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drwcn · 4 years ago

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ok but for fem!wwx au does lan zhan believe the rumours? and if so what does that mean for the whole 'i birthed him with my own body!' cause lan zhan did the maths and was like 'no it was just the once and this child is too old' but if he thinks he was just one in a line does he go back to bm after nightless city to rescue a kid he thinks is wei ying's but with another man? does he spend the three years in seclusion cursing every jin whose name he remembers as cowards only to step out, take one look at sizhui, and have an 'oh. i know why wei ying was so determined to save wen qionglin' moment???

Answer: Haha, nah, Lan Wangji was fairly sure Sizhui wasn’t Wei Ying’s, for several reasons. One, Wen Yuan was born before the wen remnants even went to the Burial Mount. Lan Wangji saw the small child amongst the escape party that rainy night at the concentration camp. Also, Wen Ning was several years younger than them, which would make it kind of weird if he were the dad. Before Wen Ning became the Ghost General, everyone just knew him as Wen Qing’s kid brother. Lan Wangji, however, absolutely believed Jiang Yan to be Jiang Cheng and Wei Wuxian’s child even before Wei Wuxian was resurrected...

《the midnight sun》 —

[original], snippets [x] [x] [x] [x], other posts found under #lanyan or #midnight sun

midnight sun [snippet 7]

When Yan’er turned ten, Jiang Cheng decided it was time for her to accompany him to Cultivation Conferences. Most sect heirs began their training this way; Jiang Cheng still remembered his first time, trailing nervously in Jiang Fengmian’s wake.

Heiresses, in comparison, were few and far between. Even head disciples were rarely girls. Jiang Wanyin had no children. His head disciple was his heiress, and his heiress was Jiang Yueqian (江月千).

长烟一空 - when the smoke clears; 皓月千里 - the moon casts a thousand miles of light 浮光跃金 - which dances upon the water, golden 静影沉壁 - the shadow of the moon itself like jade underwater*

A jade underwater indeed.

“Shifu.”

Speaking of the devil, here she comes, walking measuredly down the long stairs of Jinlintai towards Jiang Cheng, the epitome of an obedient, filial disciple. It had only been a day and Jiang Yan already had the world fooled. Only Jiang Cheng knew how impossibly obstinate and utterly uncontrollable she was when her mind was fixed.

"Ah, Jiang-zongzhu, this is..." Spotting her, Lan Xichen glanced beyond his shoulder, the question dangling in the sentence he did not deem necessary to finish.

Unbeknownst to Lan Xichen, the child that made her way over was his niece by blood. Jiang Cheng was acutely aware that Yan'er actually resembled Lan Wangji a great deal, and despite having weighed the risks and gains against each other repeatedly before deciding to bring Jiang Yan along, now he was no longer so certain in his calculations. Lan Xichen was not a simple peasant; what if he detected a trace or a hint of her heritage between the furrow of her brows or the curve of her eyes? What if...

Jiang Cheng turned, raising an arm towards Jiang Yan, an introduction ready, but whatever words he had prepared in advance died on on his tongue when he laid eyes on the girl. Suddenly, he was no longer worried that others would suspect her to be Lan Wangji's child.

There was a red ribbon in her hair.

Yan'er stopped at a polite distance from the two older men and bowed in perfect form.

Jiang Cheng's heart stuttered violently in his chest at the sight of that red ribbon falling sideway over her small shoulder. If souls could travel, his would have left him in an instant. He stood in disincorporated panic, wrestling with the nauseating sensation of being ripped from his reality and tossed so far into the distant past that he felt whole again.

"Shifu, Lan-zongzhu." Yan'er greeted.

Shifu. Lan-zongzhu. In another world, another life, she would not need to be so formal. She could easily bound up to them, carefree, cooing jiujiu and bobo and ask to be bailed out from whatever trouble she caused.

Instead, he was only her shifu, and Lan Xichen, a stranger in her life. It would be laughable, if fate had not dealt them each such a wretched hand.

Jiang Cheng stepped towards her. “Where did you get this?”

Jiang Yan looked up in surprise, her hand reaching up and making an aborted motion to touch the red ribbon in her hair.

“Qin-shenshen gave it to me. Is it not nice?”

Qin Su. Jiang swallowed down a sigh of relief. Earlier, the Jin servants had sent word that Jin-fu'ren had baked treats for Jin Ling, and the boy had wasted no time dragging his favourite person - his Yan'er jiejie - to his aunt's place with him. Clearly, Qin Su had seized the opportunity to dote on the girl in place of the daughter she never had. Qin Su meant well. She couldn't have known. She's never even met Wei Wuxian.

In this state, Jiang Cheng could barely bring himself to look at his disciple, but he forced himself nonetheless to kneel and tuck an errant strand of baby hair behind her ear. “Very pretty.”

Yan'er smiled.

Jiang Cheng could cry.

They'd been lucky thus far. Yunmeng's Jiang-xiao-guniang was born a taciturn girl who did not like to smile or laugh, not even when she was expected to for polite society. Whether she was happy or sad, one would be hard pressed to tell. Only in front of her master Jiang Cheng or her Jin Ling-didi did she elect to reveal the full expanse of her emotions. Yet, whenever Jiang Cheng bore witness to that smile as warm and incandescent as sunlight, he could not help but shudder somewhere deep. Recalling the radiant days of years gone by, he could still see - every time he closed his eyes - his er-shijie smiling at him in the very same fashion.

Aiyo, Jiang Cheng ~

So...they'd been very lucky thus far, that Yan'er was not so like her mother in that way, not so free and generous with her smiles. Or else this devastating secret —Wei Wuxian's only wish — would not be able to withstand the test of time.

"Very pretty, Yan'er." He reaffirmed. "Did you thank Jin-furen?"

"I did."

Jiang Cheng stood and turned back to face Lan Xichen, and realized they were being joined by two others: Lan Qiren and Lan Wangji. The latter of two stared directly down at Jiang Yan, visibly stricken and unblinking, as though he'd just seen a ghost. After all, he had often been on the receiving end of that signature smile once upon a time. It was probably not a smile he'd ever expected to see again in this life.

In hindsight, perhaps Jiang Cheng should have made Yan'er wear her uniform like all the other disciples instead of her favourite indigo robes.

“Ah, Wangji, shufu -” Lan Xichen was quick to react, sensing animosity brewing in the disquiet that stretched taut between his younger brother and his fellow sect master. "Jiang-zongzhu, perhaps you would introduce us?"

The First Jade smiled kindly down at Yan'er. She returned his kindness with a polite nod.

Lan Wangji finally dragged his gaze up to meet Jiang Cheng's, a rarity since their violent parting at Nevernight. The venerated Hanguang-jun had developed a habit of pretending that Jiang Wanyin of Lotus Pier did not exist at all. He probably preferred, dreamed of it even, if Jiang Cheng had been one to fall of the cliff that day. He probably hated himself for not shoving him into the molten abyss when he could to avenge the love of his life.

Love. What did Lan Wangji know of love? Jiang Cheng sneered inwardly. One did not compromise one's love and abandon her, ill and with child, to bleed out alone in a cave tainted by demonic spirits.

One did not watch idly as one's love and her people are reduced to ashes for the power and greed of men either....

Jiang Cheng buried the offending thought, too familiar with Wen Qing's ghost that still haunted him in his moments of weakness. Without breaking gaze, he laid a hand on the crown of Jiang Yan's head and said, "This is my first disciple, Jiang Yan, Jiang Yueqian."

"Yueqian greets Zewu-jun, Lan-lao-xiansheng, Hanguang-jun."

Jiang Cheng watched as the icy fire within Lan Wangji's eyes flicker, fizzle, and extinguish entirely. Jiang Cheng's vague silence had allowed him the space to make his assumptions, and he had assumed the most insane explanation.

Is it so difficult for you, wondered Jiang Cheng. To believe that she could be yours? So impossible, that you would choose to doubt Wei Wuxian instead?

Fine.

Hanguang-jun. The venerated Second Jade of Gusu. That's all you'll ever be. Yan'er will never call you Father.

Jiang Cheng decided he had spent enough time today making nice. "Zewu-jun, it's getting late. If nothing else, I will be taking my leave. The conference continues tomorrow. I will see you then. Yan'er, come."

Yan'er bowed again to the senior cultivators, perfectly well-mannered. A dash of surprise crossed those bright eyes, however, when Jiang Cheng took her hand to lead her away. She followed wordlessly, trusting him, and did not look back once at the Lans she left behind.

Now that Yan'er was out in society, there would surely be rumours. No matter. Rumours were nothing Jiang Wanyin could not withstand. How ironic, indeed, that this was to be his lot in life.

For the first time, Jiang Cheng felt he could understand his father.

Note:

The poem is from the Song dynasty, by poet 范仲淹 from his work 《岳阳楼记》

Jiang Cheng of course is also working off a lot of assumptions about Wei Wuxian and Lan Wangji's relationship. He has his reasons for hating and blaming Lan Wangji, but not all the blame is deserved.

#Anonymous #corie replies #cql #the untamed #lanyan #midnight sun #corie fics #cql ficlet #yes jiang cheng stringed enough brain cells together to come up with a half decent name #ly7

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multifandomoneshotss · 4 years ago

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A Helping Hand

Fandom: American Horror Story

Cordelia Goode x Reader

Summary: You’re a close friend of Cordelia’s, and after the acid attack leaves her blind, you vow to help her with her every need. Little did she know that you were in love with her.

A/N: This takes place in Coven, but Hank does not exist in this story, so Cordelia’s last name never became Foxx. She is always referred to with Goode as her last name.

You have been attending Robichaux academy for about 2 years now after you discovered your powers during a witnessed burglary. A man tried to steal a woman’s purse and all you had to do was look at him before he was suddenly set on fire. Shortly after the incident, your parents dropped you off at the academy and have been there ever since.

The first person you met when you first arrived was Cordelia, and when you locked eyes with her, your stomach fluttered slightly at the beauty in front of you. Her blonde hair was wavy and silky to the touch. Her brown eyes looked down at you with care, more than you had ever felt in your life, and over time, you couldn’t help but fall in love with her.

Time passed and you and Cordelia became close friends. She enjoyed your company whenever she was working on her potions in the greenhouse. You liked when she was able to help you with your own powers, teaching you spells, and soon you were able to perform magic that even some of the other girls couldn’t do. And even though you were in love with Cordelia, you’ve never had the courage to tell her.

You were devastated when you heard about Cordelia’s attack. You rushed to the hospital as soon as Fiona had called you.

“Cordelia Goode, what room is she in?” you asked a nurse hurriedly. They lead you to her room and you burst in the door, immediately rushing to her side, taking her hand in yours. She flinched it away in fear.

“Delia, it’s me, Y/N,” you said softly as you slowly, gently take her hand once again.

“Y/N...” she trailed off, relaxing into your touch.

That is when you realized that she is blind. The brown eyes that would gaze lovingly down at you were no longer there.

Suddenly, Cordelia gasped and let go of your hand, clutching it against her chest.

“Delia, what’s wrong?” you asked, worry beginning to cycle through you.

“She has second sight now,” Fiona responded. You jerked your head towards her when you heard her voice. You didn’t even know that she was there.

“What does that mean?”

“It means that by touching someone, she can see what they are thinking about, like a vision.”

You gulped nervously, knowing that you were thinking about how much you love her. What did she see? you thought to yourself. You never got an answer because Cordelia had fallen asleep.

Now, ever since the attack, you have done nothing but help Cordelia in any way that you can. You bring her cups of coffee in the morning after helping her get downstairs, always making sure her delicate fingers are wrapped around the steaming mug before letting go. You help her get dressed after her showers every day, and you can’t help but blush every time. Anything that she needed done, you were there by her side.

One morning, after getting Cordelia her usual cup of coffee, you were sitting at the kitchen table next to her, staring at her. Even though there wasn’t much to her eyes any longer, you still thought she was beautiful. You also couldn’t help but admire her strength through all of this. You couldn’t imagine being blind, not knowing your surroundings. But somehow Cordelia was able to persist through it, even telling you that you didn’t have to help her.

“You know, Y/N, it’s been a while since what happened, and while I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, I think I’ll be alright on my own.”

“But I want to help you, Delia. I care about you, and I don’t want you to end up hurting yourself. You can’t see. Please, let me be here for you, just like you were there for me when I first came here.

You cupped her face in your hands, bringing her closer to you. You felt heat rush down your neck at her close proximity to you. “Everyone needs a helping hand at some point right?”

After that, Cordelia had let you take care of her, and now, as she is sitting at the table drinking her coffee, she couldn’t be more grateful for you. Sometimes she still had the feeling of wanting to do things for herself, but she always told herself not to and left it for you to do.

She hears the chair next to her scrape across the floor as you stand up. “I’m going to go check on Zoe and Queenie, make sure they’re awake. I need their help with a spell I’m working on. I’ll be right back.”

You weren’t really thinking when you leaned down and kissed her lightly on the cheek. You blushed as you walked away. What the hell were you thinking?

Cordelia slowly brought her hand up to her cheek, smiling softly at the tingle that your lips left behind on her skin. She had recently developed feelings for you as well, and longed for more of your touch. She was pretty sure that the feelings were one-sided, though, so she kept it a secret.

She sat there for a while, no sign or your return to the kitchen. She could hear other footsteps, but she knew what yours sounded like; none of them were yours. Soon her coffee mug was empty, and she thought she would be able to handle getting more for herself, so she slowly rose from her seat, clutching the cup so hard so she wouldn’t drop it. Cordelia felt the table around her and then walked in the direction towards the fridge, forgetting her can leaning up against the table. Her hand was out in front of her, and it soon found the fridge.

Alright, now move to the right, she thought to herself. Her hand finally found the coffee maker and she let out a sigh of relief. She placed down her cup on the counter, not realizing that it was on the edge, and it fell to the floor, breaking into a million tiny pieces. Cordelia jumped at the sound.

“Shit!” she yelled.

You had heard the noise from upstairs and you immediately rushed down to her. You saw her trying to bend down and clean the mess.

“Delia, don’t touch that, you could cut yourself,” you say as you get on your knees, beginning to pick up the sharp shards off the floor.

“I’m sorry Y/N, I just wanted more coffee. I though I could do it myself. I’m sorry.”

You look up at her to see tears running down her face. You drop the pieces in your hand and wrap your arms around her in a tight embrace. She leans into you, sobs coursing through her body.

“It’s okay, it’s not your fault. It’s a simple mistake, alright? Nothing to worry about, I’m right here, okay? I’m not letting you go.” You saying anything you can think of to comfort her as you hold her, running your hand through her hair.

Cordelia grips your shirt while she cries, and you both sit there for a while before Fiona enters the room.

“What the hell is going on in here?”

“Everything’s alright,” you respond. “Cordelia just dropped her cup. She was only trying to refill it herself.”

“I suggest you get off the floor and clean up this mess. And you.” She points at Cordelia. “You need to toughen up. It’s a coffee mug, so what?”

Fiona walks away before Cordelia can say anything, and tears threaten to spill from her eyes once again. You notice and place a hand on her thigh.

“Don’t listen to her, okay? I understand how you feel. I’ve never been in your situation, but I’ve been through the same pain. And I want you to know that I’ll always be here to clean up your little accidents.”

Cordelia chuckles and a smile spreads across her face. “Thank you.”

***

News of Fiona’s death shocked the entire coven. You might not have liked her because of how she treated Cordelia, but you still respected her. She was the Supreme after all. But her death meant that a new Supreme needed to be crowned.

You began to prepare for the Seven Wonders with the other girls, perfecting as many as you could before the day of the tests came. But you had a gut feeling that you wouldn’t pass, and you were right.

You failed on the Concilium test, something that you thought was going to be easy, but even after putting in all the energy you could muster, it didn’t work, and you were okay with that. You didn’t really want to be Supreme anyways.

While Zoe, Queenie, Madison, and Misty were doing the Descensum test, you sat on the sofa next to Cordelia.

“I’m proud of you for trying,” Cordelia whispers to you, gently placing a hand on your back. You smiled back, leaning into her touch. Then, to your surprise, she wrapped her arm around your waist and pulled you closer to her, so close that you could smell the lavender-scented dryer sheets she likes when you wash her clothes. You lean your head on her shoulder, taking a deep inhale of the scent, and that is when you truly understood how she felt about you.

As the last of the sand runs through the hourglass, all but Misty have passed the test.

“No, please, we have to save her,” Cordelia says, kneeling next to Misty’s body.

“I’m sorry, my dear. We can’t help her,” Myrtle responds, and you could hear the pain in her voice. She really thought that Misty would be the Supreme.

Cordelia holds Misty’s body against her own, sobs rippling through her. You get up from the sofa and kneel down next to her, rubbing your hand on her shoulder. Misty’s body then disintegrates, and Cordelia moves her hands around, as if trying to find her again. They land on you, and she immediately pulls you towards her, putting all of her weight on you. You hold her tightly against you, moving your hand up and down her back to soothe her. It was hard for you not to break down and cry yourself. You had a big connection to Misty. Maybe not like the one you have with Cordelia, but you and Misty both felt alone in the world until your arrivals at the academy. Because of that, you have bonded. But you stayed strong, because Cordelia needed you now more than ever.

***

The transmutation test soon took place, and you watched in horror as Zoe somehow impaled herself on the top of the front gate. She was quickly moved to a table in Cordelia’s greenhouse, but she was quickly losing blood. She lost consciousness, locking eyes with you before they fluttered closed. Kyle held her face and cried over her, and a deep sadness filled the air.

Everyone looked to Madison to assist in helping Zoe.

“Why should I do it?”

“Because Vitalum Vitalis is one of the Seven Wonders,” Cordelia replies and you could see the anger coursing through her.

Madison smashes a fly on the table, picking it up and closing her hands around it. She opens them and the fly buzzes away. “Is that good enough for ya?”

“Madison, please,” Myrtle pleads. “Bring Zoe back to us.”

“No, I won’t. I passed the test, there’s no need for me to help her.”

You knew she wasn’t going to change her mind. You looked over at Zoe as more of her life drained out of her. “I’m sorry,” you whisper to her, placing your warm hand on top of her cold one. Just then, a thought came to you.

“Wait a minute, what about Cordelia?”

She turns toward you, confused. “What do you mean, sweetheart?”

“Don’t you think that maybe you could possibly be the next Supreme?”

Cordelia stands there for a moment before she says, “No, I don’t think I’m cut out for it.”

“Cordelia, my dear, the least you can do is try. Madison does need a competitor as well,” Myrtle states.

She ponders on it for a couple of minutes before caving in.

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“We begin your tests tomorrow morning.”

***

The next morning, Cordelia’s tests were underway, and you watched in awe as she effortlessly completed them one by one. When she was doing Concilium, she picked you to mess with, making you walk over to Madison and slap her face.

“Hey, don’t hit me like that!”

‘Sorry, Delia made me do it.”

Cordelia chuckled under her breath at what she was hearing, clearly enjoying the scene.

Soon she was head-to-head with Madison to complete Divination, and within two minutes, she had it done.

“Your turn, Madison,” she said to her.

“Oh come on, this is stupid. Do I really have to do this?”

“Ooooh, sounds like someone can’t complete Divination,” Queenie teased as she stood beside me.

“No, shut up, I can do it.”

But she couldn’t. Everything she did was wrong. She failed.

You looked at Cordelia, and even though she couldn’t see you, she seemed to be looking back at you, and something in the air shifted. You knew that you were looking at the next Supreme.

“Does this mean....” you begin to question.

“There’s one more test: Vitalum Vitalis,” Myrtle replied.

Soon you were all back in the greenhouse, you holding Cordelia’s hand as you led her to Zoe’s body on the table.

“You got this,” you murmur in her ear before letting go of her hand.

Standing behind her, you watch as Cordelia leans over Zoe. You couldn’t see exactly what she was doing, but after about a minute, Zoe’s eyes pop open and she inhales sharply. Cordelia falls to the ground, losing consciousness. You quickly get down on the floor next to her, lightly tapping her face.

“Cordelia, please wake up. Come on, please wake up.”

And she does, the first thing you see being her brown eyes looking up at you. She could see again.

“Our new Supreme,” Myrtle says with glee behind you.

You’re still looking down at Cordelia when she mutters, “I missed seeing your pretty face.”

You blushed at the compliment, heart filling with happiness. “You did it, Delia. You can see, you passed the Seven Wonders, you’re the Supreme. I’m so proud of you.”

Before you could stop yourself, you leaned down and placed your lips on hers, bringing your hand up to cup her cheek. Cordelia, though shocked at first, melted into the kiss, her soft, plump lips delicately moving against yours. A hand travels to your head, entangling fingers in your hair. You slowly pulled away, lingering for a moment before opening your eyes. You couldn’t help but smile at the beautiful woman below you.

“I love you, Cordelia,” you say softly, lightly touching your forehead against hers, lacing your fingers together. “I love you so much.”

“I love you too, Y/N. Always.”

#american horror story #american horror story coven #cordelia goode #cordelia goode x reader #fiona goode #madison montgomery #zoe benson #misty day #myrtle snow #queenie #cordelia goode imagine #sarah paulson

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hysterialevi · 3 years ago

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Hjarta | Chapter 17

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

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

A FEW MINUTES LATER

BJORNHEIMR

Sigurd dragged his feet across the uneven terrain, slogging through the dead woods that now served as Dag’s tomb. His hand shone vividly with a bright layer of red due to the blood that clung onto his skin, and his ears still buzzed with the echoes of his friend’s final cries.

As for Eivor, the jarl’s son appeared to be equally as harrowed as his companion. His eyes mirrored the frozen desolation of the bleak landscape sitting before him, and his face remained expressionless much like the corpses that now rested at Bjornheimr’s temple.

Both of them traversed the world like a pair of hollow shells, wandering through the dark in search of any light to hold onto. A black haze had blotted out the beam that once twinkled in their eyes, and it seemed as if the fire that once burned in them had been completely snuffed out.

Eivor just prayed this would be the end of their grief. It wouldn’t be long before they got the information they needed from Gorm, and the young man imagined they would soon be braving the seas again in search of the wretch’s father.

It was an endeavor that would only lead to more war, no doubt. There was a high chance that more people would die during their pursuit, and Eivor could no longer guarantee that even he would survive a second battle against Kjotve.

But after everything that had happened, he refused to shy away from this fight. Kjotve’s death wouldn’t bring Ulfar or Thora back from the dead, that much was true. But even then, Eivor hoped that -- at least -- it would serve as a balm to ease the pain now wracking his heart.

He didn’t even care about reclaiming his honor anymore. All he wanted was to bring this horrid war to an end. Far too many people had been lost to Kjotve’s barbarity, and Eivor’s only desire now was to deliver peace unto those who had suffered for so long.

It was something he was willing to die for at this point, and a part of him suspected that he would.

“Wait,” Sigurd said as they entered the village. He stopped in his tracks and gazed in the distance, looking towards the docks. “Is that Randvi’s ship?”

Eivor followed his line of sight, nodding in response. “Yes. Randvi and her men returned not too long ago. They arrived whilst you were dealing with Dag.” He paused briefly, giving the prince a grim face. “...I’ve already told her about Thora and Ulfar. She’s at the temple now with my father and Ingrida. They’re preparing for tomorrow’s funeral.”

“...How is she?”

“How do you think? She knew Thora and Ulfar even longer than I did. She... she’s beyond devastated.”

Sigurd sighed deeply, hanging his head low in regret. “...Damn it. I should’ve killed Dag weeks ago. I should’ve confronted him from the start. He had been acting so strange ever since we came to Bjornheimr. I shouldn’t have waited this long to do something about it. Perhaps none of this would’ve happened then.”

Eivor took a few steps closer to him, speaking softly. “You are not to blame, Sigurd. You had no way of knowing Dag was the traitor.”

The prince wasn’t swayed. “On the contrary, I was the only one who could’ve known. I was the closest one with Dag out of anybody in our clan. I should’ve been paying more attention. I shouldn’t have let my love for him blind my judgement.”

Sigurd shut his eyes for a moment and let out a breath, clearly exhausted from the day’s events. “...I’m sorry, Eivor. I know you don’t fault me for what’s happened, but even then, I still carry some of the blame on my shoulders. I must be more vigilant from now on. I can’t allow anything like this to occur again, and I won’t. You have my word.”

Walking away before the other man could respond, Sigurd left Eivor behind and simply pushed forward into the village, emerging from the forest like a shadow slipping out of the night. The despair that once dimmed his expression had been replaced with the flickering embers of a growing rage, and the Wolf-Kissed could almost see sparks igniting in his eyes.

As for the young man himself, he simply followed the prince from a distance and trailed along quietly, unsure of what else he could do to comfort his lover. A few of the villagers -- including Styrbjorn -- had turned their heads upon Sigurd’s anticipated return, and immediately brought their attention to the blood now staining his hand.

The color faded from the king’s flesh as soon as he noticed the striking pigment. He didn’t seem to understand what had transpired just yet, but the dreary cloud hanging over his son was enough to imply that something terrible had unraveled.

Styrbjorn approached the two of them, carrying a look of concern.

“My son...!” He called out, keeping his tone hushed. “Where have you been? What’s happened to you? Whose... whose blood is that?”

Sigurd exchanged glances with his companion, hesitant to answer. He didn’t appear to be any calmer than when Eivor first found him in the woods, and the younger man feared that it wouldn’t take much more to send him into a storm.

“It’s... Dag’s.” The prince admitted. “...I killed him.”

The older man fell into silence, taken aback by his son’s actions.

“You did what?”

“I had to,” Sigurd justified, steeling his voice. “Dag was the traitor. I had to get rid of him before he did anything else. I couldn’t allow him to harm more people.”

“A traitor?” Styrbjorn repeated in disbelief. “Are you positive? What makes you so certain he betrayed us? Did you find any evidence?”

“He confessed his crimes, father. He told me everything. Dag was the one assisting Kjotve. He was the one who informed him of our alliance. Ulfar was right.”

The king didn��t seem convinced. “I see. And was there anyone else around to hear Dag’s confession?”

“...No. It was just me and him.”

Styrbjorn shook his head in disapproval. “Then how can we be so sure that you killed the right man?”

Sigurd stared at his father in bewilderment, finally catching on to the man’s concerns. “...You don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that I don’t believe you, son. But other people may not -- and for good reason, I might add. You just killed one of our own clan members because of a confession that nobody was around to hear. Nobody except for you. How can I accept that as evidence? How am I going to explain Dag’s death to our people? How can I convince them that what you did was not, in fact, murder?”

Sadly, Sigurd was in no state to process things rationally. The king’s doubt only added more fuel to the anguish that was already festering inside him, and his temper quickly took over like a hurricane commanding the seas.

“You can explain to them that I just killed the man responsible for Thora’s death! I killed the man who would’ve thrown the rest of us to the wolves. Had it not been for that rat, this village would still be in one piece. Thora would still be alive. I killed him because it was necessary.”

Styrbjorn was quiet in response, urging Sigurd to fill the silence.

“You think I murdered him out of indulgence? You know how much I loved him, father. He was my brother! I didn’t want to see him dead. But I did what was required to keep our clan safe. I finished what Ulfar started.”

But the king had nothing else to offer other than criticism. “You acted carelessly, Sigurd. There is no honor in slaying a man who cannot defend himself. You know this. If you truly believed Dag was the traitor, you should’ve brought him to me -- not slaughtered him in the woods. I could’ve held a trial to determine his judgement. His crimes would’ve been brought to light.”

“You think we have the time for something like that? Dag may have been reckless, but he wasn’t a fool. If there really was any evidence to find of his collusion with Kjotve, he would’ve destroyed it. We’d be investigating for weeks, if not months!”

“And what if there is evidence? What if we discover that Dag was not the only traitor in our midst? What will we do then, hm?”

Sigurd grew irritated. “We’ll deal with it. Just like I dealt with Dag.”

Styrbjorn sighed in defeat. “You rely too much on impulse, my son. You cannot take matters into your own hands like this. If you are to wear the crown someday, you must learn to respect the ways of our kingdom. A good leader enforces the law with a firm hand, but is never above it.”

The prince didn’t take kindly to that. “You are the last person to dictate what makes a good leader. While I’ve been fighting alongside our warriors on the battlefield, risking my life, you’ve been idling with a bottle in your hand, watching everything unfold! You say I’m reckless, but who else is going to defend your kingdom if not you?”

The older man turned away in shame, causing his son to descend even further into his tirade.

“Killing Dag was the only way to proceed, father. I wouldn’t have done it if I had any other options, but we are at a dead-end here. You don’t want me to act like this? Then you can swing the axe yourself next time!”

Coming to an abrupt halt, Sigurd cut himself off and took a moment to glance at his surroundings, suddenly realizing just how much attention he had drawn to their argument. Everywhere around him, men and women alike gawked at their altercation with a blatant sense of fear in their eyes, alarmed by everything they just heard. Not a single word was uttered amongst the small crowd that had gathered around them, and yet, it felt as if their very thoughts lingered in the air.

Looking at his father, Sigurd stepped away from the other man and slunk to Eivor’s side, backing down as if he were shocked by his own behavior. He appeared to be even more devoid of life now that he had argued with Styrbjorn, and within moments, he was desperately searching for a way out.

“I... I need to be alone.”

In the blink of an eye, Sigurd removed himself from the vicinity and retreated to the longhouse, aching for the solitude of his chambers. He left Styrbjorn and Eivor with nothing more than the company of their own thoughts, and disappeared as if he were smoke being whisked away by the wind.

In the meantime, the two men simply watched the prince vanish in the distance as the crowd began to disperse, granting them the luxury of privacy they so fervently desired. A portion of them already felt somewhat sheepish due to announcing their troubles to the public, and frankly, the only thing Eivor wanted was to lock himself in his room.

Unfortunately for the young man though, Styrbjorn didn’t seem ready to let him go just yet.

“Oh, Sigurd...” the king muttered to himself. “When will that boy learn...?”

Eivor approached the conflicted man, attempting to calm his nerves.

“Forgive him, my lord.” He pleaded. “Grief has befallen Sigurd. He made a great sacrifice for us today, cutting down his own friend like that. It will take him a long time to recover from this.”

Styrbjorn pinched the bridge of his nose out of stress, pacing back and forth in the snow.

“I understand that my son was only trying to protect our clan, but I must ensure he’s prepared to inherit the throne. We are at war, Eivor. There’s no guarantee I’ll be around by the time Kjotve is vanquished. The dawn of Sigurd’s reign could arrive sooner than he expects. He must be ready.”

“He is ready,” The Wolf-Kissed reassured. “He just needs time to heal.”

The king halted in his tracks and glanced at the younger man, inquiring about one other matter.

“Listen, Eivor. I hate to ask you of this considering everything that’s going on, but could you speak to Sigurd for me? I’d feel better knowing he wasn’t dealing with this alone.”

Eivor raised a brow. “Me? Why not you?”

“You’ve witnessed firsthand the animosity that stands between me and my son. Very rarely does Sigurd ever greet me with a smile. Whenever we’re together, it always feels like he’s angry at me, or frustrated. And the worst part is... I can’t even say he’s completely unjustified.”

“What do you mean?”

Styrbjorn sighed regretfully, dropping his gaze to the ground. There was a clear rein of hesitancy holding him back, but he knew that in order to help his son the best, he’d need to offer his full candor.

“Perhaps he’s already told you this, but... ever since Sigurd’s mother passed away, I’ve found myself continuously drawn to the allure of drink. It’s something that’s haunted me for years now. I’ve tried many times to put down the bottle, but in the end, it always ends up trapping me in its clutches. I’m not proud to admit it, but it’s the truth.”

Eivor nodded in remembrance. “Sigurd has told me about this, yes.”

“I’m not surprised. He often speaks fondly of you. It’s clear you’ve gained my son’s unwavering trust. Unfortunately however, I cannot say the same for myself. My relationship with Sigurd has suffered due to my addiction. I have not always been the father he deserves, nor given him the guidance that he needed.”

The king’s stone facade faltered briefly. “It breaks my heart to consider it, but I fear that my own son views me as a nuisance more than anything. A lingering shackle that keeps holding him back. Sometimes I even wonder if the boy hates me.”

The young man’s expression softened with sympathy. “...No, Styrbjorn. No. He doesn’t hate you. Even Sigurd himself has told me that he loves you. He just feels ignored.”

That caught Styrbjorn’s attention. “Ignored?”

“Yes. The last time he and I spoke about this issue, he expressed that he often feels like you don’t heed his advice; that his words tend to fall on deaf ears. Sigurd wants to help you overcome this, but he says you won’t let him.”

“It’s... true that I haven’t always kept my promises. I cannot deny that. But this battle is not so easily won.”

Eivor gave him an understanding look. “And Sigurd is aware of that. He knows you won’t be able to discard this overnight. But he just needs to see that you’re making some kind of effort. That will be more than enough for him. Trust me.”

Styrbjorn took the man’s advice to heart and quietly thought to himself for a moment, evidently shaken by this revelation. It was clear that a part of him drowned in guilt due to the discovery of Sigurd’s frustrations, but a hint of relief also twinkled in his eye now that he knew the boy still loved him.

“...I see.” The king said sincerely, gazing at the young man with an immense amount of gratitude. “Thank you for telling me this, Eivor. The path to reconciliation will be one laden with difficulties, but at least I can see where I must go. I will think on what you’ve said, and I’ll speak to Sigurd when the moment is right. In the meantime, could you talk to him for now? I fear that my presence would only amplify his anger.”

“Of course,” Eivor said with a firm nod. “I’ll check on him for you.”

“I appreciate it. Stay safe, my boy. Our struggles are far from over. I pray that the gods will extend their mercy to you from now on, and that you recover quickly from today’s tragedies. Peace is a distant reality for us at the moment, but not unreachable.”

~~~~~~~~~~

THE LONGHOUSE

SIGURD’S CHAMBERS

Wandering through the longhouse’s dimly lit halls, Eivor followed the trail of torches as he made his way to Sigurd’s chambers, overwhelmed by the looming silence that was broken only by his footsteps.

The adamant walls of the building had blocked out any intrusive sounds -- including that of the howling wind -- and as a result, nothing but the low crackling of fire was present to accompany the thoughts screaming in Eivor’s head.

He just didn’t know how to feel anymore. When he first discovered Thora’s body, the agony that overcame him was so fierce it almost crippled him entirely. He felt like the gods had ripped a hole in the very fabric of the world, and the impact of Ulfar’s death only pressed harder on the weight that was already resting on his shoulders.

Still, he couldn’t imagine what Sigurd was experiencing. Even though Eivor was no stranger to the atrocities of war, he had never been cursed with the responsibility of striking down his own brother. The mere idea of putting himself in the same position with Randvi was enough to crush him, and he worried that the guilt would twist the prince’s spirit into something much darker. He just hoped he could help the man before it was too late.

“...Sigurd?” The Wolf-Kissed said gently, knocking on the surface of his door. “It’s me, Eivor. Can I come in?”

A soft rustle emitted from the inside, followed up by the muffled thuds of Sigurd’s boots. The door swung open after a few moments, and standing in front of him, Eivor saw the prince, looking somber as ever.

“Eivor...?” He whispered, still afflicted by the ordeal with Dag. “You’re here?”

“Yes. I know you said you wished to be alone, but... I was worried. You disappeared from our sight before we could even get a word in. I wanted to check on you. I hope I’m not intruding.” The younger man paused for a second. “...How are you feeling now?”

Sigurd’s gaze fell to the floor. “I... I don’t know, Eivor.” His posture slouched in remorse. “...I’m not doing well.”

“Of course not,” Eivor said in understanding. “Dag was like a brother to you. No one could do what you did and come out unscathed.”

The prince scoffed. “No one except for my father, apparently.” He turned away from the door and stepped aside, allowing Eivor to come in as he spoke. “Can you believe that man? We are this close to winning the war against Kjotve, and he’s more concerned about due process.”

Eivor followed Sigurd into his chambers, closing the door behind them.

“Your father just wants to make sure you’re ready to rule the kingdom.”

“Well, there won’t be a kingdom to rule if we don’t catch Kjotve soon enough. My father says I’m careless in my behavior, but I don’t recall the last time I saw him lifting a sword. What else does he expect me to do?”

Sigurd took a seat on the edge of his bed and sighed, completely drained of all vigor. “...I know I’m not perfect, Eivor. I know I still have much to learn. But everything I do is for the betterment of this clan. Why can’t my father see that?”

Eivor sat beside his lover, placing a comforting hand on his back. “He does see it. He may not be the best at getting his message across, but trust me when I say your father knows you have good intentions. He just worries that you’ll act with too much haste.”

The prince’s brow furrowed in curiosity. “Is that so? And what makes you so certain of that?”

“He and I talked after you left,” the younger man admitted. “He wanted to speak with you personally, but he thought that his company would only aggravate you more.” Eivor frowned in empathy. “...Your father thinks you hate him, Sigurd.”

Sigurd’s entire mood seemed to shift at the response, and for a split-second, it almost looked like he had completely forgotten about the rage he harbored.

“He does...?”

“Well, he suspects it,” Eivor clarified, “but he said that things are always tense between you two. There never seems to be a moment of peace whenever you’re together.”

The prince shook his head, eager to dispel his beliefs.

“...No,” he said softly. “No. I don’t hate him. I love my father, in fact. I just hate the things he does sometimes.” Sigurd leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. “I want to keep him safe like I promised my mother I would. It brings me no joy to see him endure any pain or hardship, but...” he let out a breath of frustration, “...he never listens to me! Whenever I try to help him, he only pushes me away. Once, I even dumped all our ale into the river to stop him from drinking, and he broke into a fury unlike anything I’d ever seen.”

A grip of fear took hold of Sigurd’s voice. “...That stuff is poison, Eivor. It’s going to kill him someday. The last thing I want is to see my father step into an early grave, but how am I supposed to help him when he won’t even help himself?”

Eivor brought his partner into a hug, allowing his chin to sit on the man’s shoulder.

“You need to be more patient, Sigurd,” he advised. “Ultimately, your father’s recovery is his own responsibility, but a hostile relationship won’t do anything for either of you. He’s still trying to move on from your mother’s death. Just like you’re trying to move on from Dag’s. Give him time.”

The prince let out a sigh and warmed up to Eivor’s embrace, finally cooling off from the heat of his argument with Styrbjorn.

“I... I suppose you’re right.” He conceded, turning to face the younger man. “...Okay, Eivor. I’ll try to make things right. Not just for my father, but also for you. I promise.”

Eivor smiled at that. “Good. It won’t be easy, I know. But it’ll be worth it.”

Sigurd sat up from his position and laid a hand on the Wolf-Kissed’s lap, diverting the focus of their conversation elsewhere.

“Anyway, enough about me. How are you doing, my love? I’m... so sorry about Thora and Ulfar.”

Eivor separated their hug and stared bleakly at the floor, trying to keep himself together.

“...I still can’t believe they’re gone,” he said. “I thought I’d be used to losing people like this after what happened to my parents, but it hurts just as much as it did all those years ago. Only this time, I feel like I could’ve done something. I wish I did.”

A tinge of regret blanketed Sigurd’s face. “Are you angry that I held you back during the holmgang?”

“No,” Eivor answered truthfully. “I know you didn’t mean any harm. You were only trying to preserve Ulfar’s honor, and to be honest, I’m grateful that you did. As much as I wish I could’ve saved that man, I’d feel even worse if he never reached Valhalla. I’m going to miss him more than words can describe, but at least I know he’s at peace now. At least I know he’s reunited with his wife.” A cloud of sorrow fogged the young man’s eyes. “...I just wish I could say the same for Thora.”

Sigurd’s nose crinkled at the memory of discovering Thora’s body. “Gorm is even more of a coward than his father. It’s a shame what he did to her. He will get the punishment he deserves, Eivor. I won’t let him get away with it.”

The Wolf-Kissed found some solace in the prince’s reassurance. “Thank you. I know there’s nothing I can do to bring Thora back, but it seems only fitting that the man who murdered her joins her side in Helheim.”

“And he will. One way or another.”

Standing up from the bed, Eivor straightened his tunic and inched towards the door, preparing to take his leave. He didn’t want to abandon Sigurd’s side just yet, but he also wanted to see how his family was coping before the day came to an end.

“Anyway, I’ll give you some space, Sigurd.” He said, pressing a hand against the door’s surface. “I imagine you probably want to be alone right now, and there are some things I need to take care of before the funeral starts.”

Contrary to his belief however, the prince didn’t seem to share his sentiments. “Actually, I’d like you to stick around a little longer. If you’re willing to stay, that is.”

Eivor halted mid-action, unable to hide his interest. “You would?”

“Your company is one of the few things that offers me peace nowadays, Eivor. If you want to take this conversation further, you’re more than welcome here.”

The blonde viking took a hesitant glance outside the door, still carrying the same concerns he had lugged around for the past two weeks.

“But what if someone finds us? Don’t you think it’ll strike them as odd that I’ve been with you for so long?”

Sigurd let out a fatigued breath, slowly rising from his bed. “...I don’t care anymore. All this death sitting on our doorstep has shown me just how precious life truly is. I have no idea if I’ll even survive this war, Eivor. I’m not going to spend what could possibly be my final days pretending that I don’t feel anything for you.”

He walked up to his companion, leaving no more than a few inches between them. “I love you, Eivor. And I’m not ashamed to say it.”

Eivor froze at the confession and simply stared at Sigurd in silence, entirely at a loss for words. It wasn’t too long ago that the prince nearly tore himself apart trying to keep their affair a secret, and yet, he was practically declaring his love from the top of the world now. He no longer cared about the rumors that would spread, or the judgmental glances he’d receive. He was finally done hiding, and Eivor wondered if it was time he felt the same.

“Forgive me,” the younger man replied, “I... I don’t know what to say. I just never expected to hear you say those words.”

Sigurd chuckled. “Neither did I. I used to berate myself without pause when I first realized I was growing attached to you. I tried so desperately to shift my attention to Randvi for the sake of this alliance, but... it never worked. Things only deteriorated for me, and as a result, my life turned into a never-ending battle. I was miserable.”

Eivor smirked affectionately. “And now?”

Sigurd returned the grin. “Now, I know what I want at last. I can finally see why the gods led me here, and I’m done pushing against this fate that the Nornir have woven for me. I’m done with living a lie. My only question is... do you feel the same?”

The Wolf-Kissed let his hand drop from the door and focused completely on the man in front of him, peering fondly into his eyes.

“Of course I do. You’ve always been there for me ever since you first arrived at Bjornheimr. The circumstances under which we had to meet will forever leave a scar on this clan, but I can say for certain that our encounter was a blessing.” Eivor beamed brightly at the prince, holding his cheek in his palm. “I love you too, Sigurd. And nothing will ever change that.”

Sigurd’s expression radiated with a vibrant joy upon hearing that, and he pulled Eivor even closer to him, gently pushing him against the wall. He pecked a small kiss on the younger man’s neck and held him securely by the waist, allowing himself to forget about his troubles for just a brief moment.

“Then let us cast away the burdens of our struggles for tonight, and cherish our final hours of peace together. The stability of this war is precarious enough as it is. If anything happens to us, I don’t want to leave this world with regrets. Freya gave you to me as a gift the day we met, and I don’t intend to waste it.”

Eivor closed his eyes in bliss and linked his arms around Sigurd, caressing him in his embrace. The prince’s touch soothed his skin like ice on a fresh burn, and for the first time in a while, he was able to let his mind roam free from its continuous torment. The bond they shared was something that provided Eivor with a tranquility unlike anything else, and he silently begged the gods to keep his lover safe.

“From here to Valhalla,” Eivor whispered warmly, “I’ll always be at your side, Sigurd.”

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #eivor wolfsmal #eivor wolfkissed #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd styrbjornson #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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gwynrielendgame · 4 years ago

Text

Sad nessian part 2

This is a real tear-jerker. I even started crying while writing it.

Amara was scared that much she could admit. She had been waiting for her uncle Rhys to rescue her for weeks now because there was no rescuing herself. Koschei thought of everything. She had been bound and gagged with fae bane, her eyes were covered at all time, so she would not become familiar with her surroundings, and she had been stripped of her clothes to ensure that all her weapons had been disposed of. Normally, she would be able to break out of chains even with fae bane, but it was obvious that Koschei had prepared for that. She was forced to drink water laced with fae bane. It kept her weak enough that even her brain felt too foggy to think much less come up with an escape plan. She had zero concept of how much time has passed, but she hoped it had been enough time by now that her mother and father had managed to convince her uncle Rhys to tell them where she was supposed to be. She groaned internally. She did not even want to think about the amount of "we told you so's" she would be getting from her parents once she was rescued. Footsteps echoed through the dungeon. At least she had imagined she was in a dungeon. For all she knew she could be in her very own bedroom.

Suddenly, her blindfold was ripped off. It did not make much difference though considering the room was pitch black. A face appeared before her, Koschei. For as long as she lived, and she had a feeling that was not going to be much longer, she would remember those eyes. They were pitch black, depthless pools that appeared to look right into her soul.

Fuck.

She could not remember the details of her capture. How she got here or who brought her here. Perhaps fae bane impeded memory as well as strength and immortality. She did not want to show fear, but she had been so broken down that there was no other emotion to feel. Amara, suddenly,remembered overhearing that her own mother had been as strong as Koschei at one point. Her mother, who fussed over Amara her entire life. Her mother, who cried along with Amara the first time she skinned her knee. Her mother, who had become so flustered while making Amara’s tenth birthday cake because she mixed the sugar up with the salt and the cake tasted disgusting. She pictured Koschei that way too. With a baking apron wrapped around his waist and flour caked on his face. It had her laughing hysterically. Koschei watched her with cautious eyes. He seemed to think she was delusional and perhaps she was. She was not quite as scared now though. Even in the end, her mother was with her.

“Show time.” Koschei smiled mercilessly at the battered female. He detached her chains from the wall only to begin pulling her with them. She had not done any sort of physical exercise in so long that she found she could not walk. She wanted to pick up her feet and follow koschei, but she physically could not. He continued to drag her to wherever he wanted. Once again she was lost to her memories. This time of her father.

“Daddy!” A young Amara pranced toward her father. He had been gone for so long, overseeing the Illyrian camps, that the second he stepped through the door at the house of wind, she threw herself at him.

“Princess.” He responded back, wrapping her in a hug. She was so excited that she began to fly- her wings flapping involuntarily. It caused her father to laugh a big hearty laugh. “Oh how I have missed you. Tell me everything.” He carried his daughter to the living room and sat on the couch.

“Well, mother showed me some new Valkyrie techniques with aunt Gwyn and aunt Emerie, I have read three different books, Nyx keeps hiding my bows, oh and I decided that next time you go, I’m going with you.” Amara rambled on. She was a talkative child. Even though it was just the three of them, the house was never quiet.

“I must say that I completely agree. I cannot continue going on these trips without at least one of my favorite girls tagging along.” He sent her a playful smile as Nesta popped into the room.

“You are home!” She exclaimed, rushing over to plant a kiss on Cassian’s lips.

“Ewwww!” Amara jumped off her father’s lap. Her parents only laughed at her disgust of their affection. Secretly, Amara loved how much her parents loved each other. It made her dream for a love as deep as theirs.

It only occurred to Amara now that she would never experience a love like theirs. She did not want to die. She had so much left to experience, so much left she wanted to do. Finally, Amara realized they had stopped moving. She lifted her head to check her surroundings and she was immediately filled with relief. She was laying on a dais in what appeared to be a throne room. Her parents, the high lord and lady, and the rest of the night court inner circle were standing less than one hundred feet from her. Clearly here to save her. Tears of happiness fell from her eyes as she tried to crawl to them. Only the looks of horror on their faces had Amara remembering who brought her here. Koschei. He was speaking, but she had not been paying attention. She glanced back at her parents faces. Her mother’s was set in the hardest glare Amara had ever witnessed while her father’s was completely devastated.

“-believe I found one of your spies. You may want her returned.” Amara only caught the end of what he was saying. She tried so hard to focus, but the ingested fae bane had been poisoning her for so long that she could not. She felt the tip of a sword at the back of her neck. The threat of her death enough to keep everyone in place.

“What do you want in return?” She heard her uncle Rhysand ask. Amara found her mother’s gaze already completely focused on her. There was such sorrow there, such grief. She wished upon a thousand stars to hear her mother say “I told you so” because she knew that everything would be alright once she heard those words. Her parents would only utter it when they knew her life would not be in any danger. She wished to hear it now.

“I do not believe I was asking you.” Koschei’s voice was lined with such arrogance, Amara knew her Uncle would be seeing red. She watched as Koschei’s gaze fell upon her mother. She started to feel sick. This would not be good. The concerned look faded from Nesta’s face to be replaced by a harsh glare as she turned to stare the death lord down. “I know you can retrieve it. I want the dread trove. The crown, mask, and harp. All three or you can watch your daughter lose her head. And do not even consider using it against me. I am immune to the crown same as you.”

No. It was the only thought resounding through Amara’s head.

“Fine.” Her mother snapped. Koschei was clearly expecting more resistance from her based on his stunned look.

“No.” The tortured female could barely get the small word out of her throat. It grated so harshly that she knew she could not repeat it. Her mother could not give that male so much power. He would be indestructible. Her life was not worth that. Before Nesta could summon the trove, Rhysand’s sword was drawn and the tip was leading directly into Cassian’s throat. The general’s eyes widened with betrayal.

“Nesta. I am sorry. But I cannot allow you to do this. Bring the dead trove and lose your mate.”

Amara could only watch in horror as chaos unfolded. Gwyn held her dagger to Rhysand’s throat which forced Feyre to draw her weapon and point it at the red-head. Azriel, in defense of his mate, placed his dagger at the high lady’s throat. Mor and Emerie only watched in horror as the family turned on each other. Amara watched her parents have a silent conversation. They were weighing the odds. There was no pain like that of the death of a mate. Nesta did not know if she would be able to escape with her daughter given the pain she would experience. Amara could not witness this in her last moments. Could not witness her family betray one another over her life. Inevitably, she knew her mother would deliver the dread trove to the murderous psychopath. She could see it on her father’s face. How he was telling his mate to do it. To save their only daughter. Amara could not let this happen. Would not let the entire world descend into chaos just to save herself. With the last bit of strength she had left, she quickly turned her head and shoved the knife that had been at the back of her neck through her throat. Everything after that was a blur. She remembered her mother holding her to her chest. She remembered seeing her father lift his sword. The last thing she saw was her mother’s blue-grey eyes.

A scream so savage ripped through Nesta’s throat as everyone’s weapons dropped. She launched herself towards her daughter’s body. Praying to the Cauldron and the Mother to not let her die. She did not even register Koschei’s eyes widening as if he had never planned to let the female die. Nesta faintly heard her mate rising to his feet and launching himself at the death lord, his siphons burning brightly. Nesta grabbed her daughter and held her to her chest so tightly, she could have broken a bone. She began whimpering.

“I give it back. I give it all back. I give it back.” Like a mantra, Nesta repeated it over and over again. “Please, take it. I do not want it. Save my daughter. I will do anything, give anything.” Nothing was happening and the more time that passed, the angrier the cauldron-Made female became.

“I GIVE IT BACK.” She started screaming while shaking her daughter’s body. “I GIVE IT BACK. Wake up, Amara. Please.” The sobs that ripped through her throat would live in everyone’s memory for eternity, even Koschei’s.

It was only her mate’s cry of pain that could pry her from her dead daughter. Nesta’s eyes began to glow. It appeared everyone was about to find out exactly how much power she had left. Emerie was unconscious, after a hit to the temple from the butt of the male’s sword, being pulled away by Mor. Gwyn was holding her side, clearly injured. Azriel was next to her in two strides before winnowing away. Feyre and Rhysand were just standing there watching as Nesta’s family was being torn to shreds. She would never forgive them. For as long as she lived, she would despise them. She finally looked towards Cassian. Koschei was about to deliver the final blow to his head. Nesta launched herself at him with all her power. Energy burst out of her so strongly that the entire castle started to shake, the surrounding lake even started to shake, but that was as far as it reached. She could no longer move mountains and realms, but she would not need to. She knocked Koschei’s sword out of his hand with Ataraxia. The male flinched at the power exuding from the sword and the female. He had never planned to fight her that much was clear. She swung her Made sword and barely nicked his arm. It was enough though. He fell to his knees as his power began to leak out of him slowly. Nesta used this distraction to her advantage. She gathered her power once more, planning to unMake him in the same way she did Briallyn all those years ago. Unfortunately, he recovered fast enough to dodge her and grab his sword on the way.

Cassian was stumbling to his feet, determined to help his mate while his high lord and lady continued to stand frozen in the same spot. He hoped that a stray swing from a sword found its way into one of their heads. He reminded himself to thank Gwyn and Emerie if he found himself alive at the end of all this. Nesta was a force to be reckon with that was clear. As Cassian finally found himself on stable feet, he saw Nesta on her knees with the death lord hovering above her. Before Cassian could throw himself between them, Azriel had winnowed back. Gwyn’s Made dagger slicing through Koschei’s thigh. Azriel stepped in to fight the male while Nesta caught her breathe. Her anger was insatiable, driving her harder than any other emotion. Her body still needed oxygen though, and a second to catch up. Cassian went to his mate.

“You okay?” He placed a hand under her armpit to help lift her up. They shared a meaningful look before turning to the male that ruined their life, planning on ending this once and for all. They stopped short when they noticed Azriel on his knees with a sword to his throat.

“I will ask only once more. Give me the trove.” He was breathless as he made his command. Nesta’s sudden smile had him feeling nervous. The crown appeared on top of her head. She guessed that a cut from her Made sword would make him more susceptible to the crown.

“Drop the sword.” She commanded. He did as told albeit begrudgingly. Nesta lifted Ataraxia, made eye contact with his soulless eyes, and brought it down so harshly that his head fell from his neck with only one swing. Only a second later and his body turned to ash.

It was quiet as everyone took a breathe. Azriel lay on the ground, Mor just winnowed back from wherever she took Emerie, and Feyre and Rhysand were both still standing in the middle of the floor like idiots. The short reprieve Nesta’s anger gave her from her grief was over. She stumbled back to her daughter and fell on top of her in a sobbing heap. She did not know how she would survive without her daughter. She did not know how her and Cassian would raise their unborn child so soon after losing Amara. She sobbed and sobbed. It was the only sound in the room until Cassian picked up his sword. This sound, his sword grating on the floor, broke whatever stupor the high lord and lady were in. Cassian strode to Rhysand with only one objective in mind- revenge. The males made eye contact. Cassian’s glare was the harshest it had ever been while Rhysand was trying to convey his shame through his stare alone. Rhysand fell to his knees as if to accept his punishment. Before Cassian could get any closer, his mate’s grieving voice called out to him.

“Cas-“ his name broke off in a sob. He stopped only to turn around and rush towards his family. He finally held his daughter in his arms for the first time in three months except she was dead. He felt as though it did not count this way. He hugged his child and his mate to his chest. A howl ripped through his body. The sound was so devastating and so unlike anything anyone had ever heard from him before. Mor was the first to try to break the silence.

“Nesta, Cassia-“ before his name could even fully pass her lips, they were gone. Nesta winnowed them away. No one was quite sure when she learned how to do that. Feyre fell into a heap beside her mate. Azriel and Mor knew that their high lord and lady would never forgive themselves. And they never should.

“Where are the children?” Rhysand abruptly remembered Nesta’s promise to him, panic filling him. Feyre’s silent tears turned into a sob. Mor winnowed away and just as quickly as she disappeared, she reappeared with Nyx, Velaris, and Amren.

“What’s wrong? Why do you all look like someone just died?” Nyx tried to joke.

“You have to stop using that joke.” Velaris responded with an eye roll. “The answer is always ‘because someone did die’, you asshole.” The siblings continued to banter back and forth.

A sigh of relief left his body. He deserved to lose Nyx. He deserved to lose his own life. That did not mean he was ungrateful for the mercy Nesta bestowed upon him. Amren watched the mates with narrowed eyes.

“What the hell happened?”

#nesta acheron #cassian #nessian #nesta stan #acotar #acosf #mates #feyre archeron #azriel #gwyneth berdara #emerie

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evien-stark · 3 years ago

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✧I Need You✧ Chapter 229

Tony had stared death in the face many times. Usually willingly so. ...mostly willingly so, these past few years. The feeling that came with it should have been intimately familiar and not as terrifying- this time it was different. Maybe because all those times he’d put his life on the line, it was by choice.

This was not his choice. And maybe it was terrifying now because this time it came in the form of Steve Rogers bearing down on him. One of the last things he’d ever really expected out of this wild life he’d been cultivating lately.

But really the worst part was being aware that she was less than twenty feet away- and she was going to see it- she was going to see Cap ram that shield straight down through his neck-

Was that really how it was going to end?

Is that where it had all been leading? Were they both so far gone that he was going to be murdered by someone that he respected- someone that he cared for- someone that used to be his friend-

Maybe it was his own fault. The past few minutes he hadn’t had enough brain power to know whether or not he would have killed Barnes, either. All he’d known was-... well it wasn’t really knowing anything. It had been running on pure adrenaline. Pure anger. Raw pain. Would he have killed Barnes? It wasn’t really a question he could have answered anymore. Because now-

Tony realized within a few thin seconds that he thought Steve would really do it- because instinct drove his arms up in a futile attempt to stop the inevitable. His normally noisy brain, always in overdrive thinking a million little things, went deadly silent in its mad scramble to try and comprehend any of this. There were only two thoughts then.

I don’t want to die.

And, maybe more importantly-

I don’t want her to see me die like this.

He’d bore the crown for king of unintended consequences perhaps all his life. This was one in another long line. Could all of this have been avoided? Perhaps. Maybe. But… he was so used to taking the blame for everything- would he do it, even now? Maybe he shouldn’t have lashed out. But pain, and grief, and betrayal were strong killing tools that fogged an otherwise stable mind.

In the end it didn’t matter. There wasn’t enough time, as Steve raised his shield, hefted back, and started that downward swing. There just simply wasn’t enough time to think anything about anything. Just that… Tony didn’t want to die. He didn’t want to die here. And he didn’t want to die like this. And above all else…

He didn’t want to leave her behind, didn’t want her to be alone to deal with everything this would bring. The world- the universe was not safe yet and- ...he didn’t want to die- for many reasons- but sitting on top of them all was that… simply…

He loved her.

What more reason was there to want to stay alive?

Tony didn’t want to die- He didn’t want to die- He didn’t want Steve to kill him-

His racing thoughts came to an immediate halt, as always- for her.

“Stop!!”

In the very next instant the entire room was flooded in a bright light. One he knew very well. Hers. And in that moment… he knew he was safe. He knew he was not going to die. -because of her.

But as Steve stiffened and completely locked up, Tony eased his arms back a fraction to try and see past that bright glow, and where the idea of safety had eased his panicked mind, looking at her then made him sweat with fresh anxiety.

She was lit up like a firework- eyes enveloped in a sunset shine, skin glimmering. His helmet was broken and gone now, but he imagined FRIDAY’s warnings were going off a million miles a minute. All protocols set in place for when she went too far- when she was just on the edge of exploding-

This was further than that. He’d never seen her like this. Her arms moved, outstretched for a second and then she brought them inward, cupping over her chest in… in a sight a little too familiar. Almost like she was making a heart shape- ...one she’d made at him dozens, if not hundreds of times by now. An intimate, adorable gesture that normally had him melting in place but now…

Now in between her palms another burst of light seemed to take shape. She was foreign to him now. He’d never seen her like this, never heard her like this and never felt her like this. In all the ways they’d blended together, the ways he knew her best- ...this was different. Her power weighted the room in a heavy blanket- and then seemed to consume Rogers whole.

He not only stopped but seemed… lifeless. Just for a few seconds and then-

“Step back.” She commanded and Cap obeyed. Stiffly. Strangely.

But Tony was at least a little glad when Steve got to his feet and that heft lifted off of him. He wasn’t sure what to do. Or what he should do- if anything. If he even could.

She moved then, and it wasn’t really walking. It was like a calm sort of glide. Like she owned the universe and everyone in it- and she knew it. More powerful than he’d ever seen her, maybe more powerful than she even knew she was. It was… frightening. Even when she’d saved him, potentially from near death… in doing so, what was happening to her?

Using herself like a wall, she stopped between the two of them, and Tony didn’t much like the sight of her back, not able to see her face. Not able to see her. Watching uselessly, staring up at the two of them as his palms braced the ground beneath him as he tried to help himself up.

“I don’t ever wanna see you again.” Her voice was a little more hers then. Not as booming, not as commanding. Just… her. Her desire after this fiasco. “I don’t want you near my family ever again.” But there at the tail end of laying down the law, her voice rumbled in that strange, powerful way again. Then he saw her lift her hand, and while she was otherwise blocking his view, he knew exactly what she was doing.

Especially as she continued, and the outline of a glow burst around her again, “You keep that. Hold on to it. And think about it. Every day.” Tony didn’t need to see what she was doing, and while he couldn’t comprehend it- like most things about her that drove him mad- he felt it then. An inky ooze that flooded the room. Something terrible. It suffocated him for a second and he found it hard to catch his breath. His mind spun in a dizzying ache.

She was giving something back to Cap. Something she thought he’d earned. Something she thought he’d deserved. And while there were no words that could capture what it was…

Tony knew. As that feeling bottomed out, it was something he realized he knew maybe even a little too well. And he wasn’t quite sure what to do with the knowledge that all of this- all of it- what had brought them here, what had started and nearly fatally ended all of it-

...was guilt. A guilt so crushing it threatened to kill.

Yeah.

Tony knew that feeling.

The power around her died in the next few seconds, and Tony found himself exhaling. Maybe even foolishly. Because the next thing Steve did was reach his hand up in a lightning whip of a strike, and her fear consumed him so deeply- a noise he’d never heard from her escaped into the open air. It all happened so quickly. He couldn’t even get up in time.

He wanted to- Something was happening that was devastating her and he couldn’t even do anything to stop it. To help her. To protect her- and it didn’t matter. He understood in the next moment- as her suit peeled off her skin in some sort of cascade failure, and as Steve’s arm jerked down, he saw the dying light of the Heart Reactor crushed into darkness.

It made sense- His brain told him it made sense- especially as he pushed her over- Tony weakly reaching up to put his hands at her shoulders to keep her from tumbling further as she landed just beside him- and then Steve just turned in the next instant and began walking away. Picked up his pal Barnes- what all the trouble in the world was worth to Steve- and kept going.

It made sense that he’d do that. Tony’s suit was junked. There was no way he’d make it out of here. And Steve couldn’t risk that she’d go after them too- so it made sense that he’d destroy her suit as a last effort to keep them from following but-

The quiver of her pain lit a fire in his heart. It didn’t matter whose fault any of this was anymore- and he had a pretty good idea whose it was.

Barnes had murdered his parents. Rogers had known about it. And now he’d hurt her-

“That shield doesn��t belong to you!” Tony spat the words as quickly as they would come. “You don’t deserve it!” If that shield was any symbol, any modicum of the picture of truth or justice or fairness- Steve Rogers no longer deserved to be the bearer of it. For many reasons. So many reasons, but- most poignantly perhaps, “-my father made that shield!”

Howard Stark. Who for all of his life had pushed Tony into Steve Rogers’ shadow- who never shut up about Captain America- who never let Tony live any of it down-

Howard Stark’s greatest creation- and yet that gift to earth had betrayed him so deeply.

...what would dear ol’ dad think about that?

The sight of Barnes beating down his father flashed vividly in his mind and he was punished for his quick internal sass, gritting his teeth, and shutting his eyes tight as a sizzle of pain infected his heart-

He had hoped it would be gone in the next instant, at the sight of Rogers dropping the shield to the ground- but it didn’t fade. Tony wanted to tell himself that he would be okay- that he would get through this- like he did everything else, but those were not the thoughts that came. Instead something terrible preyed upon him. Pushed on him. Weighed on him.

When he’d started panting he had no idea, his heart was squeezing painfully- he thought he might be having a heart attack-

But it was her.

She was wheezing- gasping for air, strange, weak, wet noises escaping her on every other draw of breath. It was clear what was happening, and he knew then he had absolutely no way of stopping it. Perhaps that was the scariest part. He wasn’t sure if he had enough in him to stop this- ...not even stop it, at this point she was too far gone to even have a hope of stopping- but even to help her-

“Honey-” His voice caught in his throat as he found it harder and harder to breathe. But it wasn’t her own hurt infecting him then, he knew. Because the next second she was wailing. Something deep and guttural. Her hands were pressing at her chest, her head tucked down in shame as tears poured down the sides of her face. Shivering. Pained.

She couldn’t control herself, another tinge of light sparking around her. She was losing it- and that played a large part in his own inability to help where she was accidentally crushing him but- ...seeing her like this…

Seeing her fall apart- because of Rogers-

They were trapped in Siberia. His suit was damaged beyond repair. Her suit was gone. He was hurt pretty bad, she was hurt worse and getting worse by the second-

They might die out there.

The reality of that scared him. If he couldn’t help her get it together, if he couldn’t think of something- maybe his suit was just not broken enough to get an SOS out to Happy or- anyone nearby- maybe her ear cuffs had enough power in them still to do the same but-

If not- what then?

Had Steve really just sentenced them to die out there in the freezing wilderness?

Tony was babbling something at her- honestly, he couldn’t even hear himself over her. The painful noises leaking out of her, and her pain- god- such an awful, heavy, stabbing pain piercing through every pore in his body- he just kept trying. He didn’t know what he was saying, but he tried. Eventually it wasn’t words. He couldn’t get them out.

His arms came around her, he pressed his forehead to hers, and he just… he held her. The two of them shivering against each other. And after what felt like an eternity she… she just… stopped. So suddenly it frightened him. Her crying, her aching, it just stopped. And in its place was an eerie emptiness- ...that and a glow. On and off. Shuddering around her. Like she was… signaling something. Or maybe it was a countdown to her actual explosion.

“Honey?” He put a hand to her face, pushed some hair behind her ear and looked into her eyes but there was… there was nothing there. “Honey- hey-”

She looked so fragile then. So small. Beaten, bloodied, bruised- And so terribly empty. She wasn’t even shivering anymore. She wasn’t anything.

That was the most terrifying thing of all. That she’d gone somewhere so deep he had no way of reaching her. And that warning flash emanating from her wasn’t slowing- His mouth opened, a desperate clutch of noise- no idea what to even say, no idea what would save her but-

“Stark.”

It really wasn’t the best time or place to be caught at their lowest point. And he was pretty surprised to see Prince- ...rather, King T’Challa standing there, in that Black Panther suit of his, minus the helmet. What he was doing there…? Best guess, probably trying to finish up. Like the rest of them. Must have gotten their infodump faster than Tony had realized.

Probably a good thing he hadn’t gotten involved in the family fighting.

“Can the two of you move?” It didn’t take a genius to see the medical condition the two of them were in was probably not great. And there was a modicum of shame to be had here, looking like they were- fighting like they had been- or rather, who they had been fighting with. It also didn’t go without notice that T’Challa seemed completely unfazed by her on-and-off light show.

But there was no time to think about that now. “I’m fine.” Broken ribs and internal bleeding aside. “Take her. She’s- ...worse.” He could worry about himself and his pride later. If T’Challa was here that meant he had a means of getting out of there, too. And Tony would take what help he could get right now. If only for her.

T’Challa neared, lowered a little, and offered his hand to her and she just… sat there. Thousand yard stare. Nobody was home. No one was in there. And when he realized she wasn’t going to do much of anything, T’Challa instead took her arm around his shoulder and tried to get her to her feet.

Thank god she stood- otherwise they’d have to carry her out.

It left Tony on his own to get up, but as long as she made it out that was fine. He was tired, and losing more by the second. It was why he made it quick, pushing himself painfully to his feet, staggering behind the two of them. They went ahead of him and as he lagged behind him he came to a stop near the shield. Staring him in the face. For a moment he contemplated simply leaving it out there. Who cared, anymore? But- ...but… instead he lowered, and clutched it in a tight grip as he lifted it from the snow and continued his dazed trek.

Had it all been worth the outcome?

Probably not.

Outside he felt worse- some parts due to his quickly failing body, though mostly just watching her shuffle out like a zombie. Thankfully, as predicted, there was a small jet waiting in the snow. The Quinjet was nowhere to be found. Obviously. Rogers and Barnes had gone wherever they’d gone. And Tony hoped he wouldn’t have to see either of them for a very long time.

But when Tony realized T’Challa already seemed to have a passenger inside that small cockpit, he bit back a pained grin. “Four’s a crowd, huh?” He wasn’t going to fit.

T’Challa had taken possession of Zemo. It made sense, and honestly, Tony was glad the man hadn’t gotten away. After all the trouble he’d caused- the last hour notwithstanding. T’Challa deserved first crack at him.

Turning, the two of them looked at each other solemnly before T’Challa offered, “I have called for backup. They should be here within the hour.” But as T’Challa said this, he seemed concerned. He was also doing spatial math. And it wasn’t added up in a way he liked.

“Take her. Please.” It was hard to say this. To let this happen. But if T’Challa was about to ask him who went first, the answer was obvious. He didn’t know T’Challa all that well. He seemed like a decent guy. Honor-driven. And… from what he understood, she and him got along well. She seemed to trust him. So Tony would have to take that for all it was worth. And… let him take her. She needed to get out of there. Now. “You take mine and I’ll take yours- until your backup gets here.”

Really. Really what Tony was begging for here was for T’Challa to trust him.

He could wait. And he would force himself to stay conscious and on top of Zemo. As long as she was safe.

“And where would you like me to take her?” The question seemed like some sort of cryptic test.

There were a lot of ways Tony wanted to answer this. Anywhere but here being on top of the list. Somewhere safe a close second. Or, maybe, wherever you’re going. But… he was somber as he made another plea, “Somewhere she can get help.” And in asking this, he was really saying- I trust you.

He would have to. He had very little options left. She’d gone completely catatonic. And right now, much as it hurt to admit it to himself, he wasn’t sure he was in the best state to be of service to her.

T’Challa considered this for a single solitary second, slow as it seemed. But finally he delivered his judgment. “I will. I owe her that debt.”

This puzzled Tony, and maybe he shouldn’t have asked, but, “For what?”

“Her kindness.”

They didn’t know each other at all but in that one moment, as both men looked at each other, they understood one another. She was the greatest woman in the world- in the universe. She was loving, she gave all of herself to everything worth her time, she did everything for everyone, she was brave, and valiant, caring- and- yes- kind. Of this, Tony was wholly, completely sure. More sure of that than anything else in his life.

She deserved to be repaid for all of that. For her service to everyone.

It was good that other people were finally catching on.

---

There was a light in your eyes. An extremely bright one. And a noise-

Every part of you tried to resist. Resist what was happening. You hadn’t been cold in some time. You hadn’t really been anything. And that was nice. ...but you’d been alone.

Really alone. Alone and… somewhere else. Somewhere far away. Sights you couldn’t quite put into words- or memories, for that matter. Just… all feeling. And not a lot of it was good. But… it was better than anything else.

The screaming had stopped, hadn’t it? The crying had stopped. Everything had stopped. You had stopped. And you had no desire to start up again. Floating… somewhere. Alone but… somewhere quiet. And… just alone. Alone was fine. It was fine if it meant… if it meant nothing.

And it all had meant nothing right? At least alone nothing could-

“Where am I?” Your voice was groggy and unwilling as it left your throat. Finally you focused. On that light and- the young girl who stepped out from behind it. With long dark hair in braids. Wearing a lab coat. And- “What’s going on?”

Your entire body sagged under its own weight. Stress wracked your brain. Panic was not too far behind.

“Ah. Good. Welcome back.” Her words were accented. It was hard to place- ...wait. No. You knew an accent like that. She lifted a tablet and started writing. “Physically I have done all I can. She will be fine. So… please take her home now.”

This wasn’t Siberia. This wasn’t anything recognizable. But maybe that was better. Because thinking of that bitter cold made you shiver and flinch under the heavy weight of those memories- you didn’t want to think about it. You’d been fine but now-

“Honey-” It was easy to zero in on Tony’s voice. On his presence. Something you’d been unaware of until just that exact second. Weakly, wearily you lifted your head to try and locate him. Somewhere in that room- but-

Someone else said your name. Someone else you remembered. And instead of searching desperately for Tony you saw T’Challa step closer. “How are you feeling?”

“I don’t know- I’m-” The words started to come out in a rush. Heat drenched you. Your heart was hammering. Why?

T’Challa looked… displeased. He was close. A little too close for comfort. Maybe it was just you. “Just take a moment.” He wanted you to slow down but-

His hand lifted- He was close and he was reaching for you- He was so close- too close-

Your body jerked off the table, into a smaller one, objects scattering onto the floor- legs uneasy and unstable, barely able to keep yourself up, especially as you went into overdrive, clutching at your chest. Steve’s anger- the look in his eyes-

“Don’t-” God- please- don’t- “Don’t touch me-” You’d backed yourself up into the nearest wall. All three people in the room looked at each other nervously. “Don’t touch me- just, please-” You couldn’t stop saying it. Why? What was wrong with you? Steve wasn’t here. He wasn’t here. Wherever here was- Steve was not here. You just kept saying it over and over and over again until it made sense. But it didn’t. He wasn’t here- he was gone- he’d left and-

He was staring at you. Bearing down on you. Putting pressure on you. Cracking your ribcage open and just yanking- -god… hadn’t you already suffered through this enough?

You wanted to go. Be anywhere but here. Wherever here was. You just wanted- you just needed-

“I cannot fix that, I’m afraid.” “Shuri-”

“Honey- hey… just look at me. Focus here… focus on me...” Tony had gotten close. You recognized him before you actually saw him. He was right there. And his hand was warm as he reached up. Testing you- but it wasn’t much of a test. You made contact. Desperate contact, seeking him out. Crumbling into him. Because he was safe.

There was really only one thing to say, wasn’t there?

So you said it. Again and again and again and again…

I’m sorry.

---

Wakanda was a secret nation with a king that had had the good grace to try and help you. With technology that was far beyond you. They never let anyone into their borders yet T’Challa had wanted to help you and you couldn’t even remember leaving-

Let alone saying thank you.

You probably hadn’t. Because all you’d wanted to do was go home. Somewhere safe. Somewhere you could stop existing. And when Tony took you back to that fucking awful tower with awful memories- that’s what you did. Even though you didn’t want to be there, that was your home and you had nowhere else to go.

The Avengers Tower. Maybe you should have gone to the Avengers Compound.

It didn’t matter. He’d put you down for bed and- ...and…

Every so often he’d check on you. Ask you if you needed anything. If you wanted anything. What he could do.

You were being selfish. God- he’d just learned his parents had been murdered- the Avengers were dead- people were in jail that you’d promised to help- the UN was probably calling nonstop- Rhodey was paralyzed and-

And…

Every day he came and asked what you needed. What you wanted. What he could do.

And…

You couldn’t get up. You just… you just couldn’t… You were tired. You were exhausted. Some weird mix of empty and too full of all the terrible things at the same time. The world was waiting for you to get the fuck up- and…

You just…

“Please eat something. ...please…”

So for Tony you would. Because he was suffering and it was your fault and you didn’t want this, didn’t want to put him through this- but nothing seemed to work. You drifted like that in a daze. Heavy and sad- more than sad- so much more than just that word and-

“Rhodey is coming back to the Compound. He’s gonna rest up and… I’m gonna help him through his physical therapy. I made-” Tony was talking to you and you weren’t really listening. He’d been talking for a long time, too. Selfish selfish selfish… “-Happy will be here- if you need anything you can call me- and if you want to come…”

“Is Rhodey okay?” It was maybe the first thing you’d said in a long time- it was hard to tell how much time had passed, exactly. You had no way of knowing. But it must have been a very long time because it stopped Tony dead. Shocked him even, just a little.

...he’d probably come into the bedroom to talk to you every day- now that you thought about it and you’d just… ignored him. Every day for who knew how long until just now.

Had it gotten that bad? Why? Why was this the thing that had ruined you…

“He’ll be okay. He needs to do a lot of work but. He’s tough. You know him. He doesn’t give up on anything.” Carefully he reached out, putting a hand atop your leg over the covers. As your head lolled to the side, weak under your own strain and weight, the two of you looked at each other through the dimness.

You realized then, really realized, you hadn’t seen him in a while. He’d been there the whole time but you hadn’t heard him. Hadn’t seen him. Hadn’t… hadn’t anything.

He was so pained. So devastated. Haunted and just… just sad for you. With what little strength you had left, finally you sat up, leaning back against the headboard. Your body protested it greatly. You felt disgusting. ...you were disgusting. And-

Reaching up, you pressed your hands to your eyes. Taking stock of everything. Finally coming to. “Does T’Challa think I’m an asshole?” Tears started escaping your eyes, you weren’t really sure why. Weakly you forced a sniffling laugh out. As if that question really mattered right now.

Tony moved to sit next to you, putting an arm around you. The sound of his own nervous laughter eased you. Just a little. “No. Well- I didn’t ask but. That’s not the impression I got. You’re good at making friends in high places. I think he was mostly just worried.”

“I don’t think I said thank you.” For whatever it was he’d done. There had to be a reason you’d ended up there.

“You didn’t. But it’s alright. I did enough thanking for the both of us. It’s not like he’s waiting on a card or fruit basket or anything.”

“Are you sure?” This came out watery, worse than the rest of it and you hid your face in the side of his neck. Crying. Still. Or maybe again. Who even knew anymore.

His hand was gentle in its slow sweep up the length of your spine. “Yes, honey. I mean, he does want to talk to you but he’s fine waiting.” Slowly he guided you just a little bit back so that he could hold your face in his palms. Carefully. Sweetly. “Everything’s gonna be okay.”

He said this. And he meant it. In the way that he always did. And it… it broke your heart. That he was trying so hard. That he was looking after you after- ...after all that terribleness.

Your hands reached up to hide your face again as you started bawling. Where you’d been content to drift in emptiness, to not face this… it was there now. The dam had broken. Ugly and awful.

He pulled you to him again and you clutched to him like a child, crying on his shoulder. Asking him something you had no right to- “Are you sure?” Asking him to comfort you. Still. Again. Always.

Even when he was hurting too.

Tony held you tight. Tight. In a way that grounded you. Made you feel secure. Safe. His head laid atop yours. And that close, his voice rumbled against you, low and warm as he promised you, “Yes. Everything will be okay.”

“I’m sorry I’m like this- I’m sorry-” Apologizing. Because… he probably needed help too. Needed comforting. And yet there you were-

He held you just a little tighter then. “It’s alright. It’s okay.” “I’m sorry about your parents...” Tony fell quiet before answering this, but eventually he did. “I know. Me, too.” The two of you soaked in each other’s somberness. Just… there together. “I’m sorry. You need help too- need me- and I’m not doing anything- I’m sorry-” It was more hyperventilated blubbering noises now than anything. But he understood. “I know you are. I believe you. It’s not your fault. It’s okay. We’ll be okay. We’ll get through this.” These could have all just been platitudes but you believed every single one of them with all your heart. Only because they were coming from him.

Where there wasn’t enough space for breath or words to get out, you made sure to let him know- I love you.

And he paused, breathed out slowly, and then, “I love you, too. More than anything.”

He’d must have done this a million times- because you were broken- yet you kept finding new ways to get hurt and he always cleaned up the mess. He must have promised you a million times that everything would be okay.

...and even when it wasn’t, it was eventually, right?

So you believed him. Because you wanted to. And because he wanted you to believe him, too.

But even that was overwhelming. Which was why it was nice that he just sat there with you. And let you get it all out. It. All the awfulness. Everything you didn’t want to face. ...at least with him there… it wasn’t as bad.

#Tony Stark #Tony Stark x Reader #INY Spoilers #Civil War spoilers #we're all having a bad time over here

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southernsuns · 4 years ago

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“...my God, do you learn.” -C.S Lewis

LILLIAN ELIZABETH PENDRAGON is a descendent of King Frank I and Queen Helen. She is the eldest daughter of George and Vivienne Pendragon, and the older sister of Arabella, Elyse, and William Pendragon.

Lily was heir to the Narnian throne, but grew up in Archenland in isolation with her family, as they were hiding out from the Witch (just as all previous generations of her family had done, waiting for the perfect time to strike her down and restore peace to their homeland). She became High Queen at ten years old when her father mysteriously disappeared and was presumed dead. Two days after her top secret coronation Lily, refusing to believe that her father was dead, went to look for him - only to wind up getting kidnapped by the Witch herself.

She wasn’t alone in confinement, however, as she was soon joined by Edmund Pevensie, one of the four prophets destined to save Narnia who was believed to have betrayed his siblings for the Witch. The two didn’t get along quite well at the beginning, but as time went on and they realized they wouldn’t be able to escape if they didn’t have each other, they soon became friends. After being rescued by Narnian troops, Lily was reunited with her mother and siblings at Aslan’s camp (as was Edmund with his siblings) and later fought in the Battle of Beruna. She attended the Pevensies’ coronation with her family and proudly proclaimed that her family would rule and work with theirs to bring the peace and hope back to Narnia that it had lost so long ago.

Lily remained best friends with Edmund for fifteen years. They were rarely ever apart, and were often seen playing chess together and reading books in her library. The pair went on many diplomatic trips together, and foreign royals and diplomats often said they never saw one without the other. Many assumed they would pursue a romantic relationship, but Lily debunked those theories every chance she got to do so. However, towards the end of the Golden Age, Lily did begin to have feelings for Edmund - feelings she couldn’t quite describe. She refused to see him as anything else other than her best friend, but soon came to a conclusion that she could no longer go on thinking that way. By the time she managed to pluck up the courage to confess to him, it was too late. He and his family had disappeared while hunting for the White Stag.

Understandably so, Lily was devastated, but was determined to find him and the rest of the Pevensies. She had failed to find her father, she didn’t want to fail finding them too. She and her family set out to search for them when they arrived at a lamppost and stumbled through woods, wounding up in England, younger than they were before - the same ages they were when the Pevensies first came to Narnia. In England, they were happily reunited with Lily’s father, who mistakenly ventured through the portal when he was thought to have been dead.

The Pendragons spent a year adjusting to life in England. Although it was difficult, Lily also found it quite interesting. She enjoyed learning about society and read just about every book you could ever find, from War and Peace to Little Women and everything in between. Just as she was getting used to living a life without a crown on her head and a country to rule, Lily and her siblings (her parents were considered too old to go to Narnia at this point) were transported to Narnia once more. They discovered that 1300 years had passed since they left, and all of their friends had died. They did, however, reunite with the Pevensies, who were also called back. Together, they helped Prince Caspian reclaim his throne, but it wasn’t without consequences. Arabella had died in the raid on Miraz’ castle, leaving her three remaining siblings devastated.

The three were called back to Narnia again one year later, where they reunited with Edmund, Lucy, and Caspian aboard the Dawn Treader. They helped find the Seven Lost Lords and defeat the evil lurking within the waters of Narnia. This would be their last time in their homeland. Once they returned to England, they initially had difficulty accepting the fact that they wouldn’t ever go back to Narnia, especially Lily.

When Lily and Edmund were both seventeen, they finally ripped the bandaid off and pursued a romantic relationship (absolutely no one was surprised). Lily had always been interested in becoming a journalist ever since she arrived in England, as she loved the idea of telling stories and informing the public of serious issues that needed attention. She decided to study it at University when she turned eighteen.

Lily, along with her family and most of the Pevensies, was killed in a railway accident in 1949 at the age of nineteen. They all lived an eternal afterlife in Aslan’s Country, where the Pendragons were reunited with the daughter and sister they lost what seemed to be many years ago - Arabella.

A somewhat happy ending for a Queen who, when she was young, never truly believed she would ever be happy at all. Then again, of course, life (and death) had always seemed to take Lillian Elizabeth Pendragon by surprise.

#finally a formal post about lily!!#after rambling about her for a year #this is q lengthy i’m sorry haha #she means the world to me #and has had a very special place in my heart for seven years now #her story has been heavily improved recently #now i am finally content with it #oc; lily pendragon #narnia oc #narnia #my stuff

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spideymarvelws · 5 years ago

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Peter Parker has been desperate for a connection ever since his break up with MJ, and with everyone in his life leaving one by one, he has turned to the only person that he knows in his heart will never leave him, you. With valentines day right around the corner, Peter goes to great lengths to make sure that you stay his one and only valentine.

Dark!Peter Parker x Fem!Reader

warnings: SMUT, 18+ my dudez, fem receiving, degrading, dirty talk, alluding to kidnapping in the end, obsessive behavior, sad peter (pls give this boy a break)

a/n: this is my first ever smut and dark fic so yeee sorry for a kinda shitty smut scene. kinda wanted to get something out for valentines day and ive been binging YOU so this was born. Message me or comment if you wanna be added to my peter parker taglist!

Word count: 2.2k

Masterlist / Add Yourself To My Taglist

Peter parker was never the one to be selfish. He always put other peoples needs before his whether it be one of his closest friends or a random stranger on the street. His hero complex was through the roof and all the other avengers always praised him for his selflessness and care when I came to saving the city of queens.

But despite his good doings to world around him, most things never went Peter’s way and the people he cared about most, always walked out of his life and left him for nothing, at least thats what it felt like to him.

His first crush’s father ended up being a criminal which he had to fight that ended with her moving halfway across the country. On a vacation that he desperately needed he ended up questioning every person he meet and fought a fake hero only to get battered and bruised on a trip that was suppose to help him relax. Hell every father figure he’s had has betrayed, left or died under his cause.

But what sent him to his breaking point was when the supposed love of his life broke up with him for God knows what reason. He had stop listening when she mentioned taking time apart and figuring things out.

Peter didn’t remember much from that night, all he took from his broken heart was that the world he lived in was an unforgiving place. The more good he gave to others the more he lost. He realized that good deeds came with a price to pay with your own self conscious and he started questioning his own purpose as spider-man and whether small tiny wins were worth the world of despair and loss.

He knew that something in him changed that night, a new darkness grew inside of him. He no longer felt the urge to help others against his own well being. But something inside him also told him to seek help, and that why at three in the morning he found himself standing outside your door.

You and Peter met during his internship with Tony Stark and immediately hit it off. To peter this happened right after the liz incident and hanging out with you was like a new breath of fresh air. He’s never connected with someone so quickly and every afternoon after petrol he would find himself eating some sandwiches from Delmars with you on your apartment’s roof.

However three months into the friendship, you had too move away from queens to brooklyn. Peter was devastated, again another person to leave his life, but you made sure to keep in contact with him through text and video calls, Peter knew that you would remain the one constant, outside of may and ned, that would never leave his side.

“One second!” he heard your voice shout, slightly muffled since the door was still closed.

The door flew open revealing you in al your glory. Pajama shorts and a sports bra with a cardigan over it which you kept tugging in front to cover your revealing choice of sleep wear.

“Peter? What are you doing here? Jesus you could’ve called at least. Come on in, don’t wanna stand outside forever, its fucking cold this time of night.” you rambled pulling peter inside your home.

You immediately got a blanket to wrap peter in and set him on the couch to sit. Without saying a word you moved gracefully to the kitchen, pouring out some hot chocolate from a covered pot on the stove into a mug.

Walking over to were peter sat and handed the steaming hot cocoa to him. He took it from your hands without taking his eyes from your own while you moved to grab yours that was placed on the coffee table.

“So,” you started taking a sip of the drink in you hands, “What brings you here, in my house, at three am, looking like absolute dog shit?”

Ah, there she is peter thought

“Would you believe that I just wanted to say hi?” Peter chuckled, his humorous tone not quite meeting the look in his eyes.

“No, no I don’t, I know that that could be easily done over video call pete,” you deadpanned looking at his with your sparkling eyes. Even at the early hour you looked heavenly to peter and that god damn nickname, he never knew hove much he loved it coming out of your mouth until now.

Softening your gaze you put down your mug and grabbed Peters hand, delicately wrapping your fingers around his. Both of you looked down at your intertwined hands before you started back talking in a much softer tone, “I also know that it’s much easier to swing to your girlfriends house that to see me towns over when you’re in distress.”

After hearing you mention girlfriend he tightened his hold on your hand and squeezed his eyes shut. The word was almost like a trigger to his emotions that he desperately wanted to suppress.

“Oh baby,” you whispered before setting pete’s mug down and pulling him into a hug letting him rest his entire body weight against you.

He melted into your touch, forgetting what it felt like after a year away, countless calls and texts couldn’t compare to the warmth that your arms provided. He put more weight on you body causing both of you to fall lightly on the couch with him on top, sticking his face into the crook of your neck.

Placing a kiss on the crown of his head you whispered, “do you want to talk about it?”

“No, not-not really,” peter muttered pushing himself deeper into your embrace

“Ok baby, just get some rest, you look like you haven’t slept in days,” you said, moving your hand slowly up his arm that was tucked around your waist. Before drifting off into sleep he felt you put your chin on the top of his head not before placing one last kiss on his head.

The past two months Peter has been noticing things he never has about you and every day he found something else to love.

And yes, he said love. He couldn’t believe that after all these years of pinning over girl and girl, the perfect one was in his grasp the whole time. You’ve been so caring and kind the past weeks and he couldn’t be more grateful.

He found himself wanting to be closer to you, wanting to feel the love that you gave him over and over again. He made himself home in your bed, cuddling with you almost every night, maybe under excuse of nightmares but some nights he would pull a card that you never refused.

“It’s what mj would’ve done”

Of course this sentence now meant nothing to him since he found someone else, someone better, but he couldn’t help but feel smug when a hint of jealousy would fill your eyes before turning into the soft, caring ones he grew to love.

But peter wanted more, he wanted more than just a platonic relationship. He wanted the love and attention that you gave him not to be just to help him through a rough time but rather because you were his and he was yours.

Lately he’s been getting impatient with moving things slowly, of course you guys haven’t seen each other in a year so there was a lot of catching up to do, but he was tired of helpless pinning and useless signals when you just thought it was because he was hurting.

Valentines day was coming up soon, and peter for the past few days had been formulating a plan in his head to make you his, his only and his forever. He knew that you be hesitant in the approach that he will be making to confess his growing love but you would warm up to it. After all you didn’t really have a choice in the matter.

Currently you were showering in you room, the day before valentines day and it was time to put his plan into action.

Walking into your room he heard the shower stop. He walking around, resisting the urges to just barge into the bathroom. Once the door opened he saw you in all your glory, of course the towel you wore around your body covered what he wanted to see the most but he would get to that part later.

Taking large steps he grabbed your waste firmly and pulled you against his chest. He could see the confusion in your facial features but before you could get a word out he placed his lips against yours.

Perfect just like he had imagined, not that everything about you wasn’t perfect but your lips was probably his favorite part of you. Whenever you would rambled about silly things like movies or your favorite book, he always saw himself gazing at your lips, memorized by the way they move and how soft they looked. Clutching on to you towel tighter you accepted the kiss only to pull away a few seconds too early for peter.

“peter, what-” you started but peter put his lips against you ear, shushing you silently.

“don’t worry princess, I know you want this just as much as me,” he said softy putting his hands on yours and loosening your hold on the towel.

Peter knew what he was doing, he did formulate a plan, a formula one can say, to make sure you stay with him forever. But the last straw in proceeded with it was when he came home from the supermarket earlier than expected and heard you moaning his name from your room.

“peter,” you faintly moaned tilting you head back as peter made his way down you neck, placing light kisses in his trail. Your reaction made him smirk, knowing that he was only half way through with his plan.

“I’m going to take care of you baby girl, but first,” he growled ripping away the towel and pulling you towards the bed. Sitting down on the edge of the mattress, you climbed on to his lap and began ferociously kissing him.

His hands travelled from your waste to your ass, lightly squeezing before giving a light smack. You lets out a small moan upon contact, moving from his lips down to his neck.

“you like that don’t you?” peter groaned as you started to grind on his crotch over his jeans, “there’s plenty of more were that came from.”

With that he turned you over and laid you on the bed.

“Touch yourself baby girl,” peter said before standing back up and removing his shirt flexing his muscles knowing it turned you on even more.

“peter, peter please,” you moaned, and peter could’ve sworn he almost cum right there.

The view of you rubbing your pussy with one hand and grabbing your breast with the other, tilting your head back as you moaned his name. His name was coming out of your mouth as you pleasured yourself in front of him.

He couldn’t wait to see this sight for the rest of his life, he couldn’t wait to have someone as beautiful as you were there by his side, his forever.

Walking swiftly towards the bed, he crawled his way on top of your form.

“Don’t worry baby, I’ve got you, I’ve always got you,” peter whispered before moving down and diving into your dripping pussy.

You let out a scream of pleasure, arching your back from the bed. Peter swiftly placed an arm around your tummy, pushing you back down to the mattress, keeping you in place.

You used your hands to take some of his hair and tugged pulling out a moan from peter causing vibrations on your clit triggering a moan of our own.

Taking his mouth off of your womanhood, before you could wine he replaced it with his fingers quick to enter you.

You though his fingers couldn’t compare to his mouth but you were surely mistake penetrating you with a strong fast pace . Adding one by the minute before he was knuckles deep with three fingers.

To top it all of, his dirty talk as he looked up at you with a sinister look on his face.

“you like this don’t you baby girl, hmm? Fuck- bet I can make you cum with just my fingers deep in you pussy huh? Such a slut for me and me only. Don’t forget that, your mine. Now cum for me princess, can you do that for me baby?”

Peter calling you slut was enough to make you scream his name before squirting over his face. You’ve never been finger fucked so hard before or even squirted in general. Every new sensation you were feeling overwhelmed you, causing your your vision to black out. The sight of peter grabbing a cloth from the bathroom was the last thing you saw before darkness overflowed you.

Peter came back from the bathroom and smiled at your figure sleeping mindlessly on his bed. He had just killed two birds with one stone, planning on just slipping something in your water since he knew that your throat would be sore after. He knew he didn’t have much time and that you would wake up at some point so he started moving quickly.

He cleaned you up and dressed you I his T-shirt and sweats then carried you bridal style out the front door and placed you inside a black car which already housed most of your belongings packed in suitcases in the trunk.

He laid you down in the back seat making sure you were comfortable before proceeding to the driver’s seat. Taking one more glance at your sleeping form, peter pulled out of the driveway and made his way to his and your new forever home.

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miaouerie · 4 years ago

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whumptober 2020 ------ day 25. blurred vision/ringing ears

@whumptober2020 Rebelcaptain Hunger Games AU: Cassian is Jyn’s mentor in the 70th Hunger Games. After being crowned victor at fifteen years old, Cassian is all-too-familiar with what it takes to bring a tribute home, and what becoming a victor really means.

content warnings: graphic descriptions of minor character death, references to forced prostitution

previous: day 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10 / 11 / 12 / 13 / 14 / 15 / 16 / 17 / 18 / 19 / 20 / 21 / 22 / 23 / 24

Candela is the first to get killed; her escape to the tree line was hampered by the uphill climb to get out of the rocky ditch that the 67th Hunger Games’ Cornucopia is in. The male Career tribute from District 1 kills her with a sledgehammer to the throat. Cassian watches her head snap all the way to the right, the neck bent at an unnatural angle, and her body hits the ground, motionless; it was a clean break to the neck.

Garrick made it a while longer on his own, but chose not to heed Cassian’s repeatedly stressed advice to skip over supplies—those could always be sent later—and made his escape route include a wide arc towards a backpack and a sleeping bag. Those extra seconds put him in the scope of a pair of Careers, who run him down easily and then kill him with their knives.

Both of his tributes dead in the first five minutes of the 67th Hunger Games. How could this happen?

He had weighed their odds carefully. District 5 fell squarely in between the Career districts and the poorer districts when it came to anticipating the Games. The district itself was well off enough that tesserae wasn’t necessary for the majority of households, which meant that the extent of the Games in the populace’s mind was a hope and a prayer for their children to not be chosen on Reaping Day. No Games training was offered for the glory of volunteering because no glory was seen in the practice—District 5 had the lowest volunteer rate out of all the districts—and so it wasn’t a surprise that Cassian’s first year of mentoring began with two unremarkable tributes: Candela Invers, a fifteen-year-old girl, and Garrick Thule, a sixteen-year-old boy.

Garrick was the son of a power plant supervisor and had hardly an inkling for survival; he didn’t go to the fire-starting station or the edible plants station, or any of the other stations for basic survival skills that Cassian urged him to. A lot of his time during the three allotted training days was spent away from the other tributes, hiding his fear behind an indifferent look; unsurprisingly, he scored only a 3 in the evaluation. Candela on the other hand had been game enough to ask for Cassian's advice in the training room and went over strategies with him for acing her interview; just last night on Caesar Flickerman’s show she had made a favorable impression on the audience, especially after Caesar brought up the 7 that she scored in the Gamemakers’ evaluations. Cassian could work with that; if she could survive on her own for the first three days, he could hopefully start talking her up to potential sponsors. He wasn’t going to bet on whether or not Garrick could survive that long on his own, but in the end it didn’t even matter because now both of his tributes are dead.

He can’t take his eyes off the carnage of the bloodbath, projected on the main screen of the mentors’ observation deck. It takes several long minutes before he yanks off his headset; the only sounds the mics were picking up is the ambient noise of children killing other children. But it’s too late; the sounds won’t leave his ears; it coalesces into screaming that he knows isn’t real, but it sounds more and more similar to Teak’s—

He pushes himself away from the console and tries to stand up, but has to lean his weight against it when his legs threaten to give out from underneath him. The room is starting to spin in a way that has everything to do with the roar of blood and screams in his ears, how lightheaded he feels, and… shit. He needs to sit back down.

Then there’s a hand on his shoulder, pushing him firmly but gently back down onto his chair. “Both of yours bit the dust? First time’s rough; it doesn’t get any easier.”

The sole victor and mentor of District 12, Haymitch Abernathy, is holding out a bottle of liquor to him. Still breathing heavily, Cassian shakes his head no; they both look back to the broadcast on the main screen. The camera is panning a bird’s-eye view over the action at the Cornucopia, before cutting over to where the two Careers from District 1 who killed Garrick are cutting down another tribute. The tally on the screen reads nine dead, fifteen tributes still in play. The Career pack hasn’t yet started to hunt for tributes who escaped to the trees, which means it’s still likely a death or three will be added to the projected death count at the end of the day. But as far as where Cassian is concerned, his first stint as a mentor in the Hunger Games is over.

Cassian thinks about reaching for the proffered bottle, but decides against it. Haymitch is an alcoholic, foul-smelling and drunk more often than not. Jeron always told his son to stay away from him, but Jeron isn’t here anymore. His heartbeat feels like it stops as it does each time the realization washes over him anew—your father’s dead, while you didn’t kill him you might as well have—but after that split second of grief he’s able to breathe again.

“C’mon. Let’s get some fresh air, you look like you could use it.” The look that Haymitch is giving him is half-pointed, half-pitying; Cassian gets up to go with him.

Cassian has never been to the top floor of the Tower; he didn’t even know that such a place existed. The tinkling of the windchimes drowns out the ringing in his ears, until he can blink up at the noonday sun without his vision doubling over.

“It’s a shame about your old man,” Haymitch says to him. “Power explosion, right?”

The younger victor can’t trust himself to speak, so he nods.

“Took out Irga too? Seems a little convenient to me.”

Cassian wants to say, I know the truth, I read it myself. But he doesn’t; what comes out instead is, “Yeah, that’s why I’m mentoring alone. Apparently I’m not very good at it.”

The look that Haymitch gives him has a flash of disappointment, but then it disappears as the older victor takes a swig of his booze and grunts. “Look, it doesn’t matter if you’re a good mentor or not, whether your tributes die or not. The Capitol gets their twisted entertainment regardless.”

“So we should just let them die?”

The older victor snorts. “I’m surprised you think it’s worth letting them live. You of all people should know being a victor doesn’t mean you won.”

Well, he can’t say anything to that. They look up to see an Avox approaching; apparently, to hand Cassian a powder blue envelope.

Cassian turns the envelope over in his hands but doesn’t break the seal yet. What happened to attractive and desirable victors was an open secret but the confirmation that Haymitch knew still stings; it made him wonder just how many of the other victors had known, if any of them talked to his father about it.

Haymitch juts his chin out at the envelope. “Snow’s had his claws in you for a long time hasn’t he, kid? I’m not surprised if District 5 got taken out because our dear president thinks you shouldn’t be spending your precious time in the Capitol mentoring.”

But no; Jeron couldn’t have known, Cassian was too good of a liar. But his self-loathing wrestles briefly with the fear that maybe Jeron knew after all, even before his disastrous Decem year.

But no, he couldn’t have. He would have done something about it sooner, he wouldn’t have let Snow turn his son into a whore. Right?

But he knows it wouldn't have changed anything, let alone the fatal outcome. There was no other way to impel Cassian into a mentoring position, not when Snow wanted him to solicit for a more lucrative purpose. Jeron couldn’t have known that Snow would kill his mentoring partner to devastate his son in retaliation; while Lila was allowed to live and he wouldn't have had Cassian killed, there wasn’t a way a victor could act without consequence.

Cassian opens the envelope, looks at the three lines: a name, a place, a time. He thinks about the system that drove his dad to believe that suicide was the only option, that forced him to play into the Capitol’s hand to save his son, then made him realize that in the end he couldn’t protect him at all.

#whumptober2020 #no.25 #blurred vision #ringing ears #rogue one #the hunger games #fic #sacchi writes #cassian andor #haymitch abernathy #word count: 1.4k #also gomen if you saw the version of this that i forgot to edit out a placeholder 🤧

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hookedonapirate · 5 years ago

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The Princess and Her Sultan

Summary: Crown princess Emma of Misthaven is second in line to the throne, her brother Leopold ll being the first, but her parents see her with a future as a great ruler. King Rumpelstiltskin of neighboring land, strikes a deal with King David, promising to uphold the peace between the kingdoms if Emma marries Prince Baelfire. With the promise of his daughter becoming future queen of the Dark Kingdom, David accepts reluctantly.

Before her wedding day, the princess is kidnapped and taken overseas. She is sold as a slave to a palace where Crown Prince Killian of Neverland ascends his father’s throne and is sworn in as Sultan. Meanwhile, Killian’s mother pressures him to sire a prince and presents him with gifts for his birthday, one of them including a blonde princess from Misthaven. Dazzled by Emma’s charm, intelligence and beauty, he summons her to his bedchambers every night and eventually finds himself casting aside his harem and centuries of tradition.

Author’s Notes: Gah, I'm sorry this took so long, but here it is. I don't know if you'll be any less frustrated with the end of the chapter but it seemed like a good place to pause for now. And there are so many unanswered questions yet, but I'm hoping to wrap them up in the next chapter. And who knows, we may finally get to meet the little prince or princess in the next chapter :D. We'll see how it goes when I get the chance to work on it *finger crossed*

Thank you @gingerchangeling for your wonderful suggestions and ideas for this story, and also @ilovemesomekillianjones for gifting me with your wonderful editing skills. I also want to give a shout out to @onceuponaprincessworld for being my sounding board, constant cheerleader and good friend, thank you, darling! This story wouldn’t be the same without these lovely ladies!

And all of you have been so supportive and awesome, thank you all for following along and for your feedback!

Rated: Explicit

AO3 l FF.N I Prologue l Ch 1 l Ch 2 l Ch 3 l Ch 4 l Ch 5 l Ch 6 l Ch 7 l Ch 8 l Ch 9 I Ch 10 I Ch 11 I Ch 12 I BTS

Chapter 13

Emma can’t believe her eyes. She never thought she’d see her family again; she never thought she’d see him again, and here he is, standing before her with weary eyes and a gutted expression. He looks like he hasn't slept in a fortnight, or longer—he looks like he hasn’t slept since she was kidnapped—but he's certainly a sight for sore eyes.

The biggest smile breaks over her face and she leaps into her father’s arms, embracing him tightly. She never thought she’d feel her papa’s arms around her ever again, never thought she’d hear his voice or smell his familiar earthy scent or feel his warmth surround her. “Papa,” she whispers, squeezing her eyes shut. If this is a dream, she wants to enjoy it while it lasts.

She hopes it’s only a dream because if he’s actually here, he’ll be killed. But the way he squeezes one arm around her and cradles the back of her head with his other hand, whispering sweet things in her ear about how much he’d missed her, she knows without a doubt he’s real. As happy as she is to see him, she doesn’t want any harm brought to him. She still hasn’t told Killian that James has a twin brother who is her father, and it’s difficult to pretend she didn’t know of this sooner since they’re identical.

Panic ripples through her as she breaks the hug, still clutching onto his arms like her life depends on it. “Papa, how did you.. how did you get past the guards?” Just as she manages to get the words out, she realizes how dumb her question is. He looks like James, so of course he got past the guards.

Besides, it appears he has questions of his own as his brows furrow and he pushes away her cloak and presses his hand to her belly, his eyes peering down at her round form. “Are you… are you pregnant?”

“I am,” she answers, a smile crawling across her lips as she thinks about the little duckling growing inside her. She can’t wait to cradle her baby in her arms and smother the precious little gem with sweet kisses.

Her father’s expression, however, is far from pleasant when he lifts his face, anger embedded in his features. “Who did this to you?” he demands hoarsely. He looks like he might commit murder.

She swallows thickly, not sure if she should answer, but perhaps she can make him understand how much she loves the Sultan. “I will tell you, but first you have to tell me how you found me. Not here though.” She takes his hand and leads him to Killian’s study so the guards can't overhear their conversation.

Once inside the room, she closes the door as her father looks around and spots the chessboard, picking up the white knight. It’s not the same one as his brother’s but she can tell it triggers memories of his childhood. He sighs wearily and turns around, still clutching onto the chess piece. “I had no idea my brother was alive before I reached the port of Neverland. All I knew was you were taken to this palace.”

Emma’s eyes widen. He does know James is alive. “You saw him? How did you know he was here? How did you know I was here?” She has so many questions her head is spinning.

“Emma, I’ll tell you everything, but first, we need to figure out a way to get you out of here.”

Of course. He came here to rescue her. And several moons ago, she would’ve been ecstatic to leave this palace, but then she met the Sultan and everything changed. “But Papa, I don’t want to be rescued.”

His brows twist in confusion, as expected, but how can she adequately explain her reasons for wanting to stay here, rather than return to Misthaven, in a way her father would understand?

“Emma…” he whispers feebly, barely able to get her name out. He sounds hurt. Completely devastated. “How can you…” he pauses when his voice cracks. “Why do you want to stay here?”

Once again, she contemplates whether she should mention the Sultan, but she knows she won’t be able to keep it from him for much longer. Killian will return soon, and then her father will witness the affection he shows her. He’s never shy about showing her affection in front of James. “I want to stay with the Sultan, okay?!” she blurts out in a fit of panic. “He is the father of the child growing inside me.”

David’s fists clench at his sides and his eyes blacken with rage and hatred. “I will murder him for laying his hands on you!”

“No, Papa!” she shrieks, drawing her hands to her belly. “He did not force himself on me, I wanted this!” Tears threaten her eyes, fear surging through her. She has to make her father understand.

He narrows his eyes at her, completely baffled. “Why would you want this life? Why would you want to stay? Why would you want to have the Sultan’s child?!”

“Because, Papa…” Emma swallows thickly, doing her best not to burst into tears. She needs to stay calm if she’s going to convince her papa that Killian is a good man. She needs to start from the beginning. “At first I was angry and only wanted to bring retribution to the Sultan and make him my slave. I wanted to be Queen of Neverland, a feat no other woman has achieved, but when I met him, I quickly learned he’s not like other Sultans. He saved me when his mother threw me in the dungeon. He took care of me,” she explains, but her father doesn’t appear to be buying any of it. He’s still scowling, his features never once softening as she speaks. “He’s a good man,” she cries, again trying to choke back a sob at the thought of her father bringing harm to her Sultan. But it’s too late. A tear slips out and rolls down her cheek. “I love him.”

Her father’s eyes widen as he tries to process her declaration; she can tell he’s appalled and disappointed in her. “How can you love a Sultan?” he asks, his nose wrinkling in disgust. “He bought you as his slave.”

“He didn’t buy me. I was a gift from his mother.”

Her father scoffs. “And that makes it better? He doesn’t care about you. You’re like cattle to him, only good for breeding, and once you produce an heir, he’ll forget about you and find another maiden to bear him a child. He’s nothing but a dirty Sultan, Emma,” he claims, thinking he’s protecting her. Thinking he knows anything about the Sultan. Her Sultan. “He will never love you back.”

His words sting, cut right through her, but she knows in her heart he’s wrong. “No, he’s not!” she shrieks. “He is loyal and honorable and he does love me and he does care about me! If anyone is dirty, it’s Baelfire, and yet you and Mother arranged a marriage between us!”

“We had no idea,” David retorts defensively, then furrows his brows in confusion. “How did you know he married shortly after you were kidnapped?”

Of course he did. This is news to her, but she’s not the least bit surprised by it. “I didn’t. I came to my conclusion long ago when he forced his tongue down my throat and put his filthy hands on me.”

“He did what?! Emma, why did you never mention this before? If your mother and I had known, we would’ve called off the betrothal.”

More tears roll down her cheeks. She didn’t think she would ever get the chance to have this conversation with her parents. She looks her father in the eye, speaking softly. “I know, that’s why I never said anything.”

“Emma…” he murmurs, his mood suddenly abated as he steps closer, gently placing his hands on her shoulders. “Why didn’t you say anything?”

“I only wanted to protect our family and the kingdom, so I kept the incident to myself,” she admits with a sniffle and wipes her tears with the sleeve of her cloak.

“Emma, you should have at least come to us about it. We could've figured something out.”

“It matters not,” she mumbles. “What matters now is getting you out of the palace before the guards figure out you’re not James.”

“Emma, if you think I’m leaving without you, you’re wrong.”

“But Papa, you have to let me go,” she pleads, her eyes once again glistening with tears. “I promise I am in much better hands with Killian than I would’ve been with Bealfire.”

“Emma, I’m not leaving,” he says firmly, “not without meeting this Sultan Killian you speak of.”

Emma glares at her father, anger building quickly inside her. “You want to meet him so you can kill him!” she accuses. “You wish to leave our child without a father!”

He sighs and shakes his head. “I promise I won’t kill him. You have my word. I only want to make sure he is worthy enough of my beloved daughter. I want to make sure he truly loves and cares for you as you do him. You cannot blame me. You would want to do the same if your child was in the same position. You would want to make sure they were being taken care of. You would want to see it with your own eyes, wouldn’t you?”

Emma clutches at her belly. “Well, yes, of course, but Papa, he tortured and killed a man who attacked me. He would do anything to protect us.”

Her father’s face remains steely. “Being possessive is not an act of love, it’s an act of jealousy. Of course he’ll murder anyone who touches you. You’re his property, along with all of his other concubines,” he asserts bitterly.

Emma pulls away from her father’s grip, stepping away from him. “You’re wrong. He doesn’t have any other concubines, only servants. I am the only woman he wants. He loves me, Papa. He isn’t like other Sultans, you will see when you meet him.”

Her father is still highly reluctant, but he assures her he won’t harm Killian because he knows how much that will hurt her. So she agrees to the meeting. There’s just one problem—her father looks exactly like James, except for one minor detail—he doesn’t have a scar. But Emma can fix that. She’ll make him a scar.

She buys some ingredients from the palace merchant. She uses fur for the texture, concocts some glue to hold the fur together and adds vegetable dye to give the fake scar a fleshy color, applying it to her father’s cheek as he fills her in on what’s happened in Misthaven since she was taken.

Her mother is doing fine, despite being heartbroken that Emma was kidnapped, but she remains hopeful. Her brother became betrothed to a princess from Camelot, something that was not arranged. Her parents didn’t want to make the same mistake with Leo that they did with Emma. David tells Emma how often they wanted to leave the kingdom to look for her and how their hearts completely shattered when they learned Emma had been taken.

They were even more wrecked when Graham returned empty-handed, apart from the gold he had left with to buy Emma back. And apparently, Graham had not mentioned he was the one who handed her off to pirates. He made David believe it was all Maleficent's doing. Emma’s blood boils with anger at that. She doesn’t say anything though, at least not yet, she only listens as David explains how he got here and how he and Graham arrived in one of his ships. She doesn’t know if she should say anything though; she doesn't know if Graham really does regret handing Emma off to those pirates. He did try to buy her back after all, and if she tells her father the truth, she’s afraid of what he might do him. She shouldn’t care, after what he’d done, but she does. A part of her still remembers the Graham she knew, and a small part of her still cares for him.

“I knew I had to find a way in the palace, so I searched the streets for anything or anyone who would help me. It didn’t take long for people to recognize me. Only, they didn’t recognize me as King of Misthaven, they recognized me as James, Grand Vizier of the Sultan. I was shocked at first. Then I saw an opportunity. I could pretend to be James, but I had to make sure he wouldn’t already be here when I arrived. So I stole a horse and fell off of it, pretending to have a concussion. I asked some kind men where I lived and they gave me directions.”

“So you spoke to James?” she asks, digesting everything he’s told her thus far.

“I did, and he wasn’t as happy to see me as I thought he would be. I guess he’s bitter that I am now King and that he became a slave. Our reunion was not a pleasant one. He wouldn’t agree on allowing me to pretend to be him so I could rescue you. He said you didn’t need to be rescued,” he murmurs, his eyes full of sadness as he gazes at his daughter. “I guess he was right.”

Emma pauses from her task and looks away, but she doesn’t regret her decision to remain in Neverland.

He sighs heavily and continues. “Anyway, I knocked him out with sleeping dust and tied him up on my ship.”

Her eyes dart to his. “You did?”

“Of course I did, Emma. You’re my daughter, I’d do anything to get you back.”

“I know,” she says, continuing to apply the fake scar on his cheek, making sure it will stay on his face without peeling off. “I just hope that doesn’t include murdering the man I love.”

Her father lifts his hand, gently cradling her chin. “I gave you my word, didn’t I?”

She nods. “I trust you, Papa.”

“Besides, if he’s as good a man as you say he is, I’ll see for myself.”

A small smile crosses her lips, and she’s confident her father will see what she sees. She fills him on some things he must know as the Sultan’s best friend and Grand Vizier. Once she's satisfied with how similar the scar looks to James’, she reminds her father once again to not harm her Sultan.

Emma returns to Killian’s chamber, her father following behind her, and she climbs into bed. He tucks her in and drops a kiss on her forehead. Emma’s heart warms; she thought she’d never have the chance to be tucked in by her father ever again.

When the double doors open, David quickly stands, bowing his head. She can tell he’s nervous.

“How’s my Swan?” Killian smiles warmly at her as he appears at her side and sits on the edge of the bed next to her, rubbing her belly over the covers. “And how is our little one?”

She smiles as he leans over and presses a gentle kiss on her forehead. “We’re fine, just couldn’t wait for our Sultan to return.”

He grins and kisses her lips, his hand still caressing her belly in soothing circles. He then moves down, pushes the covers back and showers her belly with kisses. “I missed you both.”

“We missed you too,” she giggles, his beard tickling her skin through the fabric of her nightgown. “How is your mother? How did she take the news?”

“She’s fine, only concerned for you and our baby, my love. She plans on stopping by to visit you later.”

Emma nods and turns to look at her father, who is watching them. She’s surprised to see the warmth in his eyes. He can see how much Killian cares for her and their child. He can see it in the Sultan’s eyes and how he touches Emma, with such gentleness and love, and how he speaks to her.

“I love you, my Queen,” her Sultan coos with a soft smile, kissing her forehead.

“I love you, too, my Sultan,” she whispers, closing her eyes to relish in the feel of his lips on her skin.

“James and I will go to the Meyden for archery practice. Will you be okay here for a while?”

“Yes, I told you I can take care of us,” she reassures him, caressing her belly. “I think I’ll go to the harem and visit with my friends while you’re gone.”

“That’s a good idea. Just don’t overexert yourself, love.”

Emma rolls her eyes and kisses his lips. “I won’t, I promise.”

~*~

Killian scrutinizes James carefully as the man smites the center of the statue with his arrow yet again. James has always been adequate at archery, but never excellent. He never consistently makes the target.

“Have you stumbled upon Aladdin’s lamp?” Killian asks, pulling an arrow from his jeweled quiver to take his turn. He expects a hearty laugh from his best friend, but instead, James' laugh is timid, perhaps a bit nervous.

“No, I’ve just been practicing more on my own, My Sultan.”

Killian narrows his eyes at James as he draws his bow. There’s something peculiar about his Grand Vizier. His posture is different, more regal, his mannerisms are more proper and he hasn't behaved as childishly today as usual. Even his laugh is different.

Killian’s aim is perfect, but it matters not. Sometimes James wins, sometimes Killian does, but normally it’s a close game. This time, though, James beats him by a landslide. Killian ponders the thought as he stores his bow in the leather scabbard and James collects their arrows. He doesn’t even boast about his win, which is extremely odd. James always boasts when he wins.

“What’s gotten into you, James?” he asks when they find a shady quince tree to lounge under.

James definitely appears to be nervous, but for what reason? What is he hiding? “What do you mean, Your Majesty?”

“Your aim is incomparable today. I am glad I’m not a boar; you'd have me dead by now. Yet, you do not blow your own trumpet, and that’s unlike you, James.”

“Oh, well…” he pauses, fumbling for words. “My mind is on other things today.”

“You’re concerned about becoming a father?” Killian guesses, convincing himself he's imagining the changes he sees in James.

“Yes, I suppose. What if I am not good at it?”

Killian flashes him an encouraging smile and pats him on the back. He knew there had to be some sort of explanation for his Grand Vizier’s behavior. “You will be a great father, James. You have been my advisor for several years, you’ve been there for me through the wars and the storms. If there is anyone who will be a great father, it is you.”

James blushes as he glances at Killian appreciatively. “Thank you, Your Majesty.” James drinks from his goblet until it’s empty and selects an olive, chewing it slowly before spitting the pit into the chalice, just as he always does.

Ah, now there’s the James he knows. He’s been paranoid for nothing.

“How is Emma by the way?” James asks, changing the subject. “It seems like she’s recovering nicely.”

“Aye, she’s doing much better. She’s just glad our baby was not harmed.” He manages a weak smile. “I’m glad they are both okay…” he says, exhaling deeply. He hadn’t planned on telling James, but he figures it won’t hurt to get it off his chest. “I still feel guilty.”

“Why’s that, Your Majesty?”

“Because I’m the one who hired the guard. I’m the one who put Emma in danger, and I…” his voice cracks, eyes welling with tears. “I don’t know what I would’ve done if anything had happened to them.”

James stares at him for a moment, studying him carefully. “You truly care about them, don’t you?”

He quickly nods and looks at James. “Can I confide in you about something? You must not tell a soul.”

“You can tell me anything,” he says sincerely.

“I told Emma she could leave if she wished. I gave her the option to return to Misthaven with our baby, where they would be safer, where she could see her parents.”

James is completely stunned as he stares at Killian without even blinking. “You did?”

“Aye. I told her we could fake their deaths and no one would know she went back home, but she refused. She didn’t want our baby to be without a father. She didn’t want to be without me.”

“Was it a test to see how loyal she was to you?”

Killian shakes his head. “No. I already knew she was loyal to me. I gave her the option because I would do anything to protect them. I would literally give my life for them, James. Who else have I ever said that about?”

His friend pouts teasingly. “What about me?”

Killian chuckles and playfully shoves him in the shoulder, wagging his finger at him. “Now there’s the James I know.”

They grab their gear and head back to their horses. James suddenly stops in his tracks and turns around, something in the distance attracting his attention. “Did you hear that?”

Killian stops and looks at his Grand Vizier. “Hear what?”

James looks around but sees nothing, so they continue their trek. Whatever James had heard, he hears it again, but before he can figure out where the noise is coming from, James pulls out his arrow from the quiver and draws the bow, letting the arrow fly.

“James, what are you doing?” Killian asks, spinning around to see what James is aiming at. “Target practice is over.”

Before he gets the chance to see, James shouts a warning and lunges at the Sultan, pushing him away with a hard shove, sending them both to the ground.

Killian quickly lifts his head to see a man in the distance falling from a tree with James’ arrow in his chest. The Sultan sits up, dazed as he looks over. “James?” His eyes widen when he sees his best friend lying on the ground with an arrow buried in his shoulder, the steel tip angling in toward his heart. “James!” Fear grips him as he crawls over to James, not caring if his white caftan gets dirty. Killian is hunched over him, waiting for any sign of movement.

James slowly opens his eyes, and Killian sighs in deep relief, a smile taking over his face.

“I thought you were dead!”

James chuckles, then winces at the pain in his shoulder. “Please, it’s only a pesky little wound. Besides, unlike you, I would die to protect my best friend.”

Killian manages a laugh. There’s such a boyish innocence about James, as though he had no problem risking his life for Killian that he forgets his fear.

His soldiers bring James to the palace, along with the assassin who is not dead, only badly injured. Killian instructs the soldiers to expunge information from him to find out who tried to kill the Sultan. His first guess is his half brother, Declan, but he’s more concerned about James at the moment. He has him brought to the Sultan’s chamber to be examined by the physician who removes the arrow from his shoulder and bandages him up.

The Sultan’s earlier suspicions or feelings or whatever they were, resurface when he sees how torn up Emma is over James’ injury. When she found out James saved Killian's life, she was so proud of him she cried. Now she stays by his side full of worry for him, and Killian has to wonder if something is going on between them, but that’s impossible. He trusts Emma and she would never betray him, nor would his best friend.

It doesn’t take long before Killian's soldiers approach him outside of his chamber regarding the matters of the assassin.

“The assassin says he was hired by...” the soldier pauses; the fear evident in his eyes keeps him from continuing.

“By who?!” Killian demands, growing impatient.

The soldier hesitates and leans in to whisper in Killian’s ear, as though he is exchanging top secret information. “It was James, Your Majesty.”

Killian freezes.

It can’t be true. He has to be lying. There’s no way his best friend, his Grand Vizier, the man he trusts more than any man in this world would try to have him assassinated. Killian is angry, full of rage. Who shall he trust—the man who tried to kill him, or James? Or are his soldiers the ones who deceive him? His men have been jealous of James since he became Grande Vizier. Perhaps his soldiers are conspiring to get rid of James.

Killian returns to his chamber, trying his best to remain calm as he studies James carefully. Did he really try to have the Sultan killed? He would have had a good motive. If Killian dies, James will become Sultan. And if Emma gives birth to a son, all James would have to do is kill him. Maybe he is the one who put Faraji up to attacking her. But why would James encourage him to have a family in the first place? Why would he save Killian? It doesn’t make a lick of sense. Unless James was trying to throw him off so Killian would suspect nothing. He tried to kill the assassin so he wouldn’t get caught. Then perhaps James would try to kill the Sultan himself.

“Did you find out who hired the assassin?” Emma asks Killian, still at James’ bedside.

Killian nods as he glares at James.

“Who was it, My Sultan?” James asks, but he doesn’t look worried or scared for his life. Perhaps he thinks he’s safe from Killian, that Killian will forgive him.

“It was James.”

There’s dead silence in the room. Then comes the fear in James' eyes.

James looks over at Emma, his eyes pleading with her. Why is he looking to Emma for… help? He's not sure. “It wasn’t me. I swear, Emma, I had nothing to do with it.” He glances at Killian. “Your Majesty, I swear, it wasn’t me.”

Killian is at a loss of what action to take; his friend appears to be innocent but his soldiers have said otherwise. Perhaps he will give James a test to see if he confesses. Killian nods to his guards, giving them their orders. “Take him to the execution block.”

They rush to the side of the bed opposite Emma and grab James, pulling him out. He groans in pain from his wound.

“No, stop!!!!” Emma cries out in panic, her eyes full of tears as she scrambles around the bed to the other side.

Killian furrows his brows in confusion as he gazes at her, gently placing his arms on her shoulders. “He just tried to have me killed and you defend him?” he murmurs, his heart cracking at the thought of his beloved betraying him.

She looks at Killian, tears streaming down her cheeks. “James may have tried to kill you, but this man is not James!”

“What do you mean?” he demands, thoroughly confused. “Of course this man is James.”

Emma pulls away from the Sultan and approaches James, lifting her hand to his face as the guards are tying his hands behind his back. Killian has no idea what’s happening and is even more baffled when she pulls off his scar.

She turns around to face Killian again, swallowing thickly. “This is James’ twin brother…” she croaks. “This man is King David of Misthaven… my father.”

@courtorderedcake @willow154 @teamhook @onceuponaprincessworld @nikkiemms @followbatb @resident-of-storybrooke @hollyethecurious @snowbellewells @artistic-writer @ultraluckycatnd @kmomof4 @darkcolinodonorgasm @lovepurplepumpkins @kiwistreetswan @therooksshiningknight @deathbycaptainswan @tiganasummertree @superchocovian @emeraldwitches

#cs ff #captain swan #sultan killian #princess emma #the princess and her sultan #my fic

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the-dragons-knight · 4 years ago

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FFXIV Write 2020

Prompt #8 - The Path I Walk

Clamor - ‘a loud uproar, as from a crowd of people’

- Warning: Shadowbringers 5.2 Spoilers -

— — — — — — — — — — — — — — — —

“We’re going to be heroes! Real Warriors of Light!”

“There’s so much to see out there! And the rest of the world needs our help too! Not just the Crystarium and Lakeland.”

“Who better than to go than us? It’s what any good hero would do!”

Katsum could hardly believe her eyes. The sheer number of guardsmen gathered in front of the Crystarium was frightening enough as she worried something had happened, but to hear that they wished to leave their posts - their homes - to venture off on a journey across Norvrandt to become...Warriors of Light...her heart dropped to the floor. Her entire body froze as she listened to the clamor of their voices, their righteous and good hearts set on following a path into the unknown for the sake of others and of the glory of being a hero to people. She remembered she too once spoke of such things a long...long time ago. Her body shuddered involuntarily, the fur on her tail and ears standing on end, her hands clenched into fists.

She must have gone rigid as she felt a hand on her shoulder and Alphinaud’s voice rang in her ear, “Are you alright, Katsum…?” When she did not answer nor even look at him, she felt his grip on her shoulder tighten a little before he let go. She felt the eyes of the other Scions turn to her as well as the Exarch worried expression out of the corner of her eye, but she could not bring herself to tear her gaze away from them. From the souls who were willing walking towards a path that many of them would fall upon…

“It’s you!” A voice drew her attention, her gaze turning to the Rogeden guard known as Vonrad, “The Warrior of the Night!”

It was good to hear that her wish to not be known as the Warrior of “Darkness” had finally been noted, but she couldn’t even bring herself to smile as she stared back at them with a shocked expression. He and his friend, Theyler, seemed to pay it no mind as they stepped up to her.

“You understand don’t you?” Vonrad continued, “Someone’s got to protect this place once you’re gone. We just want to be ready for when that time comes.”

Theyler nods, “And not only here, but everywhere! Which is why we’ve got to get out there and lend a hand to those in need,” He gestured to her, “That’s what you did, isn’t it? Even it was just...little things at first, you helped people!”

Katsum was speechless, and her eyes widened. The two men in front of her began to fade in her minds eye and instead stood a little Miqo’te girl with blonde hair and bright, sparkling blue eyes.

“One day, I’m gonna go out and see the world! I’ll help people and get stronger, and I’ll tell everyone our stories of our island!” Katsum began to shake, her ears falling back as she drew in a shaking breath as she remembered what she once said, “And when I come home, I’ll tell you and Mommy all about my adventures!”

“Please…”

A drop of something warm rolled down her cheek, rolling down her face and falling to the ground, the sound of it seeming to ring in her cat-like ears. The crowd around her went silent, all eyes turning towards her.

“Do not follow this path I walk...”

She grimaced at how weak her voice sounded, but she was too distraught to care, looking into the shocked expression of Vonrad and Theyler and then to the others behind them as she felt the tears roll steadily down her face. She took a shaking breath, trying to gather herself and what she wished - no, had - to say.

“Your hearts are pure and good, wanting to help others and save the world, but please don’t leave your homes behind. Your families and loved ones...” A few of the faces in the crowd seemed to shift with a realization with this, and Katsum pushed further, “Who will protect them while you are gone? Saving the world is all well and good, but if you’ve no home to return to...there is no glory worth losing those you love for...”

Seeing them all stare at her in such bewilderment, she knew she had their attention. She had to make this count. With a shaking breath, Katsum took a few steps forward, lifting her voice to speak out to all of them, “When I was young...I-I wanted the same things you speak of now. To be an adventurer and to see the worlds that lie past the shores of my home island. I was just a young heiress then...a young girl wanting nothing more than to experience the things she’d only ever heard stories about...to be a hero like in all those legends and fairy tales… just like you all say now.”

Her eyes turned to the ground as she reached up and lifted her cornet off of her head, looking down at it sadly, “And then I was chosen...my dragon chose me to be my kingdom’s next ruler...to be the protector of my people, to be their hero...and I...I didn’t want it.”

Her grip on the crown tightened as her ears fell back on her head, “I was young and naive, and I had no business leading a kingdom and I knew that. I would run from my responsibilities, begging for a way out, for things to go back to the way that they were so I would not be saddled with the weight of a kingdom on my shoulders. And I was so focused on the world beyond and wanting to no longer be responsible for it...that I did not see the enemies hiding in the shadows...right in plain sight...”

She closed her eyes as a few more tears spilled over, “I prayed one night for it to all just end...and it did. My kingdom was attacked that night...and I was powerless to stop an invasion that wiped away all that I loved in a single night...Everything and everyone I had ever known was gone...and I alone ran and escaped on a small boat with the help of my parents...yet even them...I left behind...”

Tears streamed steadily as she turned the coronet and placed it back on her head, crowning herself with its weight once more, “I have walked this path everyday since to redeem my worth to myself, pledging my strength to those in need as I could not save my people before them.” She lifted her gaze again and looked around at the many faces staring back at her and pleaded, “This path is grim and dangerous. It is lonely and devastating as you watch those around you fall, and no matter how strong you are, you are powerless to stop it...and there is truly nothing more devastating than to return to your beloved home...and find it silent and destroyed.”

A few of the ones gathered looked at each other, some of their faces falling as their earlier excitement faded. She had gotten through to a few, though she knew that some would still take the risks, and so she wiped the tears from her eyes and tried to bring back her stoic expression, “I know...I know that I cannot stop anyone from following their hearts and I will not try to. I only ask that you consider what you leave behind before making up your mind...please...”

The crowd began to murmur amongst themselves, and even Theyler and Vonrad turned to look at each other thoughtfully. Katsum dropped her eyes again and turned to move back with the Scions again, feeling their worried gazes as she did. Her eyes met Alphianud’s when she stopped and he smiled sadly. It was nice to know that he remembered the stories she’d told him of her past in their days journeying through Dravania and the Mists.

He nodded to her encouragingly, smiling as best he could in his sadness, “You did well. Now it is up to them to decide their paths. But you did well.”

The kind words were true indeed, yet they did not ease her soul as much as she was sure he’d hoped. Still, a small smile broke through on her lips and she nodded, “For those we have lost...and those we can yet save.”

#katsum almor #ffxiv #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv writing #ffxivwrite2020 #final fantasy xiv oc #shadowbringers #shadowbringers spoilers #alphinaud leveilleur #crystal exarch #g’raha tia #scions of the seventh dawn #crystarium #warrior of light

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izzy-b-hands · 5 years ago

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Heaven Shall Not Shut Thee In Pt. 2

And here’s the second one! Took some details from the original version of the NATM scripts, which talk more abt what happened to Ahk to land him in a sarcophagus, and just sort of went from there in terms of working canon in here lol. This isn’t my happiest fic by far, but I’m glad to have written it.

A big ass warning for violence though. It is in this, and explicitly described. I’ll add a tw tag of violence, but if y’all need additional tags on it pls let me know!!

My love to all who read/like/reblog!

The halls of the museum are quiet when he wakes. The lights are on, exhibit spaces empty of their inhabitants, but it is silent as death.

When he finally finds them, they are all in the main hall, huddled near the front desk around Larry.

“Not yet. I promise, I will show him this. But not now. Let’s give him a heads up first, let him know there’s something he needs to read, and he can look at it on his own-” Larry is saying as he approaches.

“He will need comfort,” Teddy interrupts. “And company. It will be devastating to him, Lawrence. We cannot even begin to imagine the pain it will bring Ahkmenrah-”

“What will?” he asks, and they turn almost in unison.

“My boy,” Teddy says, and rushes through the crowd to hug him. It’s a bear hug, but a comforting one, even if he doesn’t know why he is deserving of it in the moment.

“Tell me,” he says gently, and Teddy lets him go with a sigh.

“Well,” Larry starts. “They’ll have to update the plaque. The informational one about you, in your exhibit. There’s been a discovery, apparently. Some of the other staff were talking about it and I found the journal article and...look, you don’t have to read it right away. Only when you’re ready.”

He moves quick as he can, and grabs the article from Larry’s hand before he can pull it away.

A article from a scientific/historical journal. ‘The Death of Ahkmenrah: A Mystery Solved.’

He skims it, then goes back to reread it, and lets Larry and Teddy help him to a chair at the desk as his legs weaken.

“The discovery of a new tablet, found amongst otherwise unremarkable sands, has solved an ages-old mystery. How did the young, and presumed healthy, Ahkmenrah die? Little information has ever been found to hint at it, even after excavation of his tomb.

Until now.

A confession, recently translated by several top translators in the field, from Ahkmenrah’s own brother, Kahmunrah, reveals the truth. It reads:

I have finally rid us of him, cleared my path to the throne, and still it is lost to me. 73 stab wounds to him, and still they will not give me the throne. He lays in ribbons, his blood stains the floor of his room, I have lain his weakness out for them, to see he was not fit to live nor to rule. And it was all for naught. Better I should have killed us both, and left them with no one to inherit it.”

He can read no further, can only hear the beating of his own heart thudding heavy in his ears. He can feel Teddy’s hand on his shoulder, but it barely registers. There is just the beating and the words in front of him.

“73 stab wounds”

“He lays in ribbons”

“Kahmunrah”

“He wouldn’t,” he says it so quietly he can barely hear himself. He shakes his head. “Why would he...”

“I’m so sorry,” Larry murmurs as he kneels down in front of him. He’d forgotten Larry was a father, or perhaps just not had that as the first thing he saw him as, until now. The concern in his eyes is paternal, caring. “He shouldn’t...no one should ever do that, to anyone. Hurt them like that. No throne could ever be worth the act of killing family.”

He hates how he knows he must look right now, bent in half sitting in the chair, with his head in his hands, the article dropped to the floor. He feels Teddy carefully remove the crown from his head so it won’t fall, and wants to thank him.

But all that comes are tears, wailing and weeping as everything his mind kept from him comes flooding back.

He’s in his room. Kahmunrah stands in front of him, wearing a malicious smile. He needs to leave, needs to get past his brother now, he knows that.

“If you simply say you wish the throne go to me first, they will allow it,” Kahmunrah says. “They would do anything for you, anything at all. If you aren’t ready to rule, I can hold the throne until you are. Don’t let them push you to it.”

He shakes his head. “They aren’t. And even if they were, I would not question them. They are our parents, best is to do as they instruct, and they have asked me to take the throne next. So I shall.”

As the last word leaves his mouth, the knife Kahmunrah holds, with its gilded hilt, goes into his chest.

At first, it doesn’t hurt. He can see the knife, but it isn’t until a moment later that the throbbing pain sets in, and he tries to run.

Kahmunrah yanks the knife from his body, and grabs him, pushes him back towards the wall as he attacks again, and again, and again. Silent except for the sounds of his exertion, even as he begs mentally for him to say something.

Say something to me, anything, but do not leave me to die in silence.

But he says nothing, and ceases his stabbing only when Ahkmenrah falls to the floor, his torso so ripped apart that there is nothing solid enough left to stab again.

As Kahmunrah leaves, Ahkmenrah finds himself staring at his hands, the remnants of his torso. The combined wounds are open enough he can see organs, in pieces, spilling out even as he tries to hold them in. He had no idea there was so much blood in the body, or that it could dry so quickly on his hands as the rest trickles out onto the floor.

He waits there, for someone, anyone. A guard, servant, his mother or his father.

But when he finally can fight it no longer, lets his eyes finally close and the breath leave him, there is no one.

He comes back to himself in Larry’s arms, clinging to him like a child. The wracking sobs have brought on nausea, and he’s grateful for the bucket (probably stolen from a janitorial cart) that Teddy holds near his mouth as he retches.

There are voices around him, Larry and Teddy and Sacagawea, then Attila and Octavious and Jed, all blending together, none of them loud enough to drown out the screaming in his head.

He sees it all from outside himself, as they walk him to the employee lounge, sit him on the couch, try to gently take off his sweat-soaked garb. He pushes them away; it’s too much like a funerary undressing and he can’t handle it.

He curls up on his side on the couch, and the voices fade until it’s just Sacagawea. She sings something he can’t understand, but it’s soothing.

“You’re okay,” she murmurs as he whimpers. “The past is gone, and you are safe in the present. Come back to the present with me. Tell me what you see around you now.”

The room comes back into focus, and he realizes he is laying on her, his head in her lap. She’s sitting upright, apparently comfortable as anything, humming and running her hand gently through his curls. His mother used to do the same, when he’d run to her after a nightmare, and he wishes he had the words to thank Sacagawea for doing it now.

“What do you see?” she prods, softly.

“The TV,” he croaks.

“Good, what else?”

He lifts his head just a bit to peer around. “The lockers. The table...my other clothes.”

Someone must have grabbed them from Larry’s locker, and he realizes it means they must have been trying to get him into them, to make him feel safer, more comfortable. The sweat from his panic and fear has dried now, leaving him cold.

“Do you want to change into them?”

He nods, and sits up so she can stand.

“Let me fetch Teddy. We’ll help you, okay? Don’t stand up until I have him here.”

They’re back a moment later, and he’s grateful for the help. His legs are still weak, his whole body hurting from how tense he was, still is. He doesn’t know when he’ll feel relaxed again, but their hands helping him into the warm sweatshirt and sweatpants helps. He needs to thank Larry again for bringing the clothes for him.

“You don’t have to go back out again,” Teddy says. “Unless you feel ready to do it.”

He thinks. Part of him wants to go back to this exhibit, to hide there and wallow in the feelings.

But one night of wallowing will not send all the mass of confused emotions away. It will take time, and work, and he knows it. He has an eternity, so long as the tablet works, to do that work. To try and heal.

The part of him that wants to go back out wins; the fourth king of the fourth king may have fallen, yes, but he rises again.

They all treat him carefully, Sacagawea and Teddy and Larry staying close to him as he settles at the same chair behind the desk. He’s content just to be out with everyone, to watch them run about and mingle and have fun. He isn’t feeling anywhere back to normal or better, but simply being out there is a victory, as he thinks on it.

Kahmunrah is dead. Ahkmenrah rises again each night.

Kahmunrah will face punishment for his actions in the afterlife. Ahkmenrah is surrounded by new family, friends, who care enough for him to pick up the pieces and help him through the aftermath of a night like this.

Kahmunrah only survived, was willing to kill to do so, and still was deeply unhappy.

Ahkmenrah thrives in love and happiness. And that, he thinks is the greatest victory he can achieve over his brother’s actions. To live each night, and do what his brother tried so hard to prevent him doing.

Thrive.

#text post #LeeH writes #ahkmenrah fic #NATM fic #tw violence

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echoes-of-the-clockwork · 5 years ago

Text

Book Two: Famine (Prompto x Reader) Chapter Fourteen

It felt like hours had passed by the time all the daemons were slain. Everyone was breathing heavily as they regained their bearings and rested for a short while. Prompt dispelled his handgun and decided to give the unconscious (Y/n) a piggyback ride-making it easier for him to carry her. "I need a nap..." He sighed as he adjusted the girl on his back and cupped the back of her knees to keep her from falling off. Her arms hang limp around his neck, swaying back and forth with every step he took.

"We've all extended past our limits," Ignis huffed.

"All except for one of us," Gladio sighed, glancing at War.

"I just so happen to keep watch over the most dangerous monsters in all of existence. High stamina is a requirement for the job," the redhead responded while glancing towards her sister. "But the Horsemen still have their limits regardless of our immortality. Our special abilities take tolls on our bodies. Famine used hers to save all your asses. You should thank her when she awakens."

"Hold on a sec-" War vanished before the shield could finish his sentence. He stared at the spot where she once stood with an irritated expression. "Can't stay still for a damn minute..."

"We've gotta find Noct. Maybe he's found the Crystal by now," Prompto stated.

"Yes, let's," Ignis said.

Upon exiting the central elevator, the group followed a metal catwalk to the Crystal. When they saw no sign of Noctis, they were confused and frightened. Seeing the chancellor made the feeling all the more terrifying.

Ardyn turns to them, gestures nonchalantly at the Crystal and begins to walk away. Gladio swings his sword through the man's head, releasing a puff of dark smoke from where the blade strikes. Ardyn falls back a little, but maintains his balance and holds onto his hat to keep it from falling off his head.

The imperial chancellor gazed at Prompto, noticing the unconscious Horseman on his back. He coolly saunters over, but the blonde boy reacts quickly. He places (Y/n) down and stands in front of her protectively with his pistol drawn. He shoots Ardyn before he can take more than a couple of steps, releasing another puff of dark smoke and hurling his body onto the floor. The velvet-haired man's hat rolls away and lays still for several seconds before his hand suddenly reaches down to collect it and place it back on his head.

Once more unharmed, Ardyn is again standing. He bows with a smirk in Prompto and (Y/n)'s direction but then turns to Ignis. He smiles at the tactician, revealing corrupted daemonic features as he does so, but they go unnoticed by the advisor as his eyesight was no more. Ardyn walks away, leaving the four boys unharmed but devastated.

<------------<<<<<<<<<<<

A few days have passed since Noctis was absorbed into the Crystal. Gladio and Ignis went their separate ways in order to provide aid. With the nights lasting longer and sunlight was becoming scarce, the people around Lucis would need all the help they could get.

Prompto and (Y/n) currently sat at a booth in Takka's Pit Stop located in Hammerhead. The two had taken up many hunts since Noctis' disappearance to not only earn the necessary gil in order to survive but to clear their heads.

During their hunts, Famine would search for any signs of the Gashadokuro. Unfortunately, she couldn't even find a slither of anything that could help her locate the target.

"(Y/n)?" He calls out softly to her. "Are you okay? You're kinda spacing out."

She blinked a few times and didn't realize she had been staring down at the table. "Sorry, Prom. Just lost in thought, I guess."

"It's about that monster, isn't it?"

Famine nodded with a soft sigh. "I can't believe I let it escape. The thing isn't exactly small. You'd think we'd find it by now or hear a report about it, but nothing. It's almost as if it were a part of my imagination."

Prompto reaches across the table and takes her hands in his, stroking his thumbs across her knuckles. "It's only been a few days, (Y/n). We'll find it."

"Guess I'm becoming impatient," she exhaled, staring at their linked hands. She leaned forward in her seat, her (e/c) eyes traveling up to his own lapis ones. "Enough about me. How're you holding up? You've been kinda quiet since we escaped Gralea."

"I just really miss Noct. He's my best friend. I really hope he comes back soon."

"I hope so, too, sweetheart. It's heartbreaking to see you like this." She gave his hands a gentle squeeze.

"I'm just glad you're here with me. When we left the Crown City to take Noct to Altissia for the wedding, I never thought I'd fall in love let alone meet someone who likes my stupid jokes."

"Eighty years ago, when I first became a Horseman, I thought it was the worst thing in all of existence. Not only had I been resurrected and forced to become immortal, I thought I had lost all of my humanity." She smiled and entwined their fingers together like ribbons. "I was wrong. I mean, it took quite a while, but I'm glad to be wrong."

Prompto smiled jubilantly at her words and brought their entwined hands up, placing a kiss on the back of each of her hands. "I love you, (Y/n). I know I say that a lot, but I still feel like it's not enough."

The girl giggled with a glistening smile. "You have said it a lot, but I never get tired of hearing it. I love you, too, Prompto. I never received love from my parents. Now, I actually get to experience it. It's... warm, gentle, and slightly intoxicating. I never knew it felt so amazing."

Prompto went to respond, but the sound of the bell hanging over the entrance to the diner caught both their attentions. Glancing toward the door, they saw Pestilence alongside Ignis.

"What brings you here, sis?" Famine inquired as the two made their way over to their table.

"I was hoping you two would be able to help us. There's an herb I need to obtain and it only grows atop the Rock of Ravatogh. It's the last ingredient I need to complete the elixir," Pestilence replied.

"Wanna go, Prompto?" The blonde Horseman glanced towards the love of her life.

"You betcha! We could use a change of scenery after all the hunts in Leide." The blonde boy got to his feet and tugged (Y/n) out of the diner alongside Ignis and Pestilence.

They walked around the building and a little ways from Hammerhead in order to avoid prying eyes. The Horsemen summoned their steeds-Limos and Erra-and hopped on. Pestilence helped Ignis onto her horse while Famine did the same for Prompto.

"This'll be quite a long ride," the snowy-haired girl stated. "But we should arrive before nightfall."

The two horses took off and the ride to the Rock of Ravatogh commenced.

Along the way, Prompto and Ignis chatted about what they had been doing since arriving back in Lucis. According to the advisor, Pestilence had been accompanying him on his missions around the Duscae and Cleigne regions.

"This elixir you're making, what does it all do?" Prompto curiously questioned.

"Well," the lilac-eyed girl started. "It's an ancient curative known for curing blindness. I've actually decided to combine it with another elixir to make sure it's potent and will also heal the scars. It's been a difficult road, but I will finally have the final ingredient once we get this flower."

"That is so like you," Famine giggled. "Always combining recipes you know will already work on their own."

"What can I say? If it isn't broken, don't fix this. In this case, if it isn't broken, make it stronger."

<----------<<<<<<<<<<

"We're here," Pestilence announces as they reached the base of the volcano.

"The familiar scent of brimstone," Ignis said as he dismounted Erra.

"You've been here before?" (Y/n) questions, eyes bouncing between the advisor and Prompto.

"We went all the way to the top." The blonde boy hopped off Limos with a huff. "There's a royal tomb here. We kinda had no choice."

"Guess this'll be your second trek to the top of the volcano, then," the white-haired girl grinned. "Because the flower is located at the peak."

Prompto remembered their first trip up the Rock of Ravatogh. It was treacherous and by the next morning, his entire body was sore. "Ugh..." His shoulders slumped forward as he followed the Horsemen and Ignis up the path.

They had encountered very few monsters on the way up. When the path began to slope, Famine and Prompto were surprised how easy Ignis was able to maneuver up the path without the need for a cane or a helping hand.

Once on level ground, Prompto expressed his surprise. "Wow, Iggy. I can't believe you're blind."

"Did you, uh..." (Y/n) glanced toward her sister. "Have some help conquering your blindness these past few days?"

"To a certain extent-yes," Ignis responded. "Pestilence has provided me with guidance."

"Just a little bit," the white-haired Horseman said.

"Nonsense," Ignis rebuttals. "You've aided me immensely, Pestilence."

"Glad to hear it," Prompto smiled.

At the peak, the two reached Owlyss Haven. They glanced down at the large nesting sight below, wondering where the Zu had flown off during the approaching darkness.

"It should be around here somewhere..." Pestilence murmured, scanning the large area below. Her eyes narrowed, looking for any hint of bright red against the gray backdrop. When her eyes landed on something in the far corner, she gasped. "Over there!"

"Let's go get that flower," (Y/n) said.

The four descended down the narrow side-path, treading carefully across the jagged stone beneath their feet. They dropped into the Zu's nest and noticed the eggs still had yet to hatch. "I don't know if I should be happy those are still here or not..." Prompto confesses.

"There's already one too many Zus. We don't need four more flying around," Famine responded.

Pestilence ran over to the flower once they jumped out of the enormous nest. She sat on her knees beside the beautiful plant and gently picked it. "All I need to do is crush the spores with the other ingredients and voila!" She careful placed the flower in her pocket and went to rejoin the others, only to be stopped by a low, haunting roar. Turning on her heels slowly, her lilac eyes widened at the sight of the creature that suddenly manifested behind her. "The Gashadokuro..."

"There you are, you ugly bastard!" She heard (Y/n) snarl. From where she stood, Pestilence saw her sister attacking the large monster with the Sword of Judgement. She managed to get a few powerful strikes in before it smacked her and her body sailed through the air.

The blonde Horseman growled as she pushed her body off the ground and charged at the Gashadokuro. Combining lightning with fire, she plunged her blade into the monster's leg and shattered it.

The monster's jaw unhinged and released a deafening howl of pain before dragging its body across the ground and away from the angered girl. (Y/n) gripped her sword tightly, blazing eyes burning a hole into the creature's torso. "What's the matter? Can't walk anymore? Aw, what a shame." When she saw the familiar signs of the creature disappearing, she gasped. "No!"

She tried to drive her blade into the Gashadokuro to keep it from vanishing, but she was too late. Her blade slipped from her hand, dissipating before it clanked against the stone. She sunk to her knees, eyes void of emotion. She stared at the spot where the monster once was with a lifeless expression. Hanging her head, she screamed internally at her failure.

Prompto cautiously approached the girl and kneeled beside her. He reached out and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Hey, (Y/n), it's okay. Don't get hung up on this thing."

Famine lifted her head and looked at him. "It's my target, Prompto. If I don't kill it soon, innocent people will die! I-I can't let that happen!"

Pestilence walks over to her sister and sits on her knees in front of her. "Prompto's right, (Y/n). The Gashadokuro has erratic and unpredictable behavior. It's your job to kill it, but don't linger on the negatives. Focus on what you have accomplished in your previous battle with the creature."

"Yeah!" Prompto cheered. "You did wound it pretty bad in the Keep. I know you'll get it next time."

(Y/n) felt relaxed at his reassurance. She released all her tension with a sigh and smiled at the sharpshooter. "Thank you, Prompto." Then, she directed the smile toward her sister. "You, too, Pestilence."

"Can't have my goddess feeling down," he smirked giddily. "If she's bummed, I am, too!"

Pestilence smiled at the exchange and stood up. "Let's head to Lestallum. It's becoming dark and the daemons will be coming out to play."

"It would be wise," Ignis spoke up.

Prompto took (Y/n)'s hand and hoisted her up onto her feet. "At least going down will be easier than climbing up."

Famine nodded in agreement. "Definitely."

<----------<<<<<<<<<<<

In the safety of Lestallum, Pestilence immediately got to work creating the elixir to heal Ignis' scars and return his eyesight. Prompto and (Y/n) wandered around the town, noticing how they were preparing for the longer nights. They found themselves by the bridge leading to the power plant, staring at the beautiful shards that remained of the Meteor.

The golden-haired girl leaned against the railing and peered down. "It's so amazing how much this world has changed in a hundred years. In a good way, I mean. It's become more beautiful, too."

"I think that's only because of you," Prompto flirts.

"Oh, please," she scoffed. "One person cannot make a world more beautiful."

"They definitely can!" He protests. "You did it the second you came here! I've got proof!" He held out his camera and turned it on, flipping through the various of photos he had taken on his journey.

"I swear," she beams. "I don't deserve you. How did I get so lucky?"

"I ask myself the same question every day." He placed the camera down on a wooden crate beside him and took (Y/n)'s hand, spinning her around so she was now facing him. He didn't waste any time and pulled her into a passionate, deep kiss.

(Y/n)'s hands gravitated toward his face while Prompto's moved to wind around her waist in order to pull her closer until there was no space left between them.

As the kiss continued, the couple was glad to know they were in one of the quieter spots in Lestallum and no one disturbed them. Their bodies were also hidden by wooden crates, which made their privacy better and the possibility of people interrupting their blissful moment highly unlikely.

Unfortunately, they didn't take in the thought of one of the other Horseman interrupting them. Pestilence had found them and giggled, causing the couple to stiffen in each other's embrace. She teased them a little before telling them the good news. "Ignis' sight will return in a few days."

#final fantasy xv #final fantasy xv x reader #ffxv #prompto x reader #prompto argentum

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saintaugustinerp · 6 years ago

Photo

Congratulations Suki! You have been accepted for the role of The Pallbearer with the faceclaim Anya Taylor Joy. Please be sure to check out the accepted applicants checklist! Also be sure send us a link to your blog within the next twenty-four hours. Welcome to St. Augustine!

OUT OF CHARACTER Name/alias: Suki Age (18+) : 20 Gender/Preferred pronouns: she/her Timezone: gmt +1 IN CHARACTER Desired Skeleton: The Pallbearer

Character Name: Alix Deschamps Age (18+): 20 Gender/Pronouns: cis female, she/her Hometown: Basel, Suisse Major: Double majoring in Performance and Literature

Desired Faceclaim: Anya Taylor Joy

Character blurb:

On principle, Alix will not detain your attention; lest a peal of space breaks through the crowd like a clap of thunder - and there she shall stand, the nervous twitchy gaze of an outsider thrust into the company of those who know them by proxy , and not out of genuine interest. Lithe limbs of a dancer trapped in the shell of an academic; a Burberry winter coat, its traditional plaid lining visible when she turns her head. The impossible blond of her hair will be slicked to a peak at her crown, adorned with a velvet ribbon. She’s fiddling with the buttons of her coat, willing the coat she chose (forsaking heat for fashion) to ensnare a semblance of heat, to warm her bones. Alix weaves between mingling bodies, a beloved leather bag being unzipped to allow a sleek leather clad hand to reach inside. No longer inhabiting the nervous expression of seconds before, her countenance is marked with an look of ambiguity; one could describe it as curious, while another would glimpse the submission to glee. You will count her as afflicted by both - now pulled off to the side to fiddle within her bag, she has become a mark for all eyes. Allowed free reign to observe her now, your gaze seeks her own. Her eyes are rich gifts of nature - conveying more force, both of feeling and character, than most are allotted. The blooming semblance of beauty that arrests her features were predicated solely on the emergence of strength, accomplished grace. Your eye shall be transfixed upon her, if only to undo her perplexing contradictions; a ghostly figure, who through her gaze, is transformed into a figure of great interest. When her eye meets yours at last - with a sharp pull her bag has zipped shut, and the sought after lip balm is retrieved - it will not convey the warmth of her honeyed locks or the blushed apples of her cheeks. Violence is so casually thrown from eyes, which are normally described as being in good company with those of a doe.

Developed Head Canons:

Family [¼] : Her mother, Maura Wells, found love in the romantic Basel, which shuns the rich of Geneva, whilst welcoming fully the charm of Switzerland. Alix’s identity has been a harmony, a productive European medley - french at home, with summers away in England, to refine a crisp accent to humor that of her two cousins. Perfection cannot exist, and a year ago, Alix would have happily waxed on the topic of her family’s issues. Yet through the veil of grief, cloaking every aspect of her life now, her childhood presents itself as a cross-section of light and ease. She sought the approval of her parents through dance and literature, as if to perfectly compliment her cousin. As children, puppets to purport their parents greatness, Fredrick would play to accompany her movements; through youth and adolescence, this memory would serve as a point of contention and embarrassment. It would become a symbol of all that was lost in the wake of his death. Fredrick’s ordeal - a long, winding road to the eventual discovery of his body - splintered the family. The Wells (and Deschamps) corralled their love into a beacon of love and support, fulfilling speedily the expectation of a grieving family. But each member was torn clean in two, the tragedy of his death wreaking havoc on them all; through Alix, it took the form of rebirth, and reinvention. Her decision to transfer was neither derided nor questioned - merely accepted, as a natural progression. There is no spoken word, no written rite, which instructs or consents; but with each step Alix takes towards revenge, she does so with the strength of her family, jaded through grief to reject moral-ism, in order to receive the justice denied by the elites they had thought their own.

Music [2/4] : Feelings of the heart could not be translated, speaking through a language of their own; one Alix had never known to exist before. Only through chorus, of triumphant melody, could she make sense of the sensations which sought dominion over her spirit. But before music served as savior, it had been loyal friend and companion - from early snatches of memory (half-real, half realized through elaboration) singing with her family around a piano, the clan galvanized by Freddie’s harmonic talent. And as little feet were slid into hugs of silk, and taught to balance the world on the tips of her toes, music was a master to be bent to; she surrendered to its call, pushing, pulling, contorting to serve its wishes. Alix finds no greater call to nostalgia then through music - how many vinyls has she hidden away, or songs deleted from a library, to avoid confrontation with the malignant beast of grief? Freddie’s ghost haunts her through every avenue, but finds no greater power then through the Lord of Song. Before his death devastated music, it healed the ache of teenage pains of the heart - infatuations, sticky romances in the backs of cars, real love that played out to a painful climax. When doubt over her actions begin to creep in (for as much as she desires unflinching revenge, decisive actions stir feelings of guilt in her breast, crying for her to consider what Freddie would have preached) nothing galvanizing her vengeful spirit into action then a barrage of songs, that stir her love for her cousin, and inflict the perfect medley of pain and anger - for both, are required for a quest of vengeance.

Freddie [¾]: Impossibly good - how often she would use this phrase to denote Freddie’s being to passerbys, who lingered to offer condolences whilst being aware they could not partake in the aching grief of those who shared his blood, or held his heart. Even as children, where lawlessness and inexperience often breeds the worst in most, Freddie strove to being kind to all those around him. Alix, shrouded in shyness, doted on him in response to the sweetness he bestowed upon her. As awkward teens, he would rope her into sly activities that she otherwise would not have been privy to. She revered him, no matter how much she desired to hate him; though Alix is characterized often as his perfect counterpart, she lacked his charm and effervescence. Nice was her only descriptor, while it was one of many Freddie’s known attributes. They kept in loose contact when university began, but neither had the time nor desire to maintain the closeness of their teen years; family would always bind them, should they desire a stronger connection once more. This commitment to casual contact serves as a point of guilt for Alix now; if only she had been the one to put forth effort. His disappearance shattered her shy world, leaving her in limbo ‘til the discovery of his corpse threw her downwards; a fiery return to Earth. She would rather have his return, and forfeit the formidable character she has become. But barring at act of benevolence from God, Alix commits herself to vindication, in the name of the cousin she so ardently adored and loved. Her grief, becomes sacred.

Personality [4/4]: Alix’s character before her cousins death is a blur, even in her own mind - she mourns the death of a girl, who at the least, bore no ill-will towards those around her and easily gave way to apologies to avoid conflict. Shy, though in the face of those she fancied, flirtatious; loving to her family, and those who entered her secluded world. Hard-working, bright, gifted - three traits shared with her dear Freddie. Much of this girl remains in the wake of tragedy, but hardened traits that have no desire to be amiable or attractive, have taken root. Cunning and manipulative - Alix learns to mold herself to fit whatever designs are placed upon her, to better suit her own aims. Her intelligence is bent to undermine those around her, and lay plans of devious nature. Alix speaks freely now, undeterred by social norms and practices; she is neither rude nor abrasive, but no longer allows convention rule over her life. In homage to Freddie, she seeks to be good - protector of the weak and picked on, allied with those who refuse to bow to any King. Curious and invigorated - Alix has never had such motivation in her life, and awakes each morning invigorated. Romantic - she could never abandon her love of romance, nor any other type of connection with another soul; relationships are superfluous to revenge, yet she cannot deny the attraction that has begun to bloom.

Writing Sample:

She thought she had loved him when he had disappeared; she loved him now in another degree - he was far more her own. Alix’s head lulled to the side of her pillow, blinking slowly to bring a room in darkness to life. She shunned sleep to deny his ghost dominion over her dreams; his visits, which she had once relished, became indescribable torture. The sky hangs full and dark - clouds casting themselves into strange forms, arches and broad radiations. From her position in her bed, swath in silken sheets and mounds of blankets, she beseech the wind to shift to the west. How it shrieked out loud, a dastardly scream into the night sky, abandoned by star and moon alike. Her lithe fingers caressed the soft velvet of her pillow case, in hazy dream picturing it to be the softness of his hand. The hour fell between that of joy and pain - the witching hour, feared and pronounced by all, a token of benevolence from dark powers. With shallow breaths, filling her darkened bedroom with wheezy noise, she awaited his appearance - eyes as wide as the moon, unnaturally widened in mobilizing anticipation.

It was his goodness, his silent, strong and effective goodness, that overpowered her - the assurance lifted her sleepless interest, breaking upon her like a light from heaven. His fond, tender look shook her indescribably. In the midst of all she was fixed across her bed, swath like a child in a crib - a messy halo adorned Alix’s head, the golden light of her hair matched by his heavenly figure. In dream he spoke to her - his voice modulated, so that it mixed harmoniously with silver whisper, the gush the musical sign, in which the light breeze intoned their whisper. “Where have you been, Alix? What is your mystery?” His figure would not stay; though his light reflected across succeeding clouds, bequeathing them cheer to illuminate a time in need of ray in retrospect.

“Why do you refuse to speak in plain words, Freddie? My brain is not adept for riddles when fully awake - in dream, I cannot match you. Please, speak to me - your kin.” Tears dampen the pillow her head has become married to, frozen in awe, and fear that direct engagement shall banish his figure at a faster rate. In such inadequate language her feelings struggled for expression; speech, brittle and un-malleable, dissolved or shriveled from effort. He watched her still, raising a hand to stroke her hair - it passed her lips in passing. Alix defied herself and grasped it clumsily, holding to close to pay tribute.

To offer him homage, was joy and duty - to bequeath them both peace in vengeance, was much the same.

#accepted #pallbearer #rp #roleplay #rpg

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blossom--of--snow · 6 years ago

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Maura and Mr. Gray, after the kids leave the nest. “So...what do we do now?”

Sorry it took so long, and I apologize profusely for any errors! S/o to @okaynextcrisis for taking a look!Happy early birthday to you, my darling friend!

Maura hadalways appreciated that Mr. Gray’s arms enveloped her in an embrace rather thana hold. Always available for comfort, not in constant need of it. As Maurawatched Blue drive the dream Camaro away from Fox Way, she had no problemaccepting help alleviating the pain. Every summer break ended too abruptly,since everyone avoided the subject of Blue’s return to school until the morningof, when the raven boys arrived to help Blue load her car down with textbooks,mismatched luggage, and coolers full of yogurt.

“Maura?” Mr. Gray’s breath ghostedover her ear, but Maura’s emotional distress and the Henrietta heat eradicatedany sex appeal.

Maura swiped angrily at her damp,pink cheeks. “I’m fine. Let’s go in before we become permanent fixtures on theasphalt.” She squeezed the last of her tears out when Mr. Gray kissed the crownof her head. This was only his first time seeing Blue off to college, his firsttime watching Maura melt down over a pesky few weeks between daughtersightings. Witnessing vulnerability did not scare Mr. Gray; neither did itscare Maura to show it. However, since Mr. Gray returned, Maura had beenpositively spoiled by happiness, and she wanted to be blissfully happy for aslong as she could be. While Mr. Gray made elation more easily accessible, makingMaura happy had been Blue’s joy for twenty years.

Like every summer, 300 Fox Way wasonly about ten degrees cooler than Henrietta. The unpredictability of the airconditioner remained its only consistency, and the quantity of fans depended onthe meager availability of outlets. Today, the heat was mitigated by theabsence of half the household. In anticipation of everyone’s emotional distress,the psychics took a day off, in a manner of speaking. Maura, Calla, and Jimiagreed that they would not give readings today, but, after spoiling Blue allsummer, they couldn’t afford a complete day of rest. After saying their goodbyesto Blue, Jimi ventured into town to run her errands, and Calla drove to work inthe sky blue Thunderbird that Ronan dreamt the family for Christmas. Orla had saidher goodbyes the previous Thursday, before embarking on a week-long beachsidevacation with a decidedly richer and more intelligent boy toy than her usualbrand.

It may have been colder in theSahara, but Maura and Mr. Gray had the luxury of an empty house.

“So? What do you want to do now?”Mr. Gray asked, leaning against the hallway doorframe.

Maura gulped half the water in herglass. Damn that man and his biceps, that perfectly parted hair that she lovedto muss under any circumstances. “I suppose crawling into bed and delving intoa deep depression is too dramatic.”

Mr. Gray shrugged. “Crawling intobed sounds fantastic,” he teased. “Mental health issues may put a damper on themood, but I can still take you there.”

Rolling her eyes, Maura drainedher glass and added it to the ever-growing pile of dirty dishes Orla neglected toclean before she left. She wouldn’t pass up the enticing possibilities an emptyhouse offered, but she would have to be cheered up first. Something about havingsex to keep from missing Blue seemed… grotesque, and Mr. Gray leftgrotesqueness behind when he became Brenin Thames.

Oddly, Blue chose his new name.Shortly after he arrived on Christmas morning, everyone crammed into thekitchen so Mr. Gray could present the family with five different identities,claiming in that nauseatingly sentimental way that if they were to be part ofhis new life, they should help shape its first step.

Calla chokedon her own bile.

After significantly roastingBarney Klempt, Asher Copperbottom, John Smith, and Thad Duke, Blue preferredBrenin Thames.

“It’s Welsh. For ‘king,’ I think,”Blue explained, legs dangling off the kitchen counter.

“And it doesn’t make you soundlike a pedophile, a closeted frat boy, a painfully obvious member of thewitness protection program, or a racist,” Calla sniggered from behind her thirdWhite Russian.

The Gray Man then turned to Maura,who toyed with her cards at the kitchen table and pretended not to devote herattention completely to her boyfriend. “What say you, noble blade?”

Thankfully, he knew better than to take her hand, to open Mauraup to any psychic revelations. The last time he asked her such an important question,he asked if he would come back, and neither of them wanted an answer. Mauraknew that he’d spent his whole life confronting the plausibility of death, orwishing for it, and that he thought it better to make her see that death didnot bother him than force her to confront the possibility of his death again.Brenin Thames would live the rest of his days with Maura Sargent, writing forthe Henrietta newspaper and even occasionally writing for pleasure.

Maura, completely unabashed,fearless, and mischievous, met his gaze. “Sounds fated to me.”

Now, eight months later, Brenin worethat exact expression. “I think I know exactly how to lift your spirits,” hesaid, uncrossing his gray sweatpants-covered ankles.

Maura sauntered over with thefurthest intention from compliance. “Cocky,” she snickered as she passed him.Despite her best efforts, she giggled when Brenin reached under the Kinks T-shirtshe’d stolen from him and skimmed his fingertips up her ribcage. “You dorealize this is only a temporary fix?” She squirmed away from him and towardthe stairs. “Try harder.” She had bounded up four steps before she heard Brenintrying to catch up. Unlike Maura, he always wore shoes. After a lifetime oflurking in dark corners, he could be as loud as he wanted in this house.

Maura cursed in compounds as she tripped over one of Orla’slaundry baskets at the top of the stairs, and squealed when Brenin seized herankle. Wrenching her leg free without breaking any bones in Brenin’s face, shemade a beeline for the nearest room with an open door, cackled after sheslammed the door in his face, and locked the door.

Brenin pounded in mock ferocity, and even though she knew hewould never break it down, Maura teased, “You break it, you buy it!”

“You said to try harder, darling.”

Before she could retort, Maura realized whose room she’dviolated. Despite almost four years’ worth of dust, no one could bring herselfto empty Persephone’s room. Jimi frequently struggled for the right turn ofphrase, but last month, she couldn’t find a better way to suggest that theyclean out the room and store Persephone’s bright beads and flowing skirts and wispyscarves and tarot cards.

It had onlytaken a few minutes for the five of them, Orla, Jimi, Calla, Blue, and Maura,to end up in a blubbering pile on Persephone’s bed.

Since her friends were out, and Maura had never liked cryingalone, she unlocked the door before collapsing on the bed that no longer held Persephone’sscent. At least the pillow was still as soft as Persephone’s voice.

Hugging the fluffy pillow to herchest, Maura leaned into Brenin’s side as soon as his thigh touched hers. “I’mnot usually this bad, sending Blue off to school,” she said.

Brenin tucked a few rogue strandsfrom Maura’s jostled ponytail behind the ear not resting against his shoulder.“You’re not bad, Maura. Just a littledown.” He gestured to the empty room; even with all of Persephone’s belongings,it was empty without her. “This makes it a harder.”

Maura sniffled and drew her legsinto his lap. “Don’t think for one minute that you don’t make everythingeasier,” she whispered. Maura considered herself an independent woman, and lovehad not taken that from her. It had only added a few components, fear for thelife of yet another person. For most of her life, she had been teetering on atightrope of bliss and devastation. She had long since quit counting on hergift to predict every tragedy—when she could avoid it, she preferred not toknow. But since her happiness usually correlated with her family, unexpecteddepartures always shook her. That question, lurking in the depths of her mind,after ever past tragedy and before all those unknown: Should I have seen it coming?

The threeyears before Brenin came home were hardly different, just more intense.

“You mean to tell me that youdidn’t appreciate my letters?” Brenin asked, running his hands up and downMaura’s thigh.

Maura tried to snicker, but withher runny nose, it came out as a watery snort. “Irregular postcards with linesof Old English poetry hardly count as letters.” When Brenin didn’t immediatelyrespond, Maura nuzzled his neck. “What is it?”

“You didn’t answer me when I askedif I would be back someday,” Brenin began.

Maura stiffened, hoping she’dmisunderstood his meaning. “It wasn’t fair of you to ask.”

Hugging her tighter, Breninfulfilled yet another of Maura’s hopes. “No, it wasn’t,” he admitted. “Even ifyou’d answered me, I’m not sure I would have known for sure.”

Again uncertain of his intent,Maura opted for teasing since her skepticism had failed her. “You don’t trustme?” she teased, lifting her head so that he could see her sparkling eyes.

Brenin cradled one of Maura’scheeks in his hand and smiled, but his eyes couldn’t quite manage to catch up.“I trust you with my future,” he said. “And I don’t mean that in the corny,punny way.” The smile finally reached his eyes when Maura laughed. “No, it’s apersonal failure. No one could have made me believe I’d see you again until Iset eyes on you myself. If I couldn’t do that, I needed you to know I wasthinking of you.”

To alleviate the weight in herchest, Maura kissed Brenin, weaving her fingers through the hair that wasfinally starting to match the rest of his wardrobe. By the time she straddledhis lap, they were breathing the same air, only pulling away for brief gulps ofhumid oxygen. Running her hands under his shirt, Maura traced Dean Allen’sscars and longed for the billionth time for Brenin to feel saved, even if shehad been too late for Dean. Brenin Thames, Mr. Gray, Dean Allen—they all madethe same man, no matter how much he wanted to distinguish between them, betweenevery new identity, every new life. Those identities simply contributed to theevolution of a man who desperately wanted to stop running for good.

“What was it that you were goingto do to cheer me up?” Maura asked. She panted with her sweet, wonderful manwho left everything he’s ever known (however unpleasant) to start a new lifewith her and her family.

Grinning wickedly, Brenin slid hisfingers underneath her shirt again and stroked her hipbones with his thumbs.“Go wait in the bedroom, and I’ll show you.”

Maura arched an eyebrow, butcomplied by backing toward the door. “How transparent,king of swords. I’m disappointed in you.”

“I always make it up to you.”

Maura hummed, running her fingersover Persephone’s untouched desk (housing, of course, her unfinished PhD) onher way to the door. Biting a swollen lip, she hesitated, remembering Brenin’s“personal failure.” When Persephone died, Calla and Maura were lost. Inaddition to the confusion of their own grief, their psychic connection had beensevered. It took years to align their abilities with Jimi’s, to replace a bondthat had come so naturally. If she could avoid it, Maura would rather notreplace another.

“I do hope you trust me now,” she said, leaning against thedoorframe. “Now that you’re safe, here with me. I may not always be right, andI may not always tell you what you want to hear, but I think you know I willnever tell you something I don’t truly believe.”

“I do,” Brenin said. “You make me see life…as somethingbetter, instead of expecting the worst.”

Maura hummed again, but this time, she slipped out of theroom, her former urgency restored. “Don’t make me start without you.” To hersurprise, Brenin did not immediately follow her, even when she began to leave atrail of clothes on the staircase.

Brenin obliterated any sensuous visionMaura had of what was coming to her when he burst into the bedroom wearing thelegendary tan bell-bottoms and orange disco shirt, complete with a poppedcollar and dipping neckline. Maura, who had stripped down to the thigh-skimmingT-shirt, gasped upon his entrance. “My God,” she giggled. She pushed off themattress and danced a slightly distorted version of the Macarena on her way tohim. “How do you make this hot?”

Brenin hoisted Maura into his arms,fastened her legs around his hips, and spun to face the wall adjacent to herbedroom door. He had only just started to smirk when Maura gripped the sides ofhis head and kissed him hard. Her sharp bite to his upper lip told him heshould stop smiling and put his tongue in her mouth. Always defiant, he nippedback and pulled away in the same half a breath. “What time is Jimi supposed tobe back?”

Maura flung the cracked door wideopen and let it bounce off the back wall.

“Don’t care. Got it.”

#cheese and rice i hope you like it #ask and you shall receive...eventually #blossom writes #the raven cycle

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imagines-for-elrios · 7 years ago

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Hi-- //bLUSHES - uhh, soo... eeh... i just want to request anything involving Bluhen and Herrscher.-- /// Like... comforting maybe? Lots of fluff, but Herrscher is a bit hard to finally "melt" and open up to Bluhen-- and stuff-? I think you can understand ;;; I want to draw them inspired by the text ♥ im not too creative-- but anything is good if its them ~

Itwas a beautiful summer night.

Bluhenhad decided to go out for a walk. He couldn’t sleep, and on warmnights like these, tossing and turning in his bed wasn’t going tohelp much. Maybe seeing the night sky and having the freedom to roamaround would clear his mind.

Assoon as he exited the house, a figure sitting in the distance caughthis eye. The person seemed to be sitting on the grass, near theforest. They didn’t seem to move. Long hair cascaded down their bodyand pooled around them on the ground, like a shadow emerging from theground and blossoming into a beautiful human being.

Ah,the wonders this world had to offer…

Bluhenquietly stepped closer, glancing up at the starry sky briefly. Herecognized the long hair, held up in a ponytail, the seeminglydangerous black crown giving him the fallen angel look he trulydeserved. He was alone, like always. His whole life seemed to havebeen consumed by two things; darkness and loneliness.

Andseeing him sitting there, on his own, on that warm summer night, onlyhighlighted how miserable he must’ve felt all those years.

“Herrscher…”Bluhen said quietly, approaching the figure and sitting next to him.Herrscher’s gaze didn’t leave the patch of grass in front of him, butthe way his breathing seemed to alter, even if it was only for asecond, was enough for Bluhen to know he acknowledged his presence.Something as simple as this was enough to make the angel smile.

Normally,Bluhen would do a lot of talking to try to get Herrscher to open upto him, but today wasn’t one of those days. He knew Herrscher waswhere he felt comfortable, and this time, Bluhen was the guest, notthe other way around. Tonight was different. He wouldn’t try to forcethe fallen angel to do anything. Without saying a word, he put an armaround him, resting his head on Herrscher’s shoulder. The fallenangel moved a bit but, unlike Bluhen was expecting, it wasn’t to pushhim away. Herrscher looked up at the sky and let out a sigh, andBluhen was able to catch a glimpse of his expression. His eyes werelonging as he looked up at the black mass spreading above them, thestars sparkling like tiny diamonds in the fallen angel’s eyes. Itmade him look like he was crying. Bluhen slowly turned his head andlooked at the grass again.

Hehadn’t seen him cry in years.

“Whydid you come…?” Herrscher’s voice caught the celestialoff-guard, and he turned his head back up to him. When he did so, hefound the other looking down at him. His face looked sunken andfallen, his eyes overcome with sadness. He still loved the Goddess.Bluhen knew it. But no matter how much he prayed to the goddess, shewouldn’t listen. She called him a lost cause. A good-for-nothing. ButBluhen knew Herrscher was way more than that. To him, the fallenangel was a diamond in the rough. All he needed was some love for thetrue him to come sparkling to the surface.

Foronce finding himself at a lack of words, Bluhen shrugged and lookedaway yet again. So many things he wanted to tell Herrscher, but nowwasn’t the time for any of them. He knew how much the otherappreciated the silence. And sometimes, the best way to get a messagethrough is without using words. He looked at the fallen angel’smissing arm parts and hesitantly reached for them, but changed hismind at the last second and rested it on his chest instead.

Ashe did so, tears started welling up in his eyes.

“Whyare you crying?” Herrscher asked, still watching the angel.Bluhen shook his head and sobbed, bringing his hand up to his eyesand wiping them dry. It hurt him. It hurt him to see Herrscherhurt like that. He cared about him. He held him oh so dear, but nomatter how he told him, he wouldn’t listen.

Somany things to say, but it was futile…

Herrscherwatched the sobbing boy for a bit longer, then turned his body andput his arms around Bluhen’s. The sobbing immediately stopped asBluhen opened his eyes wider. Although the fallen angel’s body wascold, his embrace was sincere and comforting. It was the opposite ofwhat he would’ve expected.

Findinghimself in this situation, all Bluhen could do was hold onto the boyand cry, letting all the bottled up worries, sorrow and pain out inthe shape of tears that would soon dry up and disappear.

Butnobody can stay strong forever. As Bluhen cried, Herrscher hung hishead and quietly rested it on top of the angel’s. How hadn’t herealized this earlier…? All those attempts he had made to talk tohim, in vain… He wasn’t only hurting himself. He was hurting thosewho had tried to help him, too. Tears grew in the fallen angel’s eyesand he held Bluhen closer, trying to stay stronger for just a bitlonger, but finding he wasn’t strong enough anymore. Not after seeinghow devastated the one person who still seemed to care about him was.

“I’msorry…” He whispered, choking back a sob before breaking outinto tears. Bluhen shook his head and held onto him, not wanting himto ever let go again. He wanted to tell him that it was all going tobe okay, but gotten to this point, even he was uncertain. So he justheld onto the boy for dear life and enjoyed the attention he had beenbegging for for so long. He was glad. Glad that Herrscher couldstill feel. He hadn’t lost the battle to Henir completely yet. Therewas still hope.

“P-Please…”Bluhen sobbed and, although it was just a simple word, both of themunderstood the various implications. It wasn’t too late yet. Bluhen’scries for attention would no longer be ignored. He could become abetter individual again. Gain Ishmael’s approval. Bluhen knew hecould. Despite the fact that Herrscher’s hope was long gone, Bluhenwas still there for him, believing.

‘Iknow you can do it, Herrscher!’

‘Justtake my hand!’

‘Let’sgo outside together, Apos!’

'I’llalways be here for you!’

Thefallen angel only cried harder at all the memories overcoming him.All the times he had blocked him out, they came back to him like atrain at full-speed. It hurt. It hurt so much. He held Bluhenclose to his chest, wanting the angel to get the comfort and love hehad deserved all along and that was long overdue.

“Pleasehelp me, Bluhen…”

Bluhennodded and held onto Herrscher’s clothes, still sobbing as he buriedhis face in his chest.

Finally…

“I’lldo anything for you…”

(Aaaa- It’s such an honor to get an ask from you, Endflow! All of the mods on this blog are honored! I hope you like the text I wrote and that it helps with your drawing! Thank you so much! OwO

-Mod Lusa)

#imagines-for-elrios #mod lusa #answered ask #ain #bluhen #herrscher #elword #elsword imagines #imagines

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