though that may also have been from the recoil, which left Enjolras’s arm feeling weak. “Do you yield?” Grantaire called, and it took that question for Enjolras to remember the absurd reason for which they were there in the first place.

“Yes, I yield,” Enjolras told him, the first and only times those words had ever come out of his mouth.

Grantaire smirked at him. “And do you agree to marry my sister?”

Enjolras gave him a look. “There is no one here to hear my answer, you realize.” Grantaire returned his look with one of his own, and Enjolras sighed. “Yes, I will marry your sister.”

“Then I have my satisfaction,” Grantaire said, sounding just a little smug.

But as Enjolras handed his pistol back to Grantaire, as lingering pieces from their conversation played over in his mind, he could not help but feel that they had both gotten satisfaction that day.

[hysterialevi]

Hjarta | Final Chapter

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Holy shit I can’t believe it’s already the last chapter. Thank you guys so much for sticking with this story from the start, and for sending me wonderful comments/messages of support. I really had fun writing this fanfic and interacting with you all, so I hope you’ll enjoy this last part of Hjarta. This story seriously means a lot to me, and it makes my day to know how many of you liked it. Stay awesome :)

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter

THRYMR’S TOMB

A WHILE LATER

“Eivor!” Sigurd called out through the storm, forcing his way across the snow. “Are you there?”

The prince shielded his face from the frost with a protective arm and squinted, desperately searching for his lover as he wandered blindly through the fog. The young man had disappeared from the battle not too long ago, and seemingly taken Kjotve’s fate into his own hands. What became of either of them still remained a mystery to Sigurd, and as more time passed by, he found himself feeling increasingly worried for Eivor’s life.

“Eivor!” He repeated a tad louder this time. “Say something! Can you hear me?”

Much to his relief, a faint voice answered from a distance.

“...I’m here, Sigurd...!”

Inching closer towards the voice, the older man ventured deeper into the mist and peered forward, only to spot the outline of a familiar shadow trudging in his direction.

Eivor was sauntering underneath the sun’s blurred rays with a slight hiccup in his step, and fresh blood clinging to his axe. His face seemed to be wiped clean of all the energy that once burned in his eyes, and yet, he appeared to be... at peace.

A calming aura could be seen blossoming from his heart like a single flower in a barren field, and in a strange way, it almost looked as if he had completely forgotten about the war. Not a single hint of dread or terror weathered his blissful expression, and the ribbons of sunlight dancing above him only added to his soothing demeanor.

Sigurd picked up his pace and began jogging, eagerly rushing to rejoin his lover.

“Eivor...!” He said with a sigh of relief, immediately pulling the man into a hug. ��There you are.”

Eivor allowed his head to sit on Sigurd’s chest, giving himself some time to breathe.

“...Sigurd,” he whispered out of exhaustion, “...I did it. I actually did it.”

The prince continued cradling the younger man in his embrace, providing him with a sense of warmth amidst all the snow.

“What happened to you, Eivor? Where’s Kjotve? I saw you run off with him earlier. Is he dead? Did you... did you kill him?”

Eivor nodded and closed his eyes, not even bothering to say a word.

“Truly...?” Sigurd asked, staring at the other man in disbelief. 

Could it really be possible that the battle was already finished? It hadn’t been too long ago that the prince was barely evading death’s grasp, and now, the storm had suddenly passed. Part of him found the news too good to be true considering the path they used to get here, and yet, something in Eivor’s tone rang with sincerity.

Sigurd tightened his grip on the smaller warrior and chuckled out of elation, nearly breaking into tears. “Then it’s over. The war... is finally over.”

He brought a hand to Eivor’s chin, lifting it gently so that he could see his face.

“What about you, my love? Are you well?”

The Wolf-Kissed displayed a subtle smile, radiating as if he were the moon itself.

“...I am. For the first time since that night... I’m okay.”

Sigurd returned the smile and cupped the back of Eivor’s head, pulling him close so that he could plant a kiss on his forehead. 

“Good.”

Staying snuggled in each other’s arms, the couple took some time to enjoy the peace as the storm steadily died down around them, allowing more and more of the sun to break through. The crippling mist that had built up during the battle was slowly beginning to fade, and soon enough, nothing but a vast blue sky remained hovering above them.

Unbeknownst to Sigurd however, a third party had already found them and walked in on their brief reunion, but had not yet announced their presence.

In the distance, Arngeir quietly watched the scene in front of him unfold with a sense of shock clouding his mind, causing him to gawk incredulously. Even though he suspected that the prince would be somewhere in the vicinity with his son, he did not expect the two of them to be enwrapped in such a loving embrace.

...How long had they felt like this, he wondered? Was their bond something that had been ignited due to the recent string of battles, or had this been carrying on ever since Styrbjorn first arrived?

The jarl was honestly at a loss. He held no disgust in his heart for the peculiar couple before him, but he couldn’t deny that he was taken aback. Despite his knowledge of Sigurd and Eivor’s friendship in the past, he never would’ve guessed that there was something deeper between them. 

Though, the more Arngeir thought about it, he supposed there really was nothing peculiar about their relationship. The knot that intertwined their fates was made of pure, genuine love delivered straight from the hands of Freya, and to his surprise, he just couldn’t bring himself to interfere.

It was something he hadn’t seen in ages thanks to the horrors of this war, but now that it was over, Arngeir figured he may as well let his doubts die with it.

He had had enough of tragedy. 

Turning on his heel, the jarl decided to leave the couple alone and returned to the other half of the island, ready to inform his clan of their miraculous victory. He still didn’t know whether he’d tell Styrbjorn about his unanticipated discovery or not, but one thing was for certain.

Kjotve’s kingdom had finally fallen. 

In spite of all the obstacles Styrbjorn’s people faced, his entire bloodline had been struck down, and his throne had been left unattended. No one in Norway would ever hear of his clan again, and his fortress would be left to crumble under the weight of the absence that consumed it.

The barbarian king was vanquished. Just like his legacy.

~~~~~~~~~~

THE NEXT DAY

BJORNHEIMR, THE LONGHOUSE

Sigurd placed the last of his belongings in the crate sitting before him, reminiscing as he stood in the middle of his chambers. It felt like a lifetime ago that he was first packing his things in preparation for the journey to Bjornheimr, and now, he was getting ready to leave.

After ages of enduring this war and accepting it as his reality, the prince had suddenly found himself in a world where Kjotve was no longer a problem, and his clan had been reduced to ashes in the wind. 

A new era had been brought about thanks to their victory at Thrymr’s Tomb, and the kingdom now celebrated in harmony to honor the peace that had finally been restored.

Despite the jovial mood of his people however, Sigurd admittedly didn’t know how to process the whole situation himself. Part of him rejoiced due to the fact that he’d never have to deal with Kjotve’s cruelty again, but he would’ve been lying if he said he didn’t have his regrets.

He didn’t come out of this unscathed, after all. The Raven Clan may have emerged victorious from their fight against the barbarian king, but there were still many wounds that needed mending... including Dag’s loss.

Sigurd still remembered his last conversation with the man as if it happened yesterday. Even though Dag proved to be a traitor in his final moments, the prince just couldn’t bring himself to discard the memories they once shared, or the fondness that followed. In his eyes, the fallen warrior would always be that same little boy who kept him company as a child, and pulled him away from the darkness when his mother passed on.

As for the Dag he executed, Sigurd would remember him as no more than a fragment of his childhood friend, and the result of a man who had been crippled by his own jealousy. He would be a reminder for the prince to never fall prey to his demons, lest he lose the soul he had fought so long to preserve. It was what he owed his parents after all these years, and to himself.

Letting out a remorseful sigh, Sigurd shook his head and silenced the thoughts that threatened to encompass his mind, not willing to entertain his grief any further. He would never forget the loved ones he had lost during the events of this war, but for his own sake -- he had to move on.

Lifting up the crate with a soft grunt, Sigurd secured the box in his arms and began striding towards the archway, only to stop in his tracks when he noticed someone waiting for him. 

At the moment, Eivor was standing on the other side of the door with his hands linked together and his head hanging low, clearly disheartened by Sigurd’s upcoming departure. His gaze swept in the floor in an attempt to avoid confronting the absence he would soon have to accept, and even the sight of the prince himself wasn’t able to lift his mood.

“Eivor...!” Sigurd greeted. “You came.”

The Wolf-Kissed stepped tentatively into the room, staring at his lover as if this was the last time they’d ever meet.

“Of course I did. I wanted to see you again before...” his expression sank slightly, “...before you left.”

Sigurd took note of the shift in his lover’s mood and placed the crate down for a moment, gently gripping Eivor’s wrist in a comforting manner.

“Eivor,” he said in a gentler tone, “...you know I have to go.”

“I do. I just wish you could stay longer. We spent so much of our time worrying about the people we lost that... we forgot we still had each other. But now that you’re leaving, it’s all I can think about.”

Sigurd lifted a hand to Eivor’s cheek and brushed away a lock of hair, tucking it neatly behind his ear.

“You can still come with me. You know that, right? I realize we’ve had this conversation before, but if you truly want us to stay together, I can arrange that.”

In spite of his sorrow, the younger man remained staunch in his decision. “I’m sorry, Sigurd, but I must remain here. As much as I wish I could go with you, Bjornheimr needs me. My father needs me. I’m the only family he has left apart from Randvi, and she’ll be gone too.”

Sigurd nodded sympathetically. “Very well. If that’s what you wish.”

Eivor paused briefly, switching to a different concern on his mind. “...You will visit me, right? This won’t be the last time I’ll see you?”

“Of course not,” the prince reassured. “I can’t say when I’ll have the chance to return to Bjornheimr, but -- I promise you -- as soon as the opportunity reveals itself, I’ll be here again.”

The other man didn’t appear any less forlorn, but accepted the promise nonetheless.

“I’ll be waiting. But until then...” Eivor leaned forward, pecking a goodbye kiss on Sigurd’s lips, “...stay safe, my love. I wish nothing but happiness for you.”

The prince pressed his forehead against Eivor’s, cherishing their last few minutes together.

“The same goes for you. My duties may require me to start a new life in preparation for the throne, but I’ll never forget everything you’ve done. Thank you. I mean it.”

Taking a few more moments to bask in each other’s company, the two of them simply cuddled in silence before separating the embrace, and retreating to the shells they so often wore around the rest of the village.

The sun had managed to climb to the top of the sky’s apex by now, and most of the Raven Clan were already gathered at the docks. The longships were fit to set sail after an entire morning’s worth of preparations, and their people were eager to return home. The only thing they needed now... was the presence of their prince himself.

“I suppose it’s time for me to leave.” Sigurd noted somberly, reluctantly taking hold of the crate once again. “Care to join me for the walk to the ship?”

Eivor concealed his pain with a friendly veil and stepped to the side, allowing Sigurd some room to walk through the doorway.

“After you, my friend.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A LITTLE LATER

THE DOCKS

Walking alongside one another as they headed towards the shore, Eivor and Sigurd strolled silently through the village with a bittersweet relief resting in their spirits, clouding their minds like the smoke of a cold pyre.

It brought them both great joy to see Kjotve’s reign finally come to an end, but they couldn’t stop themselves from wondering what waited beyond the horizon now that the war was over.

Was this the start of Sigurd’s life as a future king? Would he and Randvi truly be the rulers of Norway one day? How was he even going to raise a family? The prince had never planned to be a father, and a part of him wanted to scream at the thought of being forced to hide his true emotions once again.

He didn’t want to forget Eivor, or the things they experienced together. These past few weeks had been some of the best and worst moments of his life, and he dreaded the idea of allowing their bond to fade into a distant memory. But for the sake of his kingdom, Sigurd knew he had to leave the man behind if he wanted any chance of becoming a decent leader.

It was his duty, after all. Styrbjorn had managed to keep his end of the promise in regards to battling his addiction, so the prince figured it would only be fair if he upheld his own. Personal thoughts and desires no longer mattered within the realm of royalty. From this day on, Sigurd would be living to serve his people -- not himself. 

“There they are.” He remarked, gesturing towards the end of the pier. Eivor followed Sigurd’s line of sight, only to spot Styrbjorn, Arngeir, and Randvi all waiting by the longship.

“So this is it then,” he said, already missing the prince’s company. “This is where we part ways.”

Sigurd shared his partner’s disappointment, but tried to keep a strong face nonetheless. “For now. You and I will be separated for some time, but I’ll visit you as much as I can. And you’re always welcome in Fornburg too, should you ever wish to come to me instead.”

“Thank you. I’ll consider it.”

Eivor placed a hand on the side of the prince’s arm, saying one last thing while he still had the chance.

“...Wait, Sigurd. Before you go.”

The older man came to a pause, giving Eivor a curious glance. “Yes? What is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed stuttered, admittedly unsure of where he was taking this. He didn’t have anything in particular he wanted Sigurd to hear -- he just hoped to keep him around for a little longer.

“Erm, n-nothing. I just wanted to say I love you.”

Sigurd smiled warmly at the comment despite Eivor’s awkwardness and chuckled lightly, attempting to comfort him.

“I love you too, Eivor. Never forget it.”

Leaving the younger man with those words, Sigurd carried on with the task at hand and sauntered towards the ship, placing the crate down by the boarding plank as one of the oarsmen came to assist him. Meanwhile, Styrbjorn greeted the two men with a cheery temperament, happy to get things going.

“Sigurd, Eivor!” The king exclaimed jovially. “It’s good to see you both in one piece after the battle yesterday. We lost many warriors during the assault at Thrymr’s Tomb, but now, we at least have the luxury of saying that their deaths weren’t in vain...” he turned to the Wolf-Kissed, “...and it’s all thanks to you, my boy.”

Eivor bowed his head in a humble manner. “I only did what was required of me.”

Styrbjorn let out a soft laugh. “Nonsense. Sigurd has told me of the tenacity you displayed on the battlefield. You showed great courage, and you fought with honor. It is thanks to your efforts that Kjotve now lies in a frigid tomb.”

Arngeir joined in. “Indeed. Had it not been for your valor, we would all still be bound by Kjotve’s chains. Varin would be proud of you, Eivor. And Ulfar too.”

“Thank you, father.”

Eivor brought his attention to Styrbjorn, trying his best to hide the sorrow lurking within him. “...So, I imagine you’ll be departing soon?”

To his surprise, the king appeared to have other things in mind. “Actually, there is something else your father and I would like to discuss first. Something that concerns you and my son.”

Sigurd froze at that, already suspicious of where this was leading. “...W-What do you mean?”

Arngeir stepped forward, hesitant to speak any further. “Forgive my being candid, but we are aware of the relationship between you two.”

Eivor instantly felt the color drain from his face, and he could’ve sworn he saw his own soul fleeing from his body.

“You-- what?”

“Do not be alarmed, my son. I am not here to pass judgement. Only to offer a proposal.”

“But... how? How did you find out?”

Arngeir crossed his arms in thought. “Yesterday, during the battle. Sigurd and I left the fort in order to search for you. We noticed you had disappeared at some point, and feared you may be in danger. Though, by the time I stumbled upon you, you had already found your way to the prince.”

“That means... you saw us...”

“...Embracing one another, yes. I apologize, Eivor. I did not mean to intrude.”

The young man exchanged glances with Sigurd, terrified to see the outcome of this discovery. “So, what does this mean for us? Are we to face punishment?”

Arngeir shook his head. “No. Quite the contrary, actually. I realize it isn’t my place to speak about this -- and for that I am sorry -- but I admit I shared this news with Styrbjorn once we returned, for I had an idea in mind that I wished to broach.”

That caught Sigurd’s attention. “An idea? About what?”

Styrbjorn provided the answer. “About this alliance, of course. You see, when we first arranged this marriage between you and Randvi, we did so with the intention of forming an ironclad bond. A bond born out of love. We believed it would be a way to ensure that our clans never fell apart, since our families would be intertwined from that day on. Clearly however, we were mistaken.”

The jarl nodded in agreement. “Indeed. It seems that the bond we were looking for... had been between you two all along.”

Arngeir trailed off into silence for a moment, considering his next words.

“Listen, both of you. Styrbjorn and I had a long conversation yesterday once I revealed my discovery. We discussed many things pertaining to this alliance, and after our talk, we came to the conclusion that... this marriage is no longer necessary.”

Sigurd’s eyes widened in shock. “Wait, are you saying that it’s over?”

“Ultimately, the choice lies with you. If you wish to end this marriage, and if Eivor decides to go in Randvi’s stead, then I have already told Styrbjorn that I have no qualms with it.”

The prince immediately looked at his lover, radiating with a newfound hope.

“Eivor...! Think about it. You could join me, just like we wanted.”

The Wolf-Kissed glanced at Arngeir, double-checking with him first.

“But what about you, father? Are you certain about this? I don’t want to abandon you.”

The jarl gave him a reassuring pat on the arm. “Do not fret, Eivor. You’re not abandoning anybody. If you choose to stay with Sigurd, then Randvi will remain here in your place. Neither of us will be alone.”

Randvi suddenly jumped into the conversation, encouraging her brother to follow his desires.

“Go on, Eivor. It’s okay. Father and I will have each other. We’ll rebuild Bjornheimr, and return this village to what it once was. By the time you come back, this place will be thriving more than it ever did. In the meantime, go with Sigurd. A new life awaits you in Fornburg. Don’t let this opportunity pass.”

“She’s right, Eivor,” Arngeir said. “All I’ve ever wanted for any of you is to be happy. If you believe that being with Sigurd is best for you, then go.”

The young man stumbled over his words, rendered completely speechless by how this scenario had turned out. When he awoke this morning, he never imagined that he’d be given the option to freely roam the kingdom at Sigurd’s side, living with him as if they were family. 

If anything, Eivor fully expected that he would be bidding the prince farewell, and left to wallow in the melancholy that had formed in his heart during this past month. So much anger and regret had taken control of his spirit’s reins ever since the news of Sigurd’s departure, and now... it was all gone. Just like that.

“I... I don’t know what to say,” he replied. “...Thank you, father. You can’t imagine how much this means to me.”

A gleeful expression spread across the jarl’s face. “I’m glad, Eivor.”

Randvi wrapped her arms around her younger brother, pulling the man into one last hug before saying goodbye.

“We’ll miss you, little cub. Take care of yourself, and each other. Alright?”

“We will. I promise.”

The woman gave him a playful shove. “Then get out of here. And make sure to knock plenty of skulls. Let the world know who we are.”

Eivor chuckled at the response, grinning from ear-to-ear. “The Bear Clan’s name will be fluttering from the lips of every bard in Norway when I’m done. I assure you. Until then, farewell, and thank you for all you’ve given me.”

The Wolf-Kissed walked over to Sigurd’s side, openly taking hold of his hand for the first time since they met. The prince’s eyes were twinkling with a vibrant ray of hope at this point, and a familiar sense of contentment had finally returned to his soul.

“Come, my love,” Eivor ushered. “Fornburg awaits.”

~~~~~~~~~~

LATER THAT DAY

Steadily gliding across the ocean’s hills, the longship broke free from the harbor and began heading out towards the vastness of the open sea, prepared to deliver its occupants back home after a long and arduous battle.

Petals of snow could be seen dancing along the surface of the vessel’s billowing sails, and in the distance, the sun’s light shone through the mountains, causing the water below to shimmer with a glittering streak.

Birds soared in harmony with the wind that guided the longship’s course and left a trail of feathers in their wake, accompanying the warriors who sailed beneath their wings.

All the creatures of Midgard seemed to band together in celebration now that the age of war had perished, and the earth cried out in relief due to the lack of blood littering its soil.

As for Eivor, the man simply rested against the longship’s walls and marveled at the view in front of him, listening intently while Sigurd entertained him with tales of Fornburg’s wonders. The prince spoke of his home with a great fondness and constructed vivid images using only the movement of his hands, painting a clear picture for his companion.

Meanwhile, the oarsmen behind them burst into song and began reciting a number of sea shanties, singing heartily as if they were performing for the gods themselves. Their voices rang merrily into the sky like a horn of victory, and the world around them seemed to bloom with revival.

It was the start of a new dawn. After countless years of pointless death and suffering, the clans in Norway had become united under one crown, and Kjotve had paid the ultimate price. His name had been blotted out with the stain of a mad tyrant, and his victims had been released from their ethereal chains in the afterlife.

Most importantly though, Eivor no longer felt the need to hide who he was. The fantasy that once haunted him in his dreams had become a reality, and now, he was free to love Sigurd as any man would love his wife. The times of fear and judgement were over at last, and the alliance between their peoples had been reignited with a different bond.

Their relationship would be the foundation of many things to come, and just like Ingrida once said, they had finally found their way home after decades of straying from their fate.

It was what the Nornir planned all along, and the one thing Varin always wished for his son -- the one thing he could never achieve.

Freedom.

[shewhospeakswiththunder]

Perhaps you’re feeling bored at home or, if considered an “essential” worker like me, you need a little fun and stress relief. Here is my masterpost of fic recs from my two years of reading so far. Maybe you’ll find something new, or reconnect with an old favorite. Either way--

Enjoy! 😷💕

Reylo Fics that Deserve All the Love

Near Kinsman by englishable

Englishable is just one of the best writers I’ve encountered in fandom. This historical western mail order bride AU is top notch quality.

The Masochism of Self-Defence by greyorchids

The Reylo dynamic in this Boston PD AU is steamy, but also heartfelt. 

So Much Thin Glass by walkingsaladshooter

Never knew I loved modern day Gothic AUs until I ran across this one.

Heaven Forbid by DarkKnightDarkSide

I was stunned by the author’s creativity in this Priestlo fic. So smutty. So... inventive 😉🔥

Sonder by deathbyhumidity

Two strangers passing each other by on the train. Soft, dreamlike, somber, poignant. Modern AU.

And Still I Would Remember by Inmyownidiom

A Victorian era AU of two souls that parted and come crashing back together.

So, You've Decided to Glamour a Human Girl. by selunchen

Faeries AU! Ben, a fae, and Rey, a human. Shenanigans ensue.

Live Long, and Prosper by SaintHeretical

For the Reylo Trekkies. Hell, even if you don't do Star Trek, read this. PHENOMENAL.

Mr. Solo & Miss Wellfound by LinearA

“Regency/Victorian AU, Ben sees Rey's stockinged ankle by accident.”

Diyari by Nervoustouch

Modern archeologists AU. Snarky banter with dashes of Indiana Jones, The Mummy, and Sahara vibes.

Drawn to the light of your burning sorrows by Kyriadamorte

The Mothlo AU you didn’t know you needed. Both gritty and soft.

Crown Glass by RebelRebel

Fantasy AU, with lots of beautiful imagery and engaging character dynamics.

Kohelet 3:16 (Call Me A Cab) by LinearA

NYC Jewish Leia and Ben. Skillfully layered plot, nuanced characterization. Smut is HOT.

By the Shores of Varykino Lake by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

Unhealthy dynamics, definitely read the tags. “There’s a lot of fucked-up-ness”, in the author’s own words. But it’s good writing. Fair warning.

Let Me Put My Darkness In You by ArdeaJestin

Canonverse. Hux is an insufferable, pompous ass and Kylo Ren writes terrible, melodramatic poetry.

Wintertide by Zabeta

Whimsical and primitive in turn, this lives up to the style of a true fairytale AU.

The Forty Thieves by PoetHrotsvitha

Peaky Blinders/Gangsters AU. Rey starts as Ben’s bartender and ends up as so much more.

I Said to My Soul, Be Still by LinearA

Dark!Rey takes her man. 🥵🔥💕

Hux's Rousing Pep Talks by Riels_shorts

This fic is hysterical. It’s not Reylo, and I don’t care. My list, my rules.

It's All I Can Do To Leave You Alone by TazWren

Office AU. Silly, spunky, with a bashful Ben. 

Sip the Honey Sweet by dietplainlite

Anne of Green Gables-esque/Edwardian era AU, the title really says it all.

The Pull to the Light by HarpiaHarpyja

Entrancingly macabre. This modern/fantasy/monsters AU catches your attention from the get-go, and never lets you off the hook.

lay then the axe to the root by sciosophia

All the Bronte goodness, plus smut.

The Golden Age by TourmalineGreen

Golden Age of Hollywood AU in which Ben is a jaded actor in serious need of an image fix, in the form of fresh-faced actress Rey.

Never Be Your Curse by Kate_Reid 

Kylo Ren is a go-go dancer in this AU. That was enough to get my attention 😘

Gallows God by Killtheselights

Bursting with deliciously grim imagery, an intelligent take on Norse mythology.

Thunderstorms, Clouds, Snow, and a Slight Drizzle by aNerdObsessed

Who doesn’t love an ugly sweater Christmas party? Ben Solo, that’s who. All the nostalgic wintertime feels in this modern AU.

Though My Soul Has Set in Darkness by englishable

It’s not long, but it’s good. A lyrical dive into the mindspace of child Ben Solo. A true gem. Also not technically Reylo. Still don’t care.

I Dare You by tinylittlebrain

Daredevil Kylo has pissed off ER doc Rey Kenobi for the last time. Spicy!

stuck in colder weather by redbelles

Professor Ren stops grad student Rey from biking home in a snow storm. And takes her to his home. You can guess where this goes 😉

Between Sky and Sea by nessalk

Serious Indiana Jones vibes with a Caribbean flair. Painstakingly researched, and moments of true beauty and joy.

But Before Tomorrow by Kate_Reid

Such good writing. Canonverse.

The Sword of Prince Hector by englishable

Exploration of what redemption might feel like for Ben, canonverse. 

if compassion be the breath of life, breathe on me by Victoryindeath2

All the angst and unknowns that we were left with in the wake of TLJ are soothed in this canonverse piece.

build a ladder to the stars by redbelles

An exploration of events post-Crait. Fantastic, beautifully written.

nor are we forgiven (which brings us back) by TolkienGirl

Both Kylo and Rey get to see what life would have been like if they both got exactly what they thought they wanted after TLJ. Fascinating read. 

Forsworn by Erulisse17

This Mando/ST crossover has everything you could want--action, witty banter, space romance! So much fun!

Reylo Favorites & Classics

One Shots

59 Minutes by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

For Science by KyloTrashForever, ohwise1ne

He Made It Through the Wilderness (somehow he made it through) by LovesBitca8

light carries on endlessly by lachesisgrimm (olga_theodora)

Grey by ocjones

The Idiot's Guide to Flirting by Violetwilson

High School/College AU

I Caught Fire by KyloTrashForever

Mountain Springs High School by animal

Epithumia by pontmercy44

Soul Searching by OptimisticBeth

Office/Workplace AU

Sensual Storytime by andabatae

The Food of Love by LovesBitca8

Historical/Dystopia AU

Hiraeth by Ferasha

a manner of virtue by neonheartbeat

The lamb's thirst by animal

Wanted by Inmyownidiom

She Who Would be Queen by sasstasticmad

go i know not whither and fetch i know not what by voicedimplosives

ABO

Knot My First Time by KyloTrashForever

Canonverse/Canon-divergent

variations on a theme of you by diasterisms (Reydar)

i will be the wolf by diasterisms

Sky Marked Souls by AnonymousMink

The Death of Kylo Ren by nymja

World In My Eyes by sasstasticmad

i'm always in this twilight (in the shadow of your heart) by diasterisms

Catch Me I’m Falling by violethoure666

Sword of the Jedi by diasterisms

You'll Be the One to Turn by postedbygaslight

Dark Crown by Violetwilson

Harry Potter AU

Nocturnal Studies And Other Peculiar Magic by WaterlilyRose

Otherwise Modern AU

Pretense by Celia_and

Insta-heart by slipgoingunder

Serotonin and Dopamine by pontmercy44

The Elusive Mating Dance of the Porgus Adorabilis by andabatae

Hanging by a Moment by crossingwinter

WAR DOGS by fulcrumstardust

miles from where you are by Mooncactus

Charcoal by luvkurai

Stay by jeeno2

coarse and rough and irritating by frak-all (or_ryn)

Blades Crossed by the-reylo-void (Anysia)

Embers by sciosophia

Mitan, Midi by animal

Janus by englishable

Say My Name by Graendoll

Thank You for The Music by hipgrab (merrymegtargaryen)

darling, so it goes by akosmia

This is the Sign You've Been Looking For by RebelRebel

Broken Things by midnightbluefox

One-Night Stand by delia-pavorum (literaryminded)

The Rebel Side of Heaven by jeeno2

On The Bumpy Road (To Love) by violethoure666

we could plant a house, we could build a tree by Like_A_Dove

I’d Like My Obituary to Hint at a Sequel by Violetwilson

Only If You Want To by Violetwilson

Not Reylo, Still Awesome

Gingerflower/Gingerrose, Armitage Hux/Rose Tico 

Between Sand and Sea by Brit Hux-Tico (birchwoods01)

If Ever I Would Leave You by Weddersins

Her Yellow Rainboots by Weddersins

Merrical, Cal Kestis/Merrin (Jedi: Fallen Order)

The Stars Alight by FlyingMachine

Heavy Ice by FlyingMachine

Caltrilla, Cal Kestis/Trilla Suduri (Jedi: Fallen Order)

No One Else by xanderwilde

call it what you want by xanderwilde

tear you to pieces by xanderwilde

Dramione, Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy (Harry Potter Universe)

Now Is A Gift by SenLinYu

Sex and Occlumency by Graendoll

Zutara, Katara/Zuko (Avatar: the Last Airbender)

oracle bones by an orphaned account

Fics by Me

Virtue Ethics

Reylo College AU (completed)

Dr. Ben Solo, adjunct philosophy professor and part-time martial arts instructor, discovers a young woman in his Intro to Philosophy course whom he thinks may not actually be enrolled at the University.

Chiasmus

Reylo Role-reversal canonverse AU (WIP)

Scourge of the galaxy, Kira Ren, is tasked by the First Order to eliminate the last of the Jedi. When she captures hotshot podracer Ben Solo to extract Luke Skywalker’s location from him, things do not go according to plan. 

This Dance of Light, This Sacred Blessing

Snapshots of a modern Reylo AU. Smutty, prosey one-shot.

Listen Up, Kid

Canonverse Reylo Post TLJ one-shot

The ghosts of Supreme Leader Kylo Ren's past are back to haunt him with a vengeance. A well-meaning, familial kind of vengeance. Or, A Star Wars Carol.

Ben’s Body

Reylo Modern AU (completed)

Rey is an up and coming sculptor specialising in human shape and form. Her new next door neighbour has a body to die for and she's determined to preserve it in marble forever. Now she just has to convince dashing and reclusive Ben to model for her. Preferably naked.

Growin’ Up

Reylo High School AU (completed)

Ben Solo was supposed to only be ruining his own life with his bad decisions. Rey Niima was just trying to pay attention in class. Both get stuck in detention.

Seven Texts, 2 AM

Reylo Modern AU, smutty one-shot

Ben has good reasons not to have sex with his neighbor, Rey. She has other ideas.

Song of the Forest

Reylo Fantasy/BatB/Fairytale AU (completed)

Once upon a time, a girl with an unknown past appeared on the doorsteps of a lord’s manor, and now the forest at the edge of the lord’s property is calling to her.

A Season of Frost & Warmth

Modern Reylo P&P AU (completed)

When Ben shows up to a Halloween party with no costume, it only confirms Rey’s certainty that he is the world’s biggest jerk. Until it comes to light that maybe... he isn’t. 

Follow Me Home

Modern Werewolf Reylo AU (completed)

Rey gets stone drunk and brings home a big cute husky she found in an alley. The next morning, she finds a naked man built like a fridge sleeping on her living room floor, and no dog in sight.

The Gentleness That Comes

Reylo Modern AU one-shot

Underground boxer!Ben is resigned to his life of violence, until he meets a pretty new bartender one night.

Unlikely, Unbidden, Unbound

Gingerflower canonverse AU (WIP)

General Hux is imprisoned by the Resistance when the First Order falls. He had known his death was coming, it was simply a matter of course. He’s disappointed to learn the Resistance has other plans, and an unwavering policy of giving people second chances.

@thereylowritingden @reylofic @nancylovesreylo @grlie-girl @lilia-ula @greyforceuser @tazwren @mhcalamas

[fallenrepublick]

Lies

Do you want to be sad??????? No????? Well, I don’t care!!!!

Synopsis: Maul is regretting an argument the two of you had earlier. When he finds you again, he regrets it even more.

Warnings: You’ll be sad. May the force be with you.

@savagesbonergarage You’re welcome.

Inspired by @any59's idea so blame them not me

The room was cold. It had been only a few hours, three at most, since Maul said that to you. He had said such… stupid, awful things. The regret he had felt the second the words exited his mouth and he saw your face was the worst thing he had felt his whole life, and finding the room you two shared empty afterwards only made his sinking dread worse.

You’d only wanted to protect him, to know that he was safe. And he knew that, yet something in him, something he hadn’t even realized existed, snapped, and the only thing he left you with was,

“What you want me to do doesn’t matter. My goals have nothing to do with you, so stay out of it.”

Your face had fallen, your beautiful, perfect face that had done nothing but love him, now marred with pain that he still couldn’t take back, only looked at him in utter betrayal. And before he could even attempt to mend what he’d done or offer an apology, you had turned, trying and failing to hide the tears that streamed down your cheeks as you got as far from him as you could.

By god he had wanted to follow. Every instinct in his mind had screamed at him to follow, to tell you he didn’t mean it, that he could never possibly mean something like that. But he denied his instincts, if only this once. Maybe, he reasoned, it would be best if you had a moment alone before you saw him again.

But when he entered the room, the air was still, the dark sheets of your bed undisturbed by you or otherwise. The desk was still neatly organized as usual, and the dresser to its side similarly so. There was no trace of you.

He didn’t know what it meant. All he knew was that his hearts were racing, and you were nowhere to be found, and the empty halls of the palace echoed the metallic clang of his feet bolting across the floor as he ran, the sound ringing in his ears like a clocktower signaling the end of an era.

He stopped. The throne room. The stained glass behind the throne cast a sickening bloody light onto the floor, illuminating the space you stood on as a spotlight does the star of a play. You were holding something, grey and rectangular, turning it over in your hand as you inspected the plain handle. The Darksaber. Maul instinctively felt at the side the hilt normally rested on.

“My Starlight,” he half-whispered, holding a tight hand to his chest. He feared it would snap at any moment, the memory alone of everything he had said to you enough to tear him to shreds at your feet.

Your head lifted, turning to face him. But something wasn’t right. He had expected pain, sadness, even a frantic, sorrowful anger. Your lips were tight, contorted into a tilted grimace. Your eyes bore into him, the glare reminiscent of one he had seen far too often from those on the wrong side of the war. Here, now, you looked at him with only contempt.

“How long was that? Four hours? Five?” you snapped, your teeth baring angrily at him with every word. “You can’t be serious.”

“I know, I’m so sorry, I only-”

“Save it.” You had never spoken to him like that. Even on the worst days.

“You know,” you continued, an underlying hiss beneath your voice. “I can’t believe I wasted my time like this?” His hearts stopped. “You’re so fucking pathetic. You put on some big show to get people to follow you, meanwhile you go around kowtowing to anyone who makes you think you deserve to be loved.”

His breath caught in his throat, hands trembling at his sides, head shaking slightly as he processed what you were saying. He didn’t know what to do.

You gave a cruel, small laugh, contempt turning to bitter amusement. “What a joke.” Silence filling the space between you, your eyes turned down once more to the saber hilt in your hand. “It doesn’t really matter now, I guess, does it? I mean, I got what I wanted from you, didn’t I?”

“What…” his voice shook, on the verge of cracking, eyes burning from the pressure. “What are you-”

“Are you really that stupid?” you asked, glancing back at him, his hands recoiling to his chest and shoulders tightening. “This,” You waved the hilt in front of him as if he couldn’t see it before. “Was the goal. Honestly, this whole thing worked out better than I expected. I thought it would take years for you to open up, but it’s only been a few months and you were ready to risk everything for me.”

It became hard for him to look at you. His nails dug into the back of his hand, threatening to tear off his skin, taking every word you spat at him like a blow to the abdomen. His vision blurred and he was left on his knees, watching you as best he could.

“Everything you told me…” he struggled, voice pushing through his throat, choking back any pained cries he might release. “Was a lie… You don’t… You don’t love me.”

You laughed fully now, the sound echoing against the lonely stone walls. It wasn’t the way you had laughed with him before. How cold this one was, how resentful. Maul remembered your laugh, how warm it was, and kind. He found himself missing it.

“I never did, and that’s what you don’t seem to get.” You stepped forward accusingly, bending slightly to make it easier for him to see you as you spoke. “I used you, you understand? Whatever you think I felt for you was imagined. There is no us, there is no we. There never has been. You’re just as useless and alone as you always were.”

He should have gotten up. He should have fought. But he didn’t. He couldn’t. It was you, and he had told you, he had promised you, he would never hurt you. No matter what you did, no matter what you said. You would never be harmed.

And so he stayed, hands reaching up to pierce into his skull, one last foolish attempt to shield himself from your words.

“Please,” he begged, heart shattered as if mourning the death of the one closest to him. “Stop…”

“You weren’t good enough as a Sith. So what the hell made you think you were good enough for me?”

He heard the Darksaber activate. He had to fight, he knew that. But his legs refused to move, his hands continued doing nothing but shake. The promise rang in his ears, as did your response that nothing would ever bring your lives to such a terrible thing. He couldn’t bring himself to stop you.

A flash of red. A wave of silence and a sharp clang of metal hitting the stone floor. Maul didn’t look up.

“Maul… Maul,” Your breathy voice, soft in comparison to moments before, made its way into his mind. He could feel soft hands encircling his wrists, guiding them down to his lap, the touch just the way it had been hours prior. “Hey, hey, look at me… Are you okay? Are you hurt? If only I’d gotten here sooner…” You reached up to hold his cheek, lifting his gaze to you, the warmth almost foreign to him again. But your eyes were sad and worried, lips parted slightly. He wondered if he were imagining this.

“You…” he began, afraid of every word he said angering you once more. “You said you hated me… That it was all an act…”

“No no no,” you said hastily, bringing your forehead to rest on his, hands gently stroking and tracing his face. “That wasn’t me, that wasn’t me. I promise, none of that is true… I love you. I love you with all my heart, okay? I would never say that, I swear.”

His eyes closed, allowing himself to feel the difference in your presence, the warmth he had longed for these few hours. “Then what was…” He glanced to where “you” had been standing moments before. Only a slight cloud of smoke remained, and the Darksaber lay on the floor centimeters away.

“You know who it was.”

Pulling away, he watched you, senses clearing finally, wondering how he hadn’t seen it before. Without thinking, he leaned in, burying his face in your neck, wrapping his arms around your waist, almost desperately.

“I thought… I thought I’d lost you.”

Arms curling around his neck, you held him tighter than you had in a long time. The cold floor against your knees compared little to the warmth of his chest, which was finally beginning to calm itself against you.

“That won’t happen. You mean everything to me. You always have, and you always will.”

[raviotherabbit]

royal pain in the ass - chapter 5

Chapter 5: Greatfish Isle The Zeldas find themselves stranded.

[first] - [previous] - [next] read it on ao3!

  △ ▲△

The first thing Dusk notices when she steps through the portal is the smell of salt, carried on a cool breeze. And then, almost immediately, her vision begins to swim and she doubles over in dizziness.

“You weren’t-” she swallows. “You weren’t lying…”

“I’m never getting used to this,” Artemis collapses on the sandy beach, draping an arm over her eyes. “Flora, where are we?”

“Well…” Flora exchanges a concerned glance with Sun, who shrugs in return. “We appear to be shipwrecked.”

“What?!” Dusk straightens herself out in an instant, finally getting a view of their surroundings. The island they’re on appears to have been ruined in some way, the ground torn apart as though wrecked by a great force. And, as far as the eye can see, there is only water.

“By Hylia, this can’t be happening!” Dusk brings a hand to her face in horror. “We’re stuck here?!”

“Hey, it’s not that bad,” Flora kneels down, scooping a handful of sand and letting it slip through her fingers. “We have our food supplies, and there doesn’t look to be any danger around here.”

“And we can sleep under the stars!” Sun chimes in. “Have you ever gone camping, Dusk?”

“No.” She crosses her arms grumpily. “I have not.”

“I’ve basically been camping since Link finished his quest…” Sun takes a moment to count on her fingers. “Almost two years ago, now. Trust me,” she places a comforting hand on Dusk’s shoulder. “You’ll catch on in no time.”

  △ ▲△

“So what are we thinking about for dinner tonight?” Flora holds up her slate as she asks, inspecting its contents. “Dusk, I must admit, your era was great for stocking up on supplies. We have the ingredients here to make quite the meal.”

“Shouldn’t we ration, though?” Sun asks, peering over her shoulder. “I mean, we don’t know how long we’ll be stuck here.”

“The Era of the Great Sea isn’t as desolate as it appears,” Artemis remarks, head poking up from where she’d been laying out her bedroll. “Sooner or later, someone is going to come by.”

“You know when we are, then?” Dusk pipes up from her seat at the fire, arms and legs both crossed.

Artemis nods. “It’s truly a beautiful time. A shame that we’re stuck here.”

“A shame indeed,” Dusk mutters under her breath.

“Ah, I remember hearing about it during my lessons,” Flora comments, but it’s all she says on the subject before turning her attention back to Sun. “How about some risotto? We can use pumpkin in it, if you’d like.”

“Really?” Sun’s eyes go wide,and she grips onto Flora’s shoulder just a bit tighter.

“Why not?” Flora flips to the page showing her supplies. “We’ve got everything we need for it.” She pauses for a moment, eying the scowl of their newest member. “Dusk,” she asks, causing her to perk up. “Would you like to help with dinner?”

“Oh,” Dusk almost seems a bit… confused, her head slightly tilted to the side. “Really?”

“Though Wild’s taught me a few things, I’m not the best chef,” Flora admits. “I’d appreciate the extra hands.”

With a bit of hesitation, Dusk slowly scooches over to Flora and Sun. “So,” she glances down at the Sheikah Slate. “What do I need to do?”

  △ ▲△

There have definitely been better pumpkin risottos, that’s for sure. The rice is a bit undercooked, adding an uncomfortable crunch to every bite. Not only that, the pumpkin is slightly goopy, almost spine-shiveringly so.

“Well, this is…” Artemis starts, but she doesn’t finish the thought.

“It’s made with love,” Flora grimaces.

“This sucks,” Dusk says out loud.

“I think!” Artemis deliberately speaks over her. “Because we’re out in the middle of nowhere, we need to start keeping watch at night.”

Oh. Oh no. Dusk’s stomach twists at the idea of that. Sitting around, basked in darkness, doing nothing but watching, waiting? You know what that sounds like?

“Oh, that’s an excellent idea!” Flora comments. “We can even separate into shifts, to minimize any issues that would come from staying up late.”

“We are in unfamiliar waters,” Sun jokes, earning a small laugh from Flora. “But seriously, it may be the best way to ensure our safety while we rest.”

So they agree, just like that?!

“Are-are you serious?” Dusk chokes out, the taste of pumpkin risotto growing even more sour in her mouth.

“Dusk, what’s wrong?” Flora reaches over to her companion, but Dusk jolts away as soon as her fingers brush her arm.

She stands abruptly, her cloak fluttering behind her. “Do as you wish, but I won’t be participating.” Without another word, she storms out of the camp.

  △ ▲△

Thankfully, at least in Dusk’s mind, her counterparts opted not to mention her outburst from the night before. The three of them seemed to have sorted the watch out amongst themselves, but just the thought of that causes a burning feeling of shame to ignite in her chest.

The next morning, the four set about trying to make their small fragment of an islet more comfortable. Artemis has been insistent on keeping a fire going, so they could catch the sight of any passing ships. Sun was more than happy to help her scavenge for kindling. But Flora…

“Malanya’s goddess-damned hooves,” Flora curses under her breath.

Perhaps a bit annoyed, Dusk pokes her head up from her rapier, which she’d been sharpening. Just a few feet away, Flora sits with her legs crossed, arduously attempting to drag a comb through her hair. And arduous is the right word, as no matter how hard she tries, she makes little headway in regard to the tangles.

Dusk places her sword to the side, deciding it will serve her well enough for now. “Do you need help?” she asks.

Flora startles at her words, but settles into a sweet smile when she realizes who’s speaking. “Oh, Dusk.” She holds out the comb. “If you’d like a try at this, go ahead.”

Taking the comb, Dusk silently takes a seat right behind Flora. She tenses slightly as Dusk gently grabs one of the locks, experimentally running her fingers through it.

“This isn’t so bad,” Dusk remarks. “It just needs a bit of maintenance.”

Flora relaxes with a deep breath. “It’s these ocean winds,” she explains, a huff of irritation in her voice. “It always gets bad when I travel, but especially with all the salt in the air…”

Dusk smoothly runs the comb through the top layer of Flora’s hair, removing some of the surface-level tangles. “I can only imagine. How have you been taking care of it before?”

“Typically I’d try to stay ahead of it, but…” Flora sighs. “I’ve fallen behind, lately. Everything has been non-stop since I arrived in Artemis’s time.”

“And how long has it been for you since then?”

Flora takes a moment, and peering around, Dusk can see her counting on her fingers. “Around five days, give or take. It’s just so hard to take care of, you know?”

It takes a great deal of effort for Dusk to swallow down her shock. “Well, if you don’t like it long…” She pinches Flora’s hair between her pointer and middle fingers, miming scissors, at a length just at the bottom of her neck. “Have you considered cutting it?”

“Cutting it?!” Flora brings a hand to her cheek, as if scandalized by the idea. “I- well, I’ve thought of it a few times, yes, but- I’ve never really...” With a strange focus, she twirls one of the strands by her face around her finger, before glancing back at Dusk. “Do you think it’d look good?”

“On you?” Dusk grins warmly. “I think it’d be great. Most of your tangles are in the lower half, so we could just cut them off.”

Suddenly, Flora frowns. “Oh, but we don’t have any scissors. I guess it was a nice thought.”

“I brought a dagger with me,” Dusk reveals, pulling said item from her boot. The handle is intricate and golden, yet not too flashy. “I could get the length down in no time.”

Flora chuckles. “You know, Artemis would kill you if you nicked me.”

Out of the corner of her eye, Dusk surveys Artemis and Sun’s work at the firepit. Sun is currently demonstrating to Artemis the proper way to fan a fire, using a palm leaf.

“How do you know this?” Artemis asks her ancestor with a glint of suspicion in her eye.

Sun straightens, realizing Artemis’s implication. “I didn’t start any fires, Artemis, it was for a Loftwing ceremony-” At that point, though, Dusk stops listening, turning back to Flora.

“Then I’ll have to be careful.”

The first cuts are the most dramatic, slicing away the largest chunks of hair. Flora fidgets with her hands the whole time, but she has the poise to keep her head still for Dusk. Once it’s down to length, though, all that’s left to do is to clean up the edges.

Finally, running the locks through her fingers one last time, Dusk announces, “It’s done.”

Flora gasps with elation, and before Dusk can even lament their lack of a mirror, she pulls out her tablet. Much to Dusk’s surprise, when she points it back at herself, both of their faces appear on its screen. Her own shock and Flora’s pure excitement are reflected back at them.

“Oh, it’s amazing!” Flora turns her head back and forth, her new bob cut twirling with her. “Dusk, thank you so much for this!” She wraps an arm around Dusk’s shoulders, pulling her forward. “Smile!” she says, just before her slate makes a clicking noise.

By the time Dusk processed those words, though, it was already over.

“Wh-what was that?” Dusk stammers out.

For a brief moment, Flora looks at her with confusion. Then her eyes go wide, her mouth forming into an ‘o’. “I took a photo of us on the Sheikah Slate.” She holds out the slate for Dusk. “Do you want to see?”

Hesitantly, Dusk takes the tablet from Flora. She doesn’t have to do much after that because there, right on the screen, is a photograph of Flora’s sweet, smiling face. And Dusk is right next to her, looking towards her descendant with the most bewildered look on her face.

“Woah,” Dusk says, politely ignoring her less-than stellar appearance. “This is amazing.”

“I know, right?” Flora takes her slate back.

Struck with an idea, Dusk grabs a few of the strands of hair left on the ground, holding them up and shouting, “Hey, Artemis!”

Artemis looks between the hair in Dusk’s hand and Flora’s new cut. “What did you do to her hair?!”

Dusk waves the hair back and forth. “I got you more kindling!”

Flora and Sun’s laughs are worth the shade of red Artemis’s face turns.

  △ ▲△

“Are you sure you don’t want to sit with me?” Flora calls over her shoulder. She’s lounging on one of the sharp edges of their little islet, her legs hanging over and dipping into the sea below. “It’s a great way to cool down!”

“No thank you!” Sun responds with a smile. Together, she and Dusk are happily sitting under their makeshift canopy, constructed from their spare blankets and tied together both with stakes and to the sole tree on their shard of an island. Dusk’s own cloak has been abandoned, now serving as a barrier between them and the itchy grass.

“We don’t have bathing suits like you and Artemis do,” Dusk explains, with Sun nodding along solemnly, “So we probably shouldn’t get wet.”

Flora shrugs, but her resignation turns to horror as, suddenly, a hand wraps around her ankle. With a shout, she disappears past the ridge, into the ocean.

Oh, Lanayru’s tears!

“Flora!” they both shout, leaping to their feet and sprinting to the edge of the islet. When they skid to a stop, though, they don’t find a horrible sea monster attempting to snap its jaws around their descendant.

Instead, they’re just in time to bear witness to Artemis, waist-deep in the shallows, hefting Flora upwards and, despite her kicks of protest, supplexing her into the water.

SPLASH!

And, just like that, Dusk and Sun are soaked.

Artemis springs out of the water, laughing in a way a cat would laugh if it caught its prey. If Dusk didn’t know any better, with her wet hair and all her grace, she might have thought she was a mermaid.

“Rude.” Flora surfaces just behind Artemis, though she doesn’t emerge past her neck.

“You needed to stop delaying,” Artemis insists, crossing her arms. “I was getting bored on my own in here.”

“I was just checking on Sun and Artemis-!”

“Uh, hello?!” Dusk shouts and gestures to her dress, which is currently dripping saltwater onto the grass below. “Two sopping wet queens, here!”

“I’m not a queen,” Sun murmurs, though she’s mostly focused on wringing the water from the edges of her own dress.

“Can it, Sun,” Dusk orders, pointing an accusatory hand at Artemis. “You splashed us!”

Artemis rolls her eyes. “A little water never hurt anyone.”

“A little water?!” Dusk almost shrieks. “Do you know how much I spent on this dress?!”

Flora stops blowing bubbles to poke her mouth above the water. “Why did you bring an expensive dress on your time travel adventure?”

“Because as a queen,” Dusk refers to herself with her fingers on her chest. “I need to present myself nicely. In fact, I’m surprised you three don’t have anything nicer.”

“Anything nice I own has been eaten by moths by now,” Flora mutters. “Or malice.”

“This is my nicest outfit?” Sun reveals.

“Stop saying nice,” Artemis groans. “It doesn’t sound real anymore. Dusk, if your dress is ruined now, do you want to join us?”

Dusk gasps with indignation. “I would never-!”

“Fine! Fine!” Artemis waves her off. “Forget I asked. Go back to your castle or whatever.”

She almost leaps into the water then and there, just to give Artemis a piece of her mind. In fact, Dusk takes one sharp, threatening step towards, her fists curled into balls, when- “Come on,” Sun takes Dusk’s hand, and the contact grounds her in a way. “I know a lot of good laundry tricks. I could probably un-saltwater your dress.”

“You’d do that?” Dusk asks, almost confused as Sun guides her pack to their canopy.

“Of course,” Sun smiles at her. “Why wouldn’t I help?”

Artemis stands in the water, watching as Dusk and Sun retreat. Her lips are pressed together, eyes narrowed in, and Flora can’t figure out what she’s thinking for the life of her.

This kind of sucks.

Hylia, alright. She can figure this out.

For now, though, Artemis has made a grave tactical error, leaving her back to Flora while her attention is elsewhere.

As quietly as she can, Flora sneaks up behind Artemis. Then, when she’s close enough, she leaps at her back, pushing down with all of her might.

“I’ve got you!” Flora shouts, before realizing… Oh no. Even using all of her strength, she hasn’t pushed Artemis down an inch. And now, Artemis is looking right into her eyes, one eyebrow raised in amusement.

Wordlessly, Artemis flips Flora off of her back, and she lands in the water with a Smack!

“Ow,” Flora whimpers as she peeks back above the water.

With a sigh, Artemis dramatically brushes her hands off. “Now, that can’t be the best we can do.”

  △ ▲△

“Sun, this has got to end.”

That’s what Flora proclaims when she wakes Sun that night for her nightly shift.

“What’s gotta end?” Sun slurs, still half asleep.

“This fighting between Artemis and Dusk,” she crosses her arms. “I don’t like it.”

“You’ve noticed it too?” Sun asks as she rubs her eyes.

Flora shrugs, settling next to Sun’s bedroll. “I think just about anyone with eyes could notice that.” And then, without thinking, she adds, “It reminds me of Link and Revali.”

Just a little bit, Flora’s heart aches.

“Huh?” Sun tilts her head upon hearing this. “Who’s Revali?”

“Oh, Revali- uh,” Flora stammers awkwardly. “He’s a friend. Was a friend.”

Immediately, Sun breaks out those sad little eyes, as if she can guess exactly what happened to Revali. As if she knows anything about her Hyrule. “I’m sorry, I know it’s hard-”

“It’s fine!” Flora shouts, just a bit too loudly. Instinctively, she covers her mouth, though she’s relieved to see that Artemis and Dusk don’t stir within their own bedrolls.

“It’s fine,” she reiterates, quieter this time. “We need to focus on this, now.”

“Alright,” Sun pushes her blanket down, meeting Flora’s eye with a determined smirk. “How do you propose we do it?”

  △ ▲△

“See, this is the Cryonis Rune,” Flora demonstrates by summoning a pillar of ice in the shallow part of the water. “It can make ice.”

“Very interesting, Flora,” Dusk comments, eying the designs on the surface of the ice. “In fact, it’s kind of pretty, too.”

“Thank you,” Flora bows jokingly. “Obviously, it can be used to keep us cool during hot days. But also, they can be utilized as makeshift bridges across waterways.”

“Oh? Like from this island to another?” Sun’s acting leaves a bit to be desired, but she can at least keep the ball rolling.

Flora snaps her fingers at Sun. “Exactly! Now, I can’t be certain of where any proper islands are, but I can at least make my way over to one of the other land masses nearby. It could be good for foraging.”

Artemis raises her hand. “Are you sure this is safe?”

“Of course, Wild has done it plenty of times,” Flora assures her.

“I don’t know if anything that kid does can be construed as safe,” Dusk murmurs under her breath.

Artemis’s eye slightly twitches at that. “Dusk does bring up a good point.”

“Oh for Hylia’s sake,” Flora pinches the bridge of her nose. “Wild is fine! He’s accident prone! Not safety unconscious!”

“Oh, last time he visited, we played this fun flying game!” Sun reveals with a small clap. “He kept jumping off the side of Skyloft, and I had to try and catch him with my Loftwing while he avoided me!”

“Sun just disproved your point, Flora,” Dusk points out, smugly.

“We’re getting off-topic!” Flora suddenly shouts. “I can only have three pillars up at a time, so not everyone can come with. Any volunteers?”

“Yeah, Wild was really good at that game!” Sun continues on as if nobody else spoke. “He almost reached the Surface once.”

“I said, any volunteers?” Flora states once again, drawing out the words to catch Sun’s attention.

“Oh, I-!” Sun clears her throat. “I’ll come with you, Zelda!” she says in a tone that is not at all natural.

Flora sighs deeply before muttering to herself, “Why’d you call me Zelda?”

“What was that?” Sun asks innocently.

“I said let’s go now!” Flora jovially swings her fist. “We don’t know how long we’ll be there, so we should get there as fast as possible.”

Artemis looks between the two of them, narrowing her eyes. Flora almost buckles under her scrutiny. “Alright, you two. Be safe, Dusk and I will be keeping an eye on you.”

“Yeah sure,” Dusk says, more focused on her nails than whatever Artemis is saying.

The climb onto the ice pillars is a bit slippery, but Flora and Sun are able to find their footing once they’re squarely on top. Slowly yet surely, they make their way towards the tallest of the island shards. They’d decided on it ahead of time, since it seemed like the obvious choice.

Occasionally, Sun keeps glancing back, meeting Artemis’s gaze every time.

“I think she’s onto us,” Sun whispers, tugging lightly on Flora’s cloak.

“Keep with the plan,” Flora assures her, though her voice is shaky. “Everything will be fine.”

Once they’re at the halfway point between the islands, Flora suddenly stops. Finally, she turns back, facing Sun.

“Are you ready?” she asks, holding her Slate up slightly.

Unable to bring herself to speak, Sun nods.

Without any hesitation, Flora pulls up the Rune once again. But this time, instead of creating a new ice pillar, she breaks the three they’re standing on.

For a brief, helpless moment, they’re weightless. Then gravity rushes in, and the two girls plummet into the sea below.

“Flora! Sun!” Artemis shouts, her hands on either side of her head in horror.

“Oh no!” Flora shouts, purposefully keeping her head just above the water. She thrashes with her arms around wildly.

Sun kicks up to the surface as well. “Dusk! Artemis! Save us!” Dramatically, she raises a hand to the sky.

“Idiots! You can swim!” Dusk doesn’t bother to stand, just cups her mouth as she yells at them both. “You’re not hurt or anything!”

“Uh.” Flora and Sun exchange a glance, temporarily pausing their drowning.

“There’s a sea monster!” Flora tries.

Artemis’s shoulders sag, and just barely, the two of them can hear a groan. “Get back on land! Both of you!”

“Naydra’s fucking ice!”

“Language!” both Artemis and Dusk reprimand Flora.

  △ ▲△

“Oh no, I’m bleeding to death!” Flora theatrically collapses into Sun’s waiting arms. “I need both of you to donate blood!”

“Flora,” Dusk deadpans. “You literally aren’t bleeding.”

  △ ▲△

“I got stung by a bee,” Sun pouts, holding up her finger. “I need medical attention from two great queens of Hyrule, please.”

“Why can’t Flora help you?” Artemis asks, noticing that said queen is poorly hiding behind the tree.

“She died.”

  △ ▲△

“Dusk, Artemis,” Flora solemnly approaches the two queens, both of whom were previously busy tending to camp. “I have decided to grant upon both of you a great honor. One that, previously, I’ve only given to my dear knight Link. And, as you know, I am heartbroken over the fact that it’s been so long since I’ve seen him, and I mourn his presence everyday. Desperately, I wish for his safety and hope to reunite with him soon This is a task that I hope you will take up in his name, for he is no longer here to-”

“Spit it out already, Flora,” Dusk commands, her hands paused in the middle of sewing her blanket, because she did accidentally slash it when she was working on her dagger. “You’re giving me a headache.”

Flora presents the Sheikah Slate to the two of them. “I want you to make dinner tonight.”

“No.”

  △ ▲△

“I give up!” Sun throws her hands into the air in the middle of dinner. Having suddenly lost her appetite, she pushes her fried wild greens to the side.

“Oh thank goodness,” Dusk sighs in relief, leaning back against their lone tree. She takes another bite of her meal. “I thought you’d never stop.”

“What exactly were you two doing, today?” Artemis questions, pausing her own dinner. “Were you trying out acting?”

“No,” Flora grumbles, crossing her arms.

Gently, the moon rises into the sky. Tonight, its left half is missing, like an incomplete puzzle.

Something inside of Sun snaps. How dare they?! Whether she’s Hylia or not, she’s their ancestor! And here they are, treating her like a child?! She isn’t even that much younger than them!

“Do not speak to me in that tone,” Sun’s words are sharp, like a knife through wool, and directed towards Artemis and Dusk. “I am your grandmother several times over, and I don’t deserve to be treated with such disrespect! You reap the benefits of my kingdom to this day!”

“Oh, like I’ve enjoyed leading your kingdom!” Dusk snaps back. “Do you know what I’ve done, what I’ve sacrificed for Hyrule? Don’t hold it over my head!”

Squeezing her eyes shut, Flora covers her ears.

“Can it Dusk!” Sun throws her words right back at her. “All day, Flora and I have been trying to get you two-” she points between Artemis and Dusk. “-to get along! We’re family, this shouldn’t be so hard!”

Artemis gives Dusk a pointed look. “Well maybe if some people were a little more open to my ideas, we wouldn’t have issues in the first place!”

“Oh since we’re going there!” Dusk stands, directing an accusatory finger at Artemis. “Maybe if you didn’t try to control everything, I wouldn’t have a problem with you!”

“Both of you, stop!”

Flora peeks one eye open, hoping desperately she doesn’t find one of her ancestors choking the other. But, in reality, it’s not any of her counterparts that catch her attention. No, it’s something past them, past their small islet…

There’s something on the water.

“What in Hylia’s name is that?!” Flora points at it in horror.

Shocked out of their argument, the three Zeldas all turn to follow her finger. Floating on the water, there it is.

A ship, bathed in a ghostly blue light.

[abizarreyodelingincident]

Our Nightly Confidant 4

War Games

Warriors needs fresh air.

The hand resting in the crook of his elbow is soft, but its grip is threatening to cut off the blood circulation to his hand. The pain has steadily numbed as the ladies exchange thinly veiled insults about this or that province and this or that financial ruin.

He used to like this.

The attention, the admiration, the glory! When did it start to taste like ash in his mouth?

If his queen heard that thought, she'd have another one of her brutal truths for him. 'When war stopped being a game and became a duty.'

When he realized that not even being the Chosen Hero of Courage would shield him from the game. That it made him twice the target every other soldier was. When the bodies of fallen comrades couldn't go past the numb exhaustion that took him every evening.

“Lady Farosh, Lady Ordonas, if you'll excuse me for a second...” he says, flashing them his flashiest smile.

Lady Ordonas brings out her fan to hide her rosy cheeks and agrees with an obvious giggle. Lady Farosh, whose fingernails are on the verge of piercing skin, delays her reply by the barely polite amount of time.

“Oh, Captain Link, you cannot abandon me so swiftly,” she tries, eyes flickering to her father, an esteemed general in discussion with Impa.

“But of course not, only a second to freshen up.”

The instant she releases him, he pulls away and bows. Though, despite his instincts screaming at him, he doesn't run a straight line for the glass doors of the Queen's ballroom. Lady Farosh would take it as an insult. He weaves through conversations, dropping the minimum expected of him here and there, snarks at a Legend that looks ready to murder Lord Lonnayru (and Warriors wishes him to succeed), never touches a drink or bite offered that he did not pick for himself, and eventually reaches freedom.

The cool night air is a balm on his skin as it strokes his hair and face.

Even the small, military tents he's slept in during the campaign didn't feel half as stifling as that ballroom. And some of the tents, he couldn't even stand up inside!

Above, the moon shines its silvery glow down to the garden's fountain. With the ball in full swing inside, no one walks the peaceful path of stone amidst the roses and the arches. Shame. It's a beautiful place. His first stroll there had been a pleasant experience, though not his first conversation with his queen. Impa had chased away the rest of the escort and glared the patrolling guards into submission. Any attempt to bargain had been met with stony silence and a dare to prove themselves worthier of the Queen's protection than her Sheikah general and mentor.

Warriors stops by the hedgerow. If he focuses, he can see the spot where Zelda sat down, where she picked a rose for him, and pinned it on his breastplate.

They had had hopes for the future. Have. He still has hopes. Don't get him wrong. But he's a little more tired than he used to be. Where had the time gone?

'Captain Link, I must introduce you to my daughter.'

Must. Must. Must. Always a 'must', never a 'may'. Duty traps him and the wild beasts know it. They sniffed his blood long ago, and he can only ever bandage the wound so much before it becomes infected.

Traipsing around with the heroes of previous eras is a blessing and a reward that Hylia offered him. A thank you, he feels, and perhaps the beginning of an apology.

“You shouldn't be out there on your own, Captain Link.”

Those are normal words, spoken with careful reverence. Nothing about them should bring his walls up this quickly. But Warriors is no longer accosted by the common soldiers. Hasn't in a long time.

The cracks on his heart spread just a little further. Deeper.

“Someone might try to hurt you, sir.”

The reverence is gone.

And the spear points straight at his chest.

He doesn't have time to bring out his sword.

A snarling mass of fur tackles the traitor, and by the time Warriors can react, the cry of fear stops abruptly. In its stead is a steady gurgle, a fading wheeze. A limb that thuds against the garden grounds.

Warriors doesn't flinch. He's seen worse.

Once his prey has been deemed sufficiently mauled, Wolfie turns to him, muzzle dark with blood, and worry clear in his eyes.

“Good boy,” he says, absentminded, a hand ruffling through the beast's sinfully soft fur.

It's a testament to his companion's state of mind that no warning growl responds to the familiarity. Warriors doubt he would hear it anyway. He's staring at the dead body.

The guard was young. Maybe... Hyrule's age. He must have hated the war, if he'd gone to the front lines. Hell is hardly enough of a description for the dance of bodies and hacked limbs. He had probably lost a brother or a father or a cousin to the fighting, if he was earning his keep in the Queen's castle at that age. Maybe Impa had taken pity on him.

“Simple-minded fools who can't resist basic mind magic,” Warriors repeats, a wobbly chuckle in his voice.

Wolfie noses his hand, and the little shock of cold and wet jolts enough that he can avert his eyes from the traitor. Defeated, the events of the night all playing on loop, he drags himself to a secluded spot by the hedgerow. One from which he can see people coming, with his back to the branches. Wolfie plops down next to him.

“Mind magic. What I wouldn't give for that to be the case,” he confesses to the wolf-like companion. “Hylia. I'd take cowards over this. I'm not asking them to fight my battles for me. Not even fight by me. Just...”

His fingers curl into his scarf. Holds onto the lifeline.

“I just want to be able to turn my back on the people I protect. Is that really so much to ask for?”

Soft fur fills his sight. He ought to resist the urge. An officer must be strong. Cannot let the soldiers down. Fear spreads like wildfire. One spark, and the whole army goes up in flame.

He knows this.

He knows, and he sobs anyway. Farore, please, just for an instant, allow him to be weak.

He buries his face in Wolfie's shoulder, relishes the warmth and protection that comes from the sacred beast. It doesn't matter that some blood splatters might stain his official knight armors. It doesn't matter that for a split second, he doesn't scan his surroundings for exits, potential ambushes and traps. He gives the taut ropes of tension inside him just enough relief.

Until he pulls back.

Sniffs twice, wipes his face once and plasters the charmer smile.

“I'm alright, Wolfie... I'm alright.”

Wolfie doesn't buy it. Makes an inquisitive little whine. A question.

His hand trembles in the fur. “I am. I will be.”

Wolfie turns, quick not to notice one's tears. Strange for a wolf, but he doesn't pounce on their weaknesses. They trust he never will.

Silly as it sounds, there's more than a few noble daughters in that ballroom that could take lessons in civility from Wolfie. At least, in his presence, he doesn't feel like a bloody piece of meat dangling in front of a pack of wolves. Now, that's irony.

“You know... you kind of make me miss Midna.”

Warriors jumped back when Wolfie suddenly straightened, his eyes laser focused.

“Yeah, I know her,” he said, feeling a hint of a real smile. “We have a statue for her in the Temple of Souls. Hell of a woman.”

His hands went to his sword the second his ears picked up a low growling noise, only to realize it had come from Wolfie. Was... was their canine companion protective of the Twilight Princess? Or, Hylia forbid, jealous? Goddess, that was too cute.

“Shh, don't alert the others,” Warriors said, hands held in front of him in mock surrender.

Wolfie, with very Hylian-like intelligence, puts a paw first on his muzzle, then scratches one of his ears. It's a good point. He'd know first.

Warriors relents before Wolfie starts nipping. He remembers Time's mud bath. “She mentioned you too. Called you her favorite pet.”

He hadn't know what disgruntled looked like on a wolf before, but now he had the perfect picture. No wonder Midna had loved to tease him.

“She went into battle with this shadow spell. Wolf-companions.”

Wolfie's interest shifts into disguised wariness. There are hints that he might like to pull back a bit, but Warriors' hand remains firm on the back of the wolf's neck.

“Called her main one Rinku,” he adds, waggling his eyebrows. “Reminds you of something, huh?”

Wolfie blinks. Then blinks some more. He's almost completely frozen, like he has no clue what to make of that information. Or is trying to choose the right way to react. And when he does, Warriors bites down on a burst of laughter.

The puppy eyes. The good boy smile. It's worrying how they almost work.

Almost.

Warriors keeps a sly grin on his face and waits. He's in no hurry to return inside the palace.

It takes another change of beat in the music coming from the ballroom before Wolfie gives, and shadows swallow him.

“Since when?” Twilight says, sighing.

Warriors' smirk is immensely punchable, he's aware. He loves to live dangerously.

“Are you implying that I would deliberately play dumb so that one of my fellow Hero of Courage would act like a dog when he doesn't need to? That I knew from the very beginning and asked Wild to take pictures for posterity? For shame, Twilight.”

A vein twitched under Twilight's jaw. “No, I wasn't implying that. I was saying you're an asshole, Wars!”

Warriors fails to dodge the lunge, half-paralyzed by muffled chuckles. The momentum throws them on the grass, and there's a split second of disorientation before his back hits the ground, and a weight lands on his chest. A heavy weight. Goddesses be good, the farmer lifestyle paid, huh?

“Twilight, move your fat ass.”

The mullish expression on his brother's face would have made a raging moblin sweat. “No. We're still doing this. I have a great track record, and I'm not letting you narcissistic goatfiddler break it by being your usual self. Talk.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “Really? This is the setup? Me, suffocating, and you, thinking of a place to hide my body. What is this, a deathbed confession?”

“You could have had the amazing emotional support of everyone's favorite wolf. But noooo, you're too good for that, so spill. Better be fast, because I had double serving of Wild's chili. Gives me gaz like thunder.”

“You. Wouldn't. Dare.”

The silent glare he receives is all Time.

Warriors squirming renews. “Farmhand, I will skewer you on the Master Sword myself if you don't-”

“Why would you go off on your own like that? We were all in the ballroom. You could have gotten any of us.”

“Let's not reverse the roles here,” Warriors hisses, one eyebrow raised. “I'm not the one playing double-life around our group. You can't talk about trust when you constantly hide in plain sight. You want trust? You tell me why.”

The boyish, almost light air between them breaks. Guilt blooms on Twilight's face. He can't meet Warriors' gaze and doesn't even try.

“... It's Dark Magic.”

“I couldn't care less. I've fought amongst noble fighters with dark magic and against monsters with the opposite. Next.”

Twilight's ears droop slightly. It's dog-like, and amusingly fitting for a moment of hesitation. Every second that passes without a word hammer the fact that 'dark magic' is the surface excuse for Twilight's shifty dealings about their group. Warriors tries not to be angry. Twilight did just save his life with that very secret.

“I've had...” Lips mull the words for a few seconds. “Mixed reactions.”

Warriors feels himself frown. “Mixed how?”

“You know me, the country boy, raised in the small farmer village lost in the woods. Country bumpkins, the lot of us... You ever heard what they think of wolves?”

His breath hitches. Slow dread creeps on him. He hates the ease with which images come to him. He's never seen Twilight's hometown, never met any of his family, but he's suddenly overwhelmed by the idea of a mob of pitchforks and pickaxes held high, of dogs barking through the woods as a grey wolf scampers. Narrowly avoids a bear trap snapping its deadly maw on thin air instead of a limb. Overhears angry grumbling about making a pelt out of his skin.

They should be farmers, but he sees old faces instead. Soldiers. Commanders. Officers. Brothers-in-arms he's long trusted. Thought he could trust.

“W-what do they know about those majestic beasts?” he says, jokingly because he's afraid to let the mask slip an inch. (It'd fall a mile, shatter too hard for him to ever glue back the pieces.)

“My father threatened to skewer me,” comes the quiet admission, less than a whisper.

Warriors' heart squeezes. “Twilight.”

“Didn't know it was me though,” Twilight adds, failing at even a small smile. “To him, I was just this wild animal circling the village right after most of the children had been stolen. He... he only threatened me. Just words. Nothing like what you had to deal with.”

“The words are the worst part for me,” Warriors hears himself say. “I hear them in my nightmares, even if I forget what they tried to do. Couldn't tell you who came at me with a spear, with a sword, with a dagger. But I see their eyes in the mirror, the hate as they died.”

“The fear. The 'Get back, beast!' and the screams.”

“'It's your fault!'” Warriors repeat, the same tone that echoed in his head. “'You should have died instead!'”

Twilight's face twists, and there's a split second when Warriors thinks his heart will give out. Even the shadows of Twili magic can't compare to the darkness that covers the blue of his eyes. But Twilight turns his head to the side and spits in disgust.

It hits the traitor's cooling corpse.

“Bastards,” he says, venom lacing his tongue. “Should have made that last.”

He says, with blood all over his face , Warriors thinks dryly.

It's a sharp contrast, that violence on him. Twilight has always had that air of earnest, straightforward honesty. One look at him and strangers will put their trust in him without hesitation. He lacks the battleworn scars (at least where it's visible), is old enough to be taken seriously and his bumpkin accent breeds familiarity with most commoners they meet. Warriors himself has to deploy all his charms to get the same results, and he's still being glared at by a lot of the men.

They peg him a charmer, and not without reason.

“I don't like it either,” Warriors says, quiet.

“What?” Twilight replies, an eyebrow raised.

“The knight act, you know.” And before Twilight's mouth can drop – “At least, some of it. The game. The doublespeak. The mask. It all feels pointless sometimes.”

“I... really?” Twilight's baffled words hurt, just a little.

Warriors scoffs. “Yes, really. I'm not meant to play knaves and daggers. I'm a soldier. An officer. I'm meant to be out there, defending the kingdom I love. Inspiring the people to fight back against darkness, to stand up for their lives. To be at the front of an army, to lead as one amongst the great... it's incredible. It's what I was born to do, I know it in my bones. The act is necessary. But by the Goddesses do I wish I could live without it.”

He sees the way his meaning worms itself past Twilight's gaze, understanding dawning on him. “No matter where one goes, huh?” Sheepish ruffle of his own hair. “Is it something in the water?”

“Like they'd lower themselves to drinking water,” Warriors sneers, a smirk hidden underneath. “Wine only, my good sir. And only the finest year, from the finest yard. Vintage, my good peasant, it's all the vintage that shows breeding.”

“They do know that for everyone else, breeding is something you check for your horses and your dogs, right?”

“I... couldn't tell. I've stopped listening a while ago. I just nod and play my handsome part. It is the only use for a Hero once the King of Evil has been defeated, it looks like. I don't know if I even should call myself a knight anymore.”

“Wild was touched, y'know?” Twilight says, looking up to the moon. “When you called him an honorable knight,” he adds with a sigh. “He's always associated his life before the Calamity to knighthood, to that incredible soldier that had trained for a decade before facing his destiny. Someone whose shadow he chased for months, not realizing it's his own. You might have been the first to call his current self a knight.”

“He is!” Warriors near jumps to his feet. “Wild may be unorthodox, but he is a loyal, devoted man that served Hyrule to the best of his ability despite having lost everything but his life to the cause. Most generals in my army could not even measure up to his standard.”

“Should have seen the look in his eyes when I mentioned it.” There's a hint of sadness beyond the pride and joy of this memory.

He hates the curdling feeling that brings forth. “Remind me to knock a couple of heads together next time we visit his Hyrule, would you?”

Twilight's chuckle is fond, gentle. “Yeah, that's what I meant. I never thought to tell him in those words. To me, he was always good enough. But you saw that side of him too. You know what it's like to want it. I can't relate that well to this, but... well, anyone under your command has to look up to a guy like you.”

Hands ball into fists. Eyes drift to the corpse. “Not everyone does. Obviously.”

Twilight bumps shoulders with him. “I'm sorry, pretty boy. I'm sorry these assholes think they have any right to blame you. To resent you. You're an amazing leader. Much better than me. I... I honestly admire you and your skill.”

Warmth settles in his stomach. He can't... For a second, he needs to blink away tears.

“So he admits it.”

There's a wry, wolfish quality to Twilight's grin. “You speak a word of it, and you'll meet an unfortunate fate, Captain.”

“As if anyone but my Queen could make me fall in battle,” he laughs, pushing Twilight's shoulder, hard.

“Careful there.” His brother's grin sharpens, and the returning shove almost sends Warriors crashing into a bush. “You might touch my cursed stone, and then you'd be stuck as your true self. What would your queen think if she saw a plague-ridden rat try to command her armies?”

Laughter bubbles in his chest. “Be happy to send the rat to infect the goat-loving hillbillies before they spread out of their mudholes! Imagine the half-goat, half-hylians that would invade Hyrule!”

Twilight's gauntlets fall to the ground. Knuckles are cracked. “A'right. Someone needs an asswhooping.”

He could not stop smirking if the Goddesses ordered him to. “Bring it, dog-boy. I'll put a collar on you.”

Taunts, past this point, become superfluous. The breath they would waste could be better utilized trying not to die (lose) against this moblin (his brother) and his freakish strength (no, really, he pushes giant metal crates on ice, the goron-born idiot). The honor of Hyrule rests on his victory.

At some point, they roll over in the fountain.

This does not, in fact, stop their roughhousing.

                                                    ***

 “Should I ask why you both have black eyes and split lips when no one noticed any monster for miles?” Time wonders at his seconds-in-command. “While we were attending a ball?”

“No,” they growl with a ferocity to chill bones.

“Not fair!” Wind protests, to the nodding of most. “Why did they get to have all the fun?”

Ah, youth.

[perseusjackson-jasongrace]

Kingdom Collisions Part XVI

please explain to me how i started this fic after EotH and we’re now ahead of that fic?? Also don’t kill me? Okay i love you guys enjooyyyy

masterlist; my links

I know it’s been over a month so here’s a previously on:

Prince Jason Grace sets him down by the fire. “Don’t move, I’ll come back for you.”

And then he is gone, and Prince Perseus Jackson smiles. Because that was the voice of the man he fell in love with. And those hands which had brushed against his waist as he let go were as warm and alive as electric currents.

So the destroyer sits by the fire, and waits for his healer to rescue him.

Come home, don’t die so far from the sea

Percy Jackson can feel the hard press of the wooden floor against his back and he welcomes the pain like an old friend. The darkness of the room feels endless in the cold black of the early morning hours. The fire has long since died, no kindling or wood to keep it alight for however long he stays here. If he didn’t know they planned to kill him at dawn of the coming day he would think they were trying to freeze him to death. It was almost strange how cold he was considering Hanaan was supposed to be in spring, heading towards the warmer months at a rapid pace. He wouldn’t be surprised if he wasn’t in Piper’s kingdom any longer. Maybe he had been transported to a kingdom of eternal winter.

He remembers a story like it, one his mom had told to the group that met at the children’s library every month. He remembers all the stories his mother had told him, fitting into each other like a tapestry. Just then an icy wind drifts in from under the door making him shiver in the thin cotton clothes. He curls into a ball-any attempt to save his body heat- and closes his eyes to a warmer darkness. His mother’s voice echoes inside him.

“When the world was first created there was only the earth and the sea and the sky and the beings that made these elements up.”

Queen Sally smiled down at the children surrounding her, looking up with sparkling eyes, hanging onto her every word.

There was the Lady of the Ocean, and the Being of the Rivers, and the Wisps of the Sky and the Dancers of the Earth. They lived together in harmony, for they never knew of each others’ existences. But one day the Being of the Rivers met the Lady of the Ocean and they learnt together what love was, and then loved each other. They refused to be apart, they couldn’t bare it; the oceans would thrash in agony, hurting the earth; the rivers would dry up, or form canyons in the ground in rage. It was destructive to keep them apart, for they loved so hard and so fiercely that it became a weakness to the world to separate them. So the beings stayed together, for eons, seasons, lifetimes passing without disruption. And in their time the earth changed and the sky grew rainbows and new elements came into being, things that molded and shaped as they had. Things that would not become clear until there was tangible things to hold them, make them. The day came, uncountable eras into their existence. A Dancer of the Earth had fallen in love with a Wisp of the Sky and together they created one that walks.

“Like us Your Majesty?” A little girl burning with curiosity, curly pigtails swinging slightly in the Mare breeze. 

“Just like us Bianca.” His mother had smiled, “With two legs and a wide smile and so much love in their hearts.”

Bianca sighed contentedly as if she had known that first being all her life and looked up to them.

“And with that one being came more and more. As they settled down the need for structure became apparent. Not to control these new beings, but to make sure they had a place to talk about their struggles and to connect them with those who could help. And who better-

His mother had smiled, one of her secret smiles, that meant she knew something she’d beg them to tell her. Half the children around her fell for the bait.

“Whom, your majesty?” A child he had never seen before squeaked, rocking on their heels, knees pulled up to their chest.

“Well the very beings that brought them there.” She giggled, watching as some of their faces scrunched in confusion while others slowly came to the realisation.

The beings of the earth and the rivers and the sky took on a form, as close to the new beings as possible and came to them to offer help, and solace. And that is how the Kingdoms were formed. Mare for water, and Caelum for sky, and Canbaha for earth.

The questions came all at once. 

“So the first Kings and Queens were the beings of the world?’

“What happened to the Ocean Lady and the River?”

“Are you a-”

“Alright alright,” The Queen laughed, “One at a time, let’s go around the room shall we?”

The children raised their hands, impatience shaking their little bodies. His mother pointed at Bianca who was right under her gaze.

“What happened to the Lady of the Ocean and the Being of Rivers?”

“Remember how i told you they couldn't ever be separated?”

The gaggle before her nodded enthusiastically eager to show they were listening.

“Well they were the only beings to rule one kingdom together. They decided if they fed one another there was no need to keep themselves apart. Instead of becoming a kingdom of Oceans and  kingdom of Rivers they become the Kingdom of Mare.”

“What about all the other kingdoms?” A small voice piped up, drifting in the sea of mutters.

“Those kingdoms came to be as beings changed and evolved and became something different, something more. The Kingdom of Hanaan appeared first, created by a beautiful person who could change form at will. She knew not of physicality but of emotion. And then the Kingdom of Hekima came, bringing with it prosperous invention and ways to keep the world working better, more beautifully. And then the Kingdom of Xoia-”

Bianca gasped, “Mine!”

“Yours” his mother had smiled, stroking the little girl's head. “Xoia was one of the last to appear but it brought brightness to the world that could not be found or made otherwise.”

“What happened to the beings that ruled, mom?” Percy’s voice was small, like a baby bird learning how to use its beak.

For him she cocked her head, her blue eyes glinting under the candlelight swaying above them. “What do you think Prince?”

Come home, don’t die so far from the sea

Percy awoke to the door creaking open and rough hands digging into his arms as they hauled him up. He doesn’t have the energy to demand where they were taking him. He didn’t have the wits or the power because his brain was slowly coming to realisations he was not ready to have. It was making assumptions he was terrified may be true. It was shattering his world for the billionth time. It was breaking him.

The world is still dark, but it is not that heavy blackness that seems to suck him in. It is the kind of dark that tells you the light was winning; that soon you will see pinpricks of white and yellow and gold poking through the sky and then the world will be awash in colour once more.

He is thrown onto the grey-stoned floor, hiding his wince as his knees take the brunt of it. The people who had deposited him laugh and walk away. He doesn’t bother to call after them, instead taking in the surroundings. He is in an arena. In a colosseum. He is the lamb offered up to the butcher. He is the prey stuck in a hunter’s snare. He is the entertainment.

He can picture it now; crowds stomping into the stone stands and chanting for his death. He can imagine the painter sat in the box only one lower from the royalty, slapping colour onto a canvas, swirling it in the shades of his blood. He can imagine the musicians in the box just below the painter, banging on their drums, letting the beautiful notes of a flute be the anthem to his downfall. He can imagine his husband, standing in the box above all, looking down at him with those eyes of lightning. Eyes he had woken up to when Jason’s nightmares were so bad they had to sit by his window. About that blonde hair, like strands of sunlight, he has so often wanted to run his hands through, how he mourned its discolouring when their blood coated it.  About those hands that held him when they were captured and freed him so they weren’t. And he wonders, if the Prince will miss him.

Because, he realises with startling radiant clarity, somewhere in the mess that had become their lives Percy had grown to care for the Prince of Caelum. He doesn’t really know when it started; maybe when he found Jason screaming outside the door to the Captain of the Guards’ chamber; or maybe when Percy had sought him out some nights later, and held him as he cried; or maybe when Jason let him be a part of the kingdom by giving him a white rose. He can’t be sure it wasn’t a combination of all those things. He sits on the cold platform in the middle of the arena and finds himself sad, achingly sad, that he will never get that time with his husband. That he will never get to tell the Prince how he feels. 

The sun rises slowly, as if trying to delay the inevitable, but Percy embraces it, letting the warmth of the final tomorrow caress his brown skin. If it is the last time he feels the sun, he wishes to do nothing but feel it. The rays are gentle on his face and he can only imagine it’s what Jason’s touch would have felt like. He sits cross-legged, chin to the sky, eyes closed to the array of colours and lets the last joys of this world embrace him.

The wrought iron gates underneath the raised stands shake and rattle, but he doesn’t open his eyes. He doesn’t know what beasts await him; he doesn’t care. Let them come, he thinks, it will be a mercy to rest at last. The crowds pour in, his people who he was set to rule one day, Jason’s people who he was set to protect one day. Still he keeps himself shut off from the world, feeling the sun, and the wind.

If he had loved anything at all he had loved the wind, the way it chased his ankles, and swept him up, and raced him, and held him, and danced with him, and coaxed him. It was a tragedy, a heartbreaking thought, that he hadn’t gotten to see his ocean one last time. He would have loved to feel the cool water on his skin, and the sand sinking under his feet. He wishes he had more time. He wants this to be over as soon as possible. Time is up.

“Good morning my people,” A voice like ancient beings and newborns croons across the colosseum. “Are you ready to witness history?”

Percy thinks of his mother, the keeper of stories, and knows she has already heard this one. Percy thinks of his father, who has returned to the beginning. He knows his parents will not come to save him. Percy thinks of his childhood friends, all leading secret lives, forged to end his own. He knows they will be in the stands to watch their victory. Percy thinks of his husband, a soldier for an army they could never have predicted. He knows they will never learn how to love one another.

The crowd is screaming, the wrought iron is rattling. Prince Perseus Jackson opens his eyes as the gate yawns open.

The arena is deafening, shaking with anticipation. He glances to the royal box nearly floating in the clouds and frowns when he doesn’t spot a flash of blonde hair.

The people are feral with excitement. A loud boom echoes from the musicians box.

Prince Jason Grace stumbles from the mouth of the arena and falls to his knees in front of the platform.

“Kill him Perseus.” A voice glimmers around him, leaking in through the ringing in his ears.

“Come home Prince,” That voice lilts, “Do not die so far from the sea.”

Jason looks up at him, blue eyes hazy, a dagger loose in his clasp. “Hello Prince.”

Percy steps down from the platform, and takes the dagger from his husband’s hands. It is almost sickening how easily he gives it over.

The crowd stomps its feet: they are ready for blood; they are ready for slaughter.

He holds the dagger up, making sure it glints in the sun. And then he draws his husband close until there is nothing between their bodies, not space, not even air.

“Let’s go home my love.” He whispers. “We will not die so far from the sea.”

Prince Perseus Jackson brings the blade down.

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

Danny how do we feel?

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[ineloqueent]

an ode to impossibility

Brian May x Fem!Reader | 1979

click here for a fic playlist (yes, i made a playlist and an aesthetic too...)

synopsis: in which Freddie decides that Queen should spend an actual night at the opera, and Brian decides he’s fallen for Odette.

warnings: swearing, drinking, complete angst fest from dusk til dawn and dusk again, implied smut

word count: 8.1k

a/n: for jess (@brianmays-hair​)— happy birthday!! i hope you have a wonderful day. you’re so so lovely, your writing is just rivetingly gorgeous, and you are nothing short of absolutely inspiring. anyway, i believe you once mentioned something about brian and a ballerina… 

⭒

Barcelona, 19th of February, 1979

Though it was Monday night, it would seem that the entirety of Barcelona, dressed to the nines, had been packed into the Gran Teatre de Liceu.

“Freddie,” Roger said as he sat down beside John, “I could’ve sworn you said we were going to the opera, not the ballet.”

“This is the opera, darling,” Freddie told Roger’s skeptical expression. “The opera house. We are seeing a ballet. Know the difference.”

Roger looked vaguely disappointed. “So no screaming vikings, then?”

Freddie rolled his eyes.

“So long as it perks up misery guts over there,” John jerked a thumb in Brian’s direction, “I’m okay with anything.”

Brian stammered in protest, but he was ignored as Freddie sighed, “Thank you, Deacy.”

“Even if it is a little disappointing about the lack of vikings.”

“Alright,” said Freddie, “both of you can shut up. I’ll be solely talking to Brian for the remainder of the night, thank you.”

Deacy snorted, and Roger muttered, “Good luck.”

Freddie turned to Brian, “What is it that’s got you in such a sulk, anyway?”

“I’m not in a sulk,” said Brian, folding his arms over his chest.

“You’re looking quite the grumpy sod, though, aren’t you?”

Brian shifted his legs in discomfort, only to knock his knee on the seat in front of him, hard. He winced, rubbing his injury. “I’m not, it’s just, they’ve not really made these chairs accommodating for tall people.”

“Poor you,” said Roger tonelessly. Brian fought the urge to snap at him.

“Maybe if you were taller, you wouldn’t be mistaken for a girl all the time,” he mumbled.

“Brian,” chided Freddie. “That’s low, even for you.”

Roger squinted at Brian from the other end of the row. “But then I wouldn’t be comfortable in these chairs.”

“Shush, all of you,” Deacy waved his hand. “Show’s starting.”

Sure enough, the house lights were being dimmed, and a hum of sound led by violins rose from the orchestra pit.

Brian sighed heavily, and Freddie patted his arm. “You’ll be alright, darling,” he said.

But Brian wasn’t so sure.

Nothing in his head had made sense lately. Or maybe what scared him was that it was only inside his head that the world made sense.

Everything around him felt like madness, felt like it was falling apart as rapidly as it’d come together. The world seemed to know who he was, but Brian was entirely in the dark.

To the world, he was the gentle-smiling, brainiac guitarist for perhaps one of the most popular bands on the music scene. But Brian often found it difficult to smile. And he hardly felt clever when he couldn’t even understand his own inner workings.

The world spun, and his head spun with it.

The dancers spun onstage.

He hadn’t even noticed the rise of the curtain. But there they were.

Brian leaned his chin into his palm, watching passively. He’d never been much for either ballet or opera, preferring plays, in which the characters made their intentions clear by speaking them and were generally easier to keep up with. Still, he could admit that the dedication and skill required of ballet dancers was immense, and impressive in its execution.

He hadn’t, however, been paying attention along the way, and thus had now absolutely no idea as to what show he was watching. It wasn’t until the second scene that it dawned on him.

And then, the music was unmistakable. Tchaikovsky.

This was Swan Lake.

Brian sat up a little; he’d always liked this particular piece of music. Mysterious, lulling, nostalgic— it was beautiful, and suddenly, he couldn’t take his eyes off of the stage.

But maybe that particular fact had something to do with the appearance of the prima ballerina.

She was gorgeous, yes, but this was not what utterly enamoured Brian upon first sight.

It was the way she moved.

It was said that the majority of human expression lay not in the wealth of words, but in the depths of body language, and as the prima ballerina moved, she wholly became Odette, and Odette became the epitome of expression. Brian found it hard to believe that he was watching a dancer, a real human being, rather than the porcelain figurine in a music box, because her grace was immaculate; not the whisper of a mistake seemed possible between her steps. Brian felt oddly moved by it all, because it was when he played music that he felt the most alive.

And now here was this dancer, bringing to life a whole other world through the way she moved to music.

He hoped she knew how beautiful her expression was. He hoped she knew that she spun across the stage as though the floor were the sky and she danced among the stars. He hoped she knew.

He resolved then, madly, to tell her, so that he could be sure.

He couldn’t bear for her not to know.

⭒

“Well,” Roger stretched his arms above his head, “that was nicer than I thought it’d be, but I think I’ll go back to the hotel now.”

“Pretty lady waiting for you?” Deacy quipped.

“No,” Roger scoffed, “I’m just tired, christ.”

Freddie patted his shoulder. “You can’t blame us though, can you, dearie?”

He turned to Brian as they all began to shuffle out of the theatre alongside the rest of the audience, afforded anonymity by being in a crowd instead of before it, and by the fact that Barcelonians did not seem to recognise English musicians. “Ready to go, Brian? You’ve had your head in the clouds all day.”

Brian frowned, preoccupied by the notion that nagged at his mind. “Actually,” he said, “do you mind if we take the back way out?”

Freddie glanced around. “I didn’t think anyone had recognised us,” he muttered, lowering his voice and his head.

“No, no,” Brian waved a hand. “There was just somebody I needed to talk to.”

“Well, I for one don’t speak any Spanish,” said Roger. “You’re on your own.”

Brian shrugged. His own haphazard Spanish would have to do.

Freddie’s brow furrowed. “Alright then, darling. Lead the way.”

Brian nodded and began weaving through the abundance of people steadily swarming in the opposite direction. It was rather like swimming upstream.

At the door to the backstage area, Brian hesitated.

There was no one to stop him from going in, and the door itself was wide open. Everyone in the theatre was so intent on leaving that no one had bothered to block this entrance.

“Brian?” John prodded. “You wanted to talk to somebody?”

“Yes. Sorry.”

He walked through the doorway, and though the space was mostly quiet, laughter floated from a corner, where a small gathering of people stood talking. Some seemed to be from the ballet company, while others bore the demeanour of critics come backstage to discuss the show.

And there she was.

Odette, as Brian had subconsciously nicknamed her in his head. But he’d seen her name in the program. He only hoped he could remember it between crossing the room and finding the courage to speak.

He turned to the others, but found that they had been distracted, drawn to a table full of drinks that proclaimed ¡gratis! by way of a little card set amongst the glasses.

Now Brian really was on his own. Odette drifted apart from her flock of admirers, a crown of feathers still on her head. Though she now wore a tracksuit instead of a tutu, she was no less elegant than she had been onstage. Even the way she held herself spoke an otherworldly grace.

Brian swallowed. Then he approached her.

“Disculpe, ¿Señora Y/N?”

She turned at his polite intrusion, lips parted in a question, and she looked almost surprised.

Brian blushed, abruptly terrified that he should make a grammatical mistake in the face of this Elysian being. “Tu eres… eras magnífico.”

Her lovely face was grim, her hands clasped tightly around her water bottle, and Brian feared he’d somehow insulted her. Somehow.

“Perdón,” she mumbled, “but I’ve got absolutely no idea what you’re saying.”

Brian could have laughed in relief. “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure I know what I’m saying either.”

She smiled radiantly, and Brian felt instantly more at ease.

“Well,” he said, “seeing as neither of us speak Spanish very well, I’ll stick to what I know and try English.”

She laughed lightly, folding her arms over her structured frame, one which had undoubtedly been built up with years of hard work, endurance, dedication.

Brian’s eyes caught on hers, only to have him flush again under the sway of her gaze. “Although at the moment, it seems I don’t speak any language at all.”

She laughed again, shaking her head slightly. “You’ve managed more words that I have,” she said kindly.

Brian laughed with her, to try to ease the tension knotting in his chest, but the air he breathed only grew thicker.

“I just wanted to say that you were phenomenal,” he began, and her eyes softened. His courage steeled upon seeing that she didn’t look as though she wanted him to leave. “I mean, really, truly, absolutely phenomenal. “The control over your movement, your poise, your expression,” he continued. “Just— everything. It’s indescribable. All I can say is that you’re a wonderful dancer. Though I’ve sure you’ve heard that a thousand times before, so much that it must sound like white noise at this point.”

He was rambling, and he knew it, but she didn’t appear to mind.

“Actually, no,” she responded to his unasked query. “I haven’t heard that a thousand times before.”

Brian blinked, perplexed, but she said, “People tend to take one look at the prima ballerina and tell her she’s beautiful, not that she’s talented. And,” she went on, “that’s the first time I’ve gotten phenomenal. From Brian May, no less!”

Brian was baffled. “You— you know who I am?”

“Do I know who you are?” she repeated, with satire. “Of course I know who you are! And I know who those three milling about the drinks table are as well. You’re Queen. You’re quite phenomenal yourself.”

Brian felt another blush colour his cheeks. “Maybe not quite phenomenal. We’re doing alright for ourselves, though.”

She smirked, and she was royalty herself, appalled at the ineducation of a commoner. “You’re on a world tour. I’d say that’s pretty damn phenomenal.”

“Well,” Brian balked, “thank you.”

She then fixed him with a curious stare, her eyes flitting over his face in a delicate manner. “How long are you here for?”

“Three days,” he responded slowly. “Two after today.”

“Any chance you’ll come see me again?”

Brian asked carefully, “You’d like me to?”

She smiled. “You wouldn’t?”

“Yes,” said Brian. “I mean, no, I—”

“I know what you mean.”

Brian nodded. The conversation was finished.

But there was a glint in her stare where she stood, transferring her weight from the balls of her feet to her toes, then back to her heels, as though she couldn’t stand still, as though she longed to dance, even after having finished a performance. Brian felt the same when he finished concerts. So he asked what he’d been meaning to all along.

“Would you go out for a drink with me?”

She looped an arm through his. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⭒

You usually spent your nights alone, because after the shows, you were tired, and so was everybody else.

But tonight, you were wide awake. And it had everything to do with the curly-haired guitarist sitting directly across from you.

You leaned your elbows on the table as he talked, observing more than listening. You’d asked Brian to tell you about himself, but you knew very well that everything he told you would be disproportionate to the truth; he was too humble to offer you insight on his own achievements.

So you watched instead. Watched how delicately he held his glass of beer, how his eyelashes fluttered when he talked about something that brought forth in him great passion, how his teeth caught on his lip when he paused in deep thought.

You loved to watch him think. You could almost see the rampage of ideas and impressions as they danced forth behind his honey-coloured eyes.

“Brian,”  you raised your voice over the noise of the crowded bar, and he leaned forward. “You’re not telling me about yourself.”

He angled his ear toward you. “Say that again, love.”

“Let’s get out of here,” you said instead.

He turned toward you. “And where to?”

“Nowhere in particular.”

A smile curved over his lips. “My favourite place.”

Out of the bar and into the night you went, Brian’s arm hovering at the small of your back as he guided you past the beginnings of a brawl by the pub entrance.  

Barcelona was a lively place, the hum of people and their festivities not slowing, even outside the tourism season, even on a weeknight.

Neither of you knew the city well, so it was fitting that you should explore it together. Between the cobblestone alleyways ensconced by potted plants, flickering lamp posts, and the sparkling sea, it was all very picturesque. Like a fairytale— como un cuento de hadas, in Brian’s words.

“So you do speak Spanish.”

He was good at it, too. His accent was nearly flawless. Had you closed your eyes, you might have mistaken the soft rumble of his words for that of a native speaker.

But then again, had you closed your eyes, your thoughts might have wandered to another place entirely, one where you imagined what it would be like to have him whisper his lovely words across your skin. You drifted closer to him with each swaying step down yet another Barcelonian street.

“Do I?” He smiled endearingly, and your stomach flipped. “I hadn’t noticed.”

You liked this side of him, the one which seemed to surface when he relaxed. Slightly cheeky, a little less enigmatic and a little more bold. Definitely attractive.

“Liar,” you said. “You know exactly what you’re doing.”

And please, for the love of god, keep doing what you are doing.

He laughed in response. “I’m glad I have you fooled,” he said.

Amongst the alleys you weaved aimlessly, admiring in silence the way that no two street corners you turned looked the same, how the entire ambience of a road was changed as the light bent differently around little details or imperfections in the brickwork.

The buildings were high and though they sat close together, their roofs were flat and did not obstruct the sky; the darkness above you could still be seen.

The sky reminded you of the stage, how it was difficult to see anything— anyone— beyond the darkness, and how when the quiet settled in, it was almost as if you were dancing alone, without an audience, with only the music and yourself.

Brian wondered aloud about life on tour with the American Ballet Theatre, and in describing it to him, you quickly realised that your worlds were very similar. You knew the early mornings and he knew the late nights, and he understood the lonely melancholy of flying from city to city without ever looking back.

The loneliness. It was something you shared.

The stars were not visible, but Brian lectured you on them anyway, and for the first time that evening, you had the impression that he was talking without holding anything back, limitless in his awe of the night sky.

You asked an abundance of questions, not out of politeness, but of genuine interest. The manner in which he spoke of the stars was invigorating, enthralling, and you wanted to feel this sense of wonder forever fill your heart, as beautifully as it filled his.

“That’s beautiful, Brian,” you’d said. His lips had closed over the remnants of a sentence only partly-formed, ended almost before it had begun because he’d trailed off in thought.

“You think so?” he asked, turning toward you with a wilderness in his eyes. He’d stopped walking. “I bore everyone half to death with all this.”

You shook your head, “How could anyone be bored?”

He had a gravity about him, and an air of pensiveness that brought you pause, because you’d never before wanted to listen to someone forever, until now. Until Brian.

You suddenly craved the familiar weight of your pointe shoes, because you longed to dance. It was all you could do when your inspiration bubbled over, and right now, beneath Brian’s soft gaze, even if you’d tried, you wouldn’t have been able to remember what it was like to feel lost.

Thoughts cascaded in a waterfall through your mind, begging to be spoken, to be heard. You wanted to tell him about his gravity, his pensiveness, how he made you want to dance.

Instead, you told him to wait for you in the wings after tomorrow night’s performance, because the implications of doing so said far more than you ever could.

“Hasta mañana,” he bid you as you parted company after he’d walked you back to the theatre.

Until tomorrow, spoken so simply, as though you’d always have tomorrow.  

It had not escaped you that he would depart in less than three days.

⭒

Barcelona, 20th of February, 1979

He’d come running from the stage, had handed off his guitar and swapped his jacket, and was out of the arena before most of the audience had even begun to move.

If he was quick, he could just catch the end of her show.

He took the first taxi he found, armed with flowers and a vague recollection of the instructions he’d been given yesterday by his favourite ballerina.

At the stage door, Brian addressed the security guard in what he hoped was adequate Spanish. It seemed to be, because after showing the man a pass, Brian was through.

He followed signs, through corridors patterned by the autographs of performers past, until he reached a staircase, and at the top of that, the final door between him and the wings.

There, he stopped, hesitating on the doorstep to decision.

I’m leaving tomorrow.

The old adage of ‘don’t get attached’ wasn’t one Brian was fond of, because he did get attached. Far too easily, and far too much, and if he was already so enamoured after having spent mere hours in her company, then there would be no chance of him forgetting.

After even a singular conversation with her, he’d realised that she was the romantic sort, the kind to inspire a renaissance with a single phrase, a glance, a touch, a breath. She spoke in poetry as fluidly as any other person would have breathed, and yet, it seemed that it had never occurred to anyone to tell her so. She lived in ignorance of her own etherealness, subsided in the shadows of solitude where such sentiments of narcissism would never have arisen.

But ethereal as she was, she felt far away— untouchable, almost— to those who perceived her, for who could fathom the existence of such a muse without themselves feeling displaced? She was a planet out of orbit from the sun that all others were drawn to; she was radiant enough that she could survive without its light, because she had light of her own.

A dreamer she was, and all longed to be a part of her dreams, for her presence was dappled sunlight on an otherwise rainy day, pinpricks of light flooding through the darkness like stars.

There would be no chance of forgetting her.

He would be forced to leave Barcelona with a breaking heart, and face the consequences of breaking hers.

If, of course, he had any hold on her heart.

Part of him hoped that he did, and part of him hoped that she did not care for him at all, if only to make his imminent departure easier.

He could walk away, right now, and never see her again. It would have been simpler, certainly, to avoid entangling his emotions any further, to live and let die this connection that probably should never have happened at all.

But hell, when had Brian ever done anything because it was simple?

He pushed open the swinging door and then he was in the wings, catching sight of her as she arched across the stage with infallible grace, unfathomable beauty.

She made everything around her beautiful, for she moved like light.

Starlight.

Yes, that was her. No one would have thought to describe her as any less.

And just like everybody else, Brian had fallen utterly head over heels for her.

⭒

You ran off of stage as applause resounded from the audience, your heart still thudding with adrenaline as the curtain sank to the floor behind you, as you sank from your toes to your heels, easing the weight from your ankles. It wasn’t a job in which one could relax, but never in a million years would you have given this life up. Nothing would ever come close to the rush of euphoria that was a pirouette, executed perfectly at centrestage, beneath the glow of a spotlight as radiant as the moon.

Except perhaps the look on Brian’s face as his eyes met yours.

Outside of youth, you’d never seen anyone smile so brightly. Only naïvete allowed such brilliance, when one still believed that nobody had ulterior motives, and that it only rained when it was meant to.

“You came!” you exclaimed, breathlessly flinging your arms around him.

He laughed, wrapping one arm around you and holding the other at a safe distance. “Careful, amor,” he said. “The roses have thorns, you know.”

“Oh, you brought me flowers!”

You let go of him because he’d almost lost his balance to your embrace, and he presented you with the bouquet.

“I know that everyone brings flowers, and red roses at that, but it felt wrong to arrive without any.”

But these roses were different. They were from him.

You pressed your nose into the petals, their velvety quality reminiscent of the satin of your ballet shoes, the aroma reminding you of the flower box outside of your bedroom window back home.

“They’re lovely, Brian. Thank you.”

He inclined his head, and you flushed beneath the weight of his eyes; you felt like royalty.

Still winded, though you should have caught your breath by now, you gestured toward the backstage area. “Wait by the sofas. I’ve got to change, but then I want to show you something.”

The smile already on his face broadened. “Okay.”

You brushed past him, but his fingertips brushed the underside of your wrist.

You spun, instinctively taking hold of his hand.

“Y/N, you were wonderful.”

Abruptly shy, you looked down. When you raised your head, his hazel irises twinkled.

You didn’t trust yourself to speak, and so you smiled instead. A small smile, a secret, one which would forever belong to the two of you, and to the darkness of the empty stage.

⭒

When you returned from the dressing room, Brian was reclining on one of the couches. His outrageously long legs extended before him, he twirled a silver coin in his hand, staring at the token absently.

“What’s that all about?” you asked, and he snapped his fingers closed around the coin, sitting upright in an instant.

“Christ, you scared me,” he said, pupils dilated. He lowered the hand he’d pressed against his chest, and unfurled his long fingers to reveal the coin.

“It’s my guitar pick,” he told you as you sank to the cushions beside him.

“You use a coin?”

“A sixpence,” Brian nodded, holding out the coin and dropping it into your palm when you offered your hand. Pointing to the edge of the metal disc, he leaned close enough to you that his shoulder rested against yours. “Look,” he said, his voice by your ear, “it’s the serrations on the side that give the sound character. Sort of scratchy, unclean.”

“Rock ‘n’ roll,” you responded, returning him the coin. He smiled as he tucked it away in his pocket.

You were suddenly aware of how close he sat to you. His chin could have rested on your shoulder if he had only lowered his head, his breath could have stopped your heart if only it had been upon your mouth.

You were stilled in the moment, and he stared back at you in your stillness, powerful in the silence suspended between you which bound your will to his.

“What was it you wanted to show me?” he asked, quietly.

Slowly, you stood, giving him a hand up. “Come on.”

⭒

It was a bit of a walk to the Arc de Triomf, but it did not much matter to you, because every alley and alcove was an adventure in itself, made for straying souls who wandered through the Barcelona night, not because they were lost, but because they were seeking that which would inspire them. You were amongst those restless adventurers, and from what you could tell of Brian, inadvertently, so was he.

Seemingly endless with life, each corner of the city was crowded, friends and newfound acquaintances sharing stories and drinks beneath the shelter of trees, breathing the ocean air as it washed in over the land. Laughter and music drifted from cafes and bars, and the Barcelonians appeared to have a fondness for warm light, decorating fences and walls with hundreds of strung up lights, candles, lanterns, so that the whole city glittered as brilliantly as its people. The night was not warm, but it still felt that way, with the previously sun-soaked boulevards radiating their daytime heat and Brian hovering close beside you.

The dark was beginning to fully set in for the night, and you smiled at Brian. He mirrored the expression, albeit with a furrow of his brow, because he did not yet know where it was you were taking him.

Still, he didn’t ask where it was you were going, because he knew you would not tell him anyway.

You led him along the scenic route of the city, partially to distract him, partially because it was his last night in Barcelona and if he was anything like you— and he was— then he would want to see as much of the city as was humanly possible. He would want to cradle in his mind the memory of the night, crispness of the night air, the energy of the people, and perhaps the thought of you at his side.

Years and years later, these moments would still glitter in your own memory, like mirages frozen in time and stained glass, like the windows in the churches in this city where you’d dared to live so boldly. But you did not know that now. It all passed you by, as things do, before one can remember to notice them and tuck them away for later, for when happiness feels far away. But then again, there would be no beauty in knowing which memories would resurface at odd moments in one’s life, to inspire, to build a dream upon, to draw an unexpected smile. Chaos— now that held beauty.

The beach came into view, the cool breeze blowing in from the water. Barcelona’s lights twinkled about the edges of the crashing waves, the hills of sand.

A lone busker, aged in face but bright in soul, armed with only a battered acoustic guitar and his lilting voice occupied a place on the path by the beach, and Brian touched your elbow as you went by. Though you did not understand the words, the tune he sang was mournful. It made you think of flowers floating abandoned through water in remembrance of the lost.

“I know this song,” Brian said, and then said nothing more. Instead, he took your hand and spun you once around, as though the two of you were dancing. Then he continued walking, as though nothing had happened.

There was a sadness in his face, equal in sorrow to the song of the busker, and he did not look at you.

You studied his face silently, wondering what he was thinking. But it was nigh impossible to discern anything at all; he had suddenly become completely closed off, utterly unreadable. You yearned to take his hand again, if only it would make him smile.

At one point, you passed a fountain and could not resist stopping by the trickling water, gazing at the mounds of coins sacrificed in the hopes of fulfilling some hopeless wish.

He halted with you. “What is it?”

You leaned against the fountain, skimming your fingers across the surface of the water and staring as gold, silver, and copper glitters in the depths. Some of the coins looked older, roughened by age and the exchange of hands, oxidised in greens and blues, while others appeared almost newly minted. Shiny and unworn, those new coins would never see anything but the fountain, and perhaps their opulence would thus be forever preserved. Maybe some people preferred their treasures preserved, but you loved the little nicks, the little imperfections, that came with time. Character, as Brian had said. Those new coins had no character.

“Who do you think they were, all those people?”

Brian leaned against the fountain as well, then perched on the rim when his height proved to be too much to avoid falling in. “Who?”

“The wishers.”

“Well, there must have been many,” he said, sweeping a hand over the water.

A strange melancholy had taken you over, and when you looked at him, his eyes were soft and wide; he was not simply humouring you. This ancient place— with its gothic architecture and hidden streets and squares— it stirred something within him too.

“Do you think they stopped,” you went on, “like us, because they came across the fountain, or do you think they came to this place on purpose?”

His expression was pensive, peacefulness tempered by sparks that lit up his eyes in wondrous thought. Oh, how you loved that look about him. It made you feel alive.

“Both,” he said. “Some made their way here, and others found their way here, perhaps walking a path they did not intend to follow but did so without knowing.”

You sat down beside him. “Do you believe in fate?”

“No,” he murmured. Then, “I don’t know.”

“What about wishing with coins in a fountain?”

The corner of his mouth lifted. “No harm could come of it. Unless of course you’re throwing away your last coin.”

“But you wouldn’t be throwing it away,” you said. “You’d be spending it, on a wish.”

“Best hope your wish is worth it then,” he responded, not unkindly, but with a playful undertone.

You blinked at him in confusion, but he dropped his hand to his pocket and pulled out the sixpence. He held it up and it sparkled in the light of the flickering street lamps.

“And is it?”

“Is it what?”

“Is your wish worth my sixpence?” he asked, turning the coin between his fingers.

Not just any sixpence. His guitar pick.

“How long have you had that sixpence for, Brian?” you said softly.

His smile faltered, in a strangely open show of sentimentality. “Since the beginning,” he said.

“Meaning…”

“Meaning nine years.” His eyes left the coin and found your eyes instead. “So. Is it worth it?”

You shook your head slowly. “Nine years, Brian.”

He leaned toward you, holding the coin between you. His eyes were warmer than the light which bathed the street. He whispered, “What are you wishing for, my love?”

You shook your head again. “If I tell you, it won’t come true.”

“But it’s worth it, then?”

You nodded.

“For you, amor.”

He kissed the sixpence and tossed it into the fountain, and you wished that one day you might see him again.

⭒

Time, it seemed, was of no consequence in Barcelona, and washed away as easily as rain. The walk disappeared between the folds of time, and when you next rounded the corner of a road, the Arc came into view.

Brian laughed, “Ah, so we’re going sight-seeing?”

“No,” you shook your head, “not quite.”

He frowned.

You smiled. “Come on, starchaser.”

You slipped your hand into his, and slowly but with decision, he folded his fingers through yours. You felt the flutter of his pulse against your wrist.

The Arc came into better view, but squinting up at the sky, you could see that you still were not quite close enough.

A few more steps, and then you were there.

You pulled Brian’s hand so that he came to stand right before the Arc.

“Look up,” you told him, and he raised his eyes to the sky.

Beneath the Arc, the moon rose in glistening whites and yellows, illuminating the sky in a halo of light and giving the archway the impression of housing a crystal ball.

“I saw it last night, when I was on my way back to my hotel,” you said. “I know you still can’t see the stars, but—”

“I love it.”

You turned your gaze on Brian’s face and found that he was staring at the moon, his expression caught between wonder and wistfulness.

Then he looked at you.

The wonder and wistfulness remained.

“I love that you thought of me when you saw it,” he said softly.

For a moment, you thought that he might kiss you, staring at you so unabashedly, his eyes flickering between yours, as though he intended to draw you to him and finally replace your intake of breath with his lips. But he didn’t. He took your hand again.

“I’m not usually this forward,” he murmured, running his thumb over the back of your hand, and your heartbeat quickened.

“You call this forward?” you laughed, but the sound caught in your throat as you stared at his fingers curled around your own.

“I’ve only known you a day,” he replied.

It was true, you realised. You’d only just met him, really. But with his soft-spoken manner and intelligent conversation, a day had multiplied for an age, and you’d spent a hundred years waiting for him to wrap his arms around you.  

“I’m leaving tomorrow.”

“I know,” you said.

“I don’t want to leave.”

“I don’t want you to go.”

He shook his head slowly, clasping both of your hands. “Why is it that it’s so easy for me to say all this to you now?”

His skin was warm, his fingers calloused, and his touch was so gentle that it weakened you where you stood.

“Sometimes,” you said, “we’re more honest with strangers than with those closest to us.”

“Why?”

You frowned. “I don’t know— anonymity? A lack of feeling responsible for whatever impact our words may have upon the listener?” He turned your hand over absently as you spoke, tracing circles over your skin. “Or simplicity?” you continued, fighting the urge to shudder. “For the simple fact that they do not know us and will not judge us on the basis of how they believe we should act, in accordance with how they know us? It’s difficult to understand, and nonetheless, it seems to happen.”

His eyes flickered. “I care.”

“What?”

“I care how my words will impact you,” he reiterated. “Would you not, in my place?”

“I would,” you responded quietly. He’d somehow moved closer without you noticing, and when his hip brushed against yours, a tingle rushed down your sides.

“So that cannot be it.”

“Simplicity, then.”

“Yes,” he hummed, “I think that makes more sense.”

“Only, the longer you speak with somebody, the less simple it becomes.” You were referring to the two of you, and he knew it. “And the less of strangers you become.”

“Maybe,” he went on in a low voice, “that is how all relationships should be built.”

“How?” you dared to ask.

“Without judgement, from the beginning.” Here he paused, and where before you’d been occupied with the caress of his fingers across your skin, you met his eyes. “So when I tell you now that you are beautiful, I mean not only that you are beautiful, but that you are an artist, talented and soulful too, and it shows, in all that you are.”

After everything, he still cared enough to make you understand that he wasn’t trying to belittle you by noticing your beauty, but rather that he earnestly thought you beautiful as well as everything he’d said yesterday, and couldn’t bear for you not to know.

It made your heart ache.

“Brian—”

He tilted his head ever so slowly, and when his hand came to rest on your cheek, he kissed your lips. Delicately, tentatively, until you pressed up against him and pulled him closer, kissed him harder, like a storm drawing him into the abyss, and from the storm you became the abyss as you drowned in his touch.

When your hands drifted to his hair and your fingers wound in his curls, he drew back from you.

“You mustn’t do that,” he whispered, and a shiver skittered down your spine behind his trailing fingers.

“Why not?” you hummed, and he brushed his lips over the corner of your mouth.

“Because you’ll drive me absolutely mad.”

You smiled languidly. “All the more reason to do it, then.”

His kiss was less hesitant this time.

⭒

By the end of the night, you thought he must have kissed you in every place in the city— beneath stone arches and under overhanging flowerpots, by fountains and along the waterline of the beach, by monuments and to the audience of marble-eyed statues, never once shy in his affections, as he had previously been.

With each breath he lingered longer, and you became more desperate to keep his mouth on yours, to have his hands roam your skin, to run your fingers through his hair and to hear him hum with pleasure at your touch.

And then the rain started.

Out of nowhere, it came rushing down from the sky in a heavy torrent, like sand spilling through an hourglass on borrowed time, and Brian pulled you under the awning of a closed shop.

You laughed as he leaned down to kiss you again, his lips now speckled with rainwater that tasted like the open sky and the flower fields one might have found beneath.

He brushed his nose against yours, stroked a gentle finger down your face.

“It’s late,” he whispered, and his breathlessness made your heart stutter.

He was so beautiful. And here he was kissing you.

“Then take me home,” you said.

He opened his eyes, drawing back slightly. “Are you sure, my love?”

“Yes,” you breathed, because you couldn’t remember when you’d last wanted something as much as you wanted this. “I don’t usually do this kind of thing,” you added, should he have thought less of you.

But he smiled. “Nor do I.”

“You’re leaving tomorrow.”

“I know,” he said. “But it is still today.”

You ran with Brian through the rain, huddled under his jacket with clasped hands.

At the door to his hotel room, he fiddled with the rain-coated key until it finally latched in the lock and you stumbled inside, already pushing the jacket from his shoulders as he closed the door.

He kissed you hungrily now, to quell the thought of how little time there was left in which to do such things, to satisfy the burn of desperation that surely scalded him as much as you.

It made you reckless, the thought of him leaving, but you were determined that your recklessness should not be synonymous with regret, and so you slowed your movements to appreciate the softness of his mouth, the elegance of his being. Brian fell into step with you, and when he eased the blouse from your shoulders, his fingertips trailed lightly across your skin.

The cotton finally fell from your frame and he gazed at you with parted lips, a look of utter adoration in his eyes. His hands came to rest on either side of your face, and he leaned into you.

“You’re so beautiful,” he murmured.

You were on your toes to kiss him and he was bending down to meet you, but then he caught your lower lip between his teeth and you whimpered. “Bri—”

He breathed your name, easing you back a couple of steps until your legs touched the bedsheet, where he gathered you into his arms and laid you gently atop the covers.

You pulled him down to you, relishing the little groan that escaped him when you parted your lips and pushed your fingers into his hair. He moved his hands from your face to your waist, his lips grazing beneath your ear, leaving tender kisses down your neck and across your collarbone, until his breath whispered against your legs and his lips the inside of your thighs.

The world fell away from around you, because there was nothing more to it when Brian was yours in the moments that followed, pretty and gentle, achingly slow in his movements.

⭒

In the afterglow, the city lights danced across the walls of the unlit room as Brian’s long fingers skimmed up and down your arm.

You were nestled close to him, your nose buried in the crook of his neck as you breathed in his lovely smell of soap and sea air and flowers, and he pressed the occasional kiss to your shoulder, as though to remind you that he was still there and had not changed his mind in how he thought of you.

Somewhere, a clock struck an early hour, and you flinched.

He was leaving today.

You wondered faintly if you would ever see him again, ever kiss those fluttering lashes and gesturing hands, with which he belonged more in Italy than in England. Or better yet, in Barcelona, with you.

So you kissed him everywhere now, and he kissed you back, and you hoped that the memory of your lips would serve you better than that of your mind, because you forget things all too easily these days; they slipped away from you in black and white fragments like piano keys, all feeling fading away into nonsensical noise and hazy pictures. It terrified you.

Brian hummed quietly when you shivered, wrapping his arms around you in wordless solidarity.

“It was always going to be short-lived,” you murmured, as though it would make it any simpler for you to let him go if you spoke aloud the logic which eluded your melancholy heart.

Brian said nothing, and you sighed.

“An English musician and ballerina signed with the American Ballet Theatre. You have your city, and I have mine.”

He ran a strand of your hair through his fingers, tucking it behind your ear. You watched him move, marvelling at his prettiness for the thousandth time, and at the thought of him choosing to lie here with you— you, of all people— adoration rushed through you. You longed to kiss him again.

But his hazel eyes found yours, and he kissed you first— softly, fleetingly, his touch dying away all too soon.

“Let us have Barcelona, then,” he said. “Our city.”

His words warmed you where fear had turned you cold.

Beneath the guise of sleep, an overwhelming sadness washed over you and pulled you under.

You pressed closer to Brian, and his hold on you tightened.

⭒

Barcelona, 21st of February, 1979

He held her hand as tightly as he dared all the way to the theatre.

The theatre was where he would leave her.

It wasn’t meant to go this way. These things weren’t supposed to happen. You weren’t supposed to find happiness and then be forced to let go of it. You were supposed to find happiness and then by god, you were supposed to hold so tightly to it that even light could not have escaped your grasp, to be a black hole for the desire to be loved.

Brian knew that it was unrealistic, and given the way life had treated him, he should not have believed in this, this naïve idea that things would right themselves when he needed it the most.

But he was a dreamer. He couldn’t help it.

The light was slipping through his fingers.

And she moved like light.

With every step, the theatre and the dismal fate that awaited beyond it loomed closer.

Brian’s chest clenched painfully.

He began to walk more slowly, and he felt her lessen her pace beside him, felt her eyes fall upon his face as he swallowed.

They came to a stop by the doors, and he turned to her. He did not let go of her hand.

She stared up at him with doe-eyes, tears beginning to rise in their depths.

Wordlessly, he put his arms around her, leaning down to press his forehead to hers. She closed her eyes, but he preferred to gaze at her for just a moment longer.

“Write to me,” she murmured. “But don’t call me when you land.”

“Why not?”

“Because I have to get used to the thought of living without you, and I can’t do that if I still remember the sound of your voice.”

He brushed his knuckles across her cheek, and she turned her face to press a kiss to his fingers. “Prefiero un minuto contigo a una eternidad sin ti,” he whispered.

“Brian,” she laughed softly, sadly. “I still don’t speak Spanish.”

He didn’t laugh, because he was trembling as it was and did not need anything more to wrack his frame with shudders. It was cruel, how little time they’d had.

Exhaling slowly, he repeated,

“I would rather spend a minute with you than spend an eternity without you.”

She choked on a sob, and her arms wrapped around his middle as she laid her head against his chest.

“I’ll wait for you,” she whispered.

He took her face in his hands and pressed a final, bittersweet caress to her mouth.

Then he coaxed her gently from his arms, to find that saltwater streaks had stained her face.

“Oh, love,” he murmured. He touched his lips briefly to her tears, wishing for all the world that he would not have given her reason to cry in the first place. But as much as it hurt to leave her now, he would not have wished her memory away.

His hands slipped from her face to her shoulders until they found her hands again.

“Goodbye,” he whispered.

But she shook her head. “Hasta mañana.”

She had remembered. Dimly, he was aware of the tears that pooled in his own eyes.

He had only just found her, but after today, he would never see her again. Until tomorrow, she had said. And yet, they did not have tomorrow. But he could pretend. Perhaps if he left, imagining in his head that he would see her again tomorrow, then perhaps he could keep it all from tearing him apart. At least, that was what he told himself. But he was a fool, as those in love can be.

“Until tomorrow, my love.”

He couldn’t look at her as he let her fingers fall abandoned to her sides, as he took the first of many steps in the direction away from her, the way he did not want to go.

The ephemerality of existence had briefly been eclipsed by the lightness she had brought him. But he was not a black hole, and nor was she. The gold would not stay.

She had told him that she would wait for him, but who was to say when they would meet again? It might be months, it might be years. It might be a decade. It might be more.

He couldn’t ask her to wait.

He caught a glimpse of her as he rounded the corner, watched her wrap her arms around her shoulders and duck her head as she went inside. A wave of déjà vu washed over him and steeped his heart in sour melancholy. He was right back where he had started. Far away.

The world would spin as the years passed, and as it turned they would be thrown farther apart, disillusioned by the terrible realisation that what they had always believed to be naïve was exactly so. Nothing would come as a surprise, because nothing changed and nothing was new, no matter how much they might have wished for it to be.

She would forever dance in his memories, but she would not wait.

And he would lay no blame.

Who waits forever anyway?

⭒

a/n: my sincere apologies to everyone who speaks/understands spanish. i’ve been learning spanish for four years now, so i hope that experience was enough to make my grammar acceptable, haha

[lnarizakis]

SAM HIT 1K !

hey, everyone! a few days ago i hit 1k followers and i’m so excited to share with you all this news! it’s been six months of writing, posting, and making new friends, and i’ve recognized the results of all of my efforts. thank you to everyone who’s been with me on this journey, even if i met you in march, or just yesterday!

i acknowledge that in the past i’ve been selfish and self-conscious about that number, but everyday i’m grateful that i have a growing number of people who have my back, supporting me, even if it’s through a simple like or even an anonymous ask telling me they really enjoyed a particular work of mine.

and, with everything you do in life, you encounter people who will support you, make your life better, and just know how to help you up when you’ve fallen: friends. that being said, i want to write a letter to all the friends i’ve made on here since i don’t know when i’ll be able to get the next chance to . . .

TRIS , i remember seeing you appear in the comments of almost all of my posts and i just want to thank you personally for always supporting what i have. you don’t realize how much every little comment means to me, really! it always puts a smile on my face to see you comment something and it feels like i’ve accomplished something, so thank you. @tris-does-stuff

HANA , you really don’t know how happy you’ve made me when you told me you were a fan of mine. it just... shocked me? to know that i have people out there that genuinely support what i do? we only really started talking for a couple of days but i feel a strong connection between the two of us (it really may be our matching mbti types, too!) and i’m so glad to be able to call you my friend. you didn’t hear this from me, but i constantly look back at the #anon makes me happy tag and read through those anonymous messages you sent me. i love them (and you) very much! @wansseul

ELLIOT , i know you as one of my biggest supporters for coaches don’t play, and i find that really heartwarming to see that even after, what, two months since i’ve updated, you reblogged it with the tag #thank you for updating! ! i was so happy to see that, and you even proceeded to send in an ask about it afterwards too! i know we don’t really talk often—but i definitely think we should— but i know that you’re so incredibly sweet, especially after i was having that rough slump of mine i think last month. you were so kind to tell me that you’d always be here if i need to talk with someone, so thank you very much. i’m very grateful to have met you! @keiyoomi

JJ , hey, jj!!! i know we haven’t talked in a hot second, but look! i’ve reached 1k followers! i remember you were around during my coaches don’t play days, and that you always sent an ask after almost every update. sometimes i fiind myself looking back at them and smiling, knowing that you were enjoying what i wrote, so thank you very much! i want to say another thank you for being there for me when i was feeling really down in the dumps, and for taking the time out of your day to write me a message on discord. i’m so grateful that you did so, and i hope life treats you well. also! i began reading the great gatsby for school, so we should talk about it sometime hehehe. @kunimwuah

DOVE , aka uvogin anon, dovey lovey, my favorite inbox invader! i . honestly don’t know how we met. like one day u just appeared in my inbox and BAM ! we started talking! and i don’t regret every single thing i send into your inbox (even beany cock) . i always look forward to whenever you send things in my inbox and i really mean it when i say you’re my favorite inbox invader >:) it makes me so happy to see you active on tumblr and to see what you bring me everyday. i am very grateful you’re in my life, and i hope we continue to talk more and more! @fantasiesofdreams

SAL , i remember the first time i talked with you! you liked one of my posts and i was like oh she seems cool, i’m gonna follow her and congratulate her on 400 followers. and soon enough, we started tagging each other in those tag games and later we just grew closer and closer! i’m so happy that we got really close and it always brightens my day to see you on my dash; you never fail to put a smile on my face. thank you so much for being my friend and always being there when i need a good laugh! @sugaanoya

AI , ai, ai love you! i remember following you for your “be my boyfriend” series, and i hope it continues on your new blog (no promises, of course!). i also was there during your blank kita era, and it was honestly something that made me laugh out loud. i’m pretty sure i turned on notifications for you at that point because i was so invested with this drama. you’re just an insanely nice person whose kindness rivals your love for suna (or is it sakusa? your disloyalty, tsk... just kidding!!!). i know that we haven’t talked a whole lot lately but i will be sure to hop in your inbox and stay for a while some time soon. thank you so much for being my friend and i hope you stay happy and healthy! @wiintiier

KAI , aka caca wife! i remember when we started talking on rircus, and at first i didn’t really know who you were, until one fateful night when the conversation about caca happened. at that moment i knew we had similar senses of humor and i remember that i couldn’t stop laughing. it was the caca madness! if i’m being completely honest, i look up to you as a big sister that i’ve never had and i really appreciate you for that, so thank you for being in my life! @lcaita

NAOMI , aka newmie! i remember we first started talking in rircus and i want to thank you for welcoming me so kindly in the server, and especially during the first night we talked, which is when i had a problem and you helped me out immensely. i just want to say thank you for every time that you’ve helped me, talked to me, and made me feel better when i felt less than okay. i’m so glad that i’ve met you and i hope you accomplish great things in your life. @kuraomi

MICKIE , probably one of the only people on discord whose mesages i find myself laughing at a lot. you’re always brightening up the mood wherever you go, and i always find myself looking towards what you have to say today. thanks for that! i also think about that (may i say, really funny) exchange between the two of us on here when you went: “oh god i can’t believe HE’S almost dead ahhh” and i have no idea who you were talking about so i went “omg it’s sero,” and you went on this LONG RANT and it was just so funny to me!!! thanks for always putting a smile on my face. and also! thank you so, so much for suggesting that i get curtain bangs, a decision i really don’t regret! i was afraid i was going to hate them, but i find myself looking in the mirror a lot and thinking: “wow, that is a whole different person.” in a good way! so thank you very much. @tokyoghoose

GERE , aka my ex-wife... sorry about that :( . i never got to say sorry for that but the caca bond runs strong, i hope you understand. i just want you to know how much of a kind person you are, and especially how welcoming you are, too. i was so glad to be welcomed so kindly in your server and it’s become one of my favorites to talk in. i also want you to know, that especially with current times, that things will get better and i’m so glad you’re staying positive with everything going on recently. i love you for you, please remember that!!! @t-amajiki

ISSA , omg, girly pop. hahahaha!!! issa, you’re such a genuine person and i remember meeting you for the first time on rircus. you welcomed me with open arms and you were just the kindest person i met on there. you’re someone who’s just so beautiful inside and out, and the way you’re so large and in charge with your feelings is something i really admire about you. i know we don’t talk so often, but i hope we do. i want to thank you for being my friend, and especially always making me laugh! i love you very much, issa! @indigohitoshi

KYLIE , kylie!!!! the co-founder of our son, iwaizumi hajime. this was literally peak popularity and i knew i was never to get as many notifications as i did in that moment. of everyone i could have shared the account with, i am so glad that i was able to do it with you because we were able to grow closer because of that. now we have this weird inside joke that our son gets mad cooch, and that every day we must think of in another life. where are the daily in another life tiktoks??? of course, our son isn’t the only thing i associate with you. you’re such a kind, hilarious, and genuine person, and to be honest, sometimes i really worry for your wellbeing. get some more sleep, kyl!!! you deserve it. i want you to be grucchi, not tired and wanting to die. thank you so, so much for being my friend, and i am so happy that i met you! @peppermintkiddo

TO, LIKE, EVERYONE FROM RIRCUS , the best people i could ever meet. i’m sorry i couldn’t write an individual letter to all of you, since we haven’t interacted so often for me to pick out one specific memory that i could hold and cherish, but know that every time i come on rircus and talk with you, it is a moment that i will always remember! thank you so much for being my friends and i love you all so, so incredibly much. @kaoyuuuuu @reogou @haikyuu-but-low-iq @yooooooooooomi @samdwich @kenmauwus @shirasusgf @macaronnv @king-kawa

TO EVERYONE THAT CONSTANTLY LIKES, REBLOGS, OR COMMENTS ON MY WORK , you know who you are. i know who you are. i can literally tag you right now. but i think i’ll prefer to keep the anonymity. thank you so much for sharing my work, giving me feedback, and everything. it mean so much to me, especially if there’s a comment attached to the reblog. you make me do a little happy dance!!! i love you so much for what you do and i hope you continue to support me in every way possible!

FOR PEOPLE THAT I MISS/PROBABLY WON’T READ THIS

MEL , hi mel! i’m not very sure if you will read this, but i am so happy that i met you and that we began talking. i remember we began talking after i asked for people to send in memes for that meme war against my sister. i told you i won, right? well, i did. ahhaha anyways, i am very sad that we sort of grew apart and i hope that we can begin talking again soon. you were the highlight of my spring semester. i enjoyed talking with you so much. but i hope that you and your family are currently doing well and that you stay happy and healthy! i miss you very much, melon, thank you for being a part of my life!

RAENAH , hi rae! i think meeting you was a blessing, to be honest. i can’t remember a time when i was utterly annoyed by your presence, nor was i ever mad with you. you are such a kind person with such a pure heart, and during your time on tumblr you really showcased it for everyone to see. you were literally with me from literally the very beginning, during the “my name is...” days, and all i can say is that i am blessed to have met you! thank you so much for lighting up my life, talking to me whenever you made the time, and especially playing minecraft with me. it was so fun, even if it was for a short while. i hope you had as much fun as i had! again, thank you so much for supporting, befriending, and getting to know me because i will never forget you on tumblr dot com. i hope you stay well and make sure you rest often, especially with uni! @a-kaashi

MIYU , where has miyu gone? just kidding. i know you’re there. i hope you read this because i don’t want to tag your new blog. anyways, i just want you to know you make my dash ten times better. it’s literally so boring without you spicing it up, with you talking with anons and your mutuals. i definitely think i should invade your inbox more, what do you think? when i was starting on tumblr, you were a very big inspiration to me and i am very proud of all the works you write. you still are someone i look up to as a writer, because you have such a creative spirit and it makes me so happy you’re able to showcase it for everyone to see. i hope you are staying healthy and well right now, and thank you so much for being my friend!

GIGI , poop. i genuinely miss you very much, but i know that school takes a priority for you. i hope you’re doing well with your classes and that you find the man of your dreams. hopefully it is not the skater boy because you deserve someone as insanely hot as kurapika. no cap. i remember during my chrollo pfp guy craze you were there to deter me away from liking him, but let me just tell you, we’re getting closer tbh. ;) . just kidding, we really aren’t, but we’ve been talking quite a bit. i also want to tell you that you’re someone who’s made me smile with everything you say, and i find myself sometimes typing the way you do. you’re an influence, gigi! please stay happy and healthy and make sure you get lots of rest during your time at school! @gigiwrite

MARS , best for last, am i right? i’m not really sure when i first saw you on my blog, but i remember you’ve been here for a very, very long time. i think it was back in july when we first started talking. you were 🦊 anon, and it made me so happy to read that you felt comfortable enough to reveal yourself! from there, i knew we had a bond from the way we interacted with one another. you’re just such a kind person and you show that to everyone you meet. it’s a quality i wish i had in myself and i really look up to you for your genuinity. sometimes i feel like i don’t thank you enough for how kind you are to me, but just know that with every time i talk i’m always grateful that you’re in my life and that i’ve met you. i know you’re someone i can always lean on and i hope you see me the same. thank you so much for being in my life; you’re someone who means a lot to me. @maru5hka

TO BASICALLY EVERYONE HERE

THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR 1K!!!! YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME. i am so grateful for each and every one of you; you guys are so hot and sexy. i am so grateful to have met you all, even if it was just a simple “you’re added to the taglist!” or a “thank you so much!” i count it as you being my friend and you interacting with me. you guys aren’t my followers; you’re my friends. thank you so much for being my friend and being here for all of my weird shenanigans i have up my sleeve, whether it be my meme war against my sister, my obsession for blue lock, and my huge crush on chrollo pfp guy. well, here’s to me for being sappy and here’s to many more!

[jbbarnesnnoble]

It Won’t Always Be Like This

Summary:  You loved them, but you were getting tired of how they treated you like you were fragile in the wake of an injury. It’s a journey to healing. 

Features: Arguing, angst, eventual fluff; Peter Parker shows up

Pairing: Stucky/Reader

Notes: I considered including a smut scene, but it just doesn’t fit with the flow. I might write a smutty companion piece to this. 

Word Count: 2642

The water lapped at the shore, a cool breeze sweeping across the lake. You had driven there to think. Another day, another screaming match. You couldn’t help but wonder if it would always be like this, if love was destined to fizzle out like a fire left unattended. You had taken the ring off in the midst of it all before storming out the door.  

It wasn’t always like this. Once upon a time, two men out of time had charmed their way into your life. You were the newest Avenger then. Things had just settled after the Accords fiasco. You had fallen for them both in equal measure. You didn’t realize falling for them would lead to this kind of feeling.

It had started simple enough. You were pulled off your first mission back from injury six months prior. You had understood. You could have died on the mission that had been the reason for your injury. But you had completed your therapy, your injury was healed, and you were clear and back in fighting form. And then you got pulled from the next mission. You were only being put on lower level missions, with field agents rather than the Avengers. People took note, rumors swirled that maybe you weren’t the same person you were before the injury. Anyone who was in the field with you could tell that wasn’t true. 

The first big fight you had with Steve and Bucky ended with you spending the night away from the compound, at Tony and Pepper’s cabin. Tony had come to be like a father figure to you. You had spent that night watching Morgan and avoiding talking about what had happened until Pepper coaxed it out of you later in the night. That had been four months ago. It had taken you two months to catch on to what was going on. You could remember that fight with striking clarity. 

“So, would either of you care to explain why the hell I’ve been stuck with babysitting duty?” you asked as you stormed into Steve’s office. He and Bucky were in the midst of a discussion about an upcoming mission, one you had finally been scheduled to be part of, only to be pulled off.

“You’re not ready,” Steve said, his tone stern and commanding. You glared at him.

“Bull fucking shit Rogers. You know as well as I do I’ve been ready for the past two months. But apparently, my commanding officer can’t take his head out of his ass long enough to see that I’m not a fragile doll,” you snapped. 

“Calm--,” Bucky wasn’t able to even get the phrase out of his mouth before your attention turned to him.

“Don’t fucking tell me to calm down. I don’t know what you two are playing at trying to keep me sidelined,” you snapped. Steve ran a hand through his hair.

“You scared the hell out of us. We could have lost you, doll,” he said. 

“And you don’t think I have the same worries about you two?” you asked him.

“You’re not...you’re normal,” Bucky said. 

“So is Natasha. Sharon, Sam? Yet you don’t sideline them, even when they get injured. So, do you want to try that again Sergeant Barnes?” you asked. Both of them looked at you with wide eyes. They had never seen you this furious, at least not when the fury was aimed squarely at them. 

“Perhaps we’ve been unreasonable,” Steve conceded.

“No, you don’t say. Fix it, Captain Rogers,” you said before turning and leaving the room, slamming the door behind you. 

While you were back on missions with the Avengers, you were only on missions with Steve or Bucky. Before the injury it was common for you to be partnered with Natasha on missions, or with Natasha and Clint if a situation called for it. They had both had heated discussions with Steve and Bucky over it. The missions you did go on, you felt more like you were being treated like a child rather than a teammate. You were always paired with one of your boys, which under normal circumstances you wouldn’t have disagreed with. Another fight and they had eased up on that too, but it was taking it’s toll on your relationship. 

It had all led to today. While legally your marriage wouldn’t be binding, the three of you were still planning a ceremony. You had been discussing plans when Steve mentioned it. 

“And once the kids come, we’ll talk about nannies to help you when Buck and I are on missions,” Steve said. You furrowed your brow.

“What about when I’m on missions?” you asked. The two shared a look. 

“We just...we figured you might retire?” Bucky asked, suddenly unsure.

“And let you two have all the fun? I’m not ready to retire. There’s still a lot of fight left in me. Besides, we talked about this before, remember?” you said. 

“And what about when you’re pregnant?” Steve asked.

“Obviously I wouldn’t be in the field but there’s nothing stopping me from going back once the baby is born. I know you two are from a different time, but god, I figured you were more progressive than this,” you said standing up.

“It’s different. If you were anything other than this, than an Avenger,” Steve started to say. 

“Do you even hear yourself right now? You two do the same damn thing I do. You may be super soldiers but you’re not immortal! You’re just as human as I am. You don’t think I’m scared of losing either of you too? That when I think about us, about having children, that I’m not terrified about our kids losing a father? Of potentially losing me? But that’s the risk we take. Maybe my feelings will change once we have kids but it’s a decision you can’t make for me. It’s my life too,” you said, your voice cracking.

“Sweetheart,” Bucky said. 

“No. I can’t do this, I can’t,” you said. You pulled the ring off your left hand and set it on the table before walking toward the door and grabbing your car keys.

“Where are you going? Baby, please,” Steve said. You forced yourself to keep looking forward. His voice sounded like he was on the verge of tears and you knew you’d break if you looked at him. You slammed the door behind you, and couldn’t shake the feeling of finality as you headed for the elevator, avoiding everyone else. 

You loved them. You did. But sometimes, sometimes you felt like they were overbearing, too overprotective. On the surface, it seemed like the conversation around kids stemmed from the era they grew up in, but what Steve had said, about if you were anything but an Avenger, stuck with you. It would be easy to just say it was a sexist notion, but under the surface, you knew that there was more to it, you just had to put the pieces together. 

Before you’d gotten injured, things had been different. Even when you’d talked about kids then, there was no assumption that any of you would retire. Cut back on missions maybe, make sure at least one of you was there unless it could be avoided, but you had always been included. You were pulled from your thoughts as someone sat beside you.

“They’re worried about you,” Peter said. You and Peter Parker had become fast friends. You may have been older than him, but he’d become like a little brother to you. 

“I don’t know what to do anymore,” you said.

“Do you love them?” he asked. You looked at him, brow furrowed.

“Of course I do,” you said. 

“What was so bad that you walked out like that? That you took your ring off?” he asked gesturing to your left hand. 

“Peter,” you said. He glared at you.

“If you’re about to say I’m too young to understand, we’re sparring, right here, right now,” he said. You laughed. 

“We got on the topic of having kids. When we talked about it when we decided we were getting married, even if it won’t be legally binding, we agreed we’d all cut back on missions, try to make sure one of us stayed back. But then I got hurt. And they almost lost me,” you said, the pieces starting to come together. 

“You scared all of us that day. We...we thought you weren’t coming back from that,” he said. You picked at the grass beside you, taking the longer blades and tying them together, an old childhood habit. 

“I know. I survived though,” you said.

“They’re probably thinking about what happens if the next time you don’t. You know they’re idiots right? Don’t...don’t tell them I said that. But they want to keep you safe. You should’ve heard Natasha after you stormed out this time. She really let into them after they told her what happened...maybe FRIDAY will be able to show you,” Peter said. You laughed. 

“It’d be easy to walk away and say it’s because they’re unreasonable jerks...well, maybe not easy, but. I just wish they’d talk to me about it instead of making decisions for me or about me,” you said. 

“Maybe we don’t know how because even talking about our fears is a terrifying thought,” a new voice said breaking into the conversation. You and Peter both turned to see Steve and Bucky standing there. 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. Peter was one of the few that knew where you went when you needed space.

“Followed Peter,” Steve said. 

“I’m just gonna...go,” Peter said standing up. He still got nervous around Steve and Bucky and you thought it was kinda adorable. As he left, Steve and Bucky sat on either side of you. The three of you sat in silence for a few minutes.

“You know what sucks, about all of this? When you put me on babysitting duty, I felt like you didn’t trust me in the field. When you finally put me back on regular missions, you didn’t put me with my usual partners, and I felt like I was being punished because you know I love you two, but we rarely complement each other’s skills on missions. I felt like you still didn’t trust me. And now this. It feels like you wanted me to quit, be Susie Homemaker instead of the woman I am,” you said. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at either of them. 

“No, no, sweetheart. That’s not what we wanted, what we want. We want you to be safe. But with our jobs, that’s not an option. We should have talked to you,” Steve said.

“Yes, you should have,” you said.

“We’re sorry. We overstepped. We let our fear take control,” Bucky said. You fell back into silence, the air around the three of you still uneasy with the undercurrent of unresolved conflict. 

“At first, I thought you two were being sexist, which, you were by the way, assuming I’d be the one to retire and raise the kids we don’t even have yet while you two are off doing god only knows what. But, then I started thinking about why you were reacting that way, what had changed your minds. It scares me too. Thinking I won’t come back or one of you won’t come back. But that’s our reality. Even without this hero thing, there’s always a chance that something goes wrong in our day to day lives. Retirement wouldn’t change that,” you said. 

The conversation flowed, along with some tears. But for the first time in six months, it was a discussion, not an argument where neither side listened to what the other was saying. You still weren’t sure where the three of you stood but the conversation left you feeling better.

“What do you say, ready to go home?” Steve asked. He had the ring he and Bucky had given you in his hand. You shook your head and both men looked at you, confused. 

“We still have a lot we need to work out...I’m not taking the ring back until we do. I’m going to stay with Tony and Pepper for a bit,” you said. It killed you to see the expressions on their faces, but you knew if this relationship was going to work, if it was going to survive, you needed time to work on what had led to this point. A single conversation wasn’t going to fix the months of damage done. 

The seasons changed as summer faded into autumn and autumn into winter. You and your boys had been making progress. Therapy had helped. It had started small, with going on dates with them, with both of them and individually. Dates had fallen by the wayside since your return to work. You were the one setting the pace. While there were kisses here and there, you hadn’t been intimate with either of them since the last fight. During your last session, you had brought up feeling ready to be back at where you were before everything happened. You knew what was coming, you just didn’t know when.

Steve and Bucky had taken you to the city for the night to see the tree and walk around Manhattan. When you got back upstate, you had one more stop according to them. 

“Do you trust us?” Bucky asked as Steve continued driving. You weren’t sure where he was going, considering he had missed the turn for the compound. 

“Yes,” you said without hesitation. 

“Put this on,” he said, handing you a blindfold. You raised your eyebrows suggestively.

“Kinky,” you said as you slipped it on. It was just a short while later that Steve parked the car and one of them opened your door as you felt around to unclip your seat belt. Judging by the hand that took yours, it was Bucky helping you out. He looped his arm through yours as Steve came up to your other side doing the same. You were sure you looked about as graceful as a newborn calf as you walked, snow crunching under your boots. It was a short walk before they stopped. You heard them shuffling before Steve told you to take off the blindfold.

You gasped when you saw the sight in front of you. You were at your favorite spot, the same spot where just a few months prior, the conversation that began the fresh start of your relationship had happened. But that wasn’t what was important to you in the moment. Both men were on one knee, fairylights strung around the tree you liked to sit under, flower petals scattered in a heart around the three of you. 

You cried as they spoke, each taking a turn to tell you what they loved about you, why they wanted to spend forever with you. And for a second time, you accepted their proposal. The first time they had proposed had been after a mission, without the ring and without the speeches about love and wanting forever. Both had been perfect in their own way. Truth was, you didn’t care about the how, just that it happened, that you and your boys were back on track. 

“Sweetheart?” Bucky asked. You had yet to answer. You laughed lightly.

“Yes, yes I’m going to marry you two,” you said. It felt right as the ring was slid back on your finger. Steve kissed you first, then Bucky. 

“How about we head home?” you asked. 

“Yeah?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” you said. You reminded yourself that it won’t always be like this, a calm perfect moment. Arguments were bound to happen, feelings might get inadvertently hurt, but next time it happened, you wouldn’t let it reach the breaking point. Not if you could help it.

[aliypop]

May Victory Lead You

Wordcount: 2,240

Warning: Violence , Language

A/N: Part 8! 

Blood redden the water that beheld the jewel of the kingdom Abbinshire. Mages, knights, and even warriors trod the paths that not even kings once stood. Guards and crooked knights of virtue surrounded the castle, and Adina knew there was no backing down now.

 "Nice to see you bought my little gift of deception .." 

"I should have known.." Adina turned towards the voice. Standing behind her was the real Clarion, the one that gave her nightmares and filled her up with fears. "I must say I was impressed!" he laughed, taking his blade through her torso. Watching his daughter double over, he could smile at the sheer pain she must have been facing. Or so he had thought, watching as he had gotten closer: Adina took a small dagger slicing at his ankle. 

"How are you not.."  

"Thank the gods for witchers and their potions.." She laughed, "Which reminds me I should thank Geralt for when I return.." She then took her sword, hearing it crash against his, though things were just as rough on the frontlines as they were in the castle. 

"Arrows drawn!" Flora shouted, war paint covering her face just as it did her tribe. Her sisters, Fauna, Faith, and Fiona, had been ready at their sister's command: While her brothers waited in the woods to ambush, Florian had other plans. Rayanetta looked at her husband, her hands on his face. She could tell he was horrified: Florian wasn't always one to always start fights, but he knew how to finish them when Rayanetta couldn't. "Promise me you'll bring victory back with us for Anore," Florian asked. 

"Promise me you won't die, Florian. And I promise you a fruitful win." she gave him a quick kiss leading her men to battle. As bombs blared and cannons took to fire: the mages, one by one, had led together in a bloodbath of guards and witch hunters. Scattered and dismembered bodies laid there in the grass, some even in the trees. Yennefer, who was second in command, led the troops of mages to victory. But it was all up to one person, 

"What's our next move.." 

"The castle.."  Adina responded, still entangled with Clarion, who had just as many cuts and bruises on his body as the knight before him. 

"Tell me.. how do you plan to kill me this time.." Clarion asked. Pulling her blade closer to his neck, she could feel his heartbeat racing and hear every thought that he had. "You aren't good enough.." 

"You're not worthy .." 

"You're unwanted.." 

"You're a burden.."

Those were the many taunts he thought of because he knew those were the same words he'd always tell her. Those simple phrases had practically ruled over her life.  "I should have killed you at birth.."

"It's been a while since I've been here.." Tithuba sighed, riding through on the battlegrounds that Abbinshire had turned into, but Tithbua knew the dangers that were present around her. Fallen foes pulled around the hooves of their horses. But she could still feel the victors that surrounded her by body, spirit, and telepathy. 

 "Yennefer, can you hear me.." 

"Tithuba, we need your help.." 

"Where are you.."

"Nearing the kingdom.." 

Tithuba looked at Geralt, who had already gotten in a few swings on his sword. With the practice on a few monsters, Geralt guessed a bit of a bloody uproar wouldn't hurt, 

"You find the princess, and I'll-" 

"Adina told me not to leave you.." he glared at her Geralt wasn't one to break promises, and he wasn't one who enjoyed losing things that he cared about, even if it meant masking his emotions when he did.

"Geralt, I command you!" Tithuba growled, "The last witcher who didn't head my orders nearly died.." she stared into his soul much like a mother does. "Now you will leave me to duties and find her!" her tone harsh as she rode off on her midnight black horse. Roach raced in the wind of the woods, her hooves never stopping until she stepped on a branch. There were arrows nearly grazing him from left and right. The sound of elvish chants rang in his ear. " Shit.." he took his sword, ready to kill anything that would soon cross his path.  

"I'd advise you to drop the dagger if you want to live.."

"Drop your sword then.." The redheaded elf said, covered in deep blue and silver armor. "I don't think I will.." he smirked, pressing the blade to her shoulder.  

"Geralt.." a familiar voice said, but in a much deeper tone. 

"Flora, do you know him.." 

"He's a friend of humanity .." she smirked, " Follow me, Roach.." she began to pet him.

"Don't do that.." 

Adina fumbled backward, nearly dangling over the kingdom. She was weak, wounded, and bloody, but she refused to give up. "Any last words.." Clarion asked: he knew that she was no match with the war-stricken world going on, and he wanted to remind her of it. "If my fate is dying by the very breath that bore me, let it be.." Adina said, her eyes closed shut as she took a free fall from the same tower that caged her as a child. 

"Geralt, if you're out there, I love you.."  

"Adina.."  Geralt took Roach by the reins, racing towards the castle. He might not have been much of a believer in destiny, but he knew he couldn't leave her to die. That just wasn't her fate: Adina laid on top of something that felt scaly. Her blurred vision saw what was right under her. 

"A fucking golden dragon.." she plopped back down on the marble-like texture. 

"Language.." 

"Mother..." she blinked, 

Clarion only laughed, with the princess dead and the battle ragging on inside the walls of the kingdom. He knew that he would be safe and sound to rule as long as fate allowed him to, two blades crossed against his neck as he was face to face with a witcher. His eye's already seeing red. Geralt was ready to behead him for taking away something he would never get a chance at again. "Give me one reason why I shouldn't kill you .." Geralt snarked, cutting the blades closer. Clarion only laughed at the mutant in front of him. 

"Think of the gold I could give you.. " the foolish king smirked. Feeling a knick of the metal hit his skin, he knew he'd have to taint the mutant with a better bargain. "Women!" he shrieked as Geralt sliced his throat. 

"Where is she.." 

"Who.." 

"Looking for us.." Adina smirked, jumping off the golden dragon. Her hair blowing in the wind, still bloodied and bruised but ready to fight again. " Echucto Serpenaris!" vines of snakes wrapped around the king, squeezing him tight. Nuzzling the nose of the dragon, Adina knew that her mother had more instore for the king.  

"A golden dragon?"

"Don't mind my mother.." She smirked, gesturing to Tithuba, who seemed to have needed back up. " Do excuse me .." she took his silver sword. 

"What happened to yours!" 

"Don't blame me: I almost died!." she growled, stabbing into a few creature diversions that Clarion made. Tithuba looked up at her king: her hands stretched out. 

 "I have blood on my hands to defeat such an unmighty king. '' she teased. Tithuba had been waiting for this moment to take sweet revenge on the land that was of her father. Turning the blood pouring from her leg into a sword, she pulled her arm back, ready to behead him. Placing the sign Yrden on the grounds of which the king stood left Clarion immobilized. 

"I leave the rest to you two.." Geralt nodded at Adina, hearing the commotion from the castle doors. 

Adina and Tithuba had both joined hands, both gleaming topaz eyes looking directly towards the king. 

" Obliid Aviortia!" the two chanted, fire from beneath their feet arose as the essence of the golden dragons before: took over. A golden barrier ricocheted from the castle and to the forest, heads turning towards the source. Mages fell silent, the warrior elves stood still, and the knights had only bowed. 

The turn of a new era was happening, and Adina was alive to see it. Tethered clothes and bruised up were the looks of Tithuba, but she still had her smile. 

 "Fellow Abbinshirans.. and those of other kingdoms.. it is with great pleasure to declare the war is over, and the king is dead." the grace of a queen smiled upon the witch. As Adina tried to sneak off, Tithuba grabbed her by the armor. "It is with great pleasure that I claim my place as queen and that my daughter claims the spot as the princess of war." Adina's eye's shot up as she heard the title. She knew that things would change, just not that quickly.  

"Mother, please.." Adina grumbled, feeling the chambermaid's braid lace up her dress. It had been a few days after the war that her mother decided to host a celebratory ball in honor of everyone who fought and was apart. She had invited Jaskier, the bard, and scholar of Oxenfurt and court of Lettenhove, who had married Flora, a bard: an adviser to Abbinshire. "I'm just saying you aren't getting any younger.. not to rush you.." she joked, placing the crown of jewels on her daughter's head. " What are you getting at.." Adina asked, knowing that she had her own tricks up her sleeves.

 "Tell him how you feel.." 

"Only if you tell Vesemir first.." she smirked, 

"As if he'll ever leave the-" 

"Tithuba.." The voice that always made her turn as red as a rose in May was standing in the doorway. Running towards, him Adina only laughed as she snuck out of the room. Midnight blue fabric traced behind her every movement as she heard talking coming from behind the next room. 

 "Jaskier.. I'll kill you if this doesn't work.." 

"You don't want to do that... " He smiled, "Besides.. curls fit you.." he laughed a bit. 

"I don't see why you asked me to do this in the first place.." Yennefer mumbled under her breath. 

Sitting in the ballroom was Adina with the new royal court. Along with her mother's special guest Vesemir, the hints of their conversation bringing the most pained face to her own. Steering out at the crowd of thousands and listening to the ballads played by both bards, she began to remember just a small amount of this she enjoyed. But something was missing: there wasn't a brooding witcher in the corner. Instead, it was a chestnut curly-haired green-eyed man who happened to look like "Geralt.." Adina mouthed he was a lot less pale, and there was a bit of rosiness to his cheeks. Watching as he nodded back, she couldn't believe what she was seeing. 

"You look.."

"Different.." he kissed her hand. 

"Like you could be Jaskier's older sibling .." she giggled, although this look of his would have been appealing to other women in the court. It did nothing but remind her of the countless men who tried to ask for her hand. "Why the sudden change.." felt his hands, still rough but his pulse more human. With that thought in mind, she began to wonder if she was the reason.

 " Figured it would work.." 

"To what .. impress me.." she laughed, "Geralt, I don't need a knight in shining armor to impress me." she then took both his hands in her own, walking towards the garden. "You don't need a monster either.." his now emerald eyes looking towards her. Geralt had always wondered what it would have been to be fully human again, to someone who cared for you, but clearly, it didn't matter. Not to Adina, he thought that if he changed, she would see for what he had always wanted to be, the knight in the stories, the hero, the green-eyed good guy.  

"So you thought turning yourself into some knight, some fucking prince would make me like you more than I already do..." she pulled him by his doublet.  

"Well, did it.." 

"Gods no.. you being the butcher of Blaviken." he saw her lips curve into a smirk, "Maybe.. you being Geralt of Rivia possibly.. but you being Geralt of being a pain in my ass definitely.:" she whispered, watching him smile. Her heart began to beat faster as she kept talking. 

" I love you when you're a brooding, wolf eyed, scarred up monster hunting witcher," she laughed, her fingertips touching the back of Geralt's neck. "Is that so.." he laughed, tilting her chin up to get a good look at Adina in the moonlight. She nodded at him in response. 

"I'd have to say..." 

"What.." she asked, desperate for his response. 

"I don't like you.." 

"But I.. !" 

"I love you too." he laughed, taking her lips in a kiss nothing mattered, but the sheer fact that he was in the arms of Adina, a woman he would want to spend his entire life with, "You truly an arse sometimes.." Adina then gasped, seeing his snow-white hair come back and his scars along with those beautiful amber eyes that she always got lost in, 

"Hmm... I would have never known.." he laughed. 

"Let's say we leave out on the dancing and discover what monsters we can find." 

"Where to.." 

"Something's telling me, Cintra.."