#there’s no ‘being of light’ he can use to unconsciously defend from true darkness

[autumn-may]

“You and I, we stand by the light only to cast shadows and beget darkness; you with Eraqus, me with my sister. And when that light disappears, we lose our purpose and are swallowed by the void”

[galercin]

Igne Natura Renovatur Integra. Through fire, nature is reborn whole. 

It was engraved in the stone of the archway leading to her demise. She thought nothing of it as she pressed through in her search. The words rang true now as she had awoken once more. If it were not for the cold stone against her back and dim candle, she might have thought it was a nightmare. 

Her memories were vivid even after however long she had been unconscious. A purple haze surrounding her former lover, pain laced through his wicked expression, voice raising, pulse quickening, throat tightening, then complete darkness.

Her mind and actions had not belonged to her. Ash clogged her throat, an uncomfortable heat cloaking her on all sides and it was as if her mind was a blank state, a puppet led by strings. She was there, but not there, watching her own fire-stoked hands move, watching the horrified faces of the army, screaming, shouting, grunting, none of it phased her anymore. It continued until she saw nothing but darkness again.

Somehow it had become her comfort in this new walk of life. The shadows hid everything she did not want to see, including herself. It was no way to live and so taking nothing with her, she fled. Whatever boat there was to set sail at after dusk she had patiently waited each night for a chance to escape without being seen.

Her steps were quiet as she slipped away and onto foreign soil. Moonlight was her only guide, though tonight, that would be of no help to her. A torrential storm urged her to seek shelter and as luck would have it, a small valley of light, some sign of civilization, had presented itself to her only a horse trot away.

“Woah look what the cat dragged in, or maybe the goddess has sent a spy from the heavens ha!” She does not startle, nor does she return the laugh. “Did you miss a turn to the Blue Lions, or the church maybe?”

Wordlessly, Rinea shakes her head not meeting the man’s intense stare. She could feel his eyes on her, sizing her up. 

“Oh, no? Then, are you sure you're cut out for this?” His voice trails closer, bordering a taunt.

“...No, but if you would allow me to seek refuge then I—”

“Ah… Spare me the pleasantries. Lots of people come here to hide.” He leans his weight on his forearm resting against the wall of the narrow hall, blocking any further entrance. “So, tell me about yourself, doll, where are you from, what makes you tick... and spare no details, ‘cept for the boring ones. Anything said here, is safe with me.”

She blinks, head snapping up to look at him, surprised at the fact he's giving her a chance or at his informal blunt, if crude, manner she does not know. 

"Well... alright. I hail from a country by the name of Rigel. In truth, I fear I can no longer reside,” among the living, “where I used to tread. I suppose you could say my presence is no longer welcome there."

"Why? You do somethin’ that made them mad? Are you actually a sinner underneath all that?"

“I…” She frowns, half-lidded eyes searching for an answer among the grooves of the ground. Fingers grip the fabric of her opposite sleeve. She had never been particularly liked in court, Berkut was gone, and worst of all, she had this… tingling in her senses. As if some part of that accursed spell lingered in her still. She had never liked the dark, but it was the only safety she could find there.

“Hah... I'm not gonna press you for those details but…” A pause. He sizes her up again, with a skeptical brow this time. “You know how to fight? Won't last long around here if you don't.”

“Um... I'm not particularly skilled, but I wish to learn. I've always stepped away from the battlefield, averting my gaze from bloodshed but... I realize that that is no longer possible. If nothing else, I wish to defend myself should I encounter my life in danger again.”

"Mhm... interesting... not good at fighting, then what do you excel in, aside from a pretty face?"

“Err... I…” If she said she danced she feared he would not be as kind as Berkut once was, willing to listen with soft eyes, as she saw him before. As she wished to remember him. “I don't know... honestly. But what I lack I can surely make up for.  I am willing to put forth whatever sacrifices I need to.” 

Sacrifice, a strange word that was. As part of worship, to show one’s faithfulness, they must relinquish a part of themselves. She had died that night, offered to a god she doesn’t believe in for a cause she had never asked to be a part of, stolen away, but now she must take it back. Find what it means to live. 

“Tenacious, are you? Well, you sound like you’re on some… journey I don’t quite understand. Always look ahead, never back and all that. But, if you are serious, what does this new role look like, where do you fit in, what do you want?”

“A peaceful world would be wishful thinking and far too easy of an answer, yes?” She might have smiled for a moment at her own jest. It fades like the torch beginning to flicker out above them. If only she could have talked Berkut down, showed him a reason that not all was war, not everything is worth his pride. She could allow herself to mourn and pray later, hoping that despite everything, he was at least at peace among the stars.

“You don’t often get second chances,” she begins. Rigel found no comfort in relying on luck and fate, forging its own path through merit alone. Though she couldn’t help but wonder if she was an outlier, she had always wondered this, and handed her privileges on a silver spoon. She was not naive or ignorant enough to deny this fact. “Where I come from, people are starving, suffering from a drought and infertile lands. Selfish of me to think, to have the luxury of never returning, but perhaps if I could change my fate from the beginning, perhaps I could be more, do more, than a noble’s daughter and a… former consort.” 

“One more thing, I never got your name.”

“Rinea.” No title, no sway, no value, just Rinea.

“Well then Rinea, welcome to the Wolves. I think you'll need this." He hands over a sheathed sword. To someone who had more experience than she, it was one of iron, durable and basic, but to her, it felt heavy in her hands. A responsibility, an oath, she had vowed herself to. 

“How can I—” she looks up to find no one there at all— “thank… you?”

[lcstkey]

Admittedly, the detective had only seen Phoenix Wright in action as a defense lawyer once before. When he used to visit the Night-Light Reads with Trucy, she wouldn't have believed that he was a top notch lawyer until he defended her younger sister in court, long before he became disbarred.

Seeing him in court today, it was as if he had never forgotten how to fiercely defend his clients. It felt different, being on the stand as a detective laying out all the details of the case to the court.

Dovin The'rgrave had been found in a locked room, stabbed in the back, with the defendant, who had been knocked unconscious and the only occupant inside with them. It was supposed to be a clear cut case.

Mr. Wright picked apart her report for inconsistencies with the evidence, something she knew he'd would try to do. He picked apart the witness' testimonies. There were moments she wondered if he was bluffing, but the way the story was matching up, it felt too strange for it not to be true.

Just as Mr. Wright had thrown in his OBJECTION, the building shook from the crack of lightning and the loud shriek from behind just as the lights went out. The detective clasped a hand over her mouth to keep herself from laughing due to her frazzled nerves and the absurd timing of the blackout.

Hearing another approach, the detective straightens up and took a deep breath. I need to stay calm for everyone else...She thinks to herself and by voice, recognizes Phoenix who had pulled his phone out for light.

"Aye, that 'objection' was too well timed in my opinion," She answers, a giggle slipping out, "The back up generators should be up soon."

'Soon' did not come soon enough and they were still in the dark. Hearing the murmurs and whispers from the masses, the detective crosses her arms and frowns, brows furrowing. Humming, the detective takes out her flashlight and clicks it on.

"I'm going to go down to see what's going on with the back up generators down in the basement. I'll be back shortly." She says, "We may have to pick up where we left off on this case tomorrow if we can't get the power back on." Selena hears the judge agree with her.

When the detective was about to step out of the court room, another crack of lightning can be heard and moments after, an alarm blazes. The window shudders close down throughout the court room. Selena appears alarmed and turns her flash light toward the windows that have been closed off by metallic plating.

"What in the world...?"

Season appropriate starter call | @lcstkey

Phoenix had thrown his last OBJECTION into the wind as a final hail mary, so certain that he had found the exact piece of evidence that would finally nail the witness as the TRUE culprit behind the murder of one Dovin The'rgrave. Of course, like any and all trials he's been involved with, there had to be one inconvenience to occur that would throw the entire trial into more COMPLICATED territory: The lights went out.

There was a shriek from the audience as a loud crack of lightning shook the entire building to its core, the courtroom suddenly PLUNGED into darkness as the judge did his best to calm the masses. Phoenix's shoulders refused to relax, eyes scanning the dark as bodies shifted about, but no sure features could be made out. He did, however, recognize the familiar form of one of the detectives nearby.

"Lightning storms." He began conversationally, fetching his phone from his breast pocket and shining the light so as to provide some sort of ILLUMINATION between them. "Gotta love them, right?"

[soulmate-game]

Not related to the other two Bio!mom Harley AUs that I did. Just... similar. I wrote this instead of sleeping, as per the usual.

—*—*—*—*—*

“I need your help.”

No accent, no threats of violence, no beating around the bush (figurative or otherwise). No fighting or unconscious bodies.

Just Harley Quinn with her hair down, no makeup, and completely serious, in the center of the Bat Cave. Even though her usual exaggerated Brooklynn accent (circa 1950s) had become a pretty inseparable part of her personality over the years, every now and then she forcibly stuffed it down and used her mostly unaccented voice. The one reminiscent of days with less colors on her face, a high bun, and a pristine white lab coat.

Every single one of the Bats and Birds present, fresh from an interrupted patrol thanks to her, could count the number of times they had seen Harley like this on one hand. Bruce would have the most recollections, but everyone else would have plenty of fingers left on said hand. So they all knew, especially when Bruce willingly pulled down his cowl so he could look Harley in the eye, that this was the start of something they were not likely to forget. And maybe their chances of survival were slim too.

“Harley,” Bruce’s voice was still gruff, seeing as he was still mostly Batman at the moment, but his eyes were soft. “Maybe you should tell us what you need help with first. And sit down. You look exhausted.”

Sure enough, there were dark circles under Harley’s eyes. She let Bruce-man lead her over to one of their debriefing tables and sit her down. She let out a huge sigh, her fingers tangling in her loose blond locks.

“I have a confession, and it isn’t gonna leave this cave, capiche?” The slight return of her accent relieved a little of the tension, but not much. Taking this as their cue, the rest of the bats spread out into their usual seats at the table. Bruce stayed near Harley, keeping a hand on her shoulder in silent support. Harley didn’t continue talking until he gave her a solemn nod in agreement. She gulped— an action that immediately returned the tension.

“... fifteen years ago, back when I was still with Joker, I disappeared off the Gotham scene for a few months. I’m sure a few of you remember,” she looked up, and a couple of the older vigilantes nodded. Really, Jason has still been Robin back then. But the memory stuck out in his head now that he was thinking about it.

“Yeah, you were breaking away from him a little bit, which was weird at the time,” Red Hood mused aloud, arms crossed. “I think you helped us out a couple times and did some of your first team ups with Ivy before you vanished. Then a few months go by and you were back in action with Joker, so we mostly ignored it as you just being you.”

Harley nodded. “Ah, my Ivy’s a lifesaver, even back then. She helped cover up the timeline by keeping me in action for longer than I should’a been without putting me at too much risk.”

“Timeline…” Red Robin spoke up, eyes huge even behind his mask. “You don’t mean—“

“Harley,” Bruce breathed, having also caught on. “You were pregnant?”

The air went still. Harley sniffed, eyes watering even as she smiled.

“Oh yeah. Shouldn’t have been possible, ya know? Me ‘n Joker being dumped in that damn acid should have made us both more sterile than an operatin’ room. But I knew I couldn’t raise a kid, so after she was born—“

“You kept her?” Damian interrupted, earning a gentle cuff over the head from Dick. Harley just snorted.

“Yeah. Not gonna lie, I thought about abortion. But the baby didn’t do nothin’ wrong, and I was still in love with Joker back then so I was ecstatic that I was able to make something new with part ‘a him in it. Still, I knew a baby didn’t deserve to be raised in Gotham. Especially not my baby, not with my enemies and history. Not with who her father was. I knew he’d never want her, never let me keep her. So I spent the last five months of my pregnancy lookin’ around for the best possible family to take her in. And I found them in Paris, France. A sweet couple, both of them bakers. Sabine, she’s both adorably sweet and super kickass. Comes from a Chinese family that is crazy about teachin’ their women martial arts. But nothing shady about it, I triple checked. Just bonding through kicking people in the face. Which is perfect, I wanted my baby to know how to defend herself. I knew she’d need those skills eventually. And Tom, that’s Sabine’s wife, he’s a gentle giant. Same size as Bane, but as harmless as a puppy and makes the best croissants ever. Seriously, the best.”

“Harley,” Bruce gently prodded, but there was a tiny grin on his face. Seeing her behaving so… so normally, so proud and reminiscent, was a rare treat. Bruce would be lying if he said he wasn’t proud of how far the woman had come. How she had freed herself and become a better person, mostly on her own.

“Right, right. The point,” Harley took a breath, rubbing her forehead. “I came clean to Tom and Sabine, but apparently they knew who I was the whole time. They just didn’t care— did I mention they are perfect? Anyway, once I explained everything, they agreed immediately to adopting my baby. They’d been wanting kids, but it would’a been too risky for Sabine’s health. That’s how I found them anyway, they were in the market to adopt. We named her Marinette. She took Tom and Sabine’s last names, hyphenated. We decided Quinn would be her middle name. And after that, I came back to Gotham and told myself that she was in good hands and I needed to forget about her. Cuz I was no good for her. I knew that. I went back to my old tricks. And then…” Harley chuckled, but it was self-depreciating.

“Then a few years passed, and I started breaking away from Joker for real. Then we broke up, I blew up Ace Chemicals while you guys were outta town doing Justice League and Young Justice shit. I started dating Ivy. And—“ she smiled softly at the table, clearly seeing something the rest of them couldn’t. “Then Ivy convinced me to go see her. Visit my baby, see how she’s been. And I did. Marinette was seven years old, but damn it to hell she was gorgeous. And say whatever you want about me and Joker— most of it will even be true— but neither of us are stupid. And she inherited all of our intelligence. All of it. She got my blue eyes. But she got his hair, which meant Sabine teased me relentlessly about ‘are you sure she isn’t that Wayne’s kid?’ And don’t make that face Bruce, you’d be lucky to have a kid half as beautiful as my Mari-pie. No offense, Damian. Anyway. Anyway, this is the important part. Or part of it.

“She sat there and listened to everything I had to say. Everything. A little seven year old, who could barely understand English at the time, and she listened without interrupting once. She never threw a fit, she wasn’t angry or confused. I told her about the things I’d done in the past— well, G rated versions— and she didn’t care. She called me Momma Harley right away, said she wanted to meet Aunt Ivy sometime soon, and started telling me everything about her that I’d missed. From that day on, she became my sunshine. The light of my life, and I still call her at least once a week every week. When I disappear for a few days out of the city? I’m visiting her—“

“You’re banned from international travel, Harley,” Dick scolded, but he sounded way too amused for it to work. He knew she had her ways, anyway. Nobody could actually stop Harley damn Quinn from doing whatever she wanted.

“—Ugh, she tells me the same thing every time! Disappointed glare and everything. I don’t know how I gave birth to such a goodie goodie, but somehow I did. Not important though! The important thing is, I’m always the first to hear when something new happens in her life. And we had decided that she wouldn’t visit me in Gotham until she was at least eighteen, but apparently she disobeyed me— which I should have expected honestly— and entered you guys’ WE international scholastic competition.”

“Oh no,” Bruce pinched the bridge of her nose. “Marinette Dupain-Cheng? The contest winner?” He finally pulled out a chair and sat down. “The winner gets an all-expense paid trip to Gotham for them and their whole class.”

“Exactly!” Harley threw up her hands. “Mari told me last week, and I’ve been trying to talk her out of coming ever since. But she’s inherited both of our stubbornness too, and she isn’t budgin’ a bit. ‘Momma Harley, I wanna see you and Auntie Ivy though!’ And ‘Momma, Gotham’s nothing I can’t handle,’ or my favorite, ‘Maybe you’ll finally get to see me dropkick someone three times my size then, and I’ll prove it.’”

“So that’s what you meant by you need our help,” Tim said as he leaned forward over the table. “Joker just broke out of Arkham yesterday. You want us to protect her.”

“I’d prefer if one of you was with her outside of the mask too, as often as possible,” Harley confirmed. “I can’t stop her from coming here anymore, but I also don’t trust Joker for a second. As soon as he sees her, I’m afraid he’ll make the connection.”

“She looks like him?” Damian asked, scrunching up his nose at the ugly mental image of Joker as a teenage girl. Harley shook her head, solemn.

“She looks like a dark-haired mini-me,” she corrected. “She even keeps her hair in pigtails as her way of showing support for me. And I know Marinette can kick ass, Sabine’s trained her well. But Marinette inherited more than I’d like from me,” Harley ran a hand through her hair. “I didn’t notice it until she was thirteen. She got a crush on a classmate, and it was almost like watching videos of me back during the early days of— well, of Harley Quinn. Just without the crime and insanity. She didn’t even realize that she was almost stalking the poor kid until I pointed it out, and luckily I was able to put my doctorate to good use and we nipped that right in the bud ASAP. She never meant it that way, anyway. As soon as I explained things to her, she was horrified and immediately asked me to help her learn how to have a healthy relationship. That was a fun discussion,” Harley grimaced. “But she still gets attached to people really, really easily. Once she grew out of her crush on that boy, she adopted him as her unofficial brother. She already calls Selina “Auntie,” even though I’ve barely mentioned her to Marinette. She gets attached fast, and deeply. And I’m afraid that even after all the warning I’ve done, all the stories I’ve told her—“

“You’re afraid she’ll get attached to Joker just like you did,” Bruce finished for her, closing his eyes. “Because she knows he’s her father.”

“Yes,” Tears were slowly dripping down her face already, her hands curled into fists so tightly that her knuckles were paper white. “You know how he is. If he finds out she’s his biological daughter, he’ll immediately try to take advantage of that. And he’s far too good with his words for people like me and Mari. I’m worried outta my mind. Please. Help keep my baby safe from him.”

“We will,” Jason no longer had his helmet on, or the domino mask that he usually wore underneath it. All of them knew masks were merely formality with Harley nowadays. And he needed to look her directly in the eye so she could see how serious he was. “I can sign up as a bodyguard for the class. It won’t be weird, seeing as they’re tourists and this is Gotham. They also have several rich kids in their group if I remember right.”

Bruce nodded, agreeing with Jason. “That’s a good idea. I can lead the class on their tours of WE personally. That’ll serve the purpose of keeping an eye on her and shutting up the investors that keep begging me to make more public appearances for the sake of the company. Marinette’s name is already released to the news as the winner of the contest, so we can’t keep her out of the spotlight long. Tim, you’ll have to keep an eye on any and all pictures of the class. Try to erase or doctor the images with her in it well enough that connections between her and Harley can’t be easily made. Dick, you and Damian will be in charge of keeping an eye out for any activity from Joker. The slightest hint, and you notify all of us. We’ll decide on a case-by-case basis who is necessary to stick with the class and who goes after the clown.”

“She’s gonna sneak out of her hotel to stay with me and Ivy,” Harley admitted, bringing the (now slightly judgemental) attention back to her. She raised her hands up in surrender. “She didn’t tell me that, and I didn’t approve or suggest it! I just know my baby too well to not realize that that’s her plan. Could ya provide an escort?”

Bruce sighed. “This is gonna be an eventful month.”

[ijustwant2write]

His Protector-Fred Weasley x Reader

(GIF credit to @winter-and-zombies​)

Masterlist

Prompts Lists

Summary: At the Battle of Hogwarts, Fred is saved by (Y/N), a close friend of the twins. Both have always had feelings for the other, and in true cliche fashion, neither have admitted this. Years after the battle (where things are somewhat back to normal), the twins have remained friends with her, but it’s only at a Weasley family party does (Y/N) finally say something.

Characters: Fred Weasley x Reader, George Weasley x Reader (platonic)

Meanings: (Y/N)=Your name

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, injuries, blood, lots of fluff

(A/N: This is quite long! And also the first time I’ve written for Harry Potter, blame it on my FYP on Tik Tok)

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

There were no dry eyes from anyone gathered in the Great Hall. It was full of students, resting from the battle and treating injuries, or mourning over friends who didn't make it. Some were huddled together as they sobbed, others keeping to themselves as they tried to stop the horrifying images keep playing in their minds.

The Weasley’s were gathered around Fred, who was laid out on a makeshift stretcher, tears streaming down their faces as they waited for some sign of him waking up. He had dried blood on his face and partly in his hair. When he was first carried in, their immediate thoughts had been he was dead, because he seemed so lifeless. They were extremely grateful when they realised he was breathing, and he had a heartbeat.

Molly stroked back her son’s hair, trying to calm herself down as to not alarm her children. Never in her life did she think they would have to go through something like this, especially at such a young age. These were her babies, and she was going to protect them with her life like any mother would. George sat beside Fred opposite his mum, praying that his brother's eyes would soon open. Although it had been confirmed that he would be alright, albeit with a few injuries, seeing him lying there made it feel like he wasn’t with them anymore. Suddenly, Fred began to stir, scrunching up his eyes and moaning as he felt the pain throbbing through his body.

“How you feeling Freddie?” George quickly asked as the family got closer.

Fred mumbled something, but no one could understand. 

“What was that Fred?” Molly quietly said.

“(Y/N)...”

“Who? Who are you talking about?” Molly was sure she had heard the name before, perhaps when the boys were still at school. 

“(Y/N), where is she?” Fred moaned.

“I don’t know Freddie.” George replied.“I haven’t seen her since you were brought in.”

“Is..is sh-sh-she a-alive?” Fred was still weak, struggling to speak.

“Fred, please, just rest for now.” Molly begged, not wanting to see him in pain any longer.

“Sh-she’s d-dead?”

As the family struggled to keep Fred still and stop him from panicking, Ginny backed away, knowing the only way Fred would settle was if she found (Y/N). When Fred was carried in, (Y/N) had also been brought him right behind him, but they were separated. She was taken off towards her friends, and in the heat of the moment, Ginny hadn’t questioned if she was alright, making her feel awful.

Although (Y/N) had been close to the twins, she hadn’t been as mischievous as them, not wanting multiple detentions or to get in any trouble as much as they did. It was a surprising friendship between them, especially when (Y/N) was so nice to Ginny, despite the age difference; she was always surprised that the boys never invited her round to their home during the holidays. Because she saw how Fred would sneak glances at the girl, always rolling her eyes at how obvious he was being with his feelings, yet neither one did anything about it. 

Ginny ignored the calls from her dad when she set off in the hall to find (Y/N), bombarding her peers with questions, desperate to find her as quickly as possible. Luckily amongst everyone, she spotted (Y/N)’s friends huddled on the floor, holding onto the unconscious girl’s hands. Ginny startled them as she rushed over.

“Is she...” Ginny started.

“She’s alive. But she’s weak.” one of her friends sniffled.

“We need to move (Y/N).” Ginny demanded.

“What?” 

“She needs to be beside Fred.”

“Why?”

“She just does! Come on, help me move her. Please!”

The girls glanced between each other, and they knew Ginny wouldn’t be requesting such a thing for no reason. They struggled to navigate her body on the stretcher through the people, Ginny going ahead and commanding that they move out of the way. All eyes were on (Y/N), wondering why they were moving her. Ginny gently ushered George and her father out of the way, the men helping lay (Y/N) down on the floor. Fred also watched, slowly turning his head to look at her, expecting to see her beautiful eyes staring back. But when he saw they were shut, he panicked. He shakily reached out for her hand, struggling to find it as they were crossed over on her stomach. George took on her hands, placing it in Fred’s, smiling at the size difference.

Molly and Arthur looked at each other, wondering why this girl was so special to Fred and also why they hadn’t been told much about her.

“This is (Y/N). She saved Fred’s life.” Ginny explained to her parents."She's alive Fred."

Fred didn't reply, still staring at her and grasping onto her hand. His mind flashed back to seeing her save him, hearing how angry and upset she was as she shouted out her spell, somehow defending him from his death and saving herself. He had blacked out before he could see if she was safe. Although he heard Ginny, it didn't make him feel any better. He just wanted to see her eyes open. That was it.

"(Y/N)." he tried to raise his voice, but his throat was so hoarse that it came out as a whisper. He tried shaking her hand slightly, and again, he was too weak to even do that.

George held (Y/N)'s other hand, trying to help his brother wake up their friend. He too wanted her to wake up, and not just for his brother's sake. Her eyes fluttered open, then quickly shut again. Instinctively she was going to rub her eyes until she realised her hands were preoccupied.

"What's happening?" she breathed out, looking around at the Weasley family.

"You're safe dear." Molly reassured her.

"You're alive." Fred smiled, relief flooding through him.

(Y/N) only realised it was Fred talking beside her, breathlessly laughing as her head lulled to the side. There he was, alive just as she was.

"Fred? Oh my...Y-you're here."

"All thanks to you." George smiled, squeezing her hand.

"I'm so..." she gulped before continuing."I'm so happy you're both safe."

"Please don't do that again." Fred begged.

"Do what?"

"Put yourself in danger to save me."

"Don't be stupid Freddie. You can thank me later."

"Let me guess...lots and lots of chocolates."

"Exactly."

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

(Y/N) yawned as she packed up her things from work, tired after another long week. She passed co-workers, waving goodbye and smiling as she left the building. As she put on her hat, she looked up at the sky, smiling at the sight of snow falling. It was turning dark, and seeing the snowflakes illuminated by the street lights made the street she walked down everyday look beautiful. (Y/N) took her first few steps towards her route home, suddenly stopping for an unknown reason. Something was pulling her in the other direction, she wanted to take a different path today.

Following her instincts, she walked in the opposite direction, hypnotised by the weather around her. Once she reached the end of the street, she looked up at the sign post, and the only part of it not covered in snow was the one that said 'Diagon Alley'. She hadn't been down there for so long, she hadn't seen two certain men for so long.

Why was she headed there? And of all the times to go, why now? She hadn't seen the twins for months, not because she didn't want to, but because she was so busy, as were they. Continuing her walk, she thought back to how often they would spend time together, especially after what happened to Hogwarts. She needed solidarity, she needed to be reminded that Fred was still there, that she didn't dream saving him, it had to be real. (Y/N) would regularly visit them, or vice versa, trying to act like everything was normal and that they weren't effected by anything that had happened.

The shops were closed, she could see the owners locking up, beginning to tidy everything away. Lights were dim, signs now said 'closed' and she was one of the few people left in the street after a busy day of shopping. As (Y/N) approached 'Weasleys Wizard Wheezes', she grew nervous, wondering if this really was a good idea. She hadn't seen them for all this time and now she was suddenly turning up on their shop doorstep? Was it rude? Was she being stupid in thinking that they would be totally fine seeing her after a working day?

Mustering up as much courage as she could, (Y/N) forced herself to the front door, seeing that no last minute customers were left. She tried opening the door, luckily it was open, and let herself in.

"Sorry, we're closed!" a voice shouted out.

"Even for me?" she cheekily called back, giggling when a confused George poked his head around a pile of boxes.

He grinned, practically running towards (Y/N) with his arms open wide."Where have you been little miss?"

"I'm sorry, I know this is a random visit but...I don't know, I just thought of coming to see you and Freddie."

"You're welcome here any time of any day. You know that."

They pulled apart, still smiling."Thanks, I just feel bad that I've not made much effort."

"Hey, we're all busy now. Don't worry about it. I'll go get Fred, he's going to love this!"

George was ecstatic as he dashed off to find his brother. All of them were to blame for not catching up more often than they used to, and he had seen how it effected Fred. They had all been each others support system after the battle, but it was clear that Fred and (Y/N) hugged a little tighter than they used to, looked into each others eyes longer, and smiled as much as possible when together. George had always wanted to set them up (he would have preferred involving pranks somehow) and that old itch was back. These two were hopeless with their feelings for one another, he just had to give them a little push in the right direction...into each others arms.

"Freddie!" George exclaimed, laughing when his brother almost dropped a box out of fright.

"What?" Fred sighed as he recovered, placing the box on the floor. He just wanted to get the stock out for the next morning and go home.

"Come see who has paid us a visit."

George said no more, going back to the shop floor, leaving Fred rolling his eyes as he followed. He rolled up his shirt sleeves as they slid down his arms, not paying much attention to his surroundings. So when he looked up and he saw her, his mouth dropped open, shocked to see (Y/N) standing there.

"Would you just get over here and hug me?" (Y/N) joked, though not as boldly as she used to.

Fred just laughed as he did what she said, reaching down to wrap his long arms around her. She had miss how he held her, how tightly he clung onto her, as if it were their last hug ever. George just stood there, crossing his arms over his chest as he waited for them to finish.

"What are you doing here?" Fred asked.

"Just wanted to see you both." (Y/N) simply stated.

"Well I'm glad you did."

"How about we go for some drinks? It is the end of the week after all." George suggested.

(Y/N) nodded."Yeah, I'm up for that."

"Well then, let's get packed up Freddie."

(Y/N) offered to help, but the twins refused. They came in and out of the stock room, being as quick as they could. (Y/N) took the opportunity to walk around, see what items they were selling. There were some new products, but most were older classics. She reminisced over all the times the boys used pranks such as the ones in the shop, and how they could sometimes get a lighter punishment, just because everyone loved them. She took part in a few schemes here and there, but only the harmless ones, the ones that would only land her in detention if they got caught.

She came to a stand that held numerous love potions. She smiled as she remembered making Amortentia in her lessons. That had been an awkward class. No one wanted to be picked on and asked what theirs smelt like, not in front of their peers. (Y/N) knew who's hers smelt like as soon as the lid of the bottle popped off.

"No luck in the love department then?" George smirked as he put on his coat.

"Hm?" (Y/N) hadn't been paying attention, thinking back on old times.

"Still not found 'the one'?"

"Oh, no, I don't have time for any of that."

"Well, hopefully Mr Right just stumbles into your life." George was growing more excited by the second.

"Yeah, hopefully."

"Right, ready to go?" Fred appeared.

"Yes-Oh!" George startled them."Freddie, I just had a great idea."

"Oh here we go." (Y/N) joked.

"(Y/N) should come home with us, to the Burrow, for mum's party!"

"A party? Why is your mum throwing a party?"

"Dad got a little bonus at work, mum thinks it's something to celebrate. And it's an excuse for her to get the whole family back together."

"That is an amazing idea actually." Fred beamed.

"I can't impose on something like that. Especially since it's a family thing."

"Nonsense." the twins said in unison.

"Are you sure? I mean, I haven't seen your family for so long."

"Mum would love it." Fred reassured her.

"OK then!" (Y/N) grinned."I've always loved a Weasley party."

"That's settled then," George opened the door,"we'll discuss the details over those drinks that are waiting for us."

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

Smoothing down her dress once again, (Y/N) checked her tights for any holes or ladders. She had planned her outfit a week before the party, changing her mind countless times before she finally decided on what she wanted to wear. All morning, her heart had been racing, stomach twisting into knots as nerves got the better of her. Why was she so nervous? She had met the Weasley’s many times, she even stayed the Burrow!

There was a knock at the door, meaning the boys were here to pick her up. Sighing, she checked herself one last time in the mirror before going to answer the door. As she opened it, she noticed it was only Fred standing there, no sign of George.

"Hi, where's George?" she asked as she let Fred inside the flat. She took a note of the smart-casual shirt he was wearing; thank god, she was dressed correctly.

"He's waiting downstairs. Said he can't be arsed to walk up all those stairs. Even though there is a lift..."

"Since when did he become so lazy?" (Y/N) giggled, grabbing her handbag and keys. Turning back around, she saw Fred staring at her.

"(Y/N), you look..." Fred was speechless, which was rare for him. He always had a witty remark, a joke or a flirty comment at the ready, but when he was around (Y/N), those words seemed to get stuck in his throat,"...beautiful."

(Y/N) smiled, ducking her head to hide her blush."Th-thanks Freddie. You look very handsome too."

There were so many more words that he wanted to use to compliment her. He wanted to slap himself for using such a basic word. (Y/N) was gorgeous, she was dazzling, he could believe such a smart, independant and caring woman was in his life. Why did he have to stutter or forget how to speak when he was around her? The real words he wanted to say were on the tip of his tongue, but they would never leave there.

Awkwardly laughing, they left the flat, meeting George outside. George noticed their pink cheeks but didn't mention it, knowing they had embarrassed themselves enough in front of each other.

The journey was full of banter and inside jokes, making it seem like they were students again at Hogwarts. (Y/N)'s nerves about seeing the Weasley’s again had disappeared, but new ones emerged. And they were all because of Fred. (Y/N) wasn't stupid, she had always had feelings for him. But after the battle, she hadn't snatched him up, something held her back, and she just couldn't bring herself to even talk to Fred about it, like any other normal adult would.

The Burrow was just ahead, now the nerves were taken over by excitement. Fred and George reminded (well, warned) (Y/N) how excited their mum was going to be, but she didn't mind. It would be great to receive such an inviting reception. She walked between the twins up to the house, letting them go in first, hesitating slightly as she took in how many people were there; they weren't joking when they said everyone would be there.

"Mum, look who else we brought." Fred struggled to say as he was smothered with kisses across his face.

Molly finally let him go, her smile turning into a shocked expression before letting out a scream, making everyone jump. She didn't waste time bringing (Y/N) into a bone crushing hug. (Y/N) would have laughed if she could breathe, but didn't complain.

"Oh, it's so good to see you dear! It's been too long since you've been back here." Molly held (Y/N)'s cheeks in her hands, looking at how the young girl she knew had turned into a beautiful woman.

“I couldn’t say no when Fred and George invited me.” (Y/N) said through squished lips. 

“Alright mum, give her some air.” George gently chuckled.

“Oh, this is so nice.” Molly beamed, glancing between (Y/N) and Fred, who was already looking at her. 

It took a good ten minutes for the twins and (Y/N) to greet everyone. She always forgot how many Weasley’s there were, some she had not seen for years. Homemade food was laid out on the table (far more than what was needed), everyone nibbling at anything they fancied as they spoke over drinks. There was a toast held for Arthur, who humbly thanked everyone, bashful over Molly’s speech; and she didn’t leave out mentioning how lovely it was that the family was extending, referring to (Y/N). She had blushed too much recently, avoiding eye contact with Fred as everyone stared at the pair who were stood together.

The day was moving on too quickly, it was becoming dark outside, and she didn’t want the night to end. The family had split into groups, still having much to talk about. (Y/N) decided to refill her drink, parting from the others to head to the kitchen. Just as she found another bottle to open, someone appeared beside her. Craning her neck upwards, she flinched back as Fred held out her coat to her, along with her hat, scarves and gloves.

“We’re not leaving are we?” (Y/N) frowned, not wanting to leave.

“Just popping out.” Fred smiled.

After getting wrapped up, (Y/N) followed Fred outside. Once again, it was lightly snowing, starting to stick to the ground which was already frosty, the sound of grass crunching underneath their shoes. She nonchalantly looped her arm through his, snuggling into him (if he asked, she would blame it on the cold), her heart fluttering when Fred instead wrapped his arm around her shoulders, meaning they could be closer. They didn’t stray too far from the house, Fred casting Lumos to light the way. There was a crumbling stone wall which Fred confidently hopped onto. (Y/N) waited for some part of it to collapse, and when it didn't, she joined him, having to jump higher to reach the top. He laughed, forgetting how much advantage his height have him almost everyday.

"We've never sat here before." (Y/N) commented.

"Honestly, I didn't even know it was here."

"So we were just wandering around?" (Y/N) smiled.

"Yeah." Fred confessed.

“How come you wanted to get out of the house?”

“Uh...I wanted to, well, I thought we could talk.”

“About?” she dragged out the word.

“When I saw you again, after all this time, I realised what an idiot I’ve been.”

“What do you mean?”

“Obviously we’re busy, we’ve both got jobs and it��s always harder to meet up. But I regret that so much. After...what happened at Hogwarts, you were my rock, I always felt normal around you, as if nothing had happened. We were able to carry on with our lives like we had planned. When I didn’t see you, I would lie awake all night with that image of you beside me in the hall. It would never go away.”

“Why have you never told me any of this?” 

“I’ve been too scared to reveal anything. I didn’t want to bring anything up, because who would want to be with someone who is still stuck in the past?”

“I would. Fred, you’re not alone in this. I’ve always felt the same. I visited you all those times because my mind would make me think that I never saved you. And if I hadn’t....I don’t know how I would have gone on. Because if I didn’t have you in my life-”

“Don’t finish that sentence, please. We’ve been through so much that we shouldn’t have. But we’re here now, together again.”

Fred held her hand, slowly interlocking their fingers. They both looked down, butterflies erupting in their stomach. The pair glanced at each other, quickly looking away when they realised how close their faces were.

“Why are we acting like kids at school again?” (Y/N) laughed.

“You’re asking the guy who owns and runs a joke shop with his brother, I don’t think I’ve ever stopped being a kid.”

“We did, once.”

“(Y/N), we don’t have to think about that anymore. It’s in the past.”

“Freddie?”

“Yeah?”

“Remember the last time we were in a situation like this? When you actually had the courage to ask me to the Yule ball?”

“And we went as friends?”

She nodded.“Yep. You know, I was a little disappointed when you added that part.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, I was sort of hoping you would ask me out as well. Then when you said that, and I just gave up trying. You never noticed me flirting anyway.”

“I never asked you because I never knew. And you also had guys after you so I didn’t think I had a chance.”

“Are you joking? Fred, no one else was wanting to date me.”

“Now you’re the one who is joking.”

“Well...”

“Well?”

“Let’s not make this more awkward than it already is.”

“Oh it’s awkward now?”

“Fred!” (Y/N) exclaimed but couldn’t help laughing along with him.

“No, no, I’m enjoying this.”

“Fred Weasley, after all this time being idiots and wasting time not being together...”

“What? Did you change your mind-”

(Y/N) didn’t know how to say it, instead closing the already small gap them and kissing him. Fred was shocked by how forward she was, but wasted no time kissing back. Her hands cupped his cheeks as Fred’s hands wound themselves around her waist. This had been long overdue. As they pulled away, breathless from the passionate kiss, Fred started to chuckle.

“What is it?” (Y/N) asked.

“Mum is gonna scream when she finds out about this.”

[littlesniggy]

Devine Juice

Anon: Heyo! How are ya? I hope all is well! I was wondering if I could get Zoro with a chubby fem s/o who wants him to help her lose weight but he gets a turned on my her. He tries to make a move but she’s too shy. He thinks it’s cute, and works through it and makes his move. Nsfw please!

If not have a lovely day/night and have some good vibes!

-🥐 annon

Hey Anon! Thank you for requesting! I hope you enjoy it! I honestly have no idea how Zoro would be in a relationship other than still being lazy but I think it's not too far off. Maybe.

Pairing: Zoro x chubby fem! reader

Warning: 18+, nsfw, smut, insecure reader, tongue and finger f******

Word count: 1,7k

“Huh? Help you lose weight?” Zoro looked up at you from his lying position, his eyes wandering up and down your body. “How come?” he asked, his eyes lingering a little too long on your curvy hips. “I like the way you look.” He added. You blushed slightly, fidgeting with your fingers and looking at your feet, not noticing his wandering eyes.

“I…I just want to get in shape a little more.” You said quietly, not telling him that you might or might not be a little insecure about your body, especially since the two of you haven’t done the naughty thing yet. You were wondering what he would think about your body. You weren’t wearing anything that didn’t suit your body – you knew you were looking good – but it was always a different thing seeing someone in clothes and seeing someone naked.

“What were you thinking about?” You looked at him, a little bit confused, blushing about your thought. “W-what?” you stuttered. Zoro raised an eyebrow and sat up. “What kind of training do you want to do? Cardio? Muscle? Both?” “U-uhm….I guess cardio is the best way to lose weight…” you suggested. Zoro nodded and got up into a standing position.

“Then let’s get going!” he announced, walking past you towards the training room he was always using. “What? Right now?” you asked, following him. “But I have to get changed into work out clothes before!” Zoro sighed and looked at you over his shoulder. “Fine. But hurry! Your training is about to start!”

It was harder for Zoro than it was for you. Not that this light training he was doing with you had him sweating or anything but he always had to look over to you. You were too focused on doing squads, not realizing that he had stopped moving, his eyes following a small bead of sweat running down your neck and disappearing in your cleavage. He slowly moved around you as if he was checking if you were doing it right but honestly he just wanted to take a look at your butt sticking out every time you crouched down.

Wild fantasies came to his mind when seeing your legs tense up and easing again. He imagined your legs wrapping around his hips – or better yet his head – as he made you cum over and over again. Now it was his turn to not notice how you stopped and looked at him, face red from the workout.

You tried to catch his attention but he seemed to be lost in thought. Confused, you knitted your eyebrows together and caught the bulge between his legs out of the corners of your eyes. A gasp escaped your lips, snapping Zoro back into reality.

“Did you say anything, Y/n?” he asked. You pointed down at his crotch, your face now beet red from embarrassment and you averted your eyes. Zoro’s face turned red Immedeatly but he caught himself soon after.

“Sorry. I just can’t help it. You’re just too….tempting.” he said, making you blush even further if that was possible.

“D-don’t say something like this when I’m sweating like an animal.” Your voice was meek, barely audible. How could he say something like this in a situation like this? You were not looking sexy in any way right now! But Zoro seemed to have a different opinion on this matter.

“If you could see yourself right now you’d think the same.” He chuckled, coming closer to you. Instinctively, you made a step back and Zoro stopped, looking at you a little bit concerned. “You okay?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?” why were you backing away? Did he scare you?

“I-it’s nothing.” You tried to play it down but he didn’t buy it. “Tell me.” He made another step towards you, halting right in front of you and looking you in the eyes. Butterflies filled your stomach; you bit your lips, unconsciously inhaling his scent. He smelled so nice. Zoro put a hand under your chin, lifting it up. You hadn’t even noticed that you were staring at the floor in front of you.

“Tell me.” He insisted again, his calloused thump gently stroking your bottom lip. “I….I just feel a little insecure.” You answered reluctantly but honestly. “Why? What could you possible feel insecure about?” it was a genuine question and it made your heart flutter. How could he not see your potential insecurity? Especially since he was simply ripped.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I know.” God, he was making this really hard for you. Every word coming from his mouth, every honest compliment he made had your insecurities pushed to the furthest corner of your mind – little by little.

He leaned down, his lips only brushing against yours.

“I’ve noticed that you keep pushing our first time further and further away, always finding an excuse. First I thought you didn’t like me.” His hot breath ghosted your skin, his low voice making your knees weaker.

“I love you.” You said, almost sounding like you were defending yourself. You didn’t want him to think you didn’t like him – cause the opposite was true!

“I know. And I love you, too. But now I get why you did it. And I have to tell you your reason is stupid.” Ouch. “It’s not stupid. It’s normal to feel insecure about your body from time to time.”

“But you don’t need to. Maybe I have to show you just how perfect I think you and your body are.” He closed the distance, giving you no option to protest as he started kissing you. His hands moved over your arms and rested on your hips, lazily massaging your hips.

Then, his hands moved up, under your sweaty shirt, slowly pulling it up and over your head. You tried to hide yourself from his eyes but he gently pushed your arms down, looking at your body.

“You wanna know what exactly I like about your body?” No sound left your mouth as hhe moved his lips to your mouth. “Your lips….” he kissed your neck. “And your neck….” Lips touching your collarbone. “…and this part….” Your face heated up again when his hands found their way under your sports bar, pulling it off as well. “And especially those two.” He grinned, burying his face between your breasts, his hands massaging the soft flesh.

You let out a small moan, your look one of arousal and embarrassment. He moved further down, kissing your belly, appreciating every single inch with either his mouth or his rough hands until he stopped at your waistband. He looked up at you, waiting for you to either give him permission or stop. You bit the inside of your cheek, nodding slightly.

Zoro pulled your leggings down, leaving you in your panties. His hands moved up and down your legs, massaging the flesh there as well. The closer he got to your core the wetter you got. Kneeling in front of you, he must be seeing the dark stain on the fabric. He grinned at you, licking his lips before letting his tongue glide over your clothed sex, making you moan and your legs quiver.

He pulled you down to lay on your back, positioning himself between your legs.

“Do you know how much I’ve waited for this, Y/n?” he whispered, his hands hooking under the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down, exposing your wet heat to his eyes. “Z-Zoro…” you started but stopped, not knowing why you said his name. The swordsman smiled at you before he made himself comfortable between your legs, laying on his stomach, his hands hooked under your thighs and holding them in place while he spread your legs.

“Itadakimasu.” He purred before his tongue licked over your slit, making your hips jerk against his mouth in response. Zoro pressed you down even further, rendering you unable to move too much. And that’s when he went to town.

His lips latched onto your clit, sucking at it while circling his tongue over it. You moaned out in pleasure, throwing your had back. You could feel his grin against your wet core as he let go if your clit, sliding his tongue over your slit over and over again, making wet noises as he did. His tongue dipped inside your sex, ravishing every inch it could reach. Your juice was flowing out like a river as he tongue fucked you, your legs trying to get free from his grip.

You couldn’t hold back your moans, even when you pressed your hands against your mouth, not doing too much to muffle the shameless sounds.

“Zoro…!” you gasped as he sucked at your clit again. His one arm let go of your thigh, entering your sex with two fingers and moving them in and out, curling them inside of you in just the right angle.

You managed to get his other hand off your thigh somehow as well and wrapped your legs around his head, pushing him closer into you. You heard him groan in pleasure as he picked up his pace, licking up every bit of your sweet juice and slowly driving you to your orgasm.

“Shit…Zoro! I-I’m gonna….!” But it was too late and you came with a breathtaking orgasm that knocked all the air out of your lungs.

Your muscles slowly relaxed, Zoro still drinking the sweet nectar between your legs. Nothing was to be wasted!

Breathlessly, you laid there, trying to get a clear thought again. Zoro got up from between your legs, licking up the rest of your cum from his mouth, grinning wide.

“Do you still feel insecure? Do you still wanna postpone our first time together?” His smirk was almost cocky, knowing you wouldn’t say no after he just drank you like you were a bottle of his booze.

You grinned at him as well, confidence filling your body. “Then show me what you’ve got. I can take more.”

[goldentournesol]

Be Careful What You Wish For

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

The one where Spencer gets exactly what he wished for, but it isn’t necessarily for the best.

Length: 5k 

A/N: this is based off of maybe one of the best requests i have ever received, thank you so much anon, your request really got my creative juices going! also i combined this request with another one, too <3 (angst, just straight up, with happy ending tho)

masterlist

The sun was shining against the glass windows of the car. The sunset was so beautiful with its melting and merging colors, Y/N wished it lasted longer so she could watch it. It’d been feeling like beautiful moments were few and far between lately. 

No one ever said being in a relationship was easy, but she’d never expected to drift this far from Spencer. She couldn’t exactly place the moment at which the descent of their relationship began, if she was being honest. One day, they’d be happy, smiling, full of love and life. And then the next, waves of darkness and despair would appear. They weren’t even the kinds of waves that would disappear with the shining sun. No, they were there to stay and fuel the storm that continues to rage on. 

Today was one of those days. To be fair, the whole team was struggling, but Spencer had taken Morgan’s departure a little harder than everyone else. It was understandable, of course. Derek was a staple in Spencer’s life for so long. However, for a man who’s seen and been through so many losses, he sure was terrible at dealing with them. Spencer’s tendency to keep things bottled up had definitely been affecting the overall health of their relationship. In fact, it has been the root of a lot of their arguments lately. Y/N just wanted him to let her in, let her help him and she was willing to wait however long it takes. Spencer on the other hand grew more and more snappy, irritable, and private with each passing day.

When they were at work, they tried their best to avoid each other so as to not get on each other’s nerves. Their fights usually didn’t turn into screaming matches, but they both had a track record of saying things they don’t mean. Hurtful things. Turns out profilers are fantastic at rubbing salt into open wounds. 

Ever since they began dating, Spencer took the subway less, opting for car rides with Y/N. Sometimes she’d drop him off, other times they’d spend the rest of the day at each other’s houses. She enjoyed driving him around, at first he was never too picky with the music she played, but later on, his music began to overtake hers. It never bothered her, in fact, she took it as a sign of him being vulnerable and sharing parts of himself.

The days where car rides once filled with joyous singing and laughter were coming to a shocking halt. The silence nowadays was almost always louder than the music they used to play. Even small talk felt like too much of a burden sometimes.

“Should I just drop you off at your place? Or do you wanna come over to mine? I still have some of that lasagna you liked in the fridge.” She asked softly as they slowed down into traffic. Rush hour in DC was never fun.

“No, it’s fine. I’ll just have whatever’s at my place.” Spencer was being curt with his responses. Thus, the warning signs began flashing in her head.

“Are you sure? We can even pick something up from that one grocery store on our way home, something that goes well with the lasagna. I don’t mind cooking today.” She offered, hoping he wouldn’t shut her out like he usually did.

He shook his head, keeping his voice eerily level and his gaze was set on the road in front of him, “I just really wanna be home, Y/N.”

She nodded and whispered, “Okay.”

A short silence ensued as traffic began to thin out. Cars that were stuck bumper to bumper were beginning to move.

“Is this about Derek leaving?” She asked tentatively. He sighed and pursed his lips in response so she continued, “You know he said he was always a phone call away.”

“I don’t want to talk about that.” Spencer said shortly, gazing out the window.

“You never want to talk about anything.” She said defeatedly, the car beginning to move freely on the road.

“Yeah, well maybe that’s true. Or maybe I just don’t want to talk to you.” Spencer spat, clearly growing impatient.

“Fine, don’t talk to me then. But talk to someone, anyone! Hell, talk to Derek himself. Tell him you hate him for leaving or whatever you’re feeling, but don’t take out your anger and unresolved feelings out on me, okay? I don’t deserve that! Everyday I try to get you to talk to me, but it seems like with every little step I take forward, you take two steps back. And it’s exhausting. It is fucking exhausting, Spencer.” She frowned, tears welling up in her eyes but she refused to let them fall.

“I didn’t ask you for that! I didn’t ask for you to be my personal therapist. If I wanted to see a therapist, I would have gone to see one!” Spencer gestured wildly with his hands as he spoke.

“Spencer, in a relationship, we’re supposed to confide in one another. It’s supposed to be comforting. I don’t want to be your therapist, I just want you to talk to me!” She unconsciously began to press on the pedal, perhaps in an attempt to reach a destination quicker. He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Relationship? You call this a relationship? We can barely stand to be in the same room together, Y/N.”

“And that’s why we talk it out. No relationship is ever perfect! You should know that, Spencer!” She shrieked, gripping the steering wheel in frustration.

“That’s not true. What I had with Maeve was perfect until it was ruined.” He uttered.

“Maeve?!” She squealed incredulously, “Really?! What you had with Maeve was perfect?! Spencer, what you had wasn’t real like us! You spoke to her over the phone once a week! You wrote to her in letters, where you have time to-to think and to respond! It isn’t like real life, it isn’t like you and me! What we have is real! I-I’ve lived with you, I’ve seen you torn to pieces, I’ve seen you laugh until you cry. That’s the you I fell in love with, not some fantasy I created of you over the phone!” She spoke but the words were garbled between incoming sobs that she was frantically wiping the remnants of off her cheeks. The same sobs she’d tried so hard to suppress. She was barely aware of the words that came out of her mouth.

“If what I had with Maeve wasn’t real, then why do I wish she were the one here with me instead of you?!” Spencer defended, unaware of how sharp his words were or how deeply they’d wounded her.

Her breath hitched in her throat, taking her already blurry vision off of the road in front of her to face him, “What?” She whispered brokenhearted, but the utterance was immediately swallowed by the unmistakable, earsplitting sound of metal clashing violently against metal. They had no choice but to succumb to the inundating darkness that rapidly overtook them both.

***

Spencer woke with a violent start and sat up in his own bed. He sighed in relief when he realized it was just a dream and it was morning again. Turning his head to look at the left side of the bed where she usually slept, he expected to find her there and was taken by surprise when she wasn’t. He rubbed at his face and eyes vigorously before hearing some clattering in the kitchen. With long strides he saw a blurry figure in the kitchen making coffee and walked towards it. 

He sighed in relief, “Hey, there you are. I just had the worst dream.” He huffed as he wrapped his arms around her waist and buried his face in her neck in his half-asleep state.

“Hey, good morning, lovebug.” She smiled and turned around to hug him tightly.

Something felt off. Something wasn’t right.

He’d heard that voice before. He pulled back from the hug and was met by…

It wasn’t Y/N. It was Maeve.

Spencer could barely control his expression as complete bone-stilling shock washed over his entire being, “M-Maeve?”

“Yeah, what’s wrong, honey? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” She said, a kind smile resting upon her features. If Spencer wasn’t so shocked, he’d probably have laughed at the absurd truth of that statement. Maeve brought her hand up to his forehead, “Are you feeling okay?”

He didn’t even have time to be confused before he jerked back quickly at the touch of her hand, “I-uh, uh...I’m not feeling too g-good. Um...what’s happening?” He mumbled, rubbing at his eyes again, almost like they’d be polished and he’d see more clearly. But when he opened his eyes again, she was still there. Right in front of him. There was no light emitting from behind her, she was totally opaque. It was eerily real.

Her face was full of color and life and she was dressed in one of his cardigans over her own set of matching pajamas. She was moving and...alive. And speaking to him. What is happening right now?

“But y-you’re...how are you here right now? Am I still dreaming? Am I...Maeve, am I dead?” Spencer shook his head in an attempt to wake back up.

She began to laugh and pulled out a chair for him to sit on, and so he did, still staring up at her in disbelief, “No, baby, you’re very much alive. You’re probably just still confused from whatever nightmare you had. Here, have some water.”

“Y-yeah, yeah, confused. Um, what day is it?” Spencer began to pat on his chest to make sure he was solid and alive. 

She looked at him curiously at his strange behavior, “It’s April 5th, 2016.”

April 5th? Derek left the BAU near the end of March. A light bulb went off in his head. 

The BAU! 

They’d have all the answers. He shot up from his seat immediately, “I uh, have to get to work.” Spencer rushed to his bedroom to get dressed. 

As he’s dressing, he spots a picture frame on his bedside table. He knows the picture by heart, it was of him and Y/N in the pumpkin patch last year. He’d had his arms tightly wound around her shoulders and was kissing her cheek. The leaves were the most colorful they’d ever been. He picked it up and almost dropped it immediately like it had burned his skin. It was the same picture. 

But Y/N was nowhere to be seen. In her place was Maeve.

No, no, no. This isn’t right. 

Spencer began to panic as he buttoned up his shirt, he threw on his cardigan and practically flew out the door. In the distance, he could hear Maeve in the background calling out for him to drink his coffee before leaving.

The train ride to work was truly a test of his patience. He couldn’t keep his knee still and checked his watch religiously. After the train stopped, was the first one off and ran as fast as his poor feet could take him. He stopped running when he got to the FBI Headquarters as to not alarm anyone, but raced to the sixth floor anyway.

As he opened the glass doors he searched frantically for any familiar face, “Garcia!” He yelled as he spotted her bright yellow clad figure across the bullpen. He pushed through tired agents and messy desks to get to her. Everything else was the same, the office was just as he remembered it.

“Good morning, boy wonder! How are you today?” She smiled graciously, holding a few files in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other.

“Have you seen Y/N?” He asked impatiently. She pulled her brows together.

“Do you mean Y/N...Y/L/N?” She asked slowly, as if trying to recall her name.

“Yes, of course I mean Y/N Y/L/N. Who else would I be talking about?” Spencer asked, once again losing more of his patience.

“No, I haven’t seen her, to be honest. I don’t see much of the White-Collar Crime division up here unless Hotch asks for them. Why do you need Y/N? Is she okay?” Garcia casually answered, as if her answer hadn’t turned his world--this world--whatever the hell he was experiencing upside down.

“White-Collar crime? No, that can’t be right.” Spencer muttered to himself as his brain raced a million miles a second.

“Reid, is everything alright? Is there a possible case? Should I tell Hotch?” Garcia asked, but Spencer was barely listening.

 He was on his way back to the elevators again, leaving an extremely confused Penelope in his wake. He raced down to the fourth floor, to the White-Collar crime division. As the elevator doors opened, his eyes scanned the crowded floor for her.

“Dr. Reid! It’s nice to see you down here. What can I do for you?” An agent, Agent Seymour, he’s met perhaps once before asked him.

“Hi, yes, I’m um..looking for one of your agents. Agent Y/L/N.” Spencer stuttered, it was weird saying her name so formally. But he had to see it with his own eyes.

“Yes, of course, right this way. I think she just came in.” The agent led him to a desk in the middle of the bullpen and left him, saying that she was probably getting coffee and should be back an second. Spencer looked over her desk and compared it with how her desk at the BAU looked like. Gone were the trinkets and books he’d given her. Gone was the candle she never lit, but kept anyway because she said it smelled like him. It was like staring at a stranger’s desk, so desolate, so...un-special.

“Jeremy, stop. I almost spilled my coffee!” She giggled from behind him. He’d recognize her voice anywhere. He turned to see her and his lungs filled with relief as he spotted her familiar face across the bullpen. There she was, in all her glory. Looking as beautiful as ever. His Y/N. But the relief was ripped away all too suddenly as he watched on. She had her coffee in one hand and the other was swatting a very sheepish looking Jeremy, he assumed.

“I’m sorry, baby. I just missed you.” He spoke, wrapping his arms around her waist and pressing a kiss to her lips. 

She blushed immediately and shied away, “Jeremy, we’re in the office!” She giggled again and pulled away from him, glancing around the office as if to check if anyone saw the moment of affection. Spencer’s blood boiled before he realized.

She looked so happy. 

So much happier than she ever looked when she was with him. His heart sank to his feet and he felt like he was incapable of lifting it back up to its rightful place in his chest. He wondered if this was the universe’s cruel, cruel way of letting him know just how shitty of a boyfriend he’s really been. Fire of envy festered in the place where his heart used to reside. He wasn’t sure if it was jealousy, resentment, or guilt. 

It all felt so strange. It felt like there was suddenly way too much pressure in his head. Before he could begin to compute the events unfolding before him, he realized she had spotted him at her desk and was now making her way across the bullpen, separating from her Jeremy. Before he could freak out, she was speaking to him. And all he could focus on was the shape of her lips and the faint memory of how they felt pushing against his.

“Dr. Reid! To what do I owe the pleasure of seeing you here?” She asked politely, but Spencer could tell that she was immeasurably confused by his presence, “Does Agent Hotchner need something from the White Collar crimes archives?”

Spencer panicked, “Yes! Um, he does...and um he asked me to ask you s-specifically. That’s why I’m here, heh.” He stammered like the nervous wreck he was and wiped his sweaty palms on the inside of his pockets.

“Okay, that’s no problem. Just tell me the number of the file and I’ll get it for you.” She smiled slightly, setting her cup of coffee down on her desk. At least her coffee order was still the same as it was. 

She disappeared for a few moments after he gave her a random sequence of numbers. Spencer wasn’t even sure how his legs were still capable of holding himself up. When she came back and he got a whiff of her perfume, his body completely stilled. He knows that scent like the back of his hand, he’d given it to her for their first anniversary. The fresh scent nearly sent him into anaphylactic shock. He’d accepted the file and scurried back to the sixth floor without another word, once again leaving a confused woman in his wake.

Spencer collapsed at his desk and rubbed his head like it would somehow fix this. Whatever this was. Everyone around him operated so normally and went about their day while he was seconds away from losing his mind. 

Was he having a schizophrenic scare? Did his symptoms bleed into his 30’s even though they weren’t supposed to? What was this alternate universe where he’d lost the one good thing he’s ever known? How was he supposed to get back? Did he want to go back? What would happen if he did? Would it be fair for Y/N to stick with him when he knew she would be so much happier with someone else? Would he try harder for her? Would he stop shutting her out? Would the woman he loved so dearly ever love him back?

He must not have ever been deserving of her love and the universe was punishing him in the worst way possible. To have her be within arm’s reach but to never be able to hold her. 

Once upon a time, he would have given up anything and everything to be with Maeve, but that was before Y/N. Before she gave him a new life, one he wanted to live. One where waking up wasn’t such a task. One where seeing her smile at him was enough to make him forget about all his worries. But now Y/N looked at him with barely a sliver of recognition. There was no affection or adoration behind those eyes and maybe he deserved that.

But how was this universe expecting him to go on like everything is fine? Like he hadn’t just lost the love of his life? No one else in this warped version of Spencer’s reality was feeling as dejected as Spencer was.

“Reid, are you feeling alright?” The voice of none other than Aaron Hotchner brought him out of his stupor. Spencer had unknowingly been sobbing into his hands for the past few minutes. Hotch was taken aback at the extent of Spencer’s disheveled state.

“H-Hotch, I need to go home. I can’t be here. I’m sorry.” Spencer packed his things and ran out the building before he realized he had nowhere to go. Home wasn’t his home anymore. He couldn’t exactly go back and see his dead girlfriend wandering around his apartment. He couldn’t be at work where Y/N was, so blissfully unaware of the crisis Spencer was in the middle of.

He wandered the streets of DC aimlessly as he tried to reorganize the events in his head and somehow make sense of them. Just a few days ago, he and Y/N had been holding one another on his couch. Sure, they’d been in a rut recently, but they still loved each other. At least that’s what he thought.

He walked and walked, miles on end, keeping his gaze on his feet as he tried to piece bits together. An IQ of 187 and he had absolutely no idea how whatever was happening to him happened. Even the multiple universes theory didn’t have his back. If he was ‘here’, where has ‘here’s’ Spencer gone? 

His feet had taken him to the local park, where he and Y/N used to sit under the stars. He found himself reminiscing the times they were together. He saw himself and Y/N in every couple that passed him by. Exhausted, Spencer took a seat on a patch of grass. He buried his face into his hands and tried to relieve himself of the headache he’d developed. 

“Hey, mister! Watch out!!” He heard a child yell way too loudly.

Groaning at the volume, he looked up to see the vague shape of a spinning baseball increasing in size as it moved closer….closer. Spencer had no time to react before he was knocked out cold by the baseball.

***

The first thing she’d heard was the incessant beeping of...something next to her. After that, she’d heard faint chatter. The voices sounded familiar but she just couldn’t put her finger on it. She whimpered in pain which caught the attention of everyone in the room. The chatter ceased. 

“Y/N? Honey, it’s Pen, can you hear me?” A voice called. She fought to open her eyes.

Why was it so hard to open her eyes? It was like they were glued shut. Why did everything hurt? What is that smell?

She made a small noise of agreement to the voice that called, but could not coordinate herself enough to speak or open her eyes.

“Y/N, darling, you’re in the hospital, okay? You were in a car accident.” She spoke softly. 

But the words weren’t soft at all. Her words had opened up a Pandora’s box of previously suppressed memories. Suddenly it was hard to breathe. It was hard to breathe as she tried to remember the last moments before the fog. She remembered seeing him so angry, eyes so wild. Who is he? So...so close. She whimpered in pain as she fought the fog away. 

Blood.

So much blood. 

Pain.

So much pain.

The others watched as she began to writhe against the hospital bed in discomfort. Her eyes snapped open the second she saw his face in her mind, frantically searching the room for him.

Spencer.

“Sp-Sp--” She began, but couldn’t formulate the rest of the word. Exhausted and defeated by the lack of his presence, she lay back on the bed.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Spencer’s...Spencer’s fine, alright? You can’t see him right now, but you will be able to.” Those words were the last thing she heard before she slipped off into a silent slumber.

Hours later, she awoke again. But this time with enough strength to open her eyes immediately. Her limbs felt like they weighed tons, she could barely lift a finger. The room was empty besides a single chair with a blurry figure seated in it.

“Spencer?” She uttered almost inaudibly and the figure moved.

“Hey there. Sorry, I’m not Spencer.” The figure moved closer and she recognized the blonde sheen.

“JJ.” Y/N croaked with relief, happy to see a friend. JJ promptly gave her some water in a cup and adjusted the bed so that she would be able to swallow it.

“How are you feeling?” She asked, taking the cup from Y/N’s trembling hands.

Y/N shook her head imperceptibly, “Is...Spence--is he?” Y/N barely got to finish her thought before the tears settled in.

“No, gosh, no. He’s alive. Thankfully, you both made it out alive.” JJ said with relief, leaning her elbows against the side of her bed. Y/N felt her breathing get easier as she learned of the news. She blinked hard, trying to control the tears, but they just flowed out.

“It’s my fault, JJ.” she paused to take a deep breath and JJ took one of her hands in hers, “I was the one driving. I should have been more careful. I-I was so mad.” She sobbed, the tears escaping.

“Hey, no, it’s alright now. Okay, you’ve both made it out alive, that’s what’s important.” JJ rubbed Y/N’s knuckles.

“W-where is he? I need to see him.” Y/N attempted to sit up but winced from the sharp pain in her side.

“Um..yeah, about that. You can’t really get up yet. You’ve got three broken ribs, a broken leg, and a severe concussion.” JJ delivered the news and Y/N’s tears seemed to flow even harder.

Before she could respond, Hotch, Penelope, and a nurse walked into the room, “Oh, sunshine! It’s so good to see you awake!” Penelope squealed and kissed her wet cheek gently before wiping away her tears. The nurse checked all her vitals and gave her some extra information before she left. Y/N forced a smile and sat back, but something in the room felt heavy.

“What’s going on? What aren’t you guys telling me?” Y/N frowned, staring at her friends. She saw them all exchange a look and Hotch being the most straightforward man she knows decided to deliver the news.

“It’s Spencer. Unfortunately, Spencer’s brain has swelled significantly and doctors don’t know when he’ll wake. It’s already been almost 42 hours since the accident.” Hotch frowned, watching Y/N’s expression turn from a hopeful one into one of the most unbearable expressions of grief.

“Wh--what, what does that mean? Does that mean he’s--is he ever going to wake up?” She began to panic, her heart rate audibly increasing. She squeezed JJ’s hand as hard as she could.

“We can’t be sure yet, the swelling has to go down before doctors can make any claims. It’s still too early to say he’s in a coma, which is a good sign. He’s also been showing steady signs of improvement.” Hotch said and Y/N covered her face to shield herself away from the embarrassment of openly sobbing.

JJ and Penelope both looked at the bruised and broken girl on the bed with tears brimming their eyes, unsure of what to do.

“I have to see him. Please. Please, JJ.” Y/N sobbed, pleading at the woman beside her. JJ looked towards Hotch for guidance.

“I’ll speak with the Doctor and see what I can do.” Hotch nodded once and left the room. Aaron Hotchner was simply a man you couldn’t say no to. Thankfully, this extended to doctors as well. The next time someone came in, they entered with a wheelchair. After many screams and with the help of three nurses and a doctor, they managed to get Y/N into the wheelchair. They rolled her off into Spencer’s room where he lay motionless on a bed just like hers. The sight of him so frail with so many tubes going in and out of his orifices should have overwhelmed her, but she was just so happy to see him breathing. Once again she could barely control her tears as she weakly gripped at the hand that was closest to her. She pressed sloppy, uncoordinated kisses to the back of his hand and pleaded for him to wake.

The sight was overwhelming, even for Hotch. It was difficult to see their two youngest agents fight for their lives.

And for the next two days, this is how it went. Y/N would wake from her slumber, request to see Spencer and would not leave his side unless her Doctor absolutely required her to. She didn’t care about what he’d said to her before the crash, she didn’t care. It didn’t matter. She just wanted him here. She wanted to hear his voice again. What a luxury that was.

Slowly, Spencer began improving. He’d begin to open his eyes but shut them immediately afterwards. He’d make noises, even though they were very garbled, they were very welcome. Y/N would read to him, she’d have any one of their friends bring over his favorite books and she’d pass the time reading to him. It was difficult at first, but she’d improved too.

On the fifth day, he was awake and fully conscious before she even got to his room.

He heard his teammates speaking around him again and what a relief it had been to wake in a hospital bed rather than his own bed. He let out a heavy sigh of relief as they updated him of what happened in the recent days. 

It wasn’t real. 

None of it was.

Maeve wasn’t there, Y/N was his, no one else’s.

He’d been sure of it when they’d rolled her into his room and near his bed, eyes lit with hope surrounded by healing scrapes and bruises.

“Spence? Spencer!” She exclaimed, “Oh thank God you’re awake.” She whispered trying her hardest to lean towards him on the bed.

Spencer fought to raise his arm to touch her arm, “Y/N? A-are you really here?” He whispered back.

“I’m here baby, I’m here. I’m never leaving you.” She sobbed, leaning her face into his awaiting palm. Spencer’s chest filled with immense relief as his thumbs caught her fallen tears.

“Y/N, wait--Y/N, I’m so sorry...I’m so sorry about what I said. I remember. I didn’t mean it. You’re the one for me. Life is perfect with you.” Spencer frowned as tears of his own raced down his cheeks.

Y/N shook her head, “It’s okay, I don’t care about that anymore. I could have lost you. I-if I had lost you, I would have lost myself Spencer. I love you so much. I love you so much.” She repeated as she kissed the palm of his hand. 

“I love you so much, Y/N.”

How could he have ever wished to live without this? Without her?

The universe had taught him his lesson and boy was he glad he had learned it.

[ofrhysand]

𝐎𝐎𝐂; 𝙾𝚗 𝚁𝚑𝚢𝚜 𝚒𝚗 𝙰𝙲𝙾𝚂𝙵

So this is a mix of a headcanon and a personal opinion ( which are rare that I share on dash ). 

We all know the dislike that many of us have for Rhys and his character during ACOSF, mainly keeping the truth of her pregnancy from Feyre. I’ve already expressed to a couple of RP partners my personal opinion on this and how it does disappoint me as a Rhys RPer but it is because I am a Rhys RPer that I can get into his ‘head’ and dissect the reasons behind his decisions in ACOSF. Reminder that just because I can do this, it does not mean I am justifying, absolving, defending, supporting his actions in any way. 

To start off, I think we need to go all the way back to his childhood and what we know of it as it has been written in the books. He was born the half-breed son of a High Lord of a court that has always been disliked/distrusted/judged due to the veil of secrecy it’s under. Literally, since he was born, secrets and prejudice shaped the atmosphere that he was growing in. This topped with the unfitting mating bond of his parents. He says so himself, we see it in the books that he has insecurity/fear/worry about his mate bond to Feyre being unfitting by the end of ACOWAR because of what he witnessed between his mother and father. We don’t need to be psychologists to know that what we see/learn/are exposed to in our childhood, will stick with us for the rest of our lives; unconsciously or consciously. From this alone, Rhys has a deep rooted uncertainty/insecurity/fear on matters regarding the mate bond. 

Then we move on to the betrayal that led to the deaths of his mother and sister. His friendship with Tamlin was important to him and to have it be betrayed as it was with the dire consequences that followed, is yet another aspect that will stay with him. We see it in the books when he tells Feyre about it, in ACOFAS as he goes to the Spring Court and remembers the deaths of his mother and sister and their wings; that it didn’t matter that he burned them, and how he still sees their heads in the baskets. What he said to Tamlin then was not only because of what he did to Feyre, but because of what he had inside for his betrayal too. All of these glimpses tell us of how tightly Rhys holds on to these significant events in his life, even if it’s been centuries since they happened. We see it, too, when Tarquin sends those rubies, his pain at having deceived him knowing that Tarquin would maybe have given him a friendship, despite of who he is. 

Then we have what happened UTM, the abuses he went through, the cruel and terrible things he did in order to keep his home safe. Even when he’s free, Rhys doesn’t tell any of the IC what happened just to spare them of the guilt and the pain, even if they assume and know regardless. He tells Feyre eventually, because she, too, was there; they share the same terrors and nightmares. Feyre is his equal, his mate, that one big dream he forever thought would remain a dream or a wish. The thought of losing her ( and let’s not forget, he did lose her once and could’ve lost her twice ), it absolutely terrifies him. All that he loves, has been taken away from him, he says so himself and he’s right, it’s just a metaphor or an exaggeration. 

Now, let’s try to put together these pieces that make up his character. To survive, he’s been forced since he was a child, to deceive, to wear masks, to endure and distrust. He’s been taught that the rest of the world hates his home, his people, and this is true as we see and learn in the books. His life has been darkness, except for those stars in his life in the form of his mother, sister, IC, and now Feyre and Nyx. He lost two ( mother and sister ), but ever since finally letting go of the mask and showing the rest of the courts who he really is, finding allies and fighting together, there is light coming into his life. But it’s way too fragile, as delicate as the peace they were able to obtain when winning against Hybern. And in ACOFAS we are introduced to new troubles, including the dissent amongst the Illyrians, one of the various threats to that peace. In ACOSF, we not only have the Queens, the death trove, the Illyrians, Koschei, another war. We have Nesta too, who is of course, his family, along with Az and Elain. 

Rhys is under a ridiculously immense amount of pressure. Maybe it’s easy to forget these things because we don’t get his or Feyre’s POV in ACOSF, but he is. All of the above mixed with the news that his mate and unborn child will die, and the uselessness of not being able to do anything about it. It’s bound to cloud his judgment, be him some all powerful High Lord or not. His emotions are all over the place but he can’t let them overwhelm him because it’s not just Feyre or his family that need him. At this point, it’s the whole of Prythian and he knows that, we can see it in all the discussions they have regarding the trove or Koschei, etc.. And I think we see this most when Amren tries to convince him to become High King. He is absolutely against this, and I believe it’s a big clue to find behind that resoluteness, because Amren’s reasons are logical from a strategic standpoint. And we have seen in the past that Rhys is willing to sacrifice himself if it is what must be done for ‘the greater’ and bigger picture. So, what changed? Why is his character suddenly different/altered in ACOSF from the previous books?

The fact remains that Rhys is the most powerful High Lord. He doesn’t even know the extent of his power, and in a way, I believe he is afraid of it ( along with feeling unworthy of it ), of what would happen if he were to use it, be it for good or wrong. And yet, even though he could do it, he refuses to entertain the idea of ascending as High King and I strongly believe that it’s not only because of the infighting that would bring, but because he would lose those delicate alliances and budding friendships that have come from those alliances. Rhys himself has said that he’d lost hope, that all he wanted he thought would always just be a dream and right now, ( as he cites in ACOFAS ) he has everything he ever wanted. Again, he is absolutely terrified of losing it all, but most of all, he is terrified of losing Feyre and Nyx. How is he going to tell her that the boy she saw would kill her? Would kill all three of them because of that bargain they made in a moment of love? How can he help Prythian, his people and family and friends, when he is about to die? 

I wouldn’t say he was in denial because that’s not what we’ve seen to be a part of his character. Rhys accepts facts, truths, as negative and unfavorable as they may be, and finds ways to turn them in his favor or at least, to get the best of them that he can. This is something he can’t do now. Nesta telling Feyre the truth, hurting her ( even though I was glad that she did so finally ), was another painful reminder ( not that he’d forgotten ) to Rhys that he was useless, that he will lose everything, including his own life ( which he doesn’t care for in this case, anyways ). As wrong as it is, he was torn between telling the truth or sparing Feyre of the pain, up until he could no longer do so probably because he knows her too well, and knows that Feyre would die if it means their child lives. But in this case, Rhys is a realist and knows they would both die. 

So, he was beyond pissed with not just Nesta, but I think with himself, with the whole circumstance and still, he had the tiny spark of reason to have Nesta go away before she became the outlet of his anger because I believe, deep down in that spark; he knew it’s not her fault. It’s his own. This is his tendency when it comes to anger, and this is fueled by that sense of insecurity and unworthiness, bundled up in how his entire life, he’s been forced to take up everything on his shoulders alone ( even if he has the IC and now Feyre, he still wants to protect/spare them of it all ). So this naturally makes that anger turn inward to the self and Nesta I believe in that moment, was a catalyst to that whole effect, and that logical part of him ( we know this is also another aspect of his character ) knows she is not to blame, and so had her removed before he did something he was gonna regret. Not to mention Rhys already held a grudge against her for still giving Feyre trouble after all his mate had to endure already. But that’s another subject. 

And so to conclude this too long headcanon-ish thing, I think Rhys was well aware of the wrong he was doing in keeping the truth of the pregnancy from Feyre. But I wanted to expose my thoughts and take as a Rhys RPer, on why he acted this way despite the wrong. Do I personally like or support that he did so? I will continue to dislike it always but I will not erase it from his portrayal either just because I as the mun don’t like it. I am more than willing to write this or write different versions of the ACOSF things, be them good or bad. But I can piece together why he did what he did, as much as I dislike it. 

Character development can be for the good or bad ( a character can develop into a villain as easy as they can develop into a savior or a hero ), and this is something that I think is important to remember. Am I saying that Rhys will become a villain? Of course not. But we must remember that as good a character he has been, he is also morally gray, and these aspects come out in these kinds of situations. Do we all have to like it? Of course not. It’s part of what makes a good series ( in my opinion ), how there are characters that inspire dislike/disapproval/resentment, etc., as much as they can inspire love and joy and admiration. Does that make my opinion/portrayal of him right, wrong, better or worse than others? Not at all. I believe the beauty of RP lies behind the many portrayals there are of the same characters and how they can lead to different outcomes and ideas. This whole situation with Rhys in ACOSF is an example of it. 

But yes, even though I’m sure I’m forgetting things, this is long enough and if you read all the way down here, then you are amazing, and I thank you for taking precious time to do so!

[my-writings-and-musings]

Can I please have a short story of the prompt of the human reader being used as a sheild, and the human has a communicator allowing the bots to trace their signal? And can I please have ratchet, tailgate, cyclones, and drift for this?

I have headcannons for now because I'm spread really thin lately, but I hope you like it! Also I love this prompt in particular because every bot on the ship needs to be told how special and wonderful they are, and what better way to show them than by shouting their praises at an enemy with ample swearing?

Part One: Here!

Part Two: You're Here!

Ratchet

·Your relationship to the medic had allowed some of the restraint he needed for his high stress job to rub off on you, but that's also true of his testiness, so when you reach your breaking point it's quite the sight. The bot that kidnapped you for a ransom learns the loud way just how passionately you adore your grumpy bot when they crack another joke about Ratchet's age and you simply lose it. Held back by your chains, you crack that the bot who kidnapped you couldn't accomplish what Ratchet has if they had a billion years to do so, and what right do they have to insult when they look the way they do? "Call him old all you want, he looks better now than you ever have and ever will!"

·Perhaps it's the fact that the tiny human just insulted their appearance of all things, but the bot is frozen at the communicator, and somehow that makes you angrier. It's clearer to you now than ever before why Ratchet hurls wrenches at the bots that annoy him; nothing would be more satisfying than the "thunk" of a well aimed projectile at this jerk's head. As it stands you're willing to settle for using your words as the only weapons you have. Laughing bitterly, you ask your captor if they're only able to win an argument with bots that can't fight back, which would explain why they need you as a shield AND the corpses they keep as company. The last dig actually gets them moving towards you with a threat, but when they refer to Ratchet as your "rusty old paramour" you get a renewed burst of rage and go off once more.

·"Are you seriously trying to insult Ratchet of all bots?! Do you have any idea what he's capable of?! How many lives he's saved?! What have you accomplished lately, huh?! Besides EXTORTION?!" Feeling a tad bit flushed, it's impossible not to go all out in your tirade, especially because it feels so darn good after suffering in silence for so long. It doesn't hurt that you have so much material to work with either. This raging jerk is living in a corpse filled lair and kidnapping humans to ransom them off for cash, and they're going after one of the greatest medics the Autobots ever had? Cutting them down to size should be classified as doing the universe a favor! If you weren't so incredibly frustrated, and dangling from chains, you might have found this enjoyable.

·"Seriously! Ratchet does more good for the universe in a week than you could do in a lifetime! Plus, you think age is holding him back?! The bot walks right off the battlefield after carving up bad guys like you, only to waltz into the medibay to patch up everyone else, on a daily basis!" Though not impressed, it does appear that your captor is rethinking some things, and perhaps actually realizing they've made a pretty formidable enemy. Had that not been such a flagrantly obvious fact you'd have been satisfied. Instead you just keep going, your intense love for your docbot mingling with your frustration to pour forth in a never-ending stream of loving threats. Only a total power outage cuts off a tangent about how Ratchet's age has not impacted his ability or endurance in "other areas" of your relationship either...

·The darkness is broken by flashing lights and the crackle of energy weapons firing all around, and you just manage to catch some familiar colors flashing through the dark before a very welcome red and white frame swoops in to carefully slice you out of the chains with a laser scalpel. There's just enough time to catch a smile overflowing with emotion before you're taken into gentle hands, and as Ratchet takes you back to the ship you get a glimpse of your very roughed up kidnapper being cuffed by the remaining crew. Your partner takes you straight to the medical bay, fussing over you all the way and asking a thousand questions about your wellbeing, but without any of his usual gruffness as he does so. In fact, he's probably the softest you've ever seen him. The smile never once leaves his face as he insists on getting you fed and rested and to bed where he pulls the covers over you himself.

·In the aftermath he almost seems to melt in your presence, losing most of his grumpy persona every time he's with you no matter how long or difficult a day he's had. Though you obviously don't mind, a couple bots let you know that when you were kidnapped he was the closest to losing control anyone had ever seen him. He'd been shouting and cursing until you had interrupted the latest communication with your captor, at which point he'd been so shocked others had needed to rush in and take advantage of the prolonged signal. Evidently, hearing you defend him as you did had rocked his world in the best possible way. Between working a stressful and often thankless profession, and not ever hearing you shout in such a way before, he's been touched to learn he could be loved by someone who appreciates him as you do. It's enough to keep even the worst of grumpy days from affecting him.

Tailgate

·Truth be told, your greatest concern when you were kidnapped was for your tiny SO, as his propensity for panic could result in some very unpleasant anxiety attacks while he and the others try to rescue you. That worry on his behalf turned to fury when your kidnapper refused to stop mocking the little bot for everything from his size to his age and even for supposedly choosing an organic solely to be taller than someone. It's enough to make you see red, and your limit is quickly reached as a result of the cowardly bullying. Your explosive bout of rage is a scream of frustration that quickly morphs into an unstoppable tirade that pulls no punches. Has this big jerk been planning this for any length of time you ask, because if so, you know a couple of sparklings that could think of more mature insults!

·"Really?! You make fun of bots for being short?! He's also blue, you want to pick on him for something arbitrary, why limit yourself?!" You know it's not the smoothest insult, but darn it all, you can't bring yourself to think straight with all this rage. This bot needs to hear what an absolute creep and bully they are, because seriously who gloats like a real life cartoon villain? When they leave the communicator and try to get in your face you're only further incensed, channeling your tiny partner's courage as you wish beyond the telling of it you could punch the jerk into silence. "If there's gonna be insults, how about I open the floor to some genuine digs? Because your ugly mug is a GOLDMINE of material, okay?! Seriously, does Unicron ask YOU for beauty tips?!"

·There's sputtering in response, which you just take as a go ahead to tear them apart, because at this point you're not sure if you can really stop. After all, record shattering hideous face aside, what does this bot actually have to offer? Tailgate has saved millions! Faced with multiple varieties of death, he took out the guy hellbent on committing species wide genocide, and he doesn't even brag about it! You rub that in your captors face with all the pride you have for your partner spurring you on, hoping that you get a chance to tell Tailgate what a source of inspiration he was in these moments. At the very least you'll have to tell him how your captor froze at the enraged shouting. "Plus, Tailgate has actual friends! People LIKE him, unlike you, who I'm guessing doesn't entertain often based on the corpses you leave lying around!"

·A last ditch attempt to shut you up with a few lame threats just gets you laughing, in part because you can't believe this bot ever thought they were going to succeed at this. "You didn't even bother to check up on who you're making an enemy of, did you? I doubt it, because if you did, you'd know Tailgate has made paperweights out of bots much tougher than you!" Perhaps it's a little macabre, but it's endlessly satisfying to see your captor flinch as you describe what an absolute powerhouse your partner is, particularly how he uses his small size to levy his strength in the most destructive ways possible. It's delightful enough that, as you begin to brag about the benefits of his size relative to yours and his strength working together in more intimate settings, only something like an earthquake stops you.

·Chained as you are, there's no way to get a clear look at your captor as they attempt to flee, but thankfully the ground stills just in time to let you see the cavalry arrive. Lost Light bots pour in to stop the automated defenses from doing much at all, and in a brilliant blue and white blur your kidnapper is punched full to unconsciousness by what might as well have been a meteorite. It's only when said force of nature runs to free you and a tearful blue visor meets your eyes that you recognize Tailgate. The minibot gets you down in a hurry and embraces you in as tight a hug as is safe, talking a mile a minute about his worries and how sorry he is you had to go through all this. After assuring him he doesn't have to beat up your captor any further, you let him carry you back to the ship, getting nuzzled all the while.

·In between far more frequent cuddle sessions from the absolutely enamored Tailgate, you get pulled aside by a couple bots who just want to let you know what an impact your brave speech had on the minibot. While inconsolable during your kidnapping, to the point of swapping between rage and tears every few minutes, he'd been visibly awed once he heard you go off in his defense. That makes you understand everything far more clearly; this bot has been unsure of his self worth for so long, so hearing you face down a much larger foe because you love him so much that their taunting him drove you to frenzy... Knowing he's loved like that changed his entire worldview. You can see it in his visor every time he looks at you, and feel it in every buzzing hug, how grateful he is to have found someone who loves him.

Cyclonus

·Dating a bot capable of triggering enemy surrender with a glance requires a strong will, mostly to endure the endless questions from bots confused as to how you got Cyclonus to ask you out, but today you find yourself facing a whole new level of irritation. Though the bot that kidnapped you is obviously no match for your towering partner, they still mock the big mech through radio like they're some kind of badass, taunting him for debasing himself and growing soft by dating a fleshy. Regardless of how hard Cyclonus has worked to open up to you, hearing the personal jabs makes something within snap and go nuclear, resulting in a war cry your partner would be proud of as you rattle your chains for emphasis.

·"Can you just CAN IT with the insults?! We all know that if this fleshy wasn't here as your shield, you'd be fleeing to the other end of the galaxy!" You waste no time getting right to the heart of what's so infuriating about your captor; their spineless and cowardly nature is so obvious beneath the sneering mockery it makes you literally sick. Seeing how completely they freeze at your jab just proves your point in your mind. What, were they just expecting you to be quiet forever after dealing with THEM for the past few hours? Was the idea of resistance that surprising to them?! The calm maturity you picked up from Cyclonus is matched only by the capacity for righteous fury learned from the same source, and it's the latter that breaks out in glorious fashion.

·"Oh, what, nothing to say? No moronic insults for someone who can actually talk back? Do you need your debate opponents to be silent so you can think of a rebuttal?!" Your almost sarcastic jab actually earns you a demand to be silent, but it's so lacking in authority you can only laugh, despite not feeling any less furious with the situation. It's bad enough to be kidnapped and chained up, but by someone this incompetent? Being a tiny fraction of their size doesn't make you feel any less embarrassed for having been caught by them. It's enough frustration to make you snap again when they start coming in close, especially as another insult is levied at Cyclonus for having chosen a human so unpleasant due to his age and miserable attitude. The words are little more than kerosene on your already burning anger.

·"Do you really think you get to accuse Cyclonus of having a miserable attitude, you inept excuse for a kidnapper?! I'd rather have a conversation with these corpses than you! Not to mention, Cyclonus isn't limited to insulting people whenever he talks, unlike you!" The tirade is perhaps nonsensical with how passionately you begin to praise your partner's command of verse, but you're far too lost in your genuine adoration to care, especially as you begin to relay how wonderfully enticing his singing is to you. Every time your captor tries to command silence you just jump to yet another feature that makes your heart flutter, riding on the high of how incredibly good it feels to rub it all in their flustered face as you go. An attempt at describing his passionate grasp of verse around specific topics is stopped only by a door flying off its hinges in a burst of shattered metal.

·Security forces do nothing as a hulking purple figure enters through the smoke of considerable destruction, and your captor is left paralyzed with fear as they're hefted up by a clawed hand, one you're so relieved to see you can't help calling out their name. Cyclonus is content to toss the criminal to the rest of the crew as they arrive, and actually smiles once he beholds you safe. Freeing you of your bonds, he doesn't drop the chains until they're wrapped about your captor for some poetic justice. After that, you're carried to the nearest private spot on the ship and embraced without hesitation, the giant arms that have held you before almost shaking as he whispers how grateful he is to have you back. For an instant he sheds genuine tears when you hug him in return.

·Though the intensity of his emotions isn't as extreme as when he rescued you going forward, the big bot is far more open about his feelings than ever before, even showing them in full view of others. Surprised but not at all displeased, you are however quite thrown for a loop when someone recounts how incredibly worried he was during your kidnapping, in that he had to be convinced not to go after you alone and gouged some unfortunate furniture as he listened to the communications. Yet the moment you started your tirade, he was shocked to a whole new kind of silence. It's obvious that he hadn't even been able to process it at first, but now is fully overwhelmed and grateful for your love as he never was before. Hearing himself defended by someone he adores more than anything changed his perspective of himself, as well as his outlook on life, for how could he not see the beauty of a universe that had given him you?

Drift

·Sort of an interstellar hippy in his own way, Drift has taught you a lot about remaining calm through meditation, saying that a clear mind and control over anger is key to surviving high stress situations. The same philosophy is what he instructed you to use when others mocked his past, as he claims to be used to it and doesn't want anyone angering you on his behalf. This doesn't stop you from simmering in your current situation, dangling from chains as you might be, and admittedly being kidnapped tends to shorten one's fuse. Perhaps that's why you explode so dramatically when your abductor opens up the communication line just to mock your partner by claiming he hardly should be upset by an organic dying, considering his past, and that this current "relationship" is probably just a redemption stunt. That final mistake sets you off on a legendary tirade.

·"Are you KIDDING me?! You want to talk about STUNTS you wannabe kidnapping loser?! Do you have a projection disorder or something?! Because unlike you, Drift doesn't actually have to PROVE anything!" Never in your life have you wished to be the same height as the bots to this degree, granted though it's only because you want to strangle this jerk purely for the satisfaction of throttling them. Drift has worked to be better, and jabs about his past hurt him deeply, despite what he says. What right does this loser have to use that against him? You're so worked up fear isn't in your catalog of emotions when your captor tries to threaten you with physical harm. All you see is an overhyped grifter who got lucky, and you make that abundantly clear.

·"What, are you going to try threatening me, really? Am I supposed to be afraid of bluster now?!" The sight of a tiny organic growing red in the face with rage actually seems to give the bad bot pause, in part because you're so flushed they have to wonder if humans have a secret explosive ability that you're presently charging up. Admittedly you do feel like you might pop, but that's only because it's impossible to unleash all of your anger in a way that's truly satisfying, and you're left with spouting all the very justified insults that spring to mind. One particular thing that galvanizes your anger; how is this jerk pretending they would stand a chance against Drift?! The bot may be a literal ray of sunshine to you, but you're well aware of what he can do to enemies, and you doubt your kidnapper is in the dark about your paramour's combat prowess.

·"Would you be playing the big tough bot if he were anywhere near here?! Or if you didn't have me as a shield?! Because I doubt you'd last a moment in a one on one!" You shout, your tone of vitriol somewhat humorous considering that the point is a very valid one. While not afraid of Drift in the slightest, you know being on his bad side can be fatal in impressively short order. Perhaps that's why his soft approach to your relationship is even better. It's so special to you that in your current state you can't help but brag aggressively, going on about what a wonderful bot he is and that this loser could never hope to best him in combat or personality. Seeing them rethink it all just adds fuel to your fire, but before you can really get going on how Drift's gentle mannerisms extend to the bedroom you're interrupted by a cacophony of unfathomable origin.

·One of the entrances to the room you're in is sliced open by what you swear has to be ten swords at once, but as soon as it's down and the wielder charges in, you see only two held by a very angry looking Drift. Though accompanied by ample backup, he's an army of one as he reduces the security to pieces and almost dices up your captor. Only some obviously difficult self control lets him immobilize the bot instead. Not wasting time, your partner leaves the bad guy for the others to hurry to your side, his expression beaming with unmatched happiness and relief as he cuts you free and catches you in cupped hands. Shameless kisses and a million questions about whether or not you're hurt are your prelude to an open embrace. Never minding public affection in the past, he's still at a new level all the way back to the ship and in the days that follow.

·It's impossible not to go an hour without a loving nuzzle against your forehead, and whenever you aren't looking Drift is in the corner of your eye with an absolutely lovestruck expression on his sweet face, to the point you halfway imagine there could be hearts in his optics. Rodimus himself tells you in confidence that the unshakable ninjabot was barely able to keep himself steady after your kidnapping, obviously holding back a hurricane of pain and grief within his spark, but that changed in a flash as soon as he heard you. Accustomed to being derided, he'd been unprepared for such a passionate defense from anyone. Hearing you shout his praises had nearly driven him to tears. The pain of his past and the exclusion he faces for it has worn him down, to the point he often believes himself to be irredeemable, but you've made him have hope for himself for the first time in eons. Your love makes him see what he's done right, and from now on, he fully intends to give you and himself more to be proud of every day.

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Françoise de Bernardy’s Alexandre Walewski: The Polish son of Napoleon- the first chapter

If I went to the (long and tedious) effort of translating the first chapter of  Françoise Bernardy’s 1976 biography of Alexandre Walewski, I figure you guys should see it too. Enjoy!

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MARCH 1810. Paris is moved by the preliminaries of Napoleon's marriage with Marie-Louise. In a few days, the archduke Charles has to marry in Vienna, in the name of the French Caesar, his yesterday's victor, the daughter of the German Caesars.


At 2 rue du Houssaye, in the then aristocratic district of Notre-Dame-de-Lorette, a small hotel of elegant appearance. On March 10, at the end of the afternoon, the Emperor brought a cradle decorated with silver laurel. The room where the imperial gift is deposited is hung with light blue. On the wall is a beautiful portrait of a woman by Gerard: blonde, with beautiful eyes and a fine, gentle face. The mirror of the fireplace reflects the charming features. Near the Boucaut armchairs, a Martin varnished chiffonier, behind, half-folded, a large screen of Coromandel lacquer.

A heroic fighter in the last wars of Polish independence, Mathieu Laczynski, staroste of Gostyn, died young and desperate, leaving a widow and six children who can barely live off the mortgaged land of Kiernozia.

The years pass, aggravating the ruin. The four sons are valiant but weak, spendthrift, covered with debts, whether they work on the land or fight in the Polish legions in the service of France. Only one hope, a rich marriage for the oldest daughter, Marie, born in 1786, who is beautiful and good.

An almost septuagenarian but very noble neighbor, Count Anastasius Walewski, offers this rich marriage when Marie has just turned seventeen. At first, the young girl rejects the idea of a union with an old man, twice widowed, whose son Stanislaus is already a made man. But Mme. Laczynska urges her daughter. She knows that he has a warm heart and a devoted soul. Count Walewski is generous. If Mary sacrifices herself, he will secure the future of her brothers and sister. How to resist seventeen years? At the beginning of 1804 Marie became countess Walewska. In June 1805 she had a son, Antoine, a fragile, weak, viable child, who was taken over by the count's sister, Hedwige, an abusive spinster. She leaves behind a distraught young woman with a sad heart and empty arms. Only the sense of duty and a deep passion, which lifts her out of herself, the love of the country, sustain her. Marie lives on the hopes that the victories of the imperial France over Austria, Prussia, and Russia, the powers that once shared Poland.

This patriotism and these hopes brought Marie Walewska to meet Napoleon in Blonie on the road to Warsaw on December 31, 1806. In the weeks that followed, this patriotism and these hopes persuaded the young woman to become the mistress of the French emperor, first forced, then willing, then in love. In the spring of 1807, she lived with him in Finckenstein, where the warrior spent some quiet hours preparing for the Friedland campaign.

Unofficially separated from her old husband, Marie Walewska came to Paris at the beginning of 1808. She remained there until the Emperor's departure for Bayonne. If the fever of the senses has subsided between them, if the lovers are often and for a long time separated, nevertheless Napoleon remains attentive and Marie attached. And then there is always Poland, whose destiny once more seems to be played out during the campaign of 1809. In May, Marie writes to Napoleon, reminds him of his promises, offers to join him in Austria, and on May 18, from Schoenbrunn, which he is about to leave for his headquarters in Ebersdorf, the Emperor replies to the young woman.

"Marie, I have received your letter. I read it with the pleasure that your memory always inspires me. The feelings that you keep for me, I carry them with me.

"Come to Vienna, I wish to see you and give you new proofs of the tender friendship I have for you. You cannot doubt the value I place on everything that concerns you. A thousand tender kisses on your beautiful hands and one on your beautiful mouth. "

A month later, back at Schoenbrunn, on June 20, fifteen days before the battle of Wagram, the Emperor sent Marie an affectionate letter.

"Dear Marie, your letters have pleased me as always. I do not approve of your having followed the [Polish] army in Cracow, but I cannot blame you.

"The affairs of Poland are restored, and I understand the anxieties you have had ... I acted, it was better than to lavish consolation on you. You don't have to thank me, I love your country and I appreciate the merits of many of your people.

"It takes more than the capture of Vienna to bring the end of the campaign. When I have finished, I will move to be closer to you, my sweet friend, because I am anxious to see you again. If it is at Schoenbrunn, we will enjoy together the charm of its beautiful gardens and we will forget all these bad days.

"Have patience and keep faith. "N"

After Wagram, Countess Walewska moved to Moedling, a few miles from Vienna, and throughout the summer of 1809, while peace was being discussed, the Emperor came almost every day to spend the evening, the night - with Marie.

Slow, sweet weeks which, if they seem to consecrate the liaison by the expectation of a child, however, by precipitating the divorce, also prepare the rupture. Indeed, Marie wishes to return to France with the Emperor, but Napoleon, now assured that he can procreate, determined to separate from Josephine, does not want to. The presence of the young woman in Paris would disturb him as he prepares his second marriage. He asked the Countess to return to Poland and on October 13 - the Emperor left Vienna the next day - Marie took the road to Warsaw.

On December 18 - the divorce was pronounced on the 15th - from Trianon where he went to his departure from the Tuileries, Napoleon writes to the countess Walewska. How the tone has changed since the letters of May and June, and how the young woman must have suffered. It is no longer a lover, but the sovereign who speaks, only the concern for the child still shines through. "Madam, I received your letter. All that it contains touched me much. I was pleased to see that you arrived in Warsaw without any unpleasant accident. Take care of your health, which is very precious to me, and put away dark thoughts, the future should not worry you. Teach me that you are happy and content, that is my greatest desire."

Unconsciousness of men. It is almost in the same terms that the Emperor tries to console Josephine...

Happy? Happy? Marie is not happy while she is waiting for Napoleon's child so far away from him, while Caulaincourt seems to be about to sacrifice the Polish hopes in Saint-Petersburg... In 1807, prince Poniatowski asked countess Walewska not to reject the sovereign on whom the fate of Poland depends. In 1810, he probably asked Marie to come to Paris to defend the cause of the Grand Duchy of Warsaw and she agreed. Thus, she was in Paris at the beginning of 1810.

Marie Walewska looked sadly at the cradle. It is true that Napoleon welcomed her and spoke tenderly of the child she was carrying - a son, he had no doubt. But the young woman's heart is heavy. The Emperor had come the day before to bid her farewell. He would not see her again until she had given birth. What will Marie do? Stay in Paris? Retire to the country? To Warsaw? But can she return without the count's permission?

All of a sudden hurried footsteps, a panting courier. "A letter from Poland!"

The count's handwriting...

"Walewice, 21 February 1810

"Dear and honored wife,

"Walewice is more and more a burden to me, my age and state of health forbidding me any activity. I have come there for the last time, in order to sign the deed by which my eldest son acquires it.

"I advise you to come to an agreement with him about the formalities to be completed at the birth of the child you are expecting. They will be simplified if it is in Walewice that this Walewski is born.

"This is also his opinion, and that I write to you. I do so, conscious of fulfilling my duty, praying to God that he may have you in his care.

"Anastase Colonna Walewski".

Marie weeps with relief, with gratitude. Without wasting a minute, she claims her chaise de poste.

Poland is still under a blanket of snow when the Walewska princess arrives in Walewice. The young woman was pleased to see the long white house again, with its two wings covered by terraces and the triangular pedimented porch. This "colonial style" is surprising in the Polish plain: it is a memory of the veterans of the American War of Independence.

April soon brings its first greens, the buds burst in the woods. Marie Walewska takes long solitary walks. Her term is near. What will be the future of this child in whom Slavic and Latin blood are mixed? If it is a son, will he be a soldier, a diplomat? If it is a daughter, will she have fewer difficulties than her mother? What Marie wishes for her child is happiness...

On May 4, Countess Walewska gave birth to a son. At the end of his life Alexandre Walewski will write:

"My birth was accompanied by lightning and thunder, and it was predicted that my life would be stormy and even life-changing.

"To satisfy an old family prejudice, I was held at the font by two beggars, which was supposed to bring me luck... "

Three days pass, then on May 7 the priest of Walewice, acting as civil registrar, registers in the commune of Bielow that "Mgr Anastase de Walewski, staroste of Wareck, residing in Walewice, age of 73 years ", presented him "a child of the male sex, born in his palace on May 4 of the present year at four o'clock, by clarifying to us that he was born from his marriage with the lady Marie, nee de Laczynska, his wife . ... and that he intended to give her the following three names: Alexandre-Florian-Joseph. In view of this declaration, we have proceeded to the redaction of the birth certificate of the said child, in the presence of Mgr Stanislas de Walewski aged 30 years ... and of Mr. Joseph Ciekerski,doctor of medicine and surgeon deliverer ... which birth certificate was signed by us as well as by the above-mentioned and the required witnesses after reading made. "

Anastase Walewski thus fulfills all his duty towards a woman whose honesty and uprightness he appreciates. To this child who is nothing to him, he assures a name, a legitimate filiation, a heritage. This is a striking proof of the affection and esteem he has for Marie. Stanislaus Walewski is fully associated with this testimony by his presence in front of the priest of Walewice.

On his side the Emperor did not forget Marie.

On April 16 (1) he wrote to her: 

"Madam, I receive with great pleasure your news, but the dark ideas that I see that you nourish do not suit you well. I do not want you to have any. Teach me soon that you have a beautiful boy, that your health is good and that you are cheerful. Never doubt the pleasure I will have in seeing you and the tender interest I take in what concerns you. Farewell Marie, I await with confidence your news."

(1) When it was published, this letter was dated February 16. This date hardly seems acceptable. First of all, it is clearly a reply to a distant person whom the Emperor will have "pleasure in seeing". Above all, Napoleon knew that the child was due at the beginning of May and he could not hope that he would be born "soon" - prematurely. Date of April, when the young woman withdrew to Walewice, this text takes on its full meaning.

Leaving a few days later for Belgium and Holland with Marie-Louise, he is informed by quick couriers and, as soon as he knows the birth of Alexandre, he sends for the child Brussels lace and twenty thousand gold francs, for the mother, a very special tribute if we think of Napoleon's admiration for the poet, the works of Corneille, printed in Rouen in 1648, in a beautiful binding by Trantz. Does the Emperor want to signify to Marie that she has the high and tender soul of a Chimene, that he remembers her faithful and generous love?

Napoleon called the young woman back to France on September 3. After thanking her for the news brought by her brother, Theodore Laczynski, he adds in effect: "If your health is well recovered, I desire that you come on the end of autumn to Paris where I desire very much to see you... "

An amicable agreement is then definitively reached between Marie and the count Walewski. The latter gives her a large part of his fortune and entrusts her with the custody of their son Antoine. In Paris Marie Walewska moves back to rue du Houssaye. The months pass. Marie lives far from the court, does not meet Napoleon who, all occupied with Marie-Louise, seems to be interested in the young woman and her son. Finally, in February 1811, the Emperor came to see little Alexandre. It is a beautiful blond child, but whose dark complexion recalls that of the Bonapartes. He has the round head of the Latins, the high and wide forehead of his father, his eyebrow, his mouth and his chin, but the eye does not have the deep blue of the Corsican, reflection of the Mediterranean, it does not have either the sparkle which had always to brighten in the imperial pupil, the brown eye of Alexandre is pleasant and merry. A second visit follows the first one, then it is the rupture, without clashes, without discussion, like a fruit that has reached maturity.

Napoleon, however, is very concerned about the material well-being of Countess Walewska, to whom Duroc brings ten thousand francs every month. Especially the future of his son. On the eve of leaving Paris for Russia, on May 5, 1812, he made the young woman come to the Tuileries and gave her a patent which instituted in favor of Alexandre a majorat of one hundred and seventy thousand pounds of income, with the title of count. The majorat is established on goods situated in the kingdom of Naples.

One evening in January 1813, Alexandre was awakened with a start. Dressed in a hurry, he was taken to his mother.

"Two elderly men were with him, one of whom took me on his lap and kissed me. His physiognomy made a deep impression on me; it was certainly the first memory of his life."

The Emperor's solicitude for his Polish son did not waver. In the middle of the dark hours of the French campaign, fearing that Murat would confiscate the first endowment, he charged his treasurer general, M. de La Bouillerie, to establish a new majorat of fifty thousand pounds of rent on the canals for the young Walewski; he also had a hotel at 48, rue de la Vicioire, bought in the name of Alexandre for 137,500 francs, of which Marie was the usufructuary (1).

Come the great reverses. In the defeated Emperor, abandoned by his former companions, Marie Walewska sees only the man who has loved her, whom she has loved. She runs to Fontainebleau and is announced. Napoleon, absorbed, does not see her again immediately, and then does not think about her anymore. Weary of body and soul, he looks for oblivion and rest in poison, but does not find it.

All night long, in an anteroom, Marie waits for him to call her. In the morning, she finally goes away, discreet, fearing to be unwelcome. The Emperor learns a few hours later of her apparent negligence. "The poor woman," he murmured, "will think she has been forgotten," and on April 16 he was anxious to reassure her. "Marie, I have received your letter of the 15th, the feelings that you have expressed touch me deeply. They are worthy of your beautiful soul and the goodness of your heart. When you have arranged your affairs, if you want to go to the waters of Lucca or Pisa, I will see you with great and lively interest, as well as your son for whom my feelings are invariable. Be well, think of me with pleasure and never doubt me.”

(1) On February 4, from Nogent, he writes in his own hand to La Bouillerie: "I have received your letter relative to young Walewski. I leave you carte blanche. Do what is convenient but do it immediately. What interests me is above all the child, the mother afterwards."     A judgment of the court of the Seine, of April 4, 1818, will authorize the tutor of the "minor" Walewski it to sell the hotel of the rue de la Victoire and it to replace the funds produced by this sale in the purchase of Walewice of which Stanislas Walewski wants to get rid.

In August 1814 Marie Walewska travels to Italy with her son, her sister Emilie and her brother Theodore. The Emperor encouraged her again on August 9: 

"Marie, I have received your letter, I have spoken to your brother. Go to Naples to arrange your affairs. On my way there or on my way back, I will see you with the interest you have always inspired in me, and the little one of whom I hear so much good news that I am truly happy and will be happy to embrace him. Farewell, Madame, a hundred tender things.”

On September 1 Marie arrived on the island of Elba with her son, Emilie and Theodore. Immediately a rumor spread among the population and the small garrison: Marie-Louise and the King of Rome had just arrived. The good people are mistaken. The Viennese woman of light soul and weak flesh is in Aix, already all in Neipperg.

Is Napoleon going to retain Marie who has come to offer him her life? Certainly he is moved to find her always so faithful and so generous. But the Emperor thinks first of the Empress, first of the King of Rome, and he fears that Marie-Louise, warned of the coming of the Polish girl, will take the pretext not to join him. Surprisingly, does he not guess that the choice is already made?

In any case, he receives Marie Walewska in a half-mystery, at the hermitage of the Madonna.

Leaving the countess the three rooms of the little house, Napoleon settles for the night in a tent under the chestnut trees. When he came out in the morning, he found Alexandre playing. He called him, sat down on a chair, took the child in his lap, then sent for Foureau de Beauregard, the doctor who had followed him to Elba, and the latter wrote to Alexandre Walewski on June 22, 1843: "You are that pretty little Alexandre that I saw, almost twenty-nine years ago, on the Emperor's lap near the Madonna delle Grazie on the island of Elba.”

“The Emperor wanted the child, who had no youngster with him, to be there," says Marchand. The Emperor placed Mme. Walewska's son next to him, he was very good at first, but it didn't last long and, as his mother reproached him, the Emperor said to him: "So you are not afraid of the whip? Well! I urge you to fear it; I have only received it once and I have always remembered it." Napoleon then tells how one day when he had mocked his grandmother's clumsy walk, Madame Mere had firmly corrected him. "The child had listened with the greatest attention, the Emperor said to him: 'Well, what do you say to that?’— ‘But I don't make fun of Mama,' he said with a little air of contrition which pleased the Emperor, who kissed him and said: 'That's well answered.’"

Rare picture of Napoleon with his Polish son.

That same evening, September 2, Marie Walewska took the road to Naples again in small steps. The endowment of Alexandre, confiscated on September 15 with all the other French endowments of the kingdom of Naples, is restored on November 30. Perhaps on the intervention of Caroline, who always liked Marie Walewska? Perhaps Murat had some shame to add a meanness to his betrayals? In any case the Emperor was satisfied and he told the King of Naples on February 17, 1815, adding: "I recommend her to you and especially her son who is very dear to me. "She came to Paris in the spring of 1838 and was ‘touched by the assiduous care’ that Walewski gave her during her stay. Caroline Murat wrote to him on November 23: "I am sending you the letter from the Emperor that I had promised you; you will see in it the proofs of the affection that he had for you... "

The countess Walewska lingers in Naples. Alexandre will keep a vague but pleasant memory of this stay, of the toys that he received there. At the beginning of 1815 the mother and the child embarked for France. Caught by a corsair, they escaped him in great difficulty.

Marie learned of the death of the count in Walewice on January 18, 1815. Now that she is free, what will she do with her life? To marry General d'Ornano, who has been courting her for a long time and for whom she has a deep inclination? Perhaps... She has hardly had time to decide when on March 1, 1815 Napoleon lands in Golfe-Juan.

It is the prestigious return, the intoxicating reception of Paris, the feverish days of work. Before the departure for the plains of Flanders where the imperial eagle will fall, Marie, always faithful heart, goes to the Elysee with her son. Alexandre found the visitor from the rue du Houssaye at the palace. He wears, as on the island of Elba, a blue uniform with a white lapel. "He told my mother that he was going to leave for a campaign. He asks me if I want to go with him. My mother refused. ‘Well madam, I will take him by force.’” These words still ring in my ears. "

Waterloo, the second abdication, the halt at Malmaison. Marie once again comes to the Emperor. So many bonds united them, gratitude for the resurrected Poland, and then love, and then the child. Without a doubt, she is ready to accompany him in this exile from which Napoleon's immense weariness, after a life so full and so ardent, awaits rest. But he does not accept, happiness is no longer for him, he enters the legend.

Despite the clear light of this beautiful summer day, everything is sad and gloomy on this June 26 and Malmaison is a kingdom of shadows: shadow of Josephine, unfaithful and charming, shadow of Duroc and Bessieres, shadow of the madman Junot, shadow of the absent ones too, Eugene, Murat, the companions of glory and youth, shadow of Talleyrand and Fouche who betrayed him, shadow above all of this young consul who took France in his arms and with a sincere effort straightened it.

Marie and the Emperor speak at length. Alexandre, serious and silent, listens to them without understanding. The countess is crying softly, she would like to retain Napoleon, to persuade him not to abandon himself to destiny. It is a vain effort, the Emperor does not hear her, nor does he hear Hortense. Marie finally decides to leave and Napoleon leans over to the child and gives him a long kiss. Later the man made, the wall man who became ambassador, then minister of the resurrected empire, will remember that he thought he saw a tear running down the cheek of the defeated of Waterloo.

Three more days the slow agony continues, three more days Marie returns to Malmaison and on June 29 she will be among the last faithful who, on the threshold of the house, will see the Emperor sinking with a firm step into the park, crossing the small gate, will hear the door of the heavy car slamming while the bells of the church of Rueil ring...

* * *

A long year... Europe catches its breath, gets used to the absence of the man who for fifteen years has dominated it and who disappeared at the bottom of the Atlantic.

On September 7, 1816 Marie Walewska married Ornano, who had been exiled by the Restoration, in St. Gudula in Brussels. Antoine and Alexandre Walewski stayed in Paris. Under the guidance of M. Carite, a friend on whom the countess entrusted the education of her children, and of an old valet, Andre, the two little ones join the Ornanos at the waters of Chaudfontaine near Liege. The new household moved soon after to Liege itself, in a charming house on rue Mandeville, today rue de la Fragnee. On June 9, 1817, a son, Rodolphe, was born. After his release from exile, Ornano returned to Paris with his wife in October 1817, but Marie died soon after, on December 11.

In her will Madame d'Ornano entrusted the guardianship of her Polish sons to her brother Theodore Laczynski, who was in Paris at the time. "He will have to report frequently to my dear husband on the state of Alexandre's health, to take his advice when this child will be of school age. Place him in a school where his father-in-law will be able to go and visit him sometimes and supervise his education... "

Laczynski takes the two orphans to Kiernozia in Poland. Alexandre likes this quiet and patriarchal life. Memories of the imperial era haunt the house. In the evening, Antoine and Alexandre linger in the living room. Theodore Laczvnski takes the lead in the conversation, he talks about the French Revolution, Paris, the imperial campaigns, especially about the Emperor. As Duroc's aide-de-camp, the Pole often approached Napoleon. The children, with bright eyes, listen "with indefinable interest". Laczynski's dream is to go to Saint Helena, to take his wards there...

After a few happy months in the country, Theodore Laczynski decides to settle in Warsaw and gives the children whose education cannot be neglected any longer a tutor. A strange choice. The times decidedly wanted it. While Queen Hortense entrusted Louis-Napoleon to the son of the conventionnel Le Bas, the young Walewskis, in their snows, were given to a certain Muller, a "philosopher teacher" as he called himself, of a very advanced republicanism. Laczynski quickly separates from the astonishing character and, in order to restore the balance, his pupils spend half a year in a Jesuit college in Warsaw, where Alexandre makes his first communion. Then they left for Geneva in 1820.

Napoleon's son stayed there for four years. After a happy, pampered life with the gentle and tender woman who was his mother, the child had two more easy years. Now here he is, thrown alone - his brother Antoine is leaving him soon (1) - in a new, even hostile environment, in a foreign city whose Protestant austerity must have clashed with the Catholic heredity of this Pole with Latin roots. And yet, as he himself wrote, it was from this period that his spiritual life began. The city of Calvin suits this calm, somewhat soft temperament. No flashes of anger or outbursts. Order, measure, a certain fundamental rigidity. In Geneva, one day in the summer of 1821, the child of Wagram, the one who prayed for the Emperor because he was his father, learns of the death of the captive of Saint Helena.

(1)Recalled probably by the tsar. Antoine Walewski died young, without children from his marriage to Constance Grotowska.

No trace in the memories of the imprisoned man of what he thought, felt... Did he ever know, except by the cold instructions to the executors of his will, that Napoleon, although absorbed by the concern for his imperial son, nevertheless thought of his Polish son, recommended him to Bertrand, expressed the wish that he enter a regiment of lancers, and above all that he become a Frenchman. "He is really of my blood, and that is also something."

Alexandre Walewski is a boarder at the Academy's rector's house, which receives about twenty young people. His lavish lifestyle, the apartment, the governor, the servant, attracted jealousy and bullying. In spite of his young age, Alexandre decides to avoid a situation which, if it goes on too long, will become painful. He gets the governor recalled, keeps the servant but puts him at the service of the community. He has easy money - his hands will always be wide open -, he lends to his comrades and shows himself to be generous. He is a serious, authoritarian boy, aware of his importance. The traits of his character, which we will find again during his life, are already marked: he is honest, upright, but he is neither cheerful nor fanciful. He evokes his life in Geneva as follows: "I was at twelve very tall for my age, and I considered myself a young man; so much so that I was already going a little into the world, to balls, to little parties... I stayed in Geneva for four years. I left Geneva on an order from the emperor of Russia."

* * * 

On his return to Poland in 1824, Alexandre Walewski was emancipated by his tutor. He settled in Walewice, where he led a stately life. Princess Jablonowska, a sexagenarian cousin who had once been the friend and confidante of Maria Walewska, helped him to entertain. The house of the young man, of this so young man, is soon to be very sought after.

Precocious from a worldly point of view, Alexandre Walewski is also precocious with women. The Latin blood is hot, the Slavic blood as well. Judging by what he wrote in the first draft of his memoirs, shortly after his arrival in Walewice, Alexandre had an affair. He had an affair with a "vulgar girl" that left him feeling disgusted and that would keep him away from such promiscuity in the future. The numerous women who will mark out his life will be from now on women of talent or: women of quality.

On December 22, 1825, Alexandre sends to the General d'Ornano his wishes for the new year. This letter, green, charming, which confirms the impression of maturity of a boy who is not sixteen years old, also reveals the affectionate feelings that he feels for his stepfather.

“It is nearly three months since I wrote to you and many things have happened since I took possession of my land in Walewice. First of all, the castle was repaired, which was in great need of it, and then my good cousin wanted the whole region to hear, with loud trumpeting, that I had become its lord. More than a hundred people did us the honor of attending the magnificent ball that she gave. It was very cold outside, but fortunately there was no snow that night. I was celebrated and saw people from the past whom I pretended to recognize and who were charmed by it. The dowagers even kissed me, but not the young girls, which would have pleased me more. I made up for it by dancing with several of them.

"I must confess also that I fell several times into the sin of pride. I don't know who said anything about my academic successes, but I have been in the hot seat and have been made to take part in political, diplomatic, literary, and I don't know what else conversations. How many compliments have I heard about my intelligence, my reason, the power of my arguments, etc., etc., etc.? And then I noticed that the girls preferred me to many other dancers. As the lessons given to me were profitable, I remembered that it was especially necessary to court ladies of canonical age and they brought back to me very flattering appreciations on my modest person, expressed by exquisite mouths...

"General Zayonczek is one of my most frequent visitors... He rambles a little, but this does not affect his memory. He remembers very well all that happened in Warsaw when the Emperor came there before the battle of Eylau... He is very popular with the great Duke and even with the Czar's court. Some people criticize him, but I think it is good that we have our great men in favor. It can only be useful for us...

"We will reopen the Warsaw hotel in a few days. Ah! if we could see you there!

"Your tender and respectful Alexandre. "

Son of the patriot Marie Walewska, son of the Emperor, Alexandre attracts Polish hopes. He would gladly be taken as a standard bearer. Grand Duke Constantine, the skillful and often benevolent governor of the kingdom, wanted to neutralize him. He offers him to join the Russian army, to become his aide-de-camp. The young man "stubbornly" refused. He was put under police surveillance and told to leave the country. Tsar Alexandre had once recommended that Napoleon's Polish son should never be allowed to go to France: his brother remembered this.

Alexandre decides to escape. With a passport obtained at a high price, he goes to St. Petersburg and hides there, waiting for a favorable opportunity to gain more free land. He learns that the police are looking for him to bring him back to Warsaw where his fate will be decided. Four hundred leagues on foot, a probable prison do not tempt the Pole. He had to escape at all costs. He reached Kronstadt and boarded a steamer bound for England. The police have found his trail, and they launch an armed barge in pursuit of him, ordering him to stop: inadvertently or unwillingly, the captain does not obey the summons and, thanks to his superior speed, makes it to the open sea.

* * * 

In London, Walewski received an enthusiastic welcome from the elegant society, the opposition. The Whigs, that is, the Liberals, have always regretted the treatment of the Emperor, and Lord Holland has protested in the House of Lords against the conditions of captivity. With Napoleon gone, the regrets became remorse...

In spite of the attentions of which he is the object, the young man does not linger in England. He will return there with pleasure and in 1828 he will spend several months: summer, autumn, making a long stay in Chatworth at the Duke of Devonshire, the most prominent of the great Whig lords. But it is in Paris that Walewski intends to settle down. He arrived there in the autumn of 1827. He found his father-in-law, with him Flahaut, Sebastiani, Gerard, veterans of the time. The salons of the Faubourg Saint Honore, of liberal tendency, receive him with great pleasure. He is charming at his entrance in the Parisian world, this young Walewski. Slim, slender, elegant, he has beautiful dark eyes and a dreamy smile. His slight accent adds to his charm when he courts a woman, and he waltzes divinely - like a Slav.

And then, isn't he called the natural son of Man? The Marechal de Castellane notes on November 1, 1827: "At Mme de Flahaut's, I saw for the first time a young M. Walewski, son of Mme Walewska and of the Emperor Napoleon. He has the eyes, the sound of his father's voice, he is taller than him and very well turned out (1)."

(1) Many years later Walewski pronounced the eulogy of the count of Rayneval. An old general of the Empire suddenly begins to cry. "I attended the farewell that the Emperor made to his guard at Fontainebleau and I just heard the sound of his voice.”

What is more surprising, the faubourg Saint-Germain, stronghold of the ultras, is infatuated with Walewski who becomes the darling of the "ultra-duchesses" according to Lady Morgan. Haussonville on his side confirms it to us. "The debuts of Count Walewski took place, singularly enough, under the auspices of what is most exclusive and purest in the aristocratic society of Paris. It was as if it were a watchword among the most sought-after ladies of the Faubourg Saint-Germain to give the most benevolent welcome to the young man whose features were strikingly reminiscent, but with a pleasant and gentle physiognomy, of those of a famous mask. The first of these was the one who was to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be the first to be of a man who was not a man of the world. He let the most haughtiest women, those who were about to consider themselves the prettiest or the wittiest, put themselves to the expense for him, either of brilliant toilet or of beautiful spirit, each one according to the means of seduction which suited her best. Thus, every evening in the fashionable salons, there was a real race to the bell tower between a learned marquise... who affected to speak to each ambassador the language of her country and a beautiful duchess [it seems to be the duchess de Guiche] who was then in Paris the type of the sovereign elegance. Between these ladies the bets were open and the chances seemed doubtful, Walewski taking care to share equally between them his discreet attentions...”

A cloud rises however on the horizon. Pozzo di Borgo, the Russian ambassador, a Corsican who had been in the service of the tsar, pursued with a Corsican hatred all that was Bonaparte. He asks for the extradition of Walewski, this "rebel, fugitive from the Russian Empire". By order of Charles X, who doesn't like Pozzo, Villele, on the eve of leaving the ministry, refuses it. Walewski could stay in France on condition that he avoided official circles and made himself forgotten.

Life is very pleasant in these last years of the Restoration. Lady Blessington has left us a pleasant picture of the society of the time. The manners are ceremonious and the young people surround the old women with delicate attentions, whether it is a flattering silence when the beautiful ones of the past are remembered or a lively eagerness to render them small services: handkerchief, bouquet or fan picked up, shawl placed on cold shoulders. France is the paradise of old women, especially if they are witty, England is the purgatory, says the Englishwoman without ambiguity. The amorous intrigues are discreet, hidden from the public, and those whose affair is best known affect the most reserved manners. Hypocrisy perhaps, but the Parisian world takes on an air of dignity and decency.

Once a week, the women of quality open their salons to a circle of intimates who meet like-minded people every evening in a friendly house. Small closed coteries, where strangers are not admitted. For them, balls, dinners and parties in full dress. For the regulars, the amiable negligence of the half-clothes and the free, unceremonial chat. “Yesterday I went to a small party at Madame de Jumilhac's [a sister of the Duke of Richelieu] where Walewski served as my introducer," said the Pole Andre Kosmian on November 7, 1829. “Without being rich, she received three times a week the flower of the Parisian world. Her small salon is only open to ten or twelve people at a time. It is very difficult to be admitted. I owed this favor to Walewski who is the gate child of these ladies."

Walewski likes this refined society as much as he likes it. He is linked with the due de Chartres. They are tall, one dark, the other blond, they look alike and for three winters they never leave each other. Walewski also met Thiers at Madame de Flahaut's house: their friendship will never be denied. He finally met Morny, the son of Flahaut and Queen Hortense. "They are both of distinguished and graceful manners, without support, gifted with an air as it should be which is in them as a native gift... "

Lady Blessington, a very good judge, noted in 1829: "The more I see Count Walewski, the more I like him. He has the spirit, intuition and perfect manners. I have always considered it a good sign for a young man to like the society of old people and Count Walewski marks the preference for men of age to be his father."

When the count d'Orsay and the due de Guiche create in 1828 the circle of the Union, Walewski joins one of the first. He found there many Englishmen, Lord Granville, the English ambassador who had married a sister of the Duke of Devonshire and whose son was to be a minister in 1852. Caradoc, the future opponent of Walewski in La Plata, Normanby. He also met Talleyrand... There is a lot of talk about horses, it is a passion of the time and also a fashion. The races begin to be very popular at the Champ-de-Mars and at the Bois de Boulogne. Walewski goes there with assiduity. He runs and plays...

“In the meantime, I attended horse races for the first time in my life," Kosmian said in November 1829. Unfortunately, they ended in a way that was unpleasant for Walewski, because Walewski was always doing crazy things, throwing money out of the window. In England and here in Paris, he lost at cards up to a hundred thousand francs. Having stopped on the slope, he no longer plays cards, but, which amounts to the same thing, he plays at the races. There is a very rich Englishman here, Lord Seymour [Milord l'Arsouille], who lives only for horses and for whom betting on races is a passion. He is the one who is constantly pestering poor Walewski. Last Saturday, they had only two, each on his own horse. Walewski rode an English racehorse; Seymour a hunting horse; but Walewski had to carry sixty pounds more! Everyone who knew anything about racing said in advance that Walewski was making a fool of himself and that he would lose. He wouldn't listen to anyone - and lost. The stake was five thousand francs. He has seventy-five thousand pounds of income; what a comfortable and pleasant life he could lead. Perfectly well seen in the world, universally loved... But one has to tell him the truth... he doesn't want to hear anything until now. It is a great pity because what a good and noble nature it is and of how much pleasure in society ... "

The year 1829 had been cheerful, the beginning of the year 1830 is not less. On February 9 a great masked ball was organized by Mrs. Alexandre de Girardin in the concert hall of the rue Taitbout. Mme. Alfred de Noailles intrigues during one hour Rodolphe Apponyi, the king of the cotillion leaders; on the other hand, he recognizes at first sight the princess of Lieven and both of them go in the box of Walewski so that they intrigue their turn.

Alexandre is twenty years old on May 4, 1830. He is a man. Will he continue to waste his life in frivolity, thinking only of the world, of women, of races, of gambling? Does he forget the hopes cherished by his mother, does he remember that his father wanted him to be a soldier? Will he, who is free, get bogged down in the pleasures of Paris like the Duke of Reichstadt, he who is a prisoner, in the soft life of Austria? Will the sons of Napoleon be only dandies?

Walewski was a calm observer of the Three Glorious Years, and the return of the tricolor flag, which his father had flown in Vienna, Berlin and Moscow, did not arouse any echo in him. Polish by mother, Polish by heart, Polish by nationality if not by language (1), only the tocsin of Warsaw is going to move him, to awaken him suddenly.

(1) Walewski was not fluent in Polish. Joseph Tanski tells that when he came to London in 1854 to talk to the ambassador about projects he did not wish to see revealed, he offered to speak Polish to Walewski, the valet being present in the room. The latter refused, admitting that he could not sustain the conversation.

[juniorgman187]

Pure Adoration (Spencer Reid Imagine)

Summary: After Ally is saved by the BAU, Spencer treats her with tender actions that can only be out of pure adoration. 

Category: Fluff Couple: Spencer Reid x OC Cotent Warning: Allusions to trauma, abduction Word Count: 2.6k

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

Like he was handling precious china, Reid tucked his arms underneath her torso and the back of her knees to lift her off the asphalt with the utmost care. A low groan of discomfort fell from her lips. 

“Shh, shh. It’s okay, Ally. You’re safe now.” He whispered to her.

Her head fell limp against his chest, bringing her closer to the scent of his cologne. He smelled like something warm and sweet. She couldn’t place why the smell was so familiar, but she liked it to be associated with him from now on. 

Through half lidded eyes, Ally peered up at the knight in shining armor who came to rescue her from the locked away dungeon she resided in for most of her adolescence. 

He carried her to safety in his arms with such finesse, it was almost impossible for Ally not to smile at him and all his glory as he helped her into a stretcher and into the back of the ambulance. 

Though she couldn’t yet gather the strength to speak, he answered her questioning eyes. 

“My name’s Spencer and I’m gonna be right beside you the entire time.” He slid into a seat beside her head and reached for her hand to hold. 

With the power she could muster, she squeezed his hand back as best she could.

‘Thank you.’ Her sorrowful eyes said. 

. . .

“What’s gonna happen to her?” Garcia was on the verge of tears as she asked this.

Hotch sighed and shoved his hands into his pockets regretfully, looking down to hide the tears forming in his own eyes. “She’ll be under government protection.”

“That’s not good enough! There has to be someone out there. She has to have a family! Maybe I didn’t dig deep enough. Somebody better take that sweet girl home!” Garcia tried hard to deny the truth, but her blind optimism was merely a naive and desperate hope.

“Babygirl, babygirl,” Morgan rose from his seat to embrace Garcia in a hug as she began to weep. “We’ve checked everywhere. There’s no one.” 

Hotch gathered his file and prepared himself to leave the room. He was torn about the outcome, even if he wasn’t showing it. “She’ll be in my office until the agent from Protected Services comes to pick her up.” With that, he left the conference room. 

“That poor girl.” Blake softly tutted and shook her head. 

“No kidding. She just spent a decade of her life in an underground bunker, and now that she’s finally out, nobody wants her.” Rossi noted. 

Spencer was looking pensively into the distance, out into the bullpen.

“What’s on your mind, kid?” Morgan asked, noticing the obvious shift in energy in Spencer. 

He moved his hooked finger over his mouth under his chin so he could speak. “Has she eaten anything yet?” 

“I think she had some applesauce at the hospital.”

“No, she didn’t even eat that. I tried to feed it to her, but she didn’t want it.” JJ explained. 

“I’m gonna get her something to eat.” Spencer’s voice audibly choked up, and everybody knew he would sooner cry, so before he broke down in front of them, he briskly left the room. 

. . . .

Followed by a courteous knock on the door, Spencer opened Hotch’s office to find it pitch black. He almost couldn’t see her, it was so dark. He had to wonder if she’d be so accustomed to the darkness of the bunker, that light would frighten her. 

“Hey, Ally. I brought you some food. I thought you might be hungry.”

Spencer could see her body recoil and flinch as he neared her, so he set the bag food on the table to maintain a distance she was comfortable with.

“Is there anything else I can get you? Coffee, water?”

He saw her shake her head no but made a mental note anyway to grab a bottle of water to give to her to be polite.

Spencer threw his hand in the air to give a little wave goodbye before reopening the door to leave.

“Wait, Dr. Reid!” 

The voice shocked him. He almost didn’t register that it came from her, it was so tiny and frail. 

“Can you keep stopping by . . . whenever you can?” 

He tried not to get emotional at the small breakthrough they just had - her finally speaking and him finally hearing her voice, so he left her with a swift, “Yeah, of course. I’ll check in every hour.”

“Thank you.” She peeped.

Spencer scrunched his face into a smile and closed the door behind him. When Reid turned around, Prentiss was right there. Startled by her close proximity, Reid yelped. 

“Whoa, you alright?”

“Nothing! I mean - yeah, yeah, I’m good.”

Prentiss is skeptical, and rightfully so. “You sure?”

“Yes.” He exasperatedly sighed.

“Forget that I asked, then. But you know you can always talk to me.”

This was true. Anything someone told Prentiss, would die with her. She would lock their secrets and throw away the key. 

“Ally just talked to me.”

Prentiss face lit up with excitement. “She did?”

“Yeah,” He chuckled to himself. “Yeah, she did.”

Prentiss engulfs Reid in a hug. “That’s great, Reid!”

“Yeah?” He asks once more for confirmation. 

“Absolutely! That is a really good sign.”

. . . 

After an hour passes, Spencer nonchalantly leaves the round table to walk eagerly to Ally. When he gets there, the door is slightly ajar, but open just enough to see that Ally isn’t sitting at the desk. Spencer opens the door fully and scans the entire room for her. He sighs in relief when he sees her asleep on the couch. He approaches her gingerly - being careful not to disturb her. He shrugs off his cardigan and puts it on her to act as a blanket. She stirs a little but doesn’t wake. If anything, she leans into his touch unconsciously. Only out of pure adoration, he tucks a strand of hair that covers her face behind her ear and runs the back of his index finger along her temple, down to her cheek, and along her jaw. He studies her sleeping - smiling at how peaceful she looks. With great caution again, he exits the office, turning off the light and shutting the door behind him quietly. 

. . . 

Another hour passes and it’s 6 a.m. Once again, Spencer sees himself out of the conference room with no trace of leaving and walks to Hotch’s office. Knowing that she was previously asleep causes him to open the door more gently. He peeks a little to notice she’s not awake yet, but before the door closes he hears something. 

“Dr. Reid?”

Ally’s voice is so quiet, that in comparison - a whisper would be loud, but he hears her. 

“I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No worries.” 

Spencer enters the room, still not turning on the light as a precaution to any psychological aversion she may have to it.

As Spencer tries to make his way over to her, he stumbles into things, making Ally laugh. Hearing that laugh is almost rewarding to him. Slowly but surely, he joins her on the couch. She sits up and rubs the sleep from her eyes. 

“How’d you sleep?”

“Better than I have in years.”

Spencer tries not to frown at the thought that even this rock-hard couch was a better sleeping arrangement than the one she had before in that bunker. 

Still in the dark, Ally fumbles with the piece of cloth on her. 

“Is this your-”

Spencer is quick to defend himself. “I came by earlier and I didn’t want you to be cold.”

Even in the dark, Spencer feels her warm smile. Ally reaches out and puts a hand on his cheek and kisses the other. This is the first time she’s really touched someone back, much less let anyone this close. 

“Thank you, Dr. Reid. That was really sweet of you.”

Hesitantly, but paradoxically confident at the same time, Reid puts his hand on her thigh and pats it. 

“You should keep it. It looks better on you.”

Ally grins once more, and Spencer rises from his seat. 

Not wanting to leave, he does anyway. “I’ll be back.”

“See you soon, then.”

Something stops him from leaving. 

“You don’t have to keep calling me, Dr. Reid, by the way. Spencer is fine. Or Reid. Or anything, really.”

“What would you like me to call you by?”

Spencer doesn’t actually know. “Uh, Doctor . . . Dr. Reid is okay. I like it.”

Before he can embarrass himself anymore, he shuts the door behind him and leaves. 

. . .

Spencer is finishing the geographical profile and trying to triangulate the comfort zone. When he finally does so, the team departs the office and heads to the potential location. When he checks his watch, he realizes it’s been more than two hours since he’s stopped by to visit Ally. He rushes to Hotch’s office, only to knock on the door and see that she’s not there. He rationalizes with himself that there’s a strong possibility she’s still in the building - possibly using the restroom, maybe even on the floor somewhere. However, something catches his eye - she left his cardigan on the couch. Without a second thought, he snatches the cardigan off the couch, and runs out of the office, hoping - praying - he’ll be able to find her and give this cardigan back to her. 

He wouldn’t be able to rest if he didn’t know for certain she didn’t get abducted in the time he was away. That’s why he scans the floor, trying to find her. He makes his way through each room, opening practically every door. Until finally he finds her, approaching the elevator. 

“Ally!”

She turns around when she hears him. 

“There you are. I was wondering where you were.”

“I was busy, sorry. Um, where, where are you going?”

“Agent Hotchner told me that Protective Services is in the downstairs lobby waiting for me.” 

Reid nearly forgot about Ally’s predicament in the wake of the good feelings they shared. 

“You um, you forgot this.” He handed her back the cardigan, wishing it wasn’t a parting gift, even though that seemed to be the case. 

She took it gingerly, holding it flush against her heart. 

“Goodbye, Dr. Reid.” 

She was about to slip into the elevator, but Spencer knew he couldn’t let her. 

“Actually, why don’t we get coffee first? Protective Services can wait.”

Ally is hesitant, but in her naivete, she complies. 

Unbeknownst to her, while Reid makes her coffee in the office, he makes arrangements for Ally to stay. 

 . . . 

Ally and Reid are sitting at Reid’s desk and he’s pulled up a separate chair for himself to sit on. Ally nurses her coffee, while Reid sips at something with whipped cream on the top. 

Reid begins to say something, but is interrupted by Ally’s chuckles. Reid knits his brows together in confusion. 

“What? What is it?”

“You just, you have something -” She’s referring to the whipped cream on his upper lip.

She leans over and wipes it away. There’s something so delicate about her touch that when she comes close to his face, he’s mesmerized. For a moment, he holds his stare, before snapping out of his trance when he remembers what he was trying to say. 

The team exits the elevator. Reid and Ally watch as they approach. 

“How was it?”

Morgan shakes his head. “Nothing. Hotch said we need to rework the profile.”

“I have to go. I’ll be back.”

Reid gets up to leave and Ally is about to leave to return to Hotch’s office, but Reid stops her. 

“Stay here. I’ll have a better view of you and you can see me through the glass. I also have newspaper crossword puzzles in my desk if you want to work on one.”

Ally needn’t be convinced further. 

Reid smiles happily and walks with a bounce in his step back to the conference room. 

. . .

Ally’s in the middle of completing a crossword puzzle, when she hears a noise. She looks around the office for where it might be coming from and her eyes land on Spencer, who’s knocking on the glass from inside the conference room trying to get her attention. He holds up a paper to the glass. It reads “Hi :)” There’s something so adorable about his chicken scratch handwriting. Ally smiles instantly and looks around his desk for pen and paper. When she finds some, she writes back “Hello!” It comes as no surprise that she’s got the most legible handwriting ever. It almost replicates a font of a computer. Reid writes on the other side of the paper quickly. “I have to get back to work before I get in trouble. I’ll come down as soon as I can.” Ally writes back. “I'm looking forward to your return, then.” Rossi sees this exchange, and when Reid turns around, Rossi glares at him. Ally nearly bursts into a fit of uncontrollable laughter, but her laugh catches the attention of the office. 

Some time passes, and Reid still hasn’t come down yet, but Ally and him have found other ways of communicating. 

The first time around, Ally was completely oblivious to Reid's staring. Prentiss caught Reid, and Reid quickly looked away. The second time, Reid looked at Ally, she felt it and looked at him through the glass. Just as he did with Prentiss, he shyly turned away. Didn’t change the fact that she knew he was looking. The third time around, Ally was looking at Reid. This time he caught her. She turned her head away, too. 

The fourth time, Reid was looking at Ally again, and when she looked back, he smiled. And she smiled back. 

Another hour passes and Ally hears that familiar knocking noise. She looks up at the conference room and sees Reid trying to get her attention once more. When she sees him, he waves at her so vigorously his hand flops around. It’s a pure and childlike wave. He’s so happy to say hi. Ally waves back and motions for him to return to his work. He pouts and makes puppy dog eyes, to which Ally shakes her head. Reid takes another piece of paper and begins to slowly move it in front of his face. Each time the paper shifts from left to right, he’s making a new expression. First he was smiling, then he was grumpy, then he was sad, then he was silly. And for the last face, he was stern and serious. Then he pointed behind him, and Ally saw that he was trying to imitate Hotch. Ally claps for him and jokingly blows him a kiss. He pretends to catch it, before he walks away to work. 

. . .  

Now that it’s noon, Penelope is on her way to invite the team for a lunch break. As she struts through the office, she sees that Reid is at his desk. She taps him - or who she thinks is him. 

When the chair spins, Penelope sees Ally. 

“You aren’t Reid. You’re Ally. Sitting at Spencer’s desk. Working on a crossword. Wearing his sweater. You can see where I’d be confused, right? Can we start over?”

Ally instantly stands up with an apologetic countenance. “I was getting cabin fever in Agent Hotchner’s office.”

Penelope’s face completely changes into one of empathy. Not only has Ally spoken to her, but she actually relates to her.

“You - you were lonely?” Penny asks in awe.

“Very much so.” 

“I get lonely, too! It’s just me and my computers. Do you want to come to my bat cave? I have lollipops and cookies and figurines.”

Ally doesn’t even have time to nod before Garcia takes Ally’s hand with a childlike eagerness and runs to her office together. Garcia has a friend now :,)

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* 　

[rwby-necro-au-archive]

The Kid, The Songbird, and The End.

Clover would never understand why the prisons had open courtyards for the prisoners.

It was constantly freezing, and the prisoners never had enough to wear to keep them warm. Typical.

He gracefully rushed to his hiding spot along the out rim of the open concrete courtyard, waiting. The prison break was going to start any minute, he needed to mentally and physically prepared in case the guards put up a fight.

“Sirens and Cameras deactivated, proceed.” A woman’s voice sounded through his radio. Good, at least that part was out of the way. The harder it was to deactivate the sirens and cameras, the riskier the mission.

This one was simple in comparison to the others, get everyone out, get a move on to Vale. At least, that’s what the other songbirds had to do, Clover notified his boss that he needed to go get intel from the main council building.

A dangerous and stupid move for sure, but one that would be thanked and rewarded if he managed to do it correctly.

He laughed quietly to himself “Not even a full 2 months in yet and I’m already trying to get myself killed, how typical of me huh?” He thought to himself.

He looked over to his boss who nodded and gave an ok signal to begin the raid. Clover quietly hopped down the concrete wall he had been standing on and ran up behind a pursuer.

He quickly knocked the Pursuer unconscious and moved on to the next, and the next, and the one after that, until at least 15 of them were knocked unconscious.

It was better if he didn’t look at the faces. He didn’t want to recognize anyone from the miserable life he was brainwashed into thinking he loved. And he especially didn’t want anyone recognizing him.

Clover approached the command center of the prison. After some pondering over the buttons, he pressed one and almost all the steel prison doors opened below him.

His radio sounded again, this time, the voice of his boss, “Great Job, remember, solitary confinement cells have a different control center. It’ll be harder to find that one.”

Clover just laughed before speaking into the radio “Eh, I don’t think it’ll be that hard. You know, since the whole thing that happened in my past.”

His boss responded “That is true, but with that you gotta remember to keep you head down, face covered, or they’ll recognize you.”

“Copy That.” Clover then darted down the stairs to direct the prisoners to where to leave. He couldn’t lie, he really honest to Cosmos couldn’t, he liked the job. Liked the adrenaline, liked helping people. Maybe that’s part of the reason he was so good at his previous job, being able to work quick on adrenaline.

This wasn’t that job though, and he got more of a kick doing this then he would’ve ever gotten from being a pursuer. He was meant to be here.

As he reached solitary confinement he slowed his pace. Guards. Seems there were still a few that needed to be taken care of. Clover ducked into a hall behind a few boxes, full of what, he didn’t know, nor did he want to know.

After the guards had passed, he speedily but quietly ran down the hall. He skimmed over the door labels until he saw one he almost passed, labeled “command center”. He quickly ducked into the room.

Looks like he didn’t check before he went in.

“Who the hell are you?!” The pursuer sitting in the command center chair yelled. She had a white uniform on, the female uniform. Shit. The other guards were gonna hear this chick.

Clover kept up his confidence though, nothing a few punches to the jaw won’t fix. “Nobody important.” He said as he threw her out the door of the command center and locked it. He shook his head and mumbled to himself “Cosmos forgive me for throwing a woman…” he certainly wasn’t the type to like doing that.

Now wasn’t the time for that though, he opened the solitary confinement cell doors and quickly unlocked the door to the room he was in. Time to fight.

——————————————————————————

Successful. The prison raid that is. Everyone got out, and there were minimal problems that popped up during the mission. Everyone was back on the ship and waiting to be sent to Vale.

Everyone, except Clover.

He was running and dodging Pursuers left and right to find this guy he was told about. To be honest, when he joined the whole “send me an ask thing” on the internet, he kinda meant it as a joke. Just to see what the people thought of a pursuer being on the internet.

He sure as fuck wasn’t expecting these people to be some all seeing beings or whatever, but hey, he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. Anything to make his life a little easier.

Which he could really use right now considering he was kind of getting sick of having to fight all the pursuers defending the capital.

He looked up at the signs and skimmed through them similarly to how he skimmed through the prison signs. He eventually found one labeled dorms and quickly ran in.

As he was running down the hall he was suddenly yanked into a dorm. He reached for his weapon until,

“W-wait don’t shoot! I’m here to help you!!” The shorter man replied. He didn’t look very old, maybe about 17-18 ish, fresh out of highschool from the looks of it. Light brown hair, tan complexion, all topped off with dark blue eyes and the male pursuer uniform.

Clover then realized who he was speaking to, “You’re Rory?” He was dumbfounded. This skinny teenager was the one who got the intel for him, “I mean, good for him for sneaking that shit underneath Irondick’s nose but not what I was expecting to say the least.” He thought.

Rory stuttered out an apology before quickly rustling through the dorm, pulling out three very thick, probably 200 page individually, documents and handed them to Clover. Rory cleared his throat quietly before speaking “I-I was told that you were to be trusted with this stuff…”

Clover read the names, shocked at what he saw. He grimaced down at the papers “Yeah……I know them so yeah, I think I’m to be trusted. And so are you for getting these in the first place…”

Rory looked up and gave a confused look “What’s wrong?”

“I was never really told about this…” Clover stated, avoiding eye contact.

Rory nodded solemnly “Sorry you had to find out like this.”

Clover shook his head “I’m sorry you had to read these…” he couldn’t help but stare at the photographs. They looked nothing like how they looked now. Especially Oz.

“I-I only read one…..I didn’t read the others because after I read the bottom one, I….uh….kinda had to go into the bathroom to throw up….” He mumbled, as he pointed to Ozpin’s document.

Clovers eyebrows furrowed, “Is it really that bad?”

Rory shook his head “I’d say worse.” He fumbled with his hands for a moment, “O-Oh! I wanted to ask, do you think you can take me on the boat with you? I want out of here!” He exclaimed frantically.

“Of course! I can explain your situation, but we need to go, NOW. We’ll be in trouble if we don’t.” Clover peered at the door before grabbing Rory’s wrist and running.

The two ran down the halls of the capital, attempting to make their way out. During the rush of everything, Clover’s hand slipped from Rory’s wrist suddenly.

Rory was caught by 2 other pursuers.

He didn’t even have time to think about it, before he knew it, he was outside. And Rory? Was nowhere to be seen.

——————————————————————————

Rory was shoved forward by the guards, nearly falling in the process as he looked behind him at the pursuers, fearful and confused. It wasn’t until he heard his voice that he realized why they shoved him forward.

——————————————————————————

“Shit.” Clover couldn’t be selfish this time. He just couldn’t. He ran back inside, frantically searching for the younger man.

He turned countless corners until he came into the main hall. Quickly ducking behind a corner at the sight of the one man he didn’t want to see.

He peered out to see Rory there.

——————————————————————————

“So, first, you go against my right opinion, and then next you try and run. Pathetic.” Ironwood spoke cruelly to the younger man.

“I—“ Rory attempted to defend himself, but was not granted such a thing

Ironwood scoffed, “You what? Made me look like a moron in front of the other council members? Is that it?”

There was a long silence.

Rory spoke barely above a whisper, “Is there anything I can do to get your forgiveness….sir?”

Ironwood raised an eyebrow and proceeded to feign thoughtfulness for a moment before smiling down at the young man, “I suppose there is one way you can make it up to me.”

Rory looked up suddenly, surprised at the man’s answer.

Ironwood smiled coldly, “Don’t be anymore of a stain to anyone else, as you have been to me.”

“W-what do you mean s-sir…..” Rory mumbled, confused

Ironwood rolled his eyes and scoffed “Lord, you need a lot of hand holding don’t you? I’m letting you leave, Pursuer. Go, out the door you go.”

Rory was ecstatic, he was letting him leave. Him. Of all people! “T-thank you sir!”

Ironwood smiled “Don’t mention it, I know you won’t be a pain to anyone else after this.”

He stood up straight and ran for the exit. He didn’t think he could be happier in his life. But all would soon came crashing down, and everything would go black.

The last thing he ever felt emotionally, was utter betrayal. And physically? Something wet coming from his forehead

The final thing he ever heard. Was a gunshot. From a man he should’ve never trusted.

——————————————————————————

[goldenwitherphoenix13]

Its time for a probrably wrong union X theory!

Welcome to my first ever attempt at a theory.yall are here to watch ne be wrong. Lmoa.

Union X is coming to an end and its time share with you my big end game theories connecting the dots of kingdom hearts 3 and Re:Mind to Union X. And that is by using some solid evidence from the games and from the light novels. Yes. I'm going there.

This first bit is to do with the idea that Vanitas is the Darkness that possessed Ven in Union X. Now, this could easily be disproven right? Well I think I can actually bring validity to it.

Fist there's the obvious evidence that Vanitas claims that "what I am is Darkness" in Kingdom Hearts 3 and hes been a part of Ven longer than he thinks, he was only extracted is something he mentioned in Re:Mind. This can be written off by him being all the pure darkness in Vens heart, but could be taken as him being the entity darkness.

Ok. So, remember how I said I would talk about the light novels? Well, in said light novels, Vanitas is said to originally have no face/true corporeal form, having the form more like dark Rikus outfit thing, but thanks to Sora touching Vens heart, he gained a more humanish form.

Well.... darkness in Union X...

uhhhh....They have... no form. Just a cloud of purple and black with a figure resemblent of a human form in the center, if you look closely.

And if it were extracted from Vens heart by Xehanort to make Vanitas, that means darkness returns to lay within Ven dormant after the Union leaders defeat it, even when he travels to the time of Birth by Sleep! That or it has left remnents of itself within him to ensure darkness will follow into the future. Either way, it or part of it was in Ven until Xehanort took it away along with the natural darkness of his heart.

But if that's the case, then that would mean Vanitas wasn't technically a part of Ventus, but had resided there so long that that's what he believed. Because memories are stripped when they time travel. Does that effect darkness? Making it thinks its always been Vens darkness and Vens Darkness alone all this time.

Now for things to get a bit wonkey

There's still a big question lurking. What the hell is up with Dark inferno X? (chi pronounced key) its picture is below.

The bio from Re:Mind states "The darkness that erupted out of Ventus's heart and turned into an aggressive heartless. But the voice that was heard at the time intimated that it was "darkness" itself. What did that mean..."

INDEED WHAT! 

Well, let's not forget the basic rule of the Kingdom hearts universe. If your heart is lost or Overcome by darkness it becomes a heartless. 

Xehanorts heartless, Ansem, possessed Riku in Kingdom hearts 1 when it became a weak heart like spirit... who's to say other heartless who are strong enough can't do the same thing? And the design... who is one person with similar attributes like... a scarf, that Ventus at least encountered or knew?

Ephemer.

Quick point I'll refer to later, but remember, we see Ephemer help Sora with the light of the past later on in kingdom hearts 3. The keyblades all come to life with the hearts of the fallen weilders and stuff and Sora surfs them because video game. Now, this bit is a little confusing. What was Ephemer doing in the white void? Was that a ghostly form of his nobody or something? An appiration? Just his ghost? The moment he arrived in the future?

Well, the moment of him arriving can be crossed of I think. Where did he go if that were the case? Ephemer appearing in that moment does throw a spaner in the world, but I might be able to pull it out and fix the theory prediction.

My theory for this part is that the Ephemer we see in KH3... is Ephemers nobody in a ghost like form waiting for his heartless, Dark Inferno X.

His heartless must of found a way to hide or travel through time and went to hide within Ven's heart like Ansem did to Riku, but it has to be after Vanitas was removed. Otherwise, Dark inferno X would of been extracted by Xehanort too. The entity of darkness or its remnents, however, was with Ven when he travelled through time.

I think the best answer is Ephemers nobody died in the travel or after, is now a spirit, and helped the heroes of light. He's just waiting for his heartless to be destroyed so he can return as his somebody. And now that Sora has defeated it... who's to say we won't see him soon.

Oh and I think the secret Dark Inferno X boss in 3 was just a test for the remind one and went through a minor design change. Image comparison below, pictures from Google.

Kh3 Re:Mind

The unversed floods did the same thing between birth by sleep, bbs final mix and 3 after all going blue to purple and back to blue (I like them purple).

I really don't want to believe that it was Strelitzias heartless and that she might be able to return. I'd rather her remain a permanent death like the keyblade wilders of Union X, Master Eraqus and Master Xehanort. Its nice having a concept of death in Kingdom Hearts.

Where was I? Oh yes. I think Dark inferno X is Ephemers Heartless.

Now for one more problem. How Dark inferno X got to Ventus.

From what I see, it has 2 routes.

1: use the Ark and escape into the future. This leaves only a broken pod in the Union X time so Blain can not join the other leaders. Ephemer just has to wait. The only problem here is how Dark inferno X located Ven and got into castle oblivion without a hitch. Though I guess it did have 10 years to look.

2: hide in someone's keyblade. We've seen hearts contained by keyblades so I don't see why it can't happen again. A curse to the masters defender. I think it atratches its heart to the keyblade and thats how it escaped into Ven. When Aqua left him in Castle oblivion, the heartless snook away and hid within him, waiting for Vens heart to arrive so it could hide better and we could get the scene in Remind.

Either way, thats where Ephemers heartless would reside until it was reawakened.

So, to summarise what we've discussed into a timeline.

The Union leaders battle and defeat Darkness. Maybe temporarily, maybe for good. We don't know until its too late. It probably starts talking about some cryptic stuff, quoting things yet to be heard, who knows. This is where I believe Darkness overtakes Ephemer and turns his heart into dark inferno X (hence why it introduced itself to Sora as Darkness in Re:Mind. In a panic, Skuld and Blaine probably carry their unconscious friends out and flee to the ark, the time travel pods, darknesses remnants inside Ventus's heart and stays dormant until they are brought out. After waking the other 2 up and healing them Skuld, Lauriam and Ven go though the Ark pods, possibly joined by Elrena, and Blaine then stays behind and searches for Ephemers nobody. Hoping to reunite and reconnect the dark inferno X to Ephemer. 

Dark inferno X then hides away or travels to the future. I mean, I don't expect it to fit in the ark pods, but it might hide away in there or something. If it does then heres the first scenario.

There is one broken pod left. Blaine does his best to fix it, but its not safe enough so Ephemers nobody dies going through and it ends up as a spirit thing, waiting and searching for its heartless. Oh! And Blaine doesn't figure out how to properly build the things so he decides to remain in this time.

Dark inferno X then searches attaches to Ven to hide away.

The other scenario is it hides away in masters defender and slips by then. Blain sends Ephemer through, but since he's a nobody, things don't go smoothly and Ephemers Nobody probably dies in travel.

The generations pass and everything happens.

Dark inferno X is defeated by Sora.

The end game is coning.

And that's it. That's the whole theory. Here's to hope the Union leaders come out on top in the Union X finale, Sora is saved in the next game and Ven finally gets therapy once he recovers these memories. Actually let's order therapy for everyone! 

Also speaking of Ven, Nomura, if you hurt my boy again, I'm gonna punch you.

Theres a reason I made this cringy meme! (art of Ventus by me its one of my older arts of him)

Phoenix out!

(Ps: reply or reblog with inaccuracies)

[pinkja]

We Are We: The Wrath of a Protector

The Frye Twins are a weird pair, in tuned to each other’s feelings in a way that no one has seen before. Therefore, when you cross with one twin, you cross them both.

Tw for violence. Younger Frye Twins again.

—

It is not often that the Frye Twins would go somewhere without the other. Usually one would stay behind, waiting for the other’s training to end, or for the other to finish a book, or chore, or assignment. Then, after everything was settled, they would go off to do whatever it was that they did, always returning as a pair.

It is something that people thought they would stop doing once they got older, once they grew into themselves and gained different interests and ran in different social circles. They were proven wrong, even at the age of ten, an age where they were old enough for their closeness to not be considered as cute as it was before, but as a thing to raise an eyebrow at. No one dared comment on it, lest they face the wrath of their father, Ethan Frye, who became strangely overprotective of his children, more than any other parent of his time.

People chalked it up to him only being a true father for four years, and had no idea of the true nature of the twins, never bore witness to the air of strangeness that the twins have, how that strangeness could affect other people.

Hand-in-hand The Twins walk, Evie’s gloved hand in Jacob’s. They‘re at the market, finally old enough to be trusted with money, and far along in their training to be able to defend themselves if need be. The early summer air has made them sweat a little, Evie’s shawl and gloves and Jacob’s coat and boots a bit much for the weather. The two had bought some fruit from an old lady that reminded them of their Grandmother, a woman whose appearance had burned themselves in Their memories, never to be forgotten.

They still have some money left, enough to buy one thing for the both of them. One look at each other and The Twins came to an agreement to keep it, and walk around town a bit longer.

Jacob, her Twin, is humming a tune beside her, one Evie remembers them listening to some Time before. Soon she joins him, joy filling her heart, and therefore his, at a memory almost lost to Time.

Their good mood is dampened a bit as they are stopped in the street. It’s a man, his clothes tattered and his hair disheveled. He smiles down at the twins, a smile that almost reaches his eyes, a smile that is so familiar. His skin’s a bit tanned from the sun, and dirty as well.

Jacob pushes Evie, his Twin, behind him a bit, always the protective one. His shoulders tense up and his eyebrows furrow as he frowns. Evie places a hand on the small of his back, but never moves her eyes away from the stranger.

“Hello, children,” the stranger starts, and Jacob can feel Evie become disgusted at the sound of his voice, and so Jacob is as well. “I’m terribly sorry to bother you two, but I’m a bit down on my luck and was wondering if you had any change to spare.” He was not a beggar, that much The Twins could tell, despite the lie. Whatever that man, this reminder, needs the money for, they would not help him get it.

Jacob speaks for them both. “I apologize sir, but we do not have any money on us.” Jacob, and therefore Evie, could not sense a weapon, but he, and therefore she, could smell the slight stench of alcohol, a few days old, but there none the less. No, They would not help him. “Excuse us.” He says curtly, grabbing Evie’s hand in his and walking around the stranger, pulling Evie in front of him, away from the watchful eyes of the man. Only when they turn a couple of streets and pass a few dozen people, did the tension leave his shoulders, and Evie let out a breath. Jacob gives her hand a squeeze, going back to hum that tune from a Time ago. Evie soon joins along, singing a few words under her breath, just for the Two to hear, in a speech long gone, a sound foreign and forgotten.

Joy fills their hearts again, run-in with the stranger long forgotten as they walk through an abandoned warehouse. Dust settles on every surface, and sunlight barely makes it way through, but it is quiet, undisturbed, and that is enough for The Twins.

In a corner The Twins sit, Evie to the left and Jacob to the right. Out of his inside coat pocket, Jacob pulls a small brown leather-bound book, placing it in his Twin’s hand. She grabs it and lets her Twin rest his head on her lap, hand running through his hair as she opens the book with the other. Together they eat the fruit they acquired earlier, stored safely in Evie’s pouch.

She reads to her brother, tells him of tales from long ago, of memories almost lost to Time had they not been written down so quickly. Her recount fills the Twins with nostalgia and melancholy, for Time lost and revisited and remembered so rarely.

They stay in that bubble for a while, until Jacob sits up, rubbing his right eye with a yawn.

“Loo.” He simply says before standing up and walking out to the back of the warehouse to relieve himself. Evie waits patiently, putting her pouch away, standing up and stretching before humming that tune that was not complete without her Twin there to sing along with her.

Evie pauses, blinks once, twice, before turning to the entrance of the warehouse. There stands the stranger, the same stranger who made the grand achievement of making the Twins tense up, who made the Twins take a silent breath and move even quieter, actions that the Twins have not genuinely done in many Times. He stares at Evie, who straightened herself out and stared at him right back. She would not look weak, not in front of a stranger, an old Reminder.

“I am terribly sorry to bother you, miss,” he starts again, taking a few steps towards her. Evie doesn’t move, doesn’t want to show fear. She blinks instead, never breaking eye contact for long. He continues, “but I was just wondering if I could–” he pauses, stopping his approach. He clasps his hand in front of him before giving her a warm smile; a smile that makes her skin crawl as she is reminded of Memories long passed. “–ask you to spare a few coins.”

Evie doesn’t answer him.

He continues.

“I noticed that your male companion didn’t give you a chance to speak earlier, so I thought you would be able to offer me something that he can’t…”

Evie still doesn’t answer, only watches as the stranger takes a few more steps.

“Is he your betrothed? A family member?” The stranger asks, now only a couple of feet away from Evie.

The man frowns at Evie’s lack of response before getting down on one knee, making them eye-to-eye.

“Listen, little one,” Evie goes numb at the name, mind unconsciously going far to reach for the comfort of her Twin, “I’m sorry if I have come off a little… aggressive. Can we try again?” He reaches his hand out. For Evie to shake, she assumes. But Evie does not take it, does not want to feel that familiar skin of the Reminder on hers once more. Not in this Time or any Time ever again.

Slowly, the Reminder’s facade slips the more Evie stays silent. His smile fades, his eyebrows furrow, and through the cracks, Evie can see the growing malice, the mirror image of a man from another Time. It makes Evie nervous, makes her remember something They had longed to forget.

In a blink of an eye, the Reminder hits her. Hits her because she was too caught up in fear to react, too caught up in Memories to act on instinct. She stumbles, clutching her cheek as rough hands grab her forearms in an all too familiar gesture.

Evie’s ears ring, the feeling of his skin on hers something that she had not felt in years. It makes her tense, mind crying out for a Twin, her Twin, her protector.

He comes before she could finish calling for Him, the loud cry of His Bird piercing through the ringing of her ears before she saw Him.

The room becomes dark, so dark, so quickly that she feels the Reminder startle at the complete loss of one of his senses.

He doesn’t find light again, not until he is ripped away from Evie and meets the blinding light of her Twin’s eyes, burning and full of rage.

Because of the ringing in her ears, Evie doesn’t hear it at first, the chilling screams of the Reminder, the blood rumbling, splattering on the floor, the angry cry of His Bird as her Twin rips and tears him apart, destroys him, bloodies him in a blind rage caused by hurt.

The Reminder is alive through all of it, each limb shattered, each piece of skin burned and bruised and pulled apart, each part of his body disintegrated.

They would not give him the satisfaction of dying.

It is Evie, a Twin, His Twin, who stops Him. It is Evie who calls out His name, His true name, in a language long gone, long forgotten. It is Evie who grabs Him, and pulls Him off of the Reminder, making Him face her and look her in those bright, blinding eyes. It is Evie who places His hand, His bloodied, soiled hand over her heart, connects their foreheads, and speaks to Him in a manner that she has not spoken in a long time, giving Him three pathways to feel what she feels, to make them Them again, to place Them back together.

“It is fine,” She whispers, now She instead of she, voice beyond her years, beyond many Times, “We are fine. We are still We, and We are still breathing, Our Heart is still beating. We are We.” She doesn’t look away, keeps unwavering eye contact in the pitch black darkness and listens to His harsh breathing, His slow expulsion of rage.

“We are We.” He repeats, feeling Their heartbeat through Her chest.

She, and therefore He, is scared. He, and therefore She, is angry, but They are They, and They are One.

Through her coaxing, the light slowly comes back, revealing the utter destruction that occurred in those long moments. The blood splattered on every surface, covering Jacob from head to toe, the bits and pieces left of the Reminder that serves as sustinace for his Bird, who gathers the broken man into its beak before flying, circling around Evie for good measure. Some of his blood stained her dress and shoes, collateral damage, They say, a small price to pay.

“Jacob.” Evie, now a she, says his, no longer a He, given name, reminding him Where he is, what his purpose is right now.

The Twins can feel the soul of the Reminder, still bound to this place of carnage, still screaming in agony.

“Let him rot here.” He says, free hand going to the cheek that the Reminder dared to touch. There is no mark there, not anymore, never was to the unassuming eye.

“We cannot, you know that as well as I.” Little Evie, always the voice of reason.

“He needs to suffer.” Evie wipes the tear that falls from his eye, smearing blood on her thumb.

“He has, and he will, but We cannot leave it like this, please.” Evie begs, eyes still shining in the dull light.

With a reluctant nod and a cry from Colin up above, the place is seen how it was before, dust floating in the air and not a single drop of blood in sight. The Twins are also in their prime state, free of the Reminder’s blood, free of the evidence of blind rage. The only thing that would indicate something occurring in that abandoned warehouse are their clothes, the rich red color of Jacob’s coat and Evie’s dress a stark difference from the colors worn when they had left their home. It drew attention, and if anyone could remember what they had looked like before, they would’ve raised an eyebrow, or asked a few questions in hushed voices.

Jacob embraces Evie with all he has, and she does the same.

“We are We.” He says, voice cracking in a way that only Evie has ever heard before.

“We are We, my protector.” Evie repeats, rubbing his hair with her gloved hand. Too soon do they pull apart, but they remain hand-in-hand. “Come, let’s go to the field. We will cleanse and let Colin roam around for a while, ok?” At the sound of its name, Colin cries again, giving a few large flaps of its wings.

Jacob nods, and lets Evie, his Twin, lead him out the warehouse and away from the Reminder, away from the rage. His Bird follows, and They are safe.

They are One.

[yodawgiherd]

Incantation of Incineration pt.2

>>>Read on AO3<<<

As we were blessed by a continuation of the GODLIKE fanart, I have decided to keep my word (for once). Check the picture out if you didn't yet, you are missing out O_O -----> https://twitter.com/NxngOna/status/1388902556693405706/photo/1 Anyway, this one is a bit longer and a tad more sinful than the first one, so beware. Unless you are here for the filth, that is.

How does one control a demon?

That was the question at the forefront of Mikasa’s mind in the last week. Despite her doubts, despite all of her previous bad luck she finally managed to summon one but he was not obeying her in the slightest. The opposite in fact, she very much remembered his whispered threatening question.

“Do you feel in power?”

She didn’t, not back then, and Mikasa wanted to be prepared for the next time. Of course that there would be a next time! She had so many questions to ask, so many wishes to fulfill so many…

Ok, easy, first the controlling part.

The last time he was here the Demon was doing whatever he wanted. While it was only eating her out, for some reason, it was done out of his will and the goth was simply swept in it. Never again. Next time they meet, she will be the one in control.

Yet it was hard to fulfill such a wish.

The internet gave her dozens of websites, hundreds of articles and discussions, but combing through them Mikasa didn’t see anything that caught her interest. Searching the amazing book she found in the library, she didn’t find any help there either. If there was a demon-binding ritual, she missed it.

In her anguish the goth asked the smartest person she knew – her friend Armin.

“Ar, any idea how I could control a demon?”

He looked at her, pushing his glasses up a bit.

“What are you talking about?”

“I summoned one last week but I couldn’t make him do what I wanted.”

“I see…”, he didn’t believe her, of course he didn’t, but Mikasa didn’t mind that.

He would still help her because Armin was a ray of sunshine and the best friend a girl could ask for.

“Any specifics about this demon?”, he asked, “Might help me in my search.”

“Well, he was human-looking, but with horns and black claws. He also had strange markings under his eyes and there were torn shackles at his wrists.”

“Horns, markings, shackles…”, dutiful as ever, Armin marked it all down, “Okay, I’ll do some searching and see what I can find.”

Leaning over Mikasa hugged him, whispering a quiet thank you into his ear.

As always, Armin delivered.

It was in the evening when Mikasa was laying on her bed, eyes rowing over the text in her new spellbook when her phone pinged.

A: Found an article that matches the demon you told me about. Apparently you can bind him to you by the shackles.

M: what do I have to do?

A: You need a key which you have, use the one you keep wearing.

Mikasa did like to wear an old key around her neck, an old trinket she didn’t even remember where it came from.

A: The spell is described in the article, use that and the “Demon” should obey :)

Yea. “Demon”. Whatever.

M: thx, I owe you one <3

Opening the link Mikasa’s eyes quickly scanned the spell, muttering under her breath. She lacked a few key ingredients, the biggest one being a live bird (?) for some reason. The required red scarf – that was another thing that Mikasa owned, making her wonder just what kind of spell this was.

Luckily her parents were gone on another business trip and wouldn’t be back for another two weeks, giving her ample time to gather these things. She bought a canary in a pet shop, a new set of black candles and few flowers. Back home she made those into a flower crown, just as the spell required.

In the middle of the room stood the birdcage, the canary watching Mikasa prance around. The key was put in front of the cage, the flower crown around it. Last the scarf – the goth circled it around the crown before putting the candles in required positions, lighting them up.

There, that should be everything.

Keeping the article open on her phone Mikasa began chanting, strange words once again leaving her lips. Whatever those meant she had no idea, but the effect was almost immediate. First of all the candles snuffed out. Then the flower crown caught fire, burning into nothing in a split second. After that the scarf moved, flying towards her and wrapping itself around her neck without anyone touching it. Last it was the key – it turned on the ground with a screech and suddenly the birdcage sprung open, the canary flapping its wings and disappearing out of the window in a split second.

Mikasa stared at it all with wide eyes.

Well, that was quite something. When everything calmed and nothing moved anymore, she concluded the ritual. Hiding the birdcage and scarf and putting the key back around her neck, the goth prepared the usual pentagram with candles, pulling out the knife. Ready to cut herself under the eye again, she said the spell, raising the blade to her skin.

Yet before it could make contact, the smoke explosion was back.

Knocking her backward same as before, the Demon was there in full glory, eyes immediately flying to Mikasa. Thin lips twisted into a grin that exposed the sharp teeth.

“You don’t have to cut yourself anymore, my beauty, I have your scent now. When you call me, I will answer.”

Collecting herself from the ground, Mikasa took a deep breath and straightened, staring the demon in the eye. With just a slightly trembling hand she gripped the key around her neck, thrusting it towards him. It glowed, his shackles did too, and the demon’s face changed from smug to surprised.

“What is this?” he wondered out loud, raising his hand to inspect the torn chains.

“A spell I used.”, Mikasa said triumphantly, all giddy inside that it worked, “I bound you, you are now under my control.”

“Is that so…”

Slow, testing, he took a step towards her, the chains rattling slightly. Summoning all her mental strength Mikasa stood fast, clutching the key like a lifeline.

“S-Stop!”, she commanded the demon, praying to the dark god that the spell will work.

The demon’s whole body shook as he tried to take another step, muscles refusing to move.

“You…”, his eyes narrowed, a dangerous glint entering them, “You don’t know what you are playing with…”

With a grunt he threw himself against the invisible bonds, straining.

“Release me! Or I will make you regret it.”

Despite all these dangerous words, despite all the threats he was forced to stand still and Mikasa felt her lips curving into a smile. She won. Finally, she had a demon under her control.

“I don’t think that I want to do that.”, confident she circled the frozen statue, admiring his body now that she could take a good look, “I think that I will keep you.”

He had a lot of scars, crisscrossing all over his skin, cuts of all shapes and sizes. Fascinated by one that went around his throat, Mikasa reached out, running her fingers over it.

And that was a mistake.

Fast as lighting the demon’s hand caught her wrist, pulling her body against his. Suddenly staring upwards into his smirk, Mikasa felt all her newfound confidence melting away because there was pure rage hidden in the emerald orbs.

“That was a good spell you had prepared, witch, but unfortunately for you, I am very good at attaining my freedom.”

“I-…”, she tried defending herself but the demon wouldn’t let her speak.

His other hand came up, circling Mikasa’s neck and for a second she feared that he will choke her to death. That fear didn’t come true as instead of pressure she could feel his fingers drawing patterns into her skin.

“Let’s see how you like being controlled.”, he whispered, and suddenly there was searing pain on Mikasa’s neck.

She stumbled backward, released from his embrace, and fell to her knees, hands clutching her throat. It burned like hell itself and Mikasa screamed in pain, but as quickly as it appeared it was gone, leaving nothing but a memory in its wake.

Or not, as there was something hugging her neck now.

Carefully tracing the thing with her fingertips Mikasa identified a new choker. She had one before, a simple strip of black leather, but this one was different. It was more like a tight collar, adorned with metal spikes all around.

“How does it feel, being collared like a dog?”, the demon rumbled, getting her attention.

“I… Strange.”, she gulped, realizing that having this “gift” from a demon might not be a good thing for her wellbeing,  “C-Can you take it off?”

“I can but I’m not going to. First I have to show you what amazing things it can do.”, he pointed one black claw towards the magic book, lying on Mikasa’s bed, “You do love spells, don’t you? And what better magic is there than demonic one.”

“Wha-“

Again, the demon didn’t let her finish.

“What’s your name?”, he asked.

Mikasa didn’t want to tell him. Names had power, even more so in magic, and telling yours to a demon is a bad move. But as soon as the question left his lips she found herself answering, unable to stop the words from tumbling out.

“Mikasa Ackerman.”

He grinned upon seeing her confusion.

“See? I own you now, mortal. As long as the collar is on you, I can make you do anything I want.”, his eyes raked all over her body, a hunger appearing in them – the same one that was there the last time they were together.

“Anything…”

The thin, abnormally long tongue slid out of his mouth, licking his lips.

“And there is a lot I want to do with you.”

Despite literally owning her right now, Mikasa didn’t hear any malicious intent in his voice. There was the primal hunger, lust, and also a fair bit of anger but no real hate or resentment. He would make her pay, but it would not be done in a way that she couldn’t handle.

The implications left not only a tingle of fear in her, but also a tingle of arousal, and the goth unconsciously pressed her thighs together to hide it. Only it didn’t escape the demon’s ever-seeing gaze.

“Stand up.”, was his next order and Mikasa did so, body moving on its own.

“Take off your skirt.”, this time her face boiled red as she mechanically obeyed, and still the demon wasn’t done with humiliating her, “And your stockings too.”

Just as she unclipped the first garter, a new order followed.

“Do it slowly. Give me a nice show, I like watching you.”

And she did so, rolling the black material down her legs in the most sensual way she could muster, unwilling and unable to meet the demon’s eyes. She could feel them though, as his gaze burned its way all over her pale legs, now bare of any clothing. With her lower half in nothing but the black panties Mikasa straightened, waiting on the next command from her infernal master.

He was breathing heavily now, she could hear, every exhale laden with maddening hunger for her. Watching her undress got all the fires going, it would seem.

“As much as I would like to get on with the fun, I do have to punish you for trying to bind me.”, he twirled his long fingers, “Turn around and bend over, hands on the bed.”

Again, her body mechanically obeyed, turning around and bending over, exposing her ass to him. And what an ass it was, even better than the demon remembered. Pale, firm, and perfectly shaped, the memories of it in his hands made his mouth go dry. Not to mention the thighs right under, because those deliciously thick and muscled legs…. He was beyond hungry.

Not yet, he reminded himself, first the punishment. Then the fun.

There was a clink behind her and because peeking was not forbidden she looked over her shoulder, seeing that one of the multiple belts came loose from the demon’s black pants. He was twisting the leather between his fingers, snapping it.

The image itself was almost enough to make her fall on her face.

“I believe that a few lashes with the belts will do you good, wouldn’t you agree?”

It wasn’t an order, she realized, it was a question. The demon, a literal demon from hell, was asking her consent. Normally that situation would be so funny that Mikasa would burst out laughing, but that did not fit what was happening inside her body.

Logically she should say no, of course, but logic didn’t have a place here. She summoned a demon – one that gave her some incredible oral pleasure during their first encounter, one she tried to bind, unsuccessfully, and one that was about to give her some good old spanking in retaliation.

Fuck, she wanted it, she wanted it so much.

Biting her bottom lip Mikasa nodded, but the demon wasn’t satisfied with that.

“Words, Mikasa, use those.”

This time it was an order but he didn’t use the magic collar and when the goth girl spoke it was completely out of her free will.

“Yes, I deserve it.”

“Were you a bad girl?”

“I was… I was a bad girl, sir.”

Mikasa added that last bit unconsciously, and from the deep grumble she could guess the effect it had on the demon. Ooh, he liked that.

“Where I come from, there is plenty of sinners like that, so I have a good idea on how to fix you.”, the buckle clinked as he swayed the belt, “I want you to count the lashes, can you do that for me?”

“Y-Yes, sir.”

A satisfied huff and a bit of silence after, making Mikasa wonder if…

The first blow landed on her ass, the slap of leather against skin loud. Taken by surprise she cried out, the flare of pain running through the whole body.

“One.”, she pushed out and was rewarded by a second sting. It was painful, sure, but it also sent pleasurable tremors towards her core. Mikasa was always a bit of pain enjoyer, and this rough treatment was something from her wildest dreams. Being punished by a demon was more like fanfiction than reality, but it was happening to her -right here and right now, and she couldn’t be more turned on.

By the fifth hit, there were tears in her eyes.

By the tenth she was dancing on her toes, clenching against the belt.

Fifteen was enough to satisfy the sadistic demon, and when she cried that number through her tears, the belt dropped to the ground. Suddenly Mikasa was picked up, turned around, and practically slammed against the wall. Her legs automatically hooked around the demon’s waist while his hands held her, one around the neck while the other caught her wrist and pressed it against the wall, immobilizing her.

He was sweating, droplets of liquid sliding over his scarred skin but it wasn’t because of the physical exertion. No, it was caused by the inhuman effort it took to hold himself back from ravaging the teary-eyed goth right here and there.

Even as a demon, he had certain standards.

“You took the whipping well, too well even. Tell me, do you like pain?”

“A little bit…”, she muttered, very conscious of the fire raging between her slick thighs.

A grin spread across his handsome features, the demon couldn’t help but admire her face, now that they were this close. Her grey eyes were regarding him with a hint of fear in them, but there was also the undeniable arousal smoldering, and he wanted to see that fire burn.

Letting go of her for a second the demon grabbed the bottom of her black top, bunched between their bodies, and pulled upwards, revealing her chest. Nice pair of firm tits, covered by a simple black bra, just as pale as the rest of her.

Fuck, he wanted to suck on them.

Returning his hand to its previous place, anchoring Mikasa’s wrist against the wall, the demon spoke up.

“I punished you so now we can move on to a more pleasurable activity. However - I may be a damned soul but despite your stunts I do not wish to force myself on you. So I’ll ask now, and I order you to answer me truthfully – do you want me to go on?”

The goth girl in his arms shook with what he guessed was pure lust, squirming against the restrictive hold he had on her body. Her midnight hair slid over his nose, the addictive scent reminding the demon of just how amazing she tasted.

Forcing himself to wait was torture, yet he held on.

Meanwhile, Mikasa’s mind was doing leaps and bounds all over the room. Her ass hurt but it was nothing compared to what was happening in the other place – she was beyond wet at this point, so turned on that stopping her hips from rubbing on the demon’s amazingly muscles stomach was a chore. Yes, she had to prevent herself from humping him like a sex-starved maniac. His words weren’t an order, just like last time, and when Mikasa spoke it was her own lust doing the talking, nothing else.

“Yes.”

“Do you want me to touch you?”, he continued.

“Yes.”

“Now…”, he leaned closer, next words a whisper, “ Do you want me to fuck you?”

“Hng... I…”

“Answer!”

“Y-YES! Please!”

The self-satisfied smirk grew even wider.

“Well, all you had to do was ask…”

Letting go of her wrist for the second time the demon moved his hand between her legs, rubbing her place of weakness through the dark underwear.

“So wet for me, so willing…”, gently he nudged her face with his nose, rubbing skin on skin, “Is this what you want so much? To be railed by a demon?”

PleasePleasePlease

Unable to speak from the sheer amount of want inside her, Mikasa settled on nodding rapidly.

The hand moved again, much to her dismay, this time stopping in front of Mikasa’s face. A bit of transmutation magic later the claws were gone, replaced by black fingernails.

“Open.”, an order this time and Mikasa’s mouth fell open immediately.

Pushing his fingers between her lips, a new command followed.

“Suck.”

Again she obeyed, swiping her tongue alongside those long digits.

“As much as I want to take you right now, I must stretch you out a bit first.” The demon went on monologuing, his eyes glued to her face, “I’d prefer it if you screamed in pleasure when I fuck you, not in pain.”

Those words went right into Mikasa’s core as she throbbed, impatient to finally have him touch her. Maybe sensing her eagerness the demon pulled the fingers out, dropping his hand between her legs instead. Panties nudged aside and suddenly he was rubbing her directly, fingers parting her dripping pink lips. A slight tap on her swollen clit had her gasping for air, but the opened mouth proved to be a mistake.

The demon practically attacked her, lurching forward to press his lips against hers. The abnormal tongue was back, once again slipping into her mouth and caressing the familiar places. At the same time, his digits finally pushed inside her, slipping into Mikasa’s wetness with a somewhat disgusting sound. The moan forced from her throat by the penetration was swallowed by him, keeping her silent.

For now.

Even without the main treat it was still a full meal. The demon fingered her expertly, curving his digits to rub the good places inside while also keeping his thumb occupied by toying with Mikasa’s clit. The kisses were rough and breathtaking, sucking any oxygen from her and he only left her lips to attack the neck instead, biting and kissing everywhere, renewing the faded lovebites from a week ago. Again and again, those sharp teeth sunk into the porcelain skin and Mikasa felt like she was going to go crazy.

Not even fucking her yet but she was already on the edge. The demon sensed it, of course, having his fingers deep inside her, feeling the contractions of her walls grow faster and more desperate. Smirking into her skin, a single word fell from his lips.

“No.”

The collar burned around Mikasa’s throat and she found her body obeying, disregarding her wishes. On the edge but not falling, she found herself unable to climax, somehow being prevented from doing so by vile demon magic.

“You bast-“

Her protest was cut short because her lips were slammed by his own, stealing Mikasa’s ability to express herself. Whining in protest she was rudely ignored by the demon, who took his time to scissor the fingers inside her instead, stretching her open, preparation for what was to come.

Despite being denied her release Mikasa’s body was more than enjoying this. She was moaning into the kiss, writhing on his fingers, ready and waiting for him. Seven hells be damned, he couldn’t wait any longer. Tearing the panties away with a flick of his wrist and letting his pants dissolve into a puff of black smoke, the demon grabbed his painfully hard length as he angled it correctly against the inviting wetness.

Push.

Mikasa’s eyes widened, and her mouth fell open when she felt the head of his member parting her. She didn’t get a chance to look at it but judging from how it felt the demon was rather well endowed. The girth was impressive, stretching her beyond anything she felt before right down to her limits. This was a lot she was taking, and the demon was unyielding, hands gripping her waist as he impaled her, inch by inch. Insistent he forced himself in and Mikasa couldn’t do anything about it.

Yet her body accommodated to this fullness and the unpleasant feeling was replaced by a pleasant one. He went on and on until she feared that he will ram himself all the way into her guts but just as she was about to ask him to stop, the demon was fully sheathed.

Mikasa had never felt this filled in her life. The head of his member was pressed against the deepest part of her sex, no more space and no more length combining.

“Fuck,”, he cursed, “we fit together perfectly.”

On her part the goth couldn’t say a word, so full of him that thinking was impossible. Not that the demon mind that.

Gripping her waist he slowly pulled out, letting his length rub all the nice places inside her. When only the tip remained he reversed his move, pushing in again. In it went with a wet sound, out it went glistening with her juices, and he almost went feral upon seeing that.

Pushing down the need to ravage her, to split her open by ramming himself inside with full strength he continued this gentle dance of his hips, forcing her body to get used to him. Only when he felt her muscles weakening - when she gave way did he speed up.

In and out like a jackhammer, the demon was finally rutting into her with added strength and Mikasa couldn’t take it. She whined and moaned and gasped, unable to control her body at all. Her head fell back, knocking at the wall while her fingers curved against his back. She was holding onto him for dear life, black fingernails creating bloody lines in their path and adding to the plethora of scars on the demon’s back.

Still she couldn’t climax, still the collar’s magic prevented her from doing so and the goth could feel her sanity slipping away. She would beg if she could but Mikasa’s voice wasn’t of any use to her, anytime she opened her mouth only a sound of pure pleasure came out.

Helplessly open, Mikasa’s “Ah-Ah-Ah” was a direct feed to the demon’s ego. Oh, and what an egoist he was. Her voice was one thing, but when she throbbed down there – that was a feeling the demon etched into his memory with each thrust.

Edged, led on, and denied with the orgasm at the border of her vision, Mikasa was truly losing it.

She couldn’t speak so she screamed, screamed in pure desperation because the demon was now ramming the deepest part of her over and over again, grunting into her neck. Mentally she begged – with her eyes, with her touches, with her legs that squeezed his waist.

This was some truly hardcore fucking she was on the receiving end of, and Mikasa needed to let go, she would go crazy otherwise. The coil in her stomach was wound impossibly tight but unable to snap and it was getting too much to handle. The tears that fell from the grey eyes slipped over the red cheeks and landed on the demon’s body, finally waking him up from whatever pit of pleasure he was in.

Watching her, listening to her, and feeling her all around him, the demon deemed the punishment complete. Not even slowing down in the wild hammering of his hips, the slaps of flesh against flesh echoing through the room, he spoke. Three words, one sentence, and it was the most beautiful sound that Mikasa ever heard in her life.

“Cum for me.”

The collar’s magic was gone, the barrier dissipated, the coil snapped and the dam broke. Mikasa howled, her eyes rolling back and vision going white, black spots dancing all over it. The orgasm ripped through her entire being, from the tips of her curled toes to the ends of her sweat-matted midnight hair. She clutched to the demon because he was the only link to reality that she had, and the goth had to hold onto something otherwise her mind threatened to break completely, swept away by the overwhelming raw pleasure.

Sensing that if he kept it up she would truly go insane the demon slowed down, letting himself fully enjoy this feeling. Her walls fluttered like the wings of a trapped butterfly, the already tight passage grew even tighter and pulsed around his whole length. It felt amazing, out of this world and if he wasn’t a demon he would call it heavenly.

The slight wiggle of her hips woke him up from that place, putting him back to reality. Mikasa was watching him with wide grey eyes, pupils completely blown, the movements suggesting that she wanted to go down from her perch against the wall. She probably thought that this was it, that one mind-shattering orgasm is enough of a gift.

She was wrong.

“None of that.,” he denied her, tightening his grip on her sweat-slicked body, “I am far from being done with you.”

With those words, the most intense night of the goth’s life began.

During his aggressive fucking Mikasa’s remaining clothes, namely the black top and bra, were torn to shreds, leaving her in nothing but the spiked collar around her neck. In some strange need to bare her completely the demon even snapped her own choker away, leaving only the one he gifted her on.

The key was also allowed to stay and it dangled uselessly between her now fully exposed breasts, reminding Mikasa of her failed attempt to capture the demon. Now she was paying for it, when his sharp teeth closed around a nipple, sweetly tormenting the sensitive flesh.

Overall the demon took his time with her chest, kissing, licking, groping, and biting all over her breasts. Her chest was ravaged and Mikasa was bound to have so many bruises bloom on the skin tomorrow. Yet that was a problem for the future Mikasa to handle, the current one cared only about how great it felt, to have the demon’s teeth and tongue all over her tits.

She was taken in more positions and in more places than Mikasa could even count. The bastard spiked her pleasure with pain, slapping her ass while taking her from behind, irritating the welts that didn’t even get a chance to fully form.

Every suitable, and some unsuitable, place in her room was defiled by their activities as she was being maneuvered here and there by his unyielding touch. The demon expertly shifted his torment from denial to overstimulation, giving her more than she could handle and then some. He fucked her right into an orgasm and then right through it, holding her writhing body as she lost her consciousness in an unending stream of pleasure.

A sharp bite into the neck woke her, but if Mikasa thought that she was getting a break she was wrong. It felt like the longest night of the goth’s life and it was far from over.

Mikasa came a lot, losing count early into the debauchery, but the demon never finished, holding his release back. He also never tired, his demonic stamina far outpacing the one of a poor mortal. While at the start Mikasa was an active participant in their activities, by the end of it she was practically limp, praying to the dark god that she will survive this endless assault on her body and mind.

When the morning sun peeked at them from behind the windows, when the demon saw that his partner was on the verge of total blackout from sheer exhaustion, slipping in and out of consciousness, did he allow his iron self-control to break.

Coherent enough to pull out at least, he decorated her muscled stomach with spurts of unnaturally hot release. Wouldn’t want any half-demons running around now, would he? It was a lot, a night's worth of it, and Mikasa felt some splash as high as her face, but she was too far gone to care. Being a perfect demonic gentleman he even cleaned after himself with a muttered spell.

Only after himself though, so Mikasa’s filth was left behind for her to take care of. Whatever it was the limitation of the spell or just the demon’s twisted sense of humor, that would remain a mystery.

Just like that, it was over.

He was slipping out of her embrace and soon would be gone, leaving Mikasa with nothing but the ache and exhaustion. A deep part of her needed something, anything to hold onto, a word to connect these memories to, and “the demon” didn’t cut it anymore. She reached out, weakly grasping his wrist but he didn’t pull away, turning back to look at her.

“Please…”, she whispered, only half-coherent, “What’s your name?”

“My name? Demon’s names have powers, great powers, we do not give it lightly.”

“You know mine, it’s only fair.”

He snorted.

“A mortal name in exchange for an eternal one? Hardly equal.”

“Please…”, she begged again, “I want to remember you by it.”

For some reason he couldn’t explain, those words were tugging at the very base of the demon’s existence. He shouldn’t be this affected yet this mortal, this exhausted, sweaty, and filthy mess that could hardly string two words together after a night of demonic sex, this bundle of trembling muscles and pale skin marked by blooming bruises he left behind, this beautiful piece of ass that was welted by his belt just had power over him.

It wasn’t any spell the demon knew, but it was perhaps the most powerful pull he ever felt in his whole damned existence. He couldn’t say no to her.

He simply couldn’t.

“Eren.”, he said, “My name is Eren.”

Leaning down he pushed some of the sweat matted hair away from her angelic face.

“I hope that I won’t have to wait long until you summon me again, Mikasa.”

Giving in to the temptation the demon pressed a last kiss to her forehead, strangely loving and very un-demonic. And with that he was gone, disappearing back to wherever he came from.

On the ruined bed Mikasa sighed, already missing his warmth.

Was there a way to make him stay longer? Maybe even… permanently? The thought of having a full-time demon boyfriend made her giggle and she pressed her face into the pillow to muffle it.

The leather choker-slash-collar was still on her neck, gently tight around the skin, most likely left behind as a gift, and Mikasa already knew that it would become her everyday accessory. The spiked looked might be a bit too aggressive for most people, but she couldn’t care less. It was a gift from a demon, her demon, and she would treasure it.

Eren. His name was Eren and she would be seeing him again.

Soon.

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Can You Imagine? II

A/N: Answers are finally coming, a bit! Freydis has some adjustments to make, but she’s beginning to adjust, and we’ll get to learn more about what exactly is going on here... Let’s find out, yeah? Skål!

Summary: Freydis was dead. At least, when she’d lost consciousness, she’d been sure she was. But now she has woken up in a cold, sterile environment, one she is certain is not Valhalla, and the world as she once knew it has changed. People now have strange abilities, some of them, and people they call ‘scientists’ are trying to give them to her. The bigger issue, though, is the fact they have also woken the very man who killed her. Ivar the Boneless lives again as well, in the same way Freydis does, and if they want to survive... she may have to learn to trust him again.

Warnings: Hospital-like environments, mad science, injections, needles, bloodwork, human experimentation, etc. Old Norse in Italics!

Masterlist

--

The Room Where It Happens

Freydis woke in yet another room, this one almost a mix of the two she’d woken in thus far. The bed she was laid on was made of a strange material, with a papery sort of material separating her from the bed itself. It was dark in the room, but not as dark as the room with the comfortable bed- this was due to the window in this room, from which light came through. However, there were still all sorts of strange things in the room, some of which had strange sounds coming from them, much like the first room.

She noticed after a moment or two that there was a hard thing covering one of her fingers, and a tube ran up to her opposite arm, ending in something sharp- a needle, it looked like- that was inserted in the crook of her arm. Some sort of liquid was being dropped into the tube, and she wanted to jump at the sight, to pull the needle out of her arm. But, however much she wanted to, she felt… too tired to really do anything about it. A small groan left her, and she turned her head to look straight up at the ceiling.

There was a vague awareness in her that she should be panicking, but for some reason she couldn’t bring herself to- just as she couldn’t bring herself to pull out the needle. Everything felt slow, including her movements as simple as blinking her eyes. Instead of the cry for help she wanted to let out, she started to giggle.

This whole thing was absurd actually, wasn’t it? Perhaps she had survived Ivar’s attempt on her life, and was now in a very strange dream, waiting to wake and discover she still lived. Or maybe, maybe Ivar had never tried to kill her. Perhaps everything before the birth of their little Baldur was true, and she hadn’t even had him yet. Perhaps when she woke, her belly would be swollen with child, and she would have that child, and bear a perfect son that Ivar would be proud of.

All of this, it would pass as a very strange nightmare that one day she would tell him of. And the fear at seeing his chest fill once more with breath, it was all a product of this strange dream. When she woke, she would be delighted to see that all was well, and nothing had ever gone wrong.

The thought that she was being silly to be so afraid made her begin to laugh even harder, her eyes slipping shut. “You gods…” she began, grinning. “Loki, is this you behind this dream? It must be, I cannot think of any other tricksters in all Asgard who would do such a thing.”

When the door to the room opened, the woman in the strange coat, along with the man who she understood, stepped inside, Freydis laughed more. “And now you send these beings to… It cannot be to torment me, they say they are my friends,” she mused. “To tease me? I did not know I was of such interest to you.”

The two shared a concerned look as they saw her seemingly talking to herself. “Queen Freydis..?” the man prompted tentatively. “Are you alright? Who are you talking to?”

“Shhh,” she hushed, her eyes going dramatically wide. “I am praying to Loki. He must be the one behind all this, and I would like to wake now. I want to wake and be with my baby and with Ivar.”

The man blinked a few times, before turning to speak to the woman with him. They conversed for a few moments, in a language Freydís did not know, and she frowned deeply. “It is.. it is rude to speak secretly before your Queen,” she chastised. “I demand to know what you are saying. You must be talking about me, or you would let me hear you.”

The man swallowed. “My apologies, Queen Freydis. My colleague, Dr. Schmidt, doesn’t speak Old Norse. You don’t… you don’t remember that from a few hours ago?”

Freydis huffed slightly. “Of course I remember,” she said. “But I have determined this is only a dream, and as such, I think she should be able to speak Norwegian. It is stupid that she cannot.”

“You are the one who doesn’t speak Norwegian, I’m afraid,” he said. “You speak Old Norse. Norwegian is something of an evolved form of that language.”

Freydis made a sound that indicated her attention was lost. “Loki is being very creative in this trick, I see,” she said. “Oh well. It will soon be over.”

The man exchanged a few words with the woman, who Freydis now knew was called Dr. Schmidt, and then nodded. Dr. Schmidt came closer to her and began to mess with the bag fron which the liquid dropped into the tube, which flowed into her arm. More of the liquid began to drop down, becoming a more steady stream.

“You’re right, Your Highness,” the man said. “This will all be over soon.”

Freydis gave a little giggle, and nodded. “And I will tell my husband of the strange thing Loki did to me tonight,” she said, just before drifting back into unconsciousness.

Dr. Schmidt and her professor colleague shared a look. Then, once they were certain Freydis was completely unconscious, she changed out the liquid that she was administering to Freydis. This one was of a rather golden hue, and she only put so much into her. She took the time then to start an IV in Freydis’s hand, one that would stay until they no longer needed it.

Once all the liquid had drained into the Viking, Dr. Schmidt removed the IV in her arm, and called for some of the workers in the facility to return Freydis to her ‘room’. It was truthfully more of a cell, but they wouldn’t be calling it that to her. She didn’t need to realise she was a prisoner.

It was back in that room, with the most comfortable of the beds, that Freydis woke again. Her entire body ached from the inside out, as it she had a fever, the sort that rendered large warriors unable to leave their beds. She curled in on herself, shaking slightly under the blankets that had been laid over her.

Now that she’d recovered her mind, all of her wanted to cry out, to weep for whatever she was going through, for fear of the fact Ivar lived again. If he found out where she was, no doubt he would come and try to finish what he had begun. The very idea terrified her.

But, she could show these people no fear. So she swallowed thickly, and hardened herself to whatever horrors she had yet to face. The burning in her body didn’t ease, but she still tried to make herself become more used to it. She rolled onto her back, groaned a little with the effort under her fatigue. When she laid her hand up by her head, she finally noticed a slight stinging sensation.

Freydis moved her hand to look at it. There was a little tube protruding from it, twisted around and somehow held against her hand- bandaged, from the looks of it. She frowned a little, poking at it, and the door opened. It was the man once more.

“I wouldn’t poke at it,” he told her. “It’ll only make it hurt. Trust me, I’ve made that mistake plenty of times.”

Freydis narrowed her eyes. “Trust you?” she questioned. “You have given me no reason to trust you. Why should I?”

He chuckled a little, and grimaced. “Ah, I don’t suppose I have, have I?” he asked, almost sheepishly. “My name is Professor Andersen. I’ve been studying Old Scandinavian culture for most of my adult life- specialising in the early Middle Ages- so, the 500s through the 900s. This… includes the Golden Age of the Vikings. Your people.”

“You speak as if it is many years since this time,” she said. “Is it?”

“Yes…” he answered, grimacing. “It is currently the year 2021.” Freydis looked at him as if he was insane.

“What is in you that you speak such things?” she questioned him. “This cannot be. That would be over a thousand years after I lived in Kattegat.”

“Well… it has been,” he said. “You were found dead by the Sons of Ragnar after the Siege of Kattegat. No one really… knows how you died, but it’s assumed you must have died trying to defend the Kingdom, since you were entombed as a hero. Is that true?”

Freydis swallowed hard as she recalled her death, at the hands of the husband she had once loved more than anything, the monster she created. Telling this man what really happened could end up resulting in the same fate again. If she did anything to displease them, they could use his presence against her. No, she had to behave as though nothing had happened between them. Nothing like that.

“It is,” she lied. “And I would do it again.”

Professor Andersen nodded. “That’s why we found you entombed with your husband, then. Records put his death in the Battle of Edington, documented by a man called Athelstan.”

Freydis put on a hurt face, as if hearing how Ivar had died made her chest ache. It didn’t. In reality, she didn’t feel as though she cared overly much.

“I am glad to hear he died in battle,” she said. “That is what he had always wanted.”

Professor Andersen smiled. “And now, he lives, just as you. And we’re making you both far better. I think you’ll like what we have in store for you.”

“Do you?” Freydis questioned. She barely kept herself from saying he must not have been paying much attention, if that were true.

He nodded. “You both seem to have been quite amazing warriors, to have been buried how you were. Athelstan noted your sacrifice for Kattegat, and your husband’s leadership of its military, after the death of King Harald Finehair. Apparently, he also saved the people from turning against each other.”

She decided then that this ‘Athelstan’ must have been a fanatic of Ivar’s, to hail him as such a hero.

“It makes me proud to hear his accomplishments,” she lied yet again, and Professor Andersen grinned.

“Good,” he said. “Now tell me, how do you feel, hm? Are you doing alright?”

“I feel feverish,” she confessed. May as well try and get some assistance, if he was going to offer. “My body aches with it.”

He nodded, opening a notebook and writing in it. “That is to be expected,” he told her. “Unfortunately, it will need to run its course, to have the desired effect.”

Desired effect…?

“What do you mean?” she asked.

“Oh, I mentioned that we were… making you better, yes? Enhancing you?”

Freydis nodded skeptically.

“We’ve already started this with you,” he answered. “We’re going to be administering a serum once a week to you, and later that week, checking your blood to be sure it’s taking to you as it should. If it has, we’ll continue, if not, we’ll need to analyse your blood, figure out why, and try again. You received your first dose of it today.”

Freydis looked at him as if he were mad. “How can you enhance me beyond how I have been formed by the gods?” she almost demanded.

“They didn’t give you the best way to defend yourself, to help others, did they?” he pointed out. “Otherwise, you’d have survived the Siege of Kattegat. So, we’re giving you that ability. After a few doses, you should have enough that you’ll be able to see the effect of it.”

“And that will be all?” she questioned hesitantly, which made him chuckle.

“Oh, of course not,” he said. “Then we’ll be able to learn from you, so we can improve the serum, and maybe one day use it to create a better military. Don’t worry, though. This isn’t without incentive. If you go along with this willingly, we’ll… have a special surprise for you. A good one, I promise.”

“And if I don’t?” she pressed.

Professor Andersen gave a small shrug. “Then there’ll be a bad surprise. I really do suggest you comply, Freydis. It’ll be better for everyone.”

Somehow, she got the feeling he meant Ivar.

—

Weeks and weeks passed, and Freydis learned quickly indeed not to try and resist anything these people wanted to do to her. She had begun to understand more of the language- especially as many of her hours were spent with Professor Andersen, being taught to speak in Norwegian. It was easy enough for her, since it was so similar to Old Norse. But she missed the way her mother tongue sounded on her lips.

“How are you feeling today, Freydis?”

The consequences of this were that she could now understand Dr. Schmidt, who currently had a needle in her arm, taking the blood from her. She swallowed, and shrugged.

“The same as always,” she answered. “I didn’t burn as much this week.”

Dr. Schmidt smiled at this and nodded, switching out the vial so she could take another sample. “That’s good,” she said. The woman had a strangely maternal way about her, and Freydis found that she didn’t dislike her the way she had when she’d first arrived.

Once she’d taken enough blood, she shook the vials up, and told Freydis she’d return shortly. It was the same every week.

The Viking woman rubbed at the bandage now wrapped around her arm, and sighed. This was the part where Dr. Schmidt always returned, told her they weren’t quite there, and had her returned to her room, where she’d wait on Professor Andersen. Her routine had grown rather boring, if not reliable.

When the doctor returned this time, she seemed far more pleased than she’s ever seemed yet. “I need you to follow me,” she said. “We’ve finally reached the point where there should be some real change.”

She waved for Freydis to follow her, as requested, and started toward a door Freydis had not yet been allowed through. Freydis frowned slightly, but got up and followed her.

Through the door was another one of what Freydis had learned was called an ‘observation room’, and then there was an empty room that it observed.

Well, mostly empty.

There were some blocks, boxes, and various things of the sort, all that looked rather soft. She didn’t know what their purpose was, and tilted her head slightly. “Go on in there please, Freydis,” Dr. Schmidt said. Freydis nodded and again did as told.

She stood silently in the room, waiting until she would be told what to do. After a few moments, she was given directions.

“Okay, can you focus on that pile of foam bricks for me?” Dr. Schmidt requested. Freydis turned to look at them, and focused. “Really focus on them, that’s right. Put as much focus into them as you can. Focus on their size, their build, how they look, how you think they’d feel… until you can actually feel them.”

“I cannot feel them,” Freydis said. “I’m not touching them.”

“I know,” Dr. Schmidt replied. “I want you to feel them without touching them.” Freydis frowned, but did the best she could to fulfill the request made of her. “If you need to, go ahead and put out your hands. See if that helps.”

Freydis nodded and did this. She let her hands flex a bit, trying to feel the bricks as instructed. Whether it was her imagination or not, her brows creased a little. Dr. Schmidt smiled and wrote something down. “Now lift them,” she was instructed. “Feel them, and without moving toward them, lift them.”

This only brought even more confusion to the woman, but she did all she could to do as she was asked. Something began to pour out of her fingers, something that looked much like a red smoke, and her heart jumped. Not letting herself stop, Freydis moved her hands, guided it almost instinctively, until the smoke surrounded the blocks.

She lifted her hands, and one by one, the blocks moved with them. The red smoke surrounded them, bent to do what she wanted, and she finally realised this is what Professor Andersen meant when he said she’d be enhanced. Somehow, they had given her abilities she could only imagine a god having. A god or…

Or a Völva.

These people had made her a Völva, from the looks of it. The bricks were floating in the air still at her command, and she blinked a few times. The blinking broke her concentration, and they fell.

“I- I lost my focus,” she said. “Let me try-”

“Oh, no, that was incredible, Freydis,” Dr. Schmidt interrupted. “I couldn’t be happier with your progress. Go on back to your room and rest, I’ll have something sent over early for you to snack on.”

Freydis nodded a little, still slightly dazed. She didn’t know what had just happened, but she got the feeling these people were messing with things and forces they couldn’t understand.

And giving a prisoner abilities like this… that was only going to backfire.

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