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anika-ann · 1 month ago

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Ochranuj me (Protect Me) - S.R

Part 2/2

Type: medieval/fantasy/fairy tale AU; a part of this pseudomedieval-fantasy AU; part one of this instalment here

Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader Word Count: 11,6k (🤫)

Summary: You rush to the future king's aid, hoping to heal him. Will you make it in time?

And more importantly - will you be enough?

Warnings: mentions of death, injuries, poisoning, period-typical violence and discrimination, pregnancy, blood, definitely some angst and dark imagery there, polytheism and Slovak language ‘cause I can, protective knight Steve 'cause he's a warning

A/N: Actual title is Ochraňuj mě (Protect Me) …tumblr cannot handle a ň and ě in their title 🙃 DIVIDER by @firefly-graphics; fits after the events of the previous instalments

A/N 2: This one has more plot and even more Merlin vibes😇 hope you’ll enjoy anyway. Again, some lyrics from Bílá laň by Vesna. For music, check it out here, for visuals here. There's also some more Slovak language - explained/translated soon after it appears. Enjoy!

Steve held you close throughout the journey, his horse nearly flying through the slowly falling night; his arms, as he was clutching at the reins, were but a sturdy frame around you to protect you from both rain and any fall. He demanded, several times, whether he could improve your comfort in any way, worried your thin hooded coat did not suffice; otherwise, you did not speak a word, your minds consumed by worry and determination alike.

The quiet storm seemed to follow you, not one clap of thunder roaring from the skies; the silence was ominous, the only sounds those of a rush and brewing violence.

The potion sat safely in the pocket on the belt you had sewn yourself, hidden from sight and the first droplets of rain; the vial seemed to burn at your hip, as if the gods themselves had blessed it and filled it with divine power.

But the potion itself was not the solution, no. You were meant to be that.

A lawless solution in a lawful land; a being controlling the forbidden power that had the potential to be both your and Steven’s and your child’s doom and your kingdom’s salvation.

No wonder you had been losing sleep. Your actions were about to be ones of a madman.

But you were not alone.

You let the warmth of your lover’s body shield you from fear and cold alike, closing your eyes and allowing the feeling of ancient power – yours and all of those who had come before you – flow through you, the ominous whisper of a deadly end falling quieter, the rush of the wind by your ears all you could hear.

Steven only prompted the horse to slow down once you were nearing the gates, where the guards prepared to defend and attack the newcomers with their spears raised awaited you.

Steven stiffened and straightened behind you, prompting the horse but to walk the last few hundred yards.

“You have lied, Sir Rogers,” one of the men hollered over the faint noise of rain. “His Majesty the King does not take such crimes lightly, less so at a time like this.”

“I brought a healer,” Steve called in return. He was keeping the distance, still, clearly as to be able to flee with you should it turn out he had displeased the King too much to enter safely, his muscles taunt in readiness to defend.

‘I will protect you both, should be the last thing I will ever do,’ he had said.

He had never taken an oath lightly; yet, this one made your heart feel heavier than most, causing your throat to turn dry whenever your mind wandered to the darker part of his promise. The last thing I will ever do.

“The Prince might be lying on his deathbed – there was no time to waste to gain the blessing of His Majesty. May we pass so she may laid a helping hand?” Steven demanded, his sharp gaze observing the loyal royal servants with wariness.

The Royal Guard wavered, two different orders from their King in conflict: punish Sir Rogers; protect and attempt to save the crown at any cost.

Exchanging glances, they must have come to a silent agreement, however; nodding, they eased their stances but a fraction.

“You may enter. But we shall escort you to the King.”

Steven dismounted the horse with ease without disrupting your own balance at all, offering a gentle and firm hand to aid you.

Your feet barely touched the ground, a little unpleasant sweep to your stomach reminding you of the blossoms you had left lying on the meadow having been gathered for a reason, when one of the guards spoke again:

“And you shall only attend the King unarmed,” he barked, a vicious satisfied tilt to his voice speaking a thousand words of Steven and this man not being friendly at all. “Who knows what other rash decisions you might come to.”

The glare Steven casted the guard’s way was deadlier than any weapon he might have carried, but he obliged without protest, understanding there was no time to argue.

With a smirk, the guard took the heavy sword, his gaze wandering to you.

“And what of your lady healer?” he questioned, the mocking tone igniting fierceness in your chest in an instant, desire to show him that the most dangerous weapon Steven possessed was not of any precious metal, but of flesh and bone and blood. And blood you could spill; with ease that would scare you on any other day but the day where the gods themselves seemed to bless you. “Does she carry any-“

You did, in fact, carry a small dagger, even as that was the least dangerous weapon of yours.

The guard never got a chance to find out.

Steven stepped in front of you the very moment the man moved your direction, shielding you even as you could perfectly defend yourself on your own; gladly would, in fact, just to wipe the ugly man’s smile off his face.

Yet, Steven’s instant display of protective nature over you sent a pleasant heat through your middle.

“She does not,” Steven growled, hand subtly outstretched in front of you, voice once again heavy with an oath, this time much darker than the one he had given to you. “And be careful, Gregory. You touch her – you cause as much as a graze to her skin – and you shall regret to have ever been born. I will see to that.”

Chivalrous and protective to a fault; a shiver caressed your back, not unwelcomed. Steven knew better than most that you could make the man regret crossing you all on your own; but that did not mean he would ever let it come to that.

You were under his protection and he would make sure that everyone was aware of such. Profoundly.

“Unfortunately, you have just given up your weapon, Rogers,” the man hummed back, unbothered, unlike his companion, who was clearly growing both tired and anxious at the interaction.

You, on the other hand, were not; not with the words Steve spoke on the behalf of your safety, a dangerous smile you only had ever got a glimpse of curling his lips menacingly.

“Should you hurt her, even without intent, believe me – I will not need my sword to make you black and blue and red all over. And I shall do so with glee.”

Gulping, the guard did not say another word.

Your own glee at that, however, unlike your fondness for you lover, quickly dissipated.

As you were escorted to the castle and neared the royal rooms, your stomach turned at the intense scent of death approaching; in an instant, you were certain Steven had not lied, nor the royal physician had erred.

It was aconite.

And the prince was dying.

The echo of the whispers and screeches of the trees filled your skull again, the rotten scent turning almost unbearable.

You had felt, sensed death before. It was the natural course of things; eventually, death awaited all souls the gods had lent, the sands in the hourglass of every living thing running out eventually. You had felt Steven nearing this end too and had asked the gods for fistfuls of that sand to add and they had heard out your prayers.

You had scented death before.

But where Steven’s impending end had smelled of misfortune and fate, these rooms reeked of rage and vengeance; perhaps the truly deadliest poison known to man and gods alike.

Tidings, as it turned out, travelled fast in the castle. To stand in front of the King meant to stand in Prince Anthony’s chambers. The luxury of the rooms had not surprised you, even as it had still brought awe; and bittersweet realization that there still were things in this world which no amount of wealth could buy.

Gods of death cared little for bargaining with gold and supposedly precious gems.

The king’s face was pale, yet carried a note of nonchalant indifference. What you could sense, however, was silent rage; the most dangerous of them all. Rage and hunger for blood, for blood of those who had dared to poison his son.

And for blood of those who carried tattoos like yours.

You had forgone your hood moments ago, when the King himself prompted you to do so, demanding for Sir Rogers to reveal the healer Sir Barnes had explained he had been fetching – for whom he had abandoned the orders of his King. You spent a moment appreciating Bucky’s attempts to save Steven some of the wrath of the King.

However, it was painfully clear that the moment you revealed yourself, there was no force in this realm to mollify the ruler.

And you knew why; everyone of your kind living near his lands did.

Many years ago, the King had asked magic wielders, the long-lost outcasts, to give him and his wife a child they had longed for for so long. And they had heard him out; they had aided him.

And then, he had asked for another. Ones said it was out of love for his firstborn child, wishing for them to have a sibling; others said it was out of everything but love, perhaps simple greed. The sorcerers and witches had warned the King: to trifle with life, to grow greedy in the eyes of gods, might result in their wrath. They had warned him that there might be a terrible price. He had ordered them – and they had obeyed, perhaps in hopes to earn favour of people for their kind once more, perhaps in hopes to prove the truth of the divine threats they had voiced.

The King had been blessed with another child.

The Queen had passed several days after.

The punishment to magic wielders was not fit to their alleged crime; and all the people only ever learned of were wretched witches and sorcerers being the ones responsible for their Queen’s terrible death. Those who knew the truth only spoke it in whispers in the darkest corners of the kingdom; those who knew and commanded magic retreated deeper into hiding or left the godsforsaken lands altogether, forced to conceal their nature they were told to feel shame for.

Nature of those properly taught – and stubborn – was revealed by carrying the mark of the Blessed Ones with honour still. On their hands, on their shoulders, on their neck. Their face even, should they have chosen so, wearing the prove of their talent with pride.

And yet. The mark in the form of the tattoo the knights in the room were now observing with cautious curiosity, the very tattoo your Steven always made sure to caress with his fingertips and brush with his lips, might have as well been a brand.

The King knew exactly what kind of a healer you were and despised your mere existence from the very depth of his ash-grey soul.

The whispers of death screeched in your ears again as he glared at you unabashedly with deeply-rooted contempt, power tingling at the base of your spine as if out of spite.

Your choice. Your salvation and your doom. Your victory or your loss.

Your chance.

The face of the King was stoic, but his aura was not. As his gaze burned through you, Steven felt as much too; he shifted slightly, heedless of not carrying a weapon anymore. You could almost hear Bucky’s lament at the gesture, scent Sir Parker’s confusion and admiration, taste the bitter tang of caution coming off Sir Maximoff. The guards stood dutiful and prepared, their emotions mirroring those of their King; only less hearty and yet less contained.

Something flashed in the King’s eye as his gaze moved to your lover; released from the cage of his calculating eyes, you allowed yourself a deep breath, refocusing on the much important matters than petty displays of power from a small man with a large crown.

The room reeked of death and evil, laced with worry, care and hope. You couldn’t but send the smallest of smiles to Sir Parker whose eyes turned wider when the shift in your posture drove the fabric of the cloak slide lower and reveal a larger portion of the ancient symbols adorning your neck, disappearing under the fabric covering your shoulder.

“Do you stand in the way of your King, Sir Rogers?” the King demanded. “After having defied his direct commands? A peculiar behaviour for a knight, a strange show of your loyalty to the crown you offer me tonight.”

Loyal to a fault. Foolish even.

“I stand as loyal as one may be, Your Majesty,” Steven declared, chin raised up proudly, before bowing respectfully.

The King didn’t move a muscle; whether he was foolish enough to believe Steven was speaking of loyalty to him, you did not care to guess nor you cared at all about the ruler. The bed was calling out for you, your magic impatient, reaching out and feeling.

Steven noticed your attention shifting, turning to your subtly, voice quiet. “Can you help him heal?”

As if drawn by invisible force, your steps led you to the bed where the future king of Starkerbürg lied, your quiet footsteps followed by sharp ones, suddenly halting by a simple movement of a hand of King Stark.

A another petty display of power you ignored, your own hand instinctively reaching out, almost touching the invisible intangible aura of death surrounding Anthony, the bitter rotten tang of vengeful death stinging your tongue.

“The poison has spread far through his veins…”

A scoff and half a gesture toward the guards, heavy boots moving again-

“But I shall try, Sir Rogers,” you whispered, glancing at your lover, the faintest of smiles forming on your lips, growing a fraction when you met his gaze, warm with a secret. “For the kingdom, as you have asked of me, good sir.”

For us and our family, rytier moj, the steel in your eyes told him instead, a barely noticeable nod of his a sign he heard your message loud and clear and it filled him with pride. His faith, however your own wavered at the taste in your mouth, filled you with warmth in return.

Bewilderment and quiet indignation hovered in the air of the room, written in faces of Sir Parker and Sir Maximoff. The King’s expression spoke but of a challenge, almost as if healing his son was a trial, a sick game, the hunger for blood outweighing the desire for his son to live.

You pushed away the vile feeling radiating off him, your magic but building an invisible wall to shield yourself; you did not need the poison of his heart and mind. You must deal with another, too man-made.

Sending a prayer for his son’s soul and all those just as foolish and lost as the King’s, you went to sit on the prince’s bed.

As you did so with no healing instruments, salves or potions, nothing but your bare hands, the sudden shift in atmosphere was palpable.

No less palpable than the cold steel suddenly resting to your throat.

The tip of the blade so close that should you move an inch to look at Steven’s expression as one of his comrades stood prepared to harm you, blood would be drawn from your skin.

You heard the commotion behind you, your lover’s outraged voice calling out and a rattle of steel as the other knights or guards stopped him in his tracks.

You believed you had Sir Barnes to thank for that, putting a stop to a defence that would, at the moment, only complicate the situation at hand.

“What kind of a healer are you?” Sir Maximoff demanded.

The only one that can give actual power to the thin hope you all harbour for your Prince to survive, you thought, swallowing the sigh, the truth and the spark of magic prepared to defend yourself.

Yet, as you lifted your gaze to him, you noticed the slight tremble in his hand despite the determination written across his face.

You allowed yourself the smallest tilt of a head as you observed him further, curiosity piqued even as it meant losing precious moments; he was not afraid of you. He did not despise you, certainly not the way the King and many other did.

No, his emotions were of a different breed; as the dots in your mind connected at last, your heart soared.

“The one who’d rather not waste her magic, much needed to try to cure your prince from a poisoning that has no cure, to fight you,” you responded calmly, recognizing he had no true intention to hurt you. The shock sweeping over the room was electric; a suspicion of your nature confirmed. And yet you knew their awe would only grow with another revelation, for you would be the bearer of it. “You surprise me, Sir Maximoff. You had seen magic do good, and yet…”

Blood visibly drained from his face at your implication, his figure suddenly drawing everyone’s appalled eyes like a magnet, fear flashing in his own. His lips did not move, but you could almost hear the prayer he sent to the gods – and the only supposed god there was – for someone. Someone who was not himself.

Now you were certain that you were not wrong; he knew what was tied to him, even as he had been unaware of the fact you could see it when looking at him closely.

“Ah… I see now,” you added then.

His shoulders tensed further, a tremble rushing through the grip on his sword as he awaited your decision about his fate. To even encounter a magic wielder and keeping it a secret was a crime. And should one know their name, know of their whereabouts… a fond smile curled your lips. Fond for Sir Maximoff and your Steven. Brave men; good men.

“I see it as clear as day. You could have not report of it, for the magic wielder made you forget,” you lied easily, Sir Maximoff’s throat bobbing. “Do not worry, good Sir. You are not cursed, nor you are in danger,” you assured him softly, the real truth written between the lines of another. “I can simply feel the traces the magic left on you.”

There were no traces; he reeked of magic. It danced around him in a protective aura, a wild and inexperienced but no less powerful magic, a spell caster by a naturally talented witch or sorcerer who had never been schooled in using their power. Sir Maximoff must have known who had casted the spell; and he protected them in return.

Spells like this were often tied to emotions. One must love deeply to cast a spell as grand as this. You would know.

Perhaps others hadn’t realized, but it was a glaring truth now.

His reaction. The eagerness.

Everyone but Sir Barnes and your Steven were shocked by your nature; yet, Sir Maximoff, Pietro, had been the first to jump into action. A little too eager – to cover up for his sympathy for magic wielders. Allegedly the most loyal fighter against the supposedly harmful effects of magic; acting as such only to throw people off his scent and the scent of whoever bent magic to their will to protect him. Their bond truly must have been strong; a lover or family.

“Please, let me work, good Sir. Let me try to help,” you whispered, hoping your sincerity would speak more than your words.

And that he would understand that you did not only mean you might be able to help the prince; you might be able to help the loved one he was hiding by letting the world see again that magic could do good. After all, such was one of the reasons why you had reluctantly agreed to come here despite the risks.

Potentially preventing a war certainly was a worthy cause.

Preventing Steve from going to war was a cause to lay your life for, even as it whispered of hypocrisy.

But the were divine whispers battling those of death, your instincts telling you this might be the moment. This could be the turning point. Should your magic heal the crown prince, witches and sorcerers could once again begin to feel accepted and safe and perhaps even valued; they could roam freely.

The sword found its way back to its sheath, Sir Maximoff taking a respectful step back.

“Thank you,” you whispered politely, turning your attention to the prince, the heat of his fever seeping into your skin even as you hadn’t touched him yet.

You never got the chance to do so before the King spoke again.

“Very well, witch,” he spat, not bothering to hide his contempt for your kind this time.

A single nod towards the guards; and suddenly Steven was down on his knees, arms twisted behind his back, a sword to his throat, causing your heart to stumble in your chest and something wild burn it your soul.

Your hand twitched to remove the offending object with a slide of hand, to break bones of those who held him with a twist of your wrist and single whisper of language that terrified those who did not understand it.

How dared they? How dared they hurt your love and put a blade to his throat? His own sword, no less?

Steven remained silent in face of the pain and humiliation; accepting it for it was his pain to bear and for fighting would only result in a ruckus no one needed now.

Except you did.

“Remove that blade or I swear to gods-“

“There is but one God, čarodejnica. Work your magic. Should you fail, should you bring any harm to my son, you and your lover shall meet your end. Throw him to the dungeon.”

Your heart stumbled in your ribcage.

It appeared the King then was not a complete fool and understood certain affairs of men quite fine; but he had clearly forgotten just how powerful magic could be.

The temptation to snap his neck for his contempt alone burned hot in your veins, the sword already moving, pushed away from Steve’s throat by an invisible power the guard could not hope to best, your eyes no doubt sparkling with the magic surging through you.

No one touched your lover and got away with it.

No one touched your love.

No one touched the father of your child.

You’d need every ounce of your strength to attempt to heal the Prince, but you would gladly waste all of it if it meant protecting Steven. The fact no knight moved to contain you despite the guard’s sudden struggle sent a breath of hope and satisfaction to your lungs; then again, they did not move to help their friend either.

Damn the human kind.

And they called your kind wretched.

“Release him. At once,“ you threatened lowly, the blade of the sword bending to your will rising higher, now turned to the guard himself. The horror in his eye tasted deliciously dark, the power you had felt been gifted to you blazing hot at your fingertips.

And then Steven shook his head, meeting your gaze imploringly, the heat replaced by cold of vanity.

You did not have magic to spare; this was not why you had come here. To do harm.

But gods, did you want to. The temptation, rich and sweet on your tongue, to spare but a drop of life essence, to nick Gregory’s skin only to draw a droplet of blood so he’d remember not to cross your lover ever again-

“I shall come voluntarily.”

You could have slapped your lover yourself.

“It is quite amusing you believe to have a choice-“

“It is amusing you believe he does not,” you mimicked the King coldly, sending your blazing gaze his way, almost hearing Sir Barnes’ curse in the depth of his mind, as he no doubt questioned his choices of friends and their beloveds.

Speaking of beloveds and cursing… you understood what Steven was doing and knew, deep down, he was right, but that did not mean you took any liking to the idea of him being thrown into the dungeons only for you to be allowed to try to save a life of the future king.

What reward. What travesty. What a farce.

“I shall come voluntarily,” Steven repeated firmly, a contrast to the soft smile in the corner of his mouth when his gaze met yours. “As long as no harm comes to her. Promise me.” A single glance casted to Sir Maximoff and Sir Parker, lingering on Sir Barnes, until they all nodded; only then, Steven focused on the King, an insult in its own right. “Your Majesty.”

And then, the strangest thing: the King nodded as well.

“You have my word.”

You trusted little to his word, but you had no choice. Every grain of sand in the hourglass above your heads lost meant the Prince nearing his afterlife. You slowly released the guard from the hold of your magic.

As Steve rose to his feet, Bucky appeared by his side as silently as a ghost, an unspoken question.

“She may feel very faint afterwards,” Steven whispered. “I trust you to take good care of her.”

Then, last reassuring glance your way, almost a reverent faith in your ability to heal the Prince, faith stronger than you yourself perhaps possessed; and then Steve was walking away with the company of two guards, their rough grip spurring you on to be gentle with yours.

The King did not spare you a single glance, on the other hand; whispering to another two pairs of guards who would remain, he turned his back to the room, and left.

To believe you would be left in peace to work on healing Anthony would be more foolish than you believed yourself to be.

The three knights stood guard, silent curious audience, hope pulsing through their auras like hot air pulsed above a fire; a tint of affection coloured their scents, Sir Barnes in particular, bringing a ghost of a smile to your lips.

Much like your Steven, Sir Barnes must have taken his promise with gravity; where his friends were mostly standing vigilant to protect the future king from further harm, you felt him radiating caution and readiness to protect his best friend’s lover.

And yet. As the Royal Guard had moved closer, scrutinizing your every motion, he could not hope to stop them.

The moment you pulled your blessed potion from the pocket on your belt, the sudden force pushing at you had you lose both your footing and the grip on the vial.

By miracle, you had managed to freeze the vial in space, levitating a few inches from the floor where it would shatter to pieces along with the kingdom’s only hope; your own fall was slowed down by Sir Barnes’ prompt reaction to the Guard’s attack, his arms gently but firmly holding your underarms before your bottom could hit the floor.

The spark of gratitude towards him was instantly consumed by the flare of rage ignited by the other man’s rash actions; the guard didn’t seem to mind one bit, a look of pride on his face as he observed you menacingly.

“Just what did you think you-“

“What do you think you are doing, Sir? You could have spilled the potion and level the Prince’s chances to the ground by--- whatver in the Gods you have done. And for what?” you hissed, climbing back to the bed with Sir Barnes kind help, his glare to the man almost as blazing as Steven’s had been; you knew as much without a single glance, sensing his outrage.

“I do not answer to you, witch. But I shall see to my future king not being poisoned by wretched creatures like you.”

And good job you had done, you wanted to snap back, huffing instead, your blood boiling.

Fool. A full idiot.

“That is not how you should speak to a lady,” Sir Parker said sharply, coming to stand by your side, carefully reaching for the vial sting hovering above the ground, grasping it with care and wide-eyed curiosity, extending his hand to you. “Here, my lady.”

A genuine smile spread on your face at his gentlemanly manners and sweet demeanour despite the circumstance, your eyes warm instead of blazing hot when you accepted it.

“Thank you, good Sir. You have a good heart, kind soul and sharp mind, Sir Parker,” you said softly, causing a tint of pink to rush to his cheeks, rewarded by a scoff from the guard who hadn’t stopped watching you with contempt. You turned to him, mirroring his glare. “As for you. Your future king is already poisoned, by a substance that has no known antidote – as your physician told the lot of you, has he got half of the education he should have. Your future king is as good as dead; should this be another poison, it would not make any difference. He is already well on his way to meet his ancestors – I assure you, anything short of slitting his throat or driving a sword through his heart has the potential to pull him pack and delay his quest to death’s altar.”

The guard’s eyes flickered all over you, as if searching for a dagger or a sword as if you were to demonstrate the blood drawing rather than healing.

Oh for gods’ sake-

“I shall not stab your king. This is but a potion to make the healing spell more potent in hopes to possibly help him,” you explained, at last causing the guard to take a step back. “Step back further, all of you. He might trash around as if possessed.”

And with those words, you reached for the prince’s chin to open his clenched jaw and poured the potion down his throat, uttering the first words of the healing spell as soon as the first drop spilled to his tongue, filling the chambers with golden light, power expanding from your palms and exploding at the base of your spine.

The knights and guards alike watched with awe as the bright and somewhat gentle light filled the royal chambers, enveloping the little witch’s body and their Prince alike; it pulsed tenderly as a heart itself, interlaced with rich crimson and purple liquid threads which turned nothing but a shade a moment later, bleeding into the light elsewhere.

The little witch’s face was distorted with exertion and deep concentration, sweat erupting at her hairline; the lines of her tattoo shined silver as she suddenly arched in her back in an almost inhuman shape, an agonized cry piercing the room, her delicately closed eyes snapping open and revealing almost nothing but white with how far back her eyes rolled.

At the pained sound, Sir Barnes surged forward; only for a voice as clear as if spoken to his ear, her voice, calling for him to stand put, to step back.

With bite of the promise he had given to his comrade and the oath he had given to protect those more vulnerable than him in the back of his mind, he clenched his jaw and stood still, his need to intervene spiking when a blood trickled from her nose over her lips and chin, staining her skin violent red.

Her hands trembled, the vileness of hate and vengeance as if seeping into her skin; infection drawn and erased from every cell, every tissue, every muscle, every bone; evaporating from every drop of saliva, bile and the smallest speckle of blood, the black of poison curated for years and years sucked out thirstily and turned into an offering to gods; not for its wickedness, but for its potency. An offering and a humble plea to take back what their own power might have blessed, unwittingly or purposely, surging through the bosorka’s magic.

The light emitting from her palms softened, flickering as a candle in a wind, until another cry – this one so alike to those man like Sir Barnes, Sir Parker or Sir Maximoff released in the heat of battle to sooth their pains and call to last drop of their strength – cut through the thick heavy air and drowned the chambers in a glow so potent, blinding and searing it might have come from the sun itself, causing the knights and guards alike to shield their eyes.

Grains of sand spilled in the figurative hourglass, every single one of them filling the room with a tinkle when it fell on the suddenly sandless bottom.

A new life; a new chance; born out of blinding light into the blinding dark, all the candles and torches put out at once.

When they flickered back to life seemingly on their own, their orange glow illuminated a horrid scene.

Two motionless bodies; one on the bed, one twisted lying on the cold floor just by it.

Sheets stained with blood.

Terror seized the men staring at the image: their future king, lifeless; Sir Rogers’ lover, blood still dripping down her lips, dead as well.

Time stood still.

Until a twitch of fingers and a pained groan resonated through the floor.

Until a miraculous generous expanse of the Prince’s ribcage, rendering the knights’ and guards’ own lungs tight with awe, drawing their gazes. The blood did not belong to him; if anything, his own seemed to return to his veins, bringing colour back to his face, his heavy eyelids moving as if he was but consumed by a dream, his chest beginning to rise and fall in a steady rhythm.

The little bosorka blinked her eyes open, tears of exhaustion pooling, her hands trembling as she attempted to prop up and sit; as she did so, she felt the attention turn to her, a trio of incredulous chuckles and sweet blasphemy spilling from the knights’ lips.

Only the guards’ mouth twisted in snarls like those of an animal, gazes predatory, piercing though her weak form.

She could not appear weak.

She had once told Steven; her kind could not be seen vulnerable, at any circumstance. A weak creature was an easy prey. She might have felt like fainting, like her own legs could not support her weight, the blessing of the gods bleeding out of her flesh and bone and spirit along with the magic she had poured into healing the prince, but she shall stand tall and unrelenting in face of an unjust attempt at seizing her.

Of course such would be her punishment for succeeding, for saving a life; the vultures looking to circle her nevertheless.

No good deed had ever gone unpunished in this godsforsaken kingdom, had it?

She was still strong; she was powerful. And she might be the good kind of a witch, but she could inspire fear all the same; that was what the guards moving towards her shall see and feel.

Feeling Sir Barnes move to her side, his hand reaching for the heavy sword at his hip – a sword that had slayed monsters much bigger and perhaps more wicked than man – she stood to her feet.

She did not even reach her full height when her knees buckled, collapsing on the bed next to the Prince, Sir Barnes quick to tend to her, rolling her over to his arms, her head lulling to side, blood having been wiped away by her sleeve spilling fresh.

The tilt of the bed caused Anthony to snap his eyes open with a gasp, gaze roaming the chambers blindly, one hand outstretched, the other grasping at his throat.

“What in the God-“

“I shall fetch the physician,” Pietro hurried as the Prince continued to look around the chambers in distress, eyes growing wide at the woman lying on the edge of his own royal bed in one of his most trusted knights’ arms. “Or two. Peter, come with me.”

“What--- in the God was in that wine?!”

“Your Majesty!” One of the guards, Hector they called him, the one who had nearly had the life essence of his own future king nearly spilled due to his rashness, rushed to Sir Barnes side just as Sir Maximoff left with Sir Parker, who exchanged a meaningful glance with Sir Barnes, in tow. “Apologies, we shall remove this… adulteress-“

“Care how you speak, Hector-“ Sir Barnes hissed, disdain and betrayal stinging vile in his chest, his joy at Anthony’s recovery under Steven’s love’s miraculous hands burning to ashes at the calculating gazes of the Royal Guard, three more like Hector appearing in the doorway.

Three more.

Sir Barnes was a fierce soldier, fight coursing through his blood ever since the day he had befriended Steven of Rogers, swinging his sword with skill famed all over the kingdom; but he could not fight this. Not five guards at once; and should he best them by another miracle provided by the gods, he could never escape the maze of the castle in the disarray that it was after the boisterous celebrations turned sour, corridors swarmed with knights and guards alike, not while carrying a limp body of a woman in his arms.

And even if he succeeded in that; Steve would have stayed behind.

The King would have not been mollified by his son’s recovery, by Steven’s having brought the healer who rendered it possible. No. He would be bittered by her escape, executing Steven the very next morning in a public spectacle.

Bucky would have never forgiven himself for that; she would have never forgiven him for that.

He had no choice; no on truly had such luxury tonight.

Even as Steven would never forgive him for what he was about to do.

“Allow me to carry her at least,” he whispered to the guards as they circled him.

And perhaps it was another divine intervention; a ray of kindness illuminating the famously ruthless Royal Guard.

They did.

When Sir Maximoff and Sir Parker returned, they found the room in disarray: blood still smeared over the bedding around their future king, who might speak slurred but rapid words of confusion and distress; his beloved, Pepper of Potts sitting by the edge of the bed, cradling his sweat-soaked face in her palms, explaining softly of the poison; two members of the Royal Guard standing tall as they watched over them, another two nearly colliding with them as they led the King himself into the doorway.

Sir Barnes, nor the little bosorka, were to be found.

By the order of the King, the wretched witch was to be executed the next morning for breaking the sacred laws of Starkerbürg by using magic; her lover as well, for harbouring an outlaw; lastly, a servant girl of Asgard, an illegitimate daughter of the late King Odin named Hela, for having attempted the murder of the crown prince and no doubt using magic in the process.

Witches and traitors were to die by fire as not to have a vessel in afterlife and to die a slow painful death.

The Knight of Starkerbürg would receive a mercy; a death by hanging. After all, he might have been wickedly enchanted for all the King knew, for he had served the kingdom well before his shortcomings. His death was to be quick.

But they would all receive an audience.

The knights and the Royal Guard were to watch over each other all night as for none of them to have the foolish idea to save their comrade.

No one tried.

But neither of them slept either, anger, sorrow and injustice served preventing them from getting as much as a shut-eye. That, and fear of another of their comrades, Sir Barnes, following Steven’s example of acting foolishly.

Sir Barnes, trapped in his own cell as not to attempt to free his best friend, spent the night teary-eyed, staring out of the window towards the stars, perhaps wishing on a falling one to save his best friend’s life and praying for it too. Now that would have been true magic, would it not? If all it had taken for a miracle would have been a wish and a single prayer.

The little bosorka slept and did not weep. Only barely aware of as much as her own breaths, exhaustion had consumed her body. And yet her hand protectively sprawled over her belly, even on her last night before entering the longest of sleeps.

Steven wasted away the night banging at the iron bars of his cell, putting his whole impressive weight and strength into his advances and screaming at the top of his lungs to release her at least, the brutal truth of her fate whispered to him by the purest threads of intuition; until finally his feet could not carry him anymore and his arms and shoulder turned black and blue and crimson, just as he had promised Gregory’s would, should he touch his beloved.

It was a dark night for souls carrying such light despite their many broken hopes.

There is this saying, words of a supposedly wise man: the fair ones sleep well.

By the irony of life, the only one doing so tonight was the King, having sentenced not two, but three innocents to death, including the most innocent of human beings; an unborn child of pure love.

Perhaps more people should wish on the falling stars and pray for miracles; then, the saying about the fair ones could come true and not a mere fairytale.

And in the light breeze brought by the cleanse in pouring rain, the birch trees and the yew trees whispered of an end, and not a single soul heard them.

Here is your Eden, here is your grove, here it is where you belong. Like the white doe, protect your soul, so you don’t lose your glow.

Here is your Eden, here is your grove, here it is, where you belong. May it not befall you this great, great sorrow. (sorrow, sorrow, sorrow)

The sparse first rays of sun reflected in the drizzle, playing a charmingly terrifying game of lights and shadows, cool raindrops landing softly.

Crowds of commoners stood, some tall, some crouched, all almost motionless; as if they knew a truth darker than the reason for which they were gathered.

The Royal Guard with their chins raised proudly, serving the whimsical wishes of their king with loyalty and self-perceived honour.

And finally, the knights of Starkerbürg lined up in a double row, skirting the path towards death just as they would for one of their own walking to the altar and then for his bride too.

On the high balcony, King Stark with his pale son and his bride-to-be and Princess Morgana, King Thor and Prince Loki; offered with an almost picturesque view of the high castle walls adorned by rich fabrics coloured in both reds of Starkerbürg and emeralds of Asgard, and of the courtyard with two centrepieces; two stakes and the gallows.

What a crowd; what a spectacle.

And all but for senseless punishment.

Silence hung above the scene, only interrupted by brutal beats of drums, echoing ominously in Sir Barnes’ heart as he stood among his brothers in arms. He had been released just before dawn to clean up. So kindly; so cruelly; to assist the execution of the traitors of the lands. To witness the death of his closest of comrades.

And down the aisle to marry death, led by two members of the Royal Guard, a bosorka with a little one growing under her heart. Her bare feet dragged, her body and power drained; she could not walk, eyes barely open for a slit, gaze drowning in tears. And yet, in her mind, she prayed, her lips moving soundlessly; a testimony to her faith.

She prayed to the old gods; to those whom she worshipped and sacrificed to in exchange for nourishing her magic.

She prayed; for just a speckle of strength, a spark of magic. Perhaps if the stake had caught fire before they’d reach it, the execution would be stalled, long enough for her to gain strength and flee with Steven.

She prayed for him too. And she prayed for the capricious mind of King Stark changing on a whim once more and choosing to spare the life of a good man; the very man to whom she had revealed her magic and trusted him not to use that knowledge against her so many long months ago. And Steven had not betrayed her; he was not to blame, not for her choices nor those of the king.

She had no regrets having come to the aid of her lover whose only sin was merely having faith in humanity, much like she did.

But gods, did she pray. If not to spare her own life or even Steven’s, then to spare the life which hadn’t even got to see the light of day, so truly innocent.

She did not even pray for power for an act of revenge. She only prayed for strength to escape and live in peace with her lover and love and the life they had created.

And she prayed for mercy. Gods, did she pray for mercy.

She prayed for kindness of mankind, for her own lover was a precious testimony that pure kindness lied in the hearts of men still.

But the guards kept dragging her body, for once helpless, on and on; and the uneven stones kept drawing blood from the insteps and soles of her feet, the guards’ steps steadier than her heart as she found strength to tilt her head back to feel the rain soak her face, to glance upon heavens where many gods resided.

A soundless plea as raindrops moistened her lips, eyes fluttering close.

Then, a sound of another pair of feet; of slow and heavy but steady steps.

The guards halted in their march, the bosorka in their hands nearly toppling over.

And yet, the innocent woman mustered enough energy to open and focus her teary eyes, met with a blurry sight of a tall dark-haired man in knight’s armour, his piercing grey-blue gaze as steely and sharp as his sword.

It was not a save. It was all but a petty act of rebellion, a flicker of courage in the man Steven had chosen as his best friend. She thanked the gods for hearing out her prayers still, and praised the souls of the good of mankind all the same.

“Sir Barnes. Step away,” the guard on her right spoke clearly, notes of impatience in his voice, but not of surprise.

“No.”

A single unshakable syllable, cutting through the crowds like a lightning from clear skies.

The guards, taken aback, looked up to the high balcony in a silent wavery question. They could side-step the knight, but he had his sword ready and they had a firm belief he would not let them pass without a fight.

The still crowd broke into a sea of silent barely noticeable motion. No one dared to utter a word, awaiting the response to such insolence with bated breaths. Even the sun itself seemed to shy away, the drizzle slowly ceasing.

“Remove him!” the king hollered, impatient and clearly disappointed in his guards’ incompetence more than by the disobedience of one of the Knights of Starkerbürg.

But perhaps he should have been focused on the latter.

For as per his order to move, the servants of the kingdom did move – but not the Royal Guard.

Instead, two more knights stepped out from their position, each to Sir Barnes’ one side. And they did not touch him, let alone removed him, no. They stood beside him, Sir Wilson and Sir Barton, the tips of their swords gently hovering above the ground, grave and unwavering expressions on their faces.

Sir Barnes did not cast them a single glance, but a brief smile passed his lips, tasting all the sweeter when he saw the flicker of uncertainty and healthy respect towards the wordless threat of having to fight famed swordsmen appear on the guards’ faces.

The six people stood against each other, their hearts louder and more frantic than the suddenly ceased beat of drums.

Gods forgive them all.

“Taking this woman’s life is ten times the crime she allegedly committed,” Sir Barnes’s voice thundered through the courtyard, deceivingly calm and steady. “She came here to our aid – she saved our future king’s life. She came, knowing the risks. One might say she has got what she came for then…” he continued, gathering his breath, voice softening. “But I believe she also came with faith. With faith in good people. Is this truly how we repay her? Is this how we repay kindness?”

“Does saving a life equals death now?” Sir Wilson called out this time. “Would you sentence a knight to death for saving a life by sword, by his fists? Is this how Starkerbürg rewards its heroes?”

“Is this the justice we want in our kingdom? Do we want to pass judgement not just without reason, but against it?” Sir Barton questioned, the chuckle following his words dripping with bitter irony. “It just might be my time to retire then. For, this kind of justice I do not want to serve.”

Whispers rose through the courtyard, the Royal Guard frozen in place, awaiting their king’s orders. King Stark rose to his feet, gripping the cold stone of the balcony railing with hands burning hot as rage boiled the blood in his veins. A harsh inhale to spit orders was as far as he got –

– before he could speak, other knights began to leave their posts with something akin to glee, full of determination, shock stealing the king’s voice.

“I do not like having a knight’s honour should it mean I let an innocent woman – a hero – die. I would not deserve it then!”

“I could not look my daughter in the eye if I did either. This resembles the twisted plot we reject in the very tales we read together at her bedtime.”

“Shall we really tolerate this?!” Sir Maximoff cried out. “Or shall we finally accept and cherish those with differences if they carry a good heart in their chest?”

Sir Parker. Sir Lang. Sir Maximoff. Sir Quill and Sir Triplett and others. One after another, stepping out. Gradually, the double row reshaped; a group of knights prepared to fight, as steady and impenetrable as the castle’s walls.

The blurry vision of the bosorka could not appear clearer at the moment, Sir Barnes’ cold challenging gaze moving to meet hers, a gleam of warmth and compassion. Her lower lip wobbled as she soundlessly prayed for strength once more, to support the effort; to rise from helplessness back to her power – or at least dignity.

Whispers, as scandalized as awed, swarmed the courtyard-

“SILENCE!”

The voice of authority cut through like a searing hot knife, leaving burns and terrified silence behind indeed, all but the soft sound of the ceasing drizzle and the breeze carrying the prophesies of an end from the tress in the gardens and grooves.

Blood shall be spilled-

Today, today, today…

It will-

“Let us end this absurd charade, this… hideous betrayal to the crown!” the King spitted out. “Guards!Remove them all. If necessary, aim to kill.”

Sharp inhales of horror, wild expanses of chests.

Slow wavering exhales; deflation.

Not a single person moved beyond such.

Not the knights who continued to stand, this time the ones with unshakable pride.

Not the Royal Guard; it was one thing to serve the king no matter how kind or cruel or wise or mad decisions he made behind the castle’s walls; it was a whole another thing to do so under the scrutiny of the public eye.

“GUARDS-!”

Finally, the only person moving at the command was a commoner: a young woman, barely past twenty years of age, brown hair with intense gleam of red, stepping in front of the knights to face the guards still gripping the bosorka’s limp form.

“Wanda-“ Sir Maximoff breathed out a horrified whisper, flinching forward but not moving beyond as she held out her hand as to stop him.

The woman did not turn to the voice, stinking her chin out instead, determination sparking in her eyes.

“Do not fret, brother. You are right. You all are,” she whispered before raising her voice to continue. “This is not justice. This is not reason. ‘tis nothing but cruelty and madness. And I shall not stand on the sidelines when this is my fight too.”

A brave little woman; the voice of reason and goodness, met with a sea of hushed words from the crowds standing witness as she had been. Hands bare of a weapon, she had risen to battle injustice. Awe-inspiring.

Awe-inspiring, even as the king was raging all the more, a curse on his lips, a breath from commanding the guards to kill her too for her insolence.

Little did he know they would meet nothing but bad luck when trying to fight her; they’d lose, miserably so.

Wanda Maximoff was but a commoner, if a sister to a knight; but to the sweet bosorka’s gaze, she glowed. The Maximoff girl shone with the same magic a witch could sense surrounding Sir Maximoff.

She was right, more than anyone but her brother would know – it was her fight too.

“It is everyone’s fight!” a male voice called out from the crowd, pushing through and moving to stand by Wanda’s side. “If she saved the future king!”

“She did. As God is our witness,” Sir Barnes confirmed, the whispers among people rising, urning to shouts.

All hell broke loose; hell to King Stark’s eye at least.

More commoners stepped out. One followed by another; slowly at first. And then, the more people joined, the faster the crowds were moving, forcing the guards holding the bosorka take several steps back as not to get stomped on. Masses continued to flow to the middle of the now non-existent aisle, until there was no audience left.

However, no one moved to fight the two guards nor the rest of the Royal Guard who remained frozen. No one raised their fists or gathered stones or other improvised weapons, no. The common, ordinary people simply stood there; a sea of people that would not part to let the executioners and the prisoner through, as unmovable as mountain.

On the high balcony, the king fumed, at loss of words. King Thor of Asgard, on the other hand, allowed a smile to settle on his lips as he seemed to approve of the spectacle unfolding, and so did his brother.

And then, Prince Anthony, still weakened, propped his hands on the armrests and stood up, speaking to the entirety of his future kingdom proudly even as he addressed his father.

“Father, I believe the people of Starkerbürg have spoken. And so should I. I owe this woman my life. I will not repay her by death.”

His voice, while shaking, carried undeniable determination and authority not to be questioned.

“Sit down, you are still just a boy, you know nothing-“

“No, father. I know enough,” Anthony opposed. “We’ve been hunting those who control magic for too long. Chasing some misguided belief that it’s the magic that corrupted them… I do not believe it true.”

“Like hell-”

“Your son is right in his beliefs,” King Thor spoke up, a slight smile in his voice as it remained on his face. “The truth is that the source of evil is much more universal and is to be found at the very heart of mankind. Magic has and never had anything to do with it.”

The king scoffed, a flash of hungry rage in his eye. “A traitor has arisen from your court, Asgardian. You keep your mouth shut if you know what is good for your kingdom-”

The king of Asgard stood up swiftly, towering above all the royalty present; an embodiment of a not quite intentional threat, built on his impressive height and width of shoulders clad in luxury fabrics and on the heavy sword always resting by his hip for his nation was one of rightfully famed for battle.

The calmness with which he spoke contrasted sharply with his appearance. Or perhaps it did not – with the quiet power of the Asgardian king facing the mad king of Starkerbürg, they appeared as a bigger man and a very small one. If anything, their looks seemed reflect their minds.

“Care how you speak, King Stark. Son of Odin as I am, I am the king now. And we might be in your lands but you do no stand above us.”

King Stark gulped, before breathing in for a retort.

Before he could speak, his son clapped his hands twice loudly, drawing all attention back to himself.

“We witnessed-- ah well, I did not, for I was too busy dying at that time, dying at a hand of an ordinary human, to be clear, to give testimony--- eh, what I mean is, that we witnessed that magic can serve good. And so it should be rewarded as such. Rewarded, not punished.”

“You do not know what you speak of, son. You are not thinking clearly. She casted a spell to manipulate you, much like she manipulated Sir Rogers-”

“She did no such thing, father. As for Sir Rogers,” the prince said, a tired but knowing smirk playing on his lips, “it is true that he might be… bewitched, so to speak, but not differently from how my fiancée has bewitched me. She is, after all, of kinder heart and wiser mind than I am – I shall never repeat that, darling, cherish it,” he added, speaking lower and earning a small admonishing smile from Pepper of the Potts, along with a hint of blush colouring her cheeks.

A fond memory came alive in her mind, a memory of whispering urgently to her beloved’s ear of the witch’s feat she had learned about from the servants. From servants who had learned from Sir Parker – the youngest of the knights, the purest of hearts, causing him to be all maids’ favourite. From Sir Parker; sent by Sir Barnes.

It was her whispers which had delivered the message to the future king’s ear, to the one in power; but Pepper of the Potts had not been alone in her wiseness, nor in her effort nor bravery. The knights; the Maximoff girl; the common people.

It seemed goodness resided in many hearts of mankind still.

“Nonsense!” the king exploded. “The wretched witch has poisoned your mind-”

“Did she? And what of all these people, father? A quite powerful witch she seems in your tale, for a woman barely standing on her feet right now, all but dragged towards her death,” Prince Anthony lamented. “No… it is not my mind that is poisoned. It is yours. Poisoned by grievances of the past, by vengeance. It is time to change that.”

“Anthony, know your place-“

“I do, father. I know it precisely.”

The prince clapped his hands twice again, even louder this time, before spreading his arms ceremoniously, drawing a generous breath to make sure his weakened voice would carry all over the courtyard.

“I execute my right as the crown prince to grant mercy! To her and to my loyal brother in arms, Sir Rogers! Tomorrow, we shall execute the one and only true culprit, Hela Odinsdaughter. Today, no one dies. Today, we mark the beginning of a new era, where punishment fits the crime. Magic is no longer outlawed! Thank you for listening, my folks!”

Chaos of voice erupted among the people of Starkerbürg, astonished gasps, drowning out the voice on the high balcony.

“You have no right nor power to do decide of laws-!”

“No, I don’t,” the prince said, a brief smirk passing his lips. “But I have enough mercies to grant to those whom you’d want to execute before the changes are implemented into the laws of the lands.”

“You-“

“I must say I am most pleased by this development, Your Majesty,” King Thor interjected loudly, the barely contained amusement evident in his voice. “After all, Asgard has never outlawed magic. The fewer differences we have, the stronger our alliance.”

Turning to the crown prince, he extended his hand for a shake between two gentlemen, between two rulers. Prince Anthony only hesitated for a single beat of a heart. His acceptance was rewarded by a genuine smile spreading on King Thor’s lips and a palm covering their joined hands.

The true ruler of Starkerbürg seethed silently behind his son’s back, glaring at the exchange; yet, he did not say another word, his nearly murderous fury hidden behind a sudden mask of neutrality. He recognized that for the moment, he had been defeated.

“You shall make a good king one day, Your Majesty,” King Thor said.

“Oh, I know I will.”

“Anthony,” Pepper of the Potts admonished the man instantly; however, the king of Asgard only laughed, patting the back of Prince Anthony’s hand.

“And with good humour too. What a rare quality these days. A kind of magic in its own right… may the new era begin indeed.”

“Oh? Right now? Good. Finally,” Prince Loki’s voice suddenly joined the conversation, but only for a bit.

For by the next fall of a grain of sand in an hourglass, he was gone; and as fast a lightning strike, he reappeared in front of the bosorka, a swift snap of his fingers as loud as a clap of thunder.

The chains bounding the witch’s wrists and ankles fell open, hitting the ground with a startled step of the Royal Guard back, releasing her so abruptly she stumbled forward, her feet unable to bear her weight, her knees buckling.

She landed on her knees and hands, but never scarped them; instead of the unforgiving ground, her limbs met a fluffy transparent pillows as if made out of thin air, a gasp falling from her lips.

“See, much better,” the prince of Asgard muttered under his breath, taking a step closer to woman.

A whisper of wonder spread through the sea of people remaining stood between the bosorka and the place of execution, the echo of Loki’s name called exasperatedly from the high balcony by his brother.

The prince shrugged, grinning with the mischief worthy of his name.

“What, brother?! The crown prince said it was alright! … oh, right.”

Crossing the last distance between him and the bosorka, he reached for her ashy cheek, fingertips slipping under her chin to raise her head as if to show off her face with pride, the old language spilling from his lips gently: “Teraz si v bezpečí, sestra mágie. Si voľná a my sme voľní vďaka tebe. Spravila si dobro, maličká. Statočná – a ako takú si ťa bude pamätať i história.”

The words, however kind, empowering and mystical to many as they no longer understood the language, barely reached her consciousness; the true magic sprouted from the touch, washing over her body like a tidal wave.

You are safe, sister of magic.

A gasp for air, a sharp arch in her back as her power, all she had given, flowed back into her very soul.

You are free and thanks to you, we all are.

Warmth. Such delicious warm that words could not describe it, in any language known to man or magic wielders, spread through her veins.

You did good, little one.

A guttural sigh of relief escaped her lips, tears gartering in her eyes; her magic enveloped her very being and relit a spark of life, the scrapes on her feet, knees, hands – bruises on her wrists and ankles – beginning to disappear.

Oh brave one – and history shall remember you as such.

Prince Loki’s fingers slipped from her face, held out in a gentlemanly, almost knightly offer.

“May I lend a hand, my lady?”

Awed at her own magic flourishing, surging through the threads of her soul, and at the person responsible for it alike, she reluctantly took the prince’s hand, rising to her feet; the soft pillowy masses dispersed as she did so, a seemingly effortless trick.

“Good sir… your Majesty,” she whispered. “Thank you.”

A satisfied grin appeared on Prince Loki’s face, a hint of fake modesty as he let go of her. “Now now, maličká. You may thank me when we get your rytier here.”

A flicker of a wrist and a powerful green glint in his eye; and the crowds drew a startled breath at the hunched large figure suddenly appearing in the courtyard, his disoriented panicked gaze searching without avail.

Sir Rogers: bloody and bruised, sweat-drenched and exhausted, haunted by the worst nightmare of any man. Losing a loved one.

“I mean, is this not so much more fun?” Prince Anthony called out from the balcony, promptly ignored by everyone but his own fuming father and benevolent bride.

Instead, everyone’s gaze was drawn to a flurry of movement of a young woman stepping to the desperate half-mad knight, the very woman who had been brave enough to step out first from among the commoners.

“Wanda, wait-“ her brother exclaimed, in vain.

The redhead shook her head and smiled, reaching out to softly caress Steven’s shoulder, all but black and blue under the simple shirt he had been stripped to. A gentle gleam of the very red lacing her hair glowed from her palm, an untouchable light. Her hypnotic gaze captured the knight’s attention and froze him in place, magic flowing through him and sealing his wounds, a pure healing power.

Ten beats of thousands of hearts; several grains of sand falling. A mute shock in face of the smiling newly revealed magic wielder.

A generous wheeze for breath.

“You-“

Wanda Maximoff shook her head again, chin lightly beckoning behind Steven.

“Someone is waiting for you, Sir Rogers,” she whispered, her voice as if only carried by wind as Steven turned hastily at the first words spoken, his lips parting with a gasp and blasphemy and prayer all at once.

The rytier sprung forward the moment his stunned bosorka did, bodies colliding and exploding in invisible blinding light of soulmates reuniting, clinging to each other for dear life – for they were still alive to do so.

If a knight should be an epitome of masculinity, strength, built large and steady and with enough force in his body and heart to fight monsters, no one would think less of Sir Rogers should they see the tears soaking into his beloved’s hair or the tremble in his muscles.

If a future mother should be an epitome of femininity, soft and kind and careful, with enough love to heal the world, no one would think less of the bosorka for digging her fingers into her beloved’s shoulder almost violently, gripping onto him as firmly as he was to her.

He held her high, her legs wrapped around his middle, her face buried in his shoulder, his own in her hair, breathing in each other’s presence and warmth. Until they weren’t – parted just far enough to meet in the middle again, faces cradled in each other’s palms, fingers tangled in each other’s hair, lips colliding, teeth clashing, kiss salted with their tears, lips thirsty for love and life.

If love should be honest, kind and delicate, no one would doubt that what they were witnessing was love; nothing delicate about it beyond the frantic confessions whispered, but all the more consuming, raw, and true, uncaring for the audience.

It was only when the need for air overwhelmed them more than reality of still being blessed enough to be allowed to breathe, when they parted lips, tightening their embrace instead; from the witch’s lips, a silent prayer and gratitude to the gods; from the knight’s, all the same.

But where her teary eyes turned to heavens, Steven’s found his best friend’s gaze, his hold on the whole life filling his arms growing even firmer.

A secretive smile played on Sir Barnes’ face, a twinkle of pure joy diluting the utter relief in his irises.

An amused spark in Prince’s Loki’s eye; a brilliant smile on Wanda Maximoff’s lips as she glanced at her brother.

Steven saw them all, his quick mind perhaps lacking some of the facts but understanding enough. He understood he owed them everything and would spend his life repaying that debt, much like to his bosorka.

Silently, he thanked them all; and to all the gods he had ever learned about or heard of, swearing he shall always worship them, every day, fresh tears springing from his eyes at the mere thought of what he could have lost.

But he didn’t. Because of every person standing up for a good cause today; because of people.

The time shall come when people will appreciate the blessings of magic again, his bosorka had told him many times, for so long that he might have been losing faith. But it is not today, she used to say.

Today was the day.

And still, the love bloomed in a lovers’ embrace, under his lover’s heart, and it was more – so much more – than enough.

Or perhaps, if Steven could be as greedy, he would keep holding his bosorka in his arms, carrying her all the way to his chamber where he’d sat her on his bed and kneeled, and ask her to be his; as gods intended, as she’d deserve, as he’d longed for so many endless months.

And she would say yes; yes, she would marry him.

He’d kiss her hands, her ring finger, her belly and spread her on his bed to make love to her, until her breaths of his name were the only thing echoing in the breeze; until the birch trees and yew trees forgot to whisper about deaths and ends, and whispered of love and life and beginnings instead.

Next part in series

S.R. masterlist - contains other knight!Steve fics, independent of this universe

Complete masterlist

Thank you very much for reading; if you have the time and energy, I'd love to hear your thoughts, may they be coherent or not.

May December treat you with kindness which I hope still resides in the heart of mankind 🥰

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers x you #knight steve rogers #steve rogers #knight steve rogers imagine #knight steve rogers x reader #knight steve rogers x you #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #medieval au #fantasy au #fairytale au #protect me #ochranuj me #anika ann #love me tender series

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guardianofjunmyeon · 5 years ago

Text

Finding Atlantis (part 6)

Pairing: Baekhyun x Reader

Genre: Action/Adventure, Enemies to Lovers, PirateAU

Description: 20 years ago the seas became angry. Unruly and unkind to any sailor, to any ship that dared venture too far out in her waters. Many a man has heard the tales of Atlantis, the lost city, the key the ocean. But fewer men know the tale of it’s missing child. The key to the ocean, the key to Atlantis but a lost little one. The power one would hold should they find this child would be nearly that of Poseidon himself. Thus, the hunt began.

A/N: I meant to update last week but my VPN wasn’t working! I couldn’t access tumblr bc it’s blocked here in china but i finally got it fixed lol. This one is long! WARNING(s): Smut + Character Death (??)

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15, Part 16, Part 17, Part 18

After hours of discussion and blindly heading southeast, you all were finally able to somewhat crack the code of the rhyme and the map.

“Follow the sound of your soul, she’ll call out to you to bring you back to your shoal. That’s clearly about the Atlantis return song. It’s the most important part of all of this. If we don’t get a better handle of when it appears and when it doesn’t we won’t get through the rest of the trails.”

“Trials?”

“Yes, there are three different trials masked in the lyrics of the song. The way back isn’t easy. If you leave Atlantis, you have to prove that you truly want to return,” Yeri replies.

You squint at the map now covered in writing.

“She’ll fight you to prove that your heart is true, to crush you and build you back stronger in her darkest shade of blue,” Sehun reads. “It’s about a storm. A very big one by the sound of it.” He points to an area of the map with nothing but water. “You see this area? It’s known for its unruly currents and unnatural weather patterns. It ranges from snow to thunderstorms large enough to wipe out entire islands.”

Junmyeon grazes his fingers over the map, passing the spot Sehun mentioned and further southeast. “Beautiful songs will call out to confuse the path, to distract you, but remembering your heart will get you through…if we continue beyond the location of the storm we’ll be set to approach Isla de Sirena within a week.”

“Shit,” Baekhyun murmurs.

Yeri looks on in confusion. “Why shit?”

“Isla de Sirena is an island known for luring ships underwater. They crash ships among the rocks with song. They appear as the most beautiful creature that you can imagine; whatever you subconsciously find the most alluring. I don’t know how they do it. Different people can look at the same one and see different things; they trick you that way. Mermaids…sirens, whatever you want to call them. Freaky little bitches.”

“Baekhyun,” Junmyeon admonishes.

“What? They are!”

“So we’ve got to face…beautiful singing women? Oh no the horror,” you gasp jokingly.

Baekhyun pinches the bridge of his nose. “You are so horny, and so stupid all the fucking time.”

“You’re one to fucking talk-”

“Children!” Junmyeon scolds. “Can we please hold off on the flirting until this is over?”

“We aren’t flirting-”

“Anyway!” You and Baekhyun close your mouths in embarrassment. “We’ve gone near Isla de Sirena, once,” Sehun adds grimly, eyebrows pitching angrily. “If you’re able to ignore their voices then you can see them for they are. They’re the ugliest creatures I’ve ever seen in my life.” He shivers.

“So what’s the final trial?” Baekhyun asks, back to contributing to the conversation and not being a pain in your ass.

“She’ll finally take you in her arms again, cradled and safe where all life began…” Yeri reads. A sigh. “We aren’t completely sure. It’s something about a rebirth?”

You scratch your chin.

“Maybe it’s about being drowned.”

Everyone turns their eyes to you.

“What?” you ask; your wide eyes look back at everyone staring at you as if you said something crazy. You point to the map in the general area where you think you all may end up. “There’s no land anywhere near here, and the city is underwater. Born from water, taken away from water, and then reclaimed by the water. If you leave, you must be drowned and reborn into an Atlantian again right? Why else would you forget your memories and connection to the sea the longer you’re away?”

“You are reborn in the place where life began…” Baekhyun mumbles. “You might be right. The final trial is a drowning of some kind. There’s a reason only Atlantian’s are the only people who can reach the city.” Baekhyun smacks you on the shoulder. “You’re not completely useless!”

You frown and hold your shoulder.

Bastard.

~~~

Candles cover the deck of the ship as the sun sets on the horizon. You watch somberly as each member of your crew places an object that reminds them of Taemin, of Amber, of Kun, and of Jaehyun in each of the four caskets meant to sail them to the other side.

Their bodies are wrapped in cloth to save everyone the trauma of facing their decomposing faces. Flowers, candies, articles of clothes surround each body with the things that made them who they were in life.

And will hopefully comfort them in the land of death.

Your most artistically inclined deckhand, Ten, places a portrait of each of them in their respective boat. An image to match the body.

“Jaehyun was always smiling; he worked hard as a gunner. He’d hoped one day to be master gunner of the ship.” Mark stands over the casket. “He uh, he never said much but he had the most imaginative mind of any person I ever met,” he says with a sad smile. “When the cannon backfired and killed him, it was quick, so at least he didn’t suffer for long. Farewell friend. I’ll see you on the other side.”

Luna takes over where Mark left off, standing in front of Amber’s casket. “I’ve known Amber since we were kids. She was a strange one,” she laughs. “She was very head strong and opinionated even when she was wrong. We both knew that working in the artillery was going to be rough, that it would be dangerous, but I know that she loved this job more than anything. She had a family with us, and she died where she would have wanted, I think.” Tears fill her eyes as she sits back down in the circle of crewmen.

“Kun…was like an older brother to me. He would tell me that I was getting on his nerves, but he would always take care of me…uh…take care of all of us in the best way he could. Every meal he served, every wound he healed, was done with care. Unfortunately, sickness isn’t as kind. He tended to Taemin with his last breath, tried to heal with all he had until he had nothing else to give. I’m going to miss him and his cheesy magic tricks.” Ten takes in a deep breath to keep his voice from wavering. “I hope he’s taken care of with as much love as he gave us.”

You can hear people holding back their tears. Sniffles and soft sobs escaping into the air every few seconds.

This time you stand as the representative to send off Taemin. You avoid everyone’s eyes and focus your gaze on his wrapped body and the trinkets around him. “Taemin was one of my earliest crewmen. I may have owned the ship, but Taemin was the one who knew best how she moved. He piloted with a grace and confidence I have still yet to achieve. I don’t have a single doubt that he’ll be able to guide himself to the other side without issue. He had a natural skill for movement.” You focus on an object nestled snuggly at his side. “I just hope he doesn't lose any of the things we’re sending with him the way he always loses his money pouches.” You manage a smile.

A couple of people chuckle softly, sadly.

“As Captain of the Storm Chaser, I release the four of you from duty.” You raise your gun in the air. “I couldn’t have asked for braver, hardworking, and loyal men.” You fire a single shot into the air.

It rings through the night.

Everyone stands, begins to close the wooden coffins, and Junmyeon soaks them in gunpowder and oil.

You watch the coffins get lowered into the water one by one. As they begin to float away, you, Mark, Luna, and Ten line up along the edge of the ship.

“Ready,” you all cock your guns. “Aim.”

“Fire.”

The coffins alight with flames. Yixing lights a single firework and it shoots into the air and covers the sky in bright yellow sparks.

May these lights guide them on their future paths.

No one moves until the coffins are far out of sight, their flames no longer visible. Until nothing but darkness rests in the distance. With heavy eyes, and heavier hearts, you all pull away from the railing.

Those who were close to the ones sent away cry openly and you allow everyone the rest of the night to rest and mourn as they see fit. Crying, shaking, screaming.

People cope in different ways.

As everyone disperses below deck you see Yixing rubbing Jongin’s back as the two of them cry clinging tightly to the other.

You know that Yixing grew up with Taemin. Yixing had been the one to recommend him for the crew because of their shared history. Knowing now that Yixing knew Jongin at the same time, you realize that Jongin must have known Taemin closely as well.

Leaving them to console one another, you walk away.

The stories of their deaths, of their lives, makes your heart a bit less heavy. Knowing that they died doing what they wanted, and not because life was stolen from them in situations counter to their personality eases a bit of the pain.

Minutely.

It still hurts, but the anger is no longer there. Just sadness.

This is the life of pirates after all.

Junmyeon has hidden himself away somewhere on the ship, as he always does when he wants to cry without being found, so you make your way towards the food storage for a drink. You need it after today.

People cope in different ways.

The stairs creak as you descend. One of the lanterns is already on, bright near the liquor storage. It shouldn’t surprise you. You wouldn’t be the only person who wants to drink to numb a bit of the pain.

What does surprise you is who you find hunched over with his face in his hands.

“Baekhyun?”

His head lifts and you immediately take notice of the red in his visible eye and face in the dim lighting. He seems alarmed to have been caught. He looks away in shame.

You sit down in front of him.

The bottle of whiskey at his side is half empty; you reach for it and take a sip.

For your men.

Silence shrouds you both.

You feel the need to speak. To clear the air. Whether you are doing it for him or for yourself you aren’t sure. “No one blames you, you know,” you say so softly that it almost blends into the silence. You hope he doesn’t hear.

But of course he does.

He looks over with anger. “I never said it was my fault.”

“You didn’t have to. You’re down here drinking alone after a funeral. This screams ‘this is all my fault’ you emo fucker.”

He snatches the bottle from your hands.

“Look, okay. No one thinks it’s your fault. You heard the stories. Yeah, you guys shot my ship, but their deaths weren’t directly a result of that. Things went wrong; I will accept that it was just a shot to immobilize us. If any of us thought you a murderer, in this case, we would have hung you by your neck long ago.” You forcefully grab the bottle back with a frown. “There’s plenty of other shit for you to feel guilty over. Like the time you shot me…or stabbed me…or left me on that island for dead.”

“I swear to the Gods-”

“The point is…this one isn’t on you. You don’t need to carry this guilt. Not this time.” You take a quick drink. “If however,” you point your finger at him menacingly, “this was on purpose, then I take all that back and I will kill you right fucking here I swear to the Gods.”

The bottle is taken back. “It wasn’t,” he admits, softly, angry. A swig. “It wasn’t on purpose,” he says again tiredly.

His honesty takes you by surprise. Baekhyun has killed just as many people as you have in your life. If he had tried to kill them, well that would be expected. But for him to be this affected by the accidental deaths? That’s surprising.

“What are you doing down here anyway?” he asks.

“Do you really think you’re the only person on this ship who hides down here drinking? You’re talking to the master!” you boast. “And it’s my ship you ungrateful wrench.” You finish off what’s left of the whiskey and reach for a bottle of golden rum tucked securely on a shelf. Uncorking it with your teeth, you hold it in the air between you. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun!”

It burns like hell itself going down.

You hold it out for Baekhyun with an expectant eyebrow raise. You wait.

He grabs it gently. “To Taemin, Kun, Amber, and Jaehyun,” he repeats in a murmur. He makes a noise of pain as the alcohol burns its way down his throat. “What the fuck is this?”

You shiver as the alcohol settles uncomfortably in your stomach. “It's the bad rum I think.” You cough violently. “Oh fuck I think I’m going to die,” you say clutching your stomach.

His wild laugh echoes in the dark space. A bit of the gloom lifts.

You let your hands fall from your stomach while you take in the relaxed happiness on his candlelit face. His eye crinkled in a crescent, shining with mirth. You don’t think you’ve seen him laugh like that since the first time you met him.

He’s pretty. You’d have to be stupid not to admit it. From his soft and shiny hair, to his cheeks that bunch up when he smiles. From his big dumb ears to all of the little moles that dot his body.

The bottle goes back up to his ridiculously pink lips and he laughs as it hurts his throat just as bad as the first sip.

All it takes is a second of thoughtless, drunken courage for you to lean forward and quickly press your lips against his, cutting off his giggles.

When you pull pack, the happiness on his face has made way for shock and then once more to nothing.

“Don’t kiss me,” he says tonelessly. His voice is serious, but you see the spark of challenge in his eye.

Ignoring the part of you that always tells you that jumping headfirst into him is a bad idea, you lean in again, slower. You brace your hands on his thighs and feel them tense beneath your palms. He stares at your lips and you watch enrapt as his tongue pokes out to wet his bottom lip.

You can feel your skin vibrating from the proximity to him, and you freeze; a breath away from meeting skin with skin. Your eyes glance up to meet his and you can see the want, the restlessness, and something else you can’t quite place in the dark.

As if waiting any longer would be torturous, he leans forward impatiently to press his lips against yours. The bottle of rum falls to the ground and spills onto the floorboards of the storage room.

You don’t care.

You push harder; open your mouth to let his tongue slide against yours in a way that sends tingles through every nerve in your body. Maybe it’s the alcohol, maybe it’s the touch of sadness, but something feels different about this time.

You crawl onto his lap, driven purely by instinct and press every inch of your body against his. Heat seeps through your clothes and you pant longingly as he pulls you closer by your neck, his other hand grabbing you roughly by your ass. A wanton moan escapes your mouth and he pulls you closer, rougher. Breaths puff into each other’s mouths as you messily connect your lips over and over again. It’s uncoordinated. It’s wet. It’s exactly what you need.

You thread your fingers in his hair and yank his head back; diving to lick and suck along the column of his neck, to the sensitive spot behind his ear that you know drives him crazy. His grip on your body tightens as he releases a shaky groan and rolls his hips up against yours. Anticipation thrums through your body. To every noise, to every touch your body responds in earnest.

This is nothing but a distraction. For you. For the both of you, you don’t care. Neither of you have to think as clothes are removed. The sadness can be ignored as you claw against his skin and coax his tongue into your mouth. It’s all movement. All feeling. All lust.

People cope in different ways.

It always happens like this. You argue. You fight. You threaten each other. You fuck until you’re both exhausted and too tired to care about the years of hatred between you. For these few moments all you are, are bodies. Bodies moving in tandem, kissing the right places, touching the right spots, connecting at the right angle. Like this things are easy, wordless.

You each just understand how the other works.

Every movement is matched in urgency, in desperation. Touch for touch. Kiss for kiss. Sound for sound. Push for pull. Gasps, moans, whimpers are muted as best you can in the quiet of the storage. You don’t realize that you’re subconsciously avoiding aggravating the stitches that lie there, still fresh, in his side as your hands leave burning paths along his skin.

Just for now, you can allow yourselves to feel that maybe you don’t hate each other as much as you let on.

~~~

“Get your own fucking telescope!”

“Where am I going to get one? We’re in the middle of the god forsaken ocean; do you expect me to pull it out of my ass?”

“You should have brought yours with you if you wanted to use one so bad! That doesn’t give you permission to just take my shit whenever you feel like it. You aren’t Captain here.”

“Oh, bite me.”

“I’ll do worse than that. Seulgi, get me my pistol.”

“Captain I don’t think-”

“You think you’re going to shoot me? Chanyeol where’s my gun?!”

“I’m gonna shoot you right in your last fucking working eye you dirty fucking son of a-”

A hand covers your mouth before you can finish your curse. “Baekhyun, you’re needed in the kitchen. Kyungsoo is asking for you.” You and Baekhyun share one last deadly glare before he stalks off and you’re released.

“What the hell Minseok?” You turn on your gunner, anger from your argument with Baekhyun being projected instead onto him. It has to go somewhere.

He crosses his arms over his chest, unbothered.

“So you’re in love with him right? That's why you’re acting like this?”

Your eyes bulge out of your skull. “I’m sorry, what did you just ask me?”

He sighs, grabs you by your arm and drags you all the way to the infirmary. You’re forced to sit down stupefied as Minseok stares at you expectantly. “The two of you are exhausting to watch. If you weren’t two of our most capable men we would have tied you both up and put you in the brig until we found Atlantis days ago,” he says evenly.

You scoff, mouth agape.

“I would tell you to fuck and move on, but seeing as that seems to be what triggers a fresh round of arguments, I’m going to ask that you two refrain from ever having sex on the ship again in the future.”

You splutter embarrassed. Your skin heats at having been called out so boldly. “W-what?! How- Wh- How’d you find out?”

“Any time the two of you have sex, you spend the next month or so telling all of us how much you hate him, how you’re going to kill him, blah blah blah. After a while you stop being as vocal about it, but then we make port, usually at Arae, and he happens to be there, then BAM we're back where we started. You’re obsessed with each other.”

You flush. “We are not,” you try to deny. His face is unimpressed. “I don't know where you got the idea that either of us feel anything but pure hatred for the other. Okay yeah, we’ve had sex a couple of times. So what? It doesn’t mean anything. I’ve had sex with half of Arae.” You cross your arms defiantly.

“As soon as this is all over, we’ll part ways...in 6 months we’ll go to Arae for a bit, as we always do, you’ll have ‘angry hate sex’ yet again and then spend the next month being pissy over his existence. No one who genuinely hates someone spends so much time a) around them willingly and b) obsessing over them when they aren’t around,” Minseok says matter-of-factly. “I think you should both admit you’re in love with each other so we can all move on.”

“Minseok!”

“I agree,” Jongin’s head pops up from behind the singular bed in the room.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, heat again filling your cheeks at the extra witness to this interrogation.

“I work here?”

“I mean hiding behind the bed!”

“Oh…I uh tripped and then the door opened and you guys started talking and I was too afraid to get up and interrupt,” he says quickly.

You squint in judgment.

“This whole…” Minseok waves his hand around as he searches for the word, “…archenemies thing is getting old, Captain. If you really wanted to kill him, you would have done it already. And I’m sure the same goes for Byun. Right Jongin?” he turns to face the younger.

“Yeah,” Jongin agrees with a shrug.

You can’t believe your ears. “He just…hasn’t done anything worth actually killing him over yet. He’s useful sometimes…for information…” you murmur lamely. The excuse is weak even to you.

“You are both dumb and annoying…and also super transparent. Whenever you injure the other, it’s always in a place that won’t kill or do permanent damage. Don’t act like it’s just been luck that you’ve both managed to miss any kind of serious blow from the other. You’re both deadly fighters, you know how to kill someone if you want them dead.”

“He ditched me in cuffs on that island-”

“You had the key to the cuffs,” Jongin chimes in unhelpfully.

Minseok rolls his eyes at your words. “Yes, and again, in a survivable situation. Was there not food and shit on that island?”

You open and close your mouth pathetically.

“Exactly. It’s not like you’re an incompetent dumbass. You would be able to find your way off even if you hadn’t been found. He didn’t blow the ship to bits like he could have a month ago, you haven’t slit his throat like you could have many months ago. You both dance around injuring each other, making the other’s life difficult, and fucking. You’re in love, please just accept it. I don’t care if you’re into BDSM and blood play or whatever freaky shit gets you guys off, but I would at least appreciate it if you kept it in your bedroom.”

Jongin nods from the back. “I just think it’s obvious,” he adds simply.

“Pff…Psh…Tch…I’m-I am appalled that you would talk to your Captain like this.”

“I know, I know. You could have us hanged, shot, thrown in the ocean, whatever…but the fact of the matter is that you aren’t going to do any of that, and you know that we’re right. Now, I’m going to go make sure Chanyeol hasn’t shot any of my men with any of my valuable pistols, and I’ll leave you to your duties, Captain.” Minseok nods his head with finality and exits the room.

Mutineer…

You glare at Jongin for ganging up on you. He flushes timidly. “I’m uh…gonna go see if Kyungsoo needs any help…Captain.” With a nervous smile he dashes from the room.

This is mutiny…

~~~

The ship sails southeast for days before anything alerts you all of the impeding first trial. The weather is normal, the water is normal, and then all of a sudden, the winds become violent.

“Captain, I think we’re getting close to whatever the first test is…” Yixing says tremulously.

The wind whips around you and the sails of the ship flap violently. There’s no way to tell which way the wind is blowing from as it whips from what feels like every side simultaneously. The ship tilts dangerously to one side.

“Junmyeon…that song telling you anything right about now?” You ask anxiously.

Your first mate looks out on the horizon with worried eyes. “We’re going the right way…” is all he says.

“Helpful,” Yixing murmurs sarcastically.

There is no visible sign of a storm; nothing seems out of the ordinary outside of the unnatural winds. The crew is already reefing your regular sails and raising the storm jib and trysail. If the winds get any stronger, which they will, they’ll catch your regular sails and capsize your ship before the waves even begin to hit.

“Who can man the helm? Who’s the best pilot on board right now?” you ask Yixing.

Yixing looks around a bit panicked. “I don’t know… I don’t know Captain.” The ship lurches to the side.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” you scan the ship. Most of the men are working on preparing the proper sails, securing any moving parts, and making sure the wind alone won’t turn the ship on her side. You see Baekhyun working with Wendy on securing lose lines. You haven’t talked to him since your lecture from Minseok all those days ago. “Junmyeon, go check to make sure we have enough ballast in the hold. We’re going to be rocking and we need to pray that we have enough weight to keep us as stable as possible.”

He rushes away; you try to think of what else you can do to prepare. There’s no way to tell how long this storm is going to last, how bad it’s going to be, and you would rather prepare for the worst.

A sea anchor.

“Johnny!” The boatswain is immediately at your side. “Take whoever you need and deploy the sea anchor. We should have one somewhere in the hold. I need you to work fast, but be thorough.”

The ship is going to have to sail against the wind and against the waves. The wind will push the ship off course, but to survive a storm like this the ship needs to keep its bow to the waves. If a wave catches the ship on her side or back, there’s no chance for survival. You’ll have to use your sea anchor and just pray that the Gods are feeling merciful.

“Baekhyun!” you shout. He turns immediately at the sound of your voice. “How good are you at the wheel?”

“I’m decent.”

“How’s your tracking? Your jibbing? Can you keep the ship from capsizing in this storm?”

He looks up in the sky when the sound of thunder shakes the floorboards. “My jibbing isn't the best, but I think I can keep her afloat,” he promises.

The feeling of static fills the air. The hair on your body rises to attention. Another rumble of thunder rolls across the ocean, louder than before. The sky is darker than it was 5 minutes ago.

There isn’t much longer until the storm hits.

“I need you at the wheel. I’m trusting my ship to you. Don’t let me down.” With a determined nod, Baekhyun is off. You see your first strike of lighting. Bright blue and not far off.

Chanyeol runs up to you to assure you that all of the cannons, ammunition, and artillery are properly secured. “Tell Minseok to get all his men below deck in the storm rooms. Secure any hatch and pray to the Gods that we make it through this,” you instruct. He nods and runs off.

When a storm hits, it hurts more than it helps to have people above deck. Three people would do the job just as well as all 20. Half of weathering a storm is the training and skill of the crew; and the other half is just pure luck.

The beginning patters of rain begin to pelt the ship. You run back up to the helm where Baekhyun has stationed himself.

The ocean gets choppy, picks up ferocity. The ship leans starboard. Baekhyun has never steered your ship, and truthfully, you have no idea whether or not he can actually steer through a storm. You’ve never seen him at the wheel of any ship in all the years you’ve known him.

“Do you think we’ll make it through this?” you ask.

“Honestly…I don’t know,” he admits. “We have enough sea room; we won’t crash into anything this far out. I just hope we can pick up enough speed before the waves start to grow.”

Junmyeon reappears, with Kyungsoo at his side, both out of breath. “We’ve prepared all that we can. The sea anchor is deployed, we’ve got a decent amount of ballast, the jib is ready to be backwinded, and the crew is all prepared for the rocking. What’s the plan?”

“Heaving to,” Baekhyun says simply. He swipes at his bangs, heavy with water and clinging to this forehead. “We keep the bow to the waves, keep close to the wind, and then lock the helm in place.”

“Won’t we broadside?!”

“No, if we were to lie ahull, we would broadside,” Kyungsoo supplies, blocking his eyes from the rain picking up in ferocity. “By heaving to, we can keep the ship from going parallel to the waves and capsizing. We’ll have to stay above deck to correct it if the wind or waves suddenly change. Since you’ve got a sea anchor we’ve got more chance of keeping the ship sailing straight into the waves rather than along them.”

“If heaving to doesn’t work, we try to run off downwind. As the wind increases we’ll have to slow down the ship as much as we can so that we don’t dive straight into the wave in front of us.” A bolt of lightning hits the waves. The rain gets harder.

“We would die…” You say unhelpfully. Lighting blasts in front of you and the waves crash angrily against the ship’s sides.

“Exactly. So if we run off, we’re going to need more than the four of us to throw whatever heavy lines you have off the stern,” Baekhyun’s voice rises to be heard over the increasingly loud winds and waves.

“As a last result, we’ll lie ahull and just fucking pray that when we capsize the ship holds for long enough to keep all of us alive,” Kyungsoo shouts.

You exhale shakily as another three bolts of lightning flash across the sky.

Poseidon be kind to us all.

You leave Baekhyun with the job of steering the ship against the waves that grow in size and power by the second.

At Kyungsoo’s instruction, Junmyeon is in charge of keeping the jib backwinded, and you reef the trysail as soon as it becomes clear that it’s going to be a hindrance in the grand scheme of things. Kyungsoo stands at Baekhyun’s side correcting course when he gets thrown off balance. Baekhyun does the same as Kyungsoo is knocked to the side in turn.

The waves become brutal, rocking the ship so hard that it’s nearly impossible to keep on your feet for more than 10 seconds at a time.

The wind finally sets in a single direction, fiercer than anything you’ve faced, and the general direction of the waves becomes apparent. The ship rocks violently from side to side and then immediately forward and back. You’re thrown into the foremast by the unexpected direction change with enough force to knock the wind out of your body. You gasp in pain. You get up on wobbling legs and try to breathe even as the water falls so fast and heavy around you that it feels equivalent to drowning.

You can’t see more than two feet ahead of yourself.

Think. Think.

There is rope at your feet, secured to the mainmast of the ship. You untie it with cold, wet fingers and hold it tight as you walk to the helm. The ship crashes into another large wave and you fall to your knees as water washes over the bow of the hull, covers the deck in freezing water and pitches the ship forwards. You stand up, shivering but determined. You tie the rope around your own waist to help you keep note of where you’ve come from.

Getting to the helm is a challenge, but you make it. Junmyeon is helping Baekhyun and Kyungsoo lock it in place.

“We should head below deck!” You shout as loud as you can. Thunder and lightning work in tandem to drown out your voice. To remind you of who is louder. Who has more power. You’re soaked to the bone.

Each man above deck is in a similar state. “We’re going below deck!” Junmyeon shouts. “We think heaving to may work.” The ship lurches dangerously to the right.

“Quick! Let’s go,” Kyungsoo screams, hair clinging to his forehead in inky black tendrils.

You use the rope to guide you. It feels as though you’re swimming through the air with the amount of resistance the winds and rain are putting up. Kyungsoo makes it to the hatch that leads below first. You follow behind, climbing down the ladder with shaking limbs. Water leaks through the boards, but it’s a welcome change from the brutality of facing Mother Nature directly.

You gasp for breath, finally able to breathe without also inhaling water, and look around the space for the ship’s emergency supplies. The ship dips, your stomach lurches.

Freezing water streams into the room from the open hatch above. You realize belatedly that there are only two of you in the compartment. Baekhyun and Junmyeon haven’t made it down.

You’re thrown to the ground when the ship dips without warning.

Clattering catches your attention as Junmyeon is swept into the room with a fresh rush of water. “Baekhyun fell overboard!” Junmyeon screams. He crashes against the ground. The sky screams.

What?

Kyungsoo turns away from opening the hatch down to a lower level of the ship to gape at Junmyeon’s words in horror.

Gasping, soaked, Junmyeon looks around the compartment frantically.

You’re moving before you have a chance to think.

You vaguely hear your name being called out from behind, but you don’t turn around. Rope still secured around your waist, you run, slip, stumble, over to the closest life boat. As fast as your shaking hands can work, you cut yourself free of the mainmast and tie the end of the rope not tied to your body to the dinghy.

You slice through the thick ropes holding the dinghy to the side of the ship with an urgency you’ve never felt. Water hits you head on, chilling you to the bone.

The final rope snaps and you and the dighy fall into the water with the force of landing on cement. Something is broken, but your adrenaline is pumping so violently that you can’t feel the pain. It doesn’t register.

Doesn’t matter.

You look around frenzied. The water is pitch black and moving too fast. The rain pelts your skin. It stings, burns, blurs your vision.

The waves are too big for him to survive out here on his own.

They’re too big for you to survive in your search for him.

The sky roars.

The waves crash, flip your boat once, twice.

You settle upright for the second time when, by the grace of the Gods, you see his white shirt illuminated against the dark water by a strike of lightning. You row frantically as a wave begins to swell. You nearly scream in relief when you reach him, but the sound dies as your heart sinks.

He’s not moving.

And he’s face down.

With all the energy you can muster, you pull him into your little boat. You take a few seconds you catch your breath, then you realize the height at which the wave has lifted you. It begins to cascade down; instinctively, you wrap your arms around Baekhyun’s unmoving form and brace yourself for the crash.

It’s dizzying.

It hurts.

It’s terrifying.

You hold your breath, close your eyes, hold onto the man in your arms with all you have, and wait for the water to stop jostling you around so violently. The water seems to calm slightly, so you open your eyes.

The water is dark, and then bright. Black, and then illuminated by lighting.

Your chest tightens as your need for oxygen reaches desperation. You maneuver yourself beneath the water enough to hold Baekhyun with one arm and swim to the top with the other.

You break the surface and gasp for air desperately.

You pull your rope and the boat appears at your side, thankfully upright. You lift Baekhyun aboard first, and then with heavy limbs, you topple on top of him. You don’t give yourself a chance to catch your breath before you’re leaning over him checking for signs of life.

You lower your ear to his chest. You can’t tell if he’s breathing. If his heart is beating.

“Come on Byun. Don’t die on me like this,” you beg. You repeatedly push against his chest, the way you were taught to restart a heart. After a few beats you press your ear to his chest again to listen for a change.

Nothing.

“Fuck. Come on…come on,” you pant.

You pinch his nose and lean down to cover his mouth with yours, filling his lungs with the air that he’s unable to take in on his own. His chest rises each time you exhale into his mouth. You go back to pumping your locked hands against his chest. A wave knocks you on your side. The boat stays upright.

You exhale into his mouth again, once, twice. You beg the rain to let up. You beg the waves to grow smaller.

You beg his heart to start beating.

He jerks and water spurts from his mouth. Relief hits you so hard that all the energy left in your body is expelled and you sag forward and land directly onto his chest.

You can finally hear the dull thumping of his heart. You can feel the shallow rise and fall of his chest.

At last, you can take a second to just breathe.

The small boat continues to jerk around, but it’s clear that the worst of the storm has passed. The waves now are shallow and choppy. The rain has lessened to nothing but a drizzle. The thunder rumbles farther and farther in the distance.

And Baekhyun’s heartbeat gets stronger.

You close your eyes, and let exhaustion overcome you, lulled into sleep by the beat of his heart and the rocking of the boat.

#exo #exo fanfiction #exo fanfics #exo imagine #exo pirate au #baekhyun #byun baekhyun #baekhyun fanfiction #baekhyun fanfics #baekhyun imagine #baekhyun smut #exo stories #baekhyun fanfic #baekhyun stories #baekhyun pirate au

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strangerfictions · 5 years ago

Text

Fight Part II

Prompts: “don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you”, “I know I shouldn’t be here”, “What’s this between us?” - Pinterest

Summary: Billy told you something that you didn’t expect while you were suffering from concussion, so you ignored it until Billy started to ignore you. With the help of Robin and Max you realize you have something to tell him too, so you make the decision to talk to him and see where things go.

Warnings: A lot of angst and a bit of fighting maybe?

Words: 2194

Read Part One Here!

A/N: Okay so I have been working on this for a few weeks now. It has taken me so long thanks to both college and the fact that I had to restart it about five times because it didn’t flow well or just didn’t feel right. This is the first time I have done a part two of a fic I have written, and I am super happy with how it turned out. This has now been sitting in my rafts for well over a week and I have been meaning to post it! Hope you all enjoy! Feedback is greatly appreciated!

Edit: I had to repost this thanks to tumblr acting a bit weird but hopefully thi time it works out a little better!

It had been a week since the fight and things between you and Billy couldn’t be any more awkward. Billy still brought you to and from school but there was never much of a conversation. The night of the party was a little blurry for you thanks to the concussion, but you could remember everything he had said to you. You still couldn’t take it in, but you wanted to move on, but Billy was making that difficult for you.

It was a fresh week and you hoped that meant Billy would be back to himself. Like clockwork you hear his car come to life and you run downstairs shouting a goodbye to your parents. Before you even get into the car you can already tell Billy is still being awkward. He is sat bolt upright and refusing to even acknowledge you coming out of your house. You were sick of this and you were determined to say something.

When you get into the car you notice his black eye and split lip. You couldn’t help but wince knowing the exact pain he was in.

“Hey” Billy just nods driving down your street.

“Really? You are still being weird with me? Why are you so damn stubborn? It’s like you are going out of your way to make me feel like its all my fault when you were the one to confess to me!” You raise your voice slightly not meaning to, but you can tell from the look on Billy’s face that it has an effect.

“Fuck seriously Y/N? You know how hard this has been on me? First you beat up my fri3nds and then this shit. It takes two to have a conversation and last time I checked you didn’t put much effort in either!” You recoiled back into the seat a little as Billy begins to shout at you. You can feel your eyes begin to sting and so you turn and look out the window watching Hawkins pass by you in a blur.

“Maybe if your friends weren’t such dicks Billy, I wouldn’t have to get into a fight with them. They aren’t the ones who patch you up after every damn fight you get in are, they? They are all the type to peak in high school Billy and it looks like you’re going to be the same” Your voice cracks and luckily Billy pulls up outside school and you quickly get out before he can say anything else.

You walk towards the doors pulling them open as you hear Billy shouting after you. You run down the hall passing Steve and Robin who try to catch your attention before you go into the bathroom. You enter a cubicle and try to calm yourself down. You hear the bathroom door open and shut and the tap of shoes across the tiles.

“Y/N? You okay?” Robin calls out through the bathroom. You reach out and unlock the door pulling it towards you and leaving the cubicle.

“Yeah I’m fine. I had another fight with Billy and I just needed to calm down a little sorry.” You walk over to the sink splashing cold water on your face as Robin sits up on the counter beside.

“Again? I blame the sexual tension between you two!”

“Robin!” You were surprised she would even say such a thing.

“What? I always felt there was a little tension between you two and then I saw how he acted after the fight and I knew there was something going on there!” You nod knowing you had to tell her what he said to you. You check that all of the stalls are empty before saying anything.

“Well that night when he brought me home, he told me he liked me, and he has been really off with me and that’s what we fought about today. I brought it up and he got a little angry and so did I and we both said things we regret. As per usual…” You sit up beside Robin who has a massive smile plastered on her face.

“Wow I knew it. This is pretty big Y/N! Please tell me you told him you like him back because if you didn’t, I understand why he isn’t talking to you!” You wince at what she says remembering the night.

“I was concussed I didn’t know what I was saying!” You try to defend yourself, but you know Robin is right.

“Shit you’re right…I hate that you’re right. Can you ask Steve if he can give me a lift home?”

“I know I’m right I wouldn’t say it with full confidence if I didn’t know I was right! Yes, he will give you a lift he has no choice!” The bell rings and Robin pulls you towards your first class.

All day you have done your best to avoid Billy. You knew you couldn’t face him after everything you said. You knew what you said was wrong and would effect Billy because he already thought it was true. By last period you were ready to get home and collapse into bed and sleep for the rest of eternity, but you knew you had to apologise to Billy. Mo matter what it took.

By the time you got home both Steve and Robin had hyped you up to tell Billy that you do in fact like him a lot and that you regret everything you said. You wouldn’t blame him if he hated you for everything you said but a small part of you hoped things would work out. As you walk into your house you are hit with smell of cookies. It almost as if your mom knew you were having a bad day.

“Something smells good” You say as you push the door open to find the entirety of the Hargrove family sitting at your dinning table.

“Y/N! I invited the Hargrove’s over for dinner. I was a little surprised that you hadn’t come home with Billy” You put on a fake smile hoping it will conceal everything going on.

“Oh yeah…I had to stay behind and do some work with Robin for an English report so Steve said he would drop us both home. Actually, mom I’m not feeling to great I think I’ll pass on dinner I’m going to go and do my homework” Your mom doesn’t question anything and allows you up to your room.

You get changed into comfy clothes and get started on your homework. A little while later you hear a light knock on your door. You turn around to find Max standing at your door with a plate full of cookies.

“Hey kiddo!”

“Hey…I guessed you might be a little hungry since your not actually sick” Max sits down on your bed handing you the plate of cookies.

“How did you know?” You ask taking a big bite out of the still warm cookies.

“Billy’s guilty face” You smile knowing the exact face she is talking about.

“Funny this time it isn’t just his fault. I messed up…said a few things I shouldn’t have and now I need to apologise and tell him something pretty big” You sigh savouring the taste of the cookie before swallowing.

“That you like him?” You snap your head towards Max who has a big smile on her face.

“God first Robin now you…I swear you two are literally sisters separated at birth. How did you know?”

“Intuition and the weird tension between you. It’s very obvious…even my mom has noticed it” Max grabs a cookie and takes a huge bite out of it

“Shit…I…I’m kind of surprised by that actually. I guess I should bite the built all things considering. It’s not like I have much left to lose.” You finish your cookie and grab another one.

“Exactly! I better see you getting in his damn car tomorrow morning and him smiling because I’m sick of him being in this crap mood!” You nod knowing what you have to do now.

After awhile they all leave and its just you and your parents at home. You lay on your bed and think about what to do and how to tell Billy. You can hear the lull of the TV from downstairs as you take in the noises around you. You hear the rain hit your window as you watch as it drips down hitting the frame.

Your parents go to bed early and you decide there is no time like the present. You get u and pull on a hoodie and some shoes. Thankfully you are on the ground floor so you can jump out of your window easily. You run across the road to Billy’s house. The rain getting heavier the nearer you get to the front of his house. You quietly walk around the side to his window. As you approach you can see his light is still on and as you get closer you can hear he is listening to Def Leppard. You stop outside his window and knock lightly catching his attention straight away. He looks up from whatever he is reading. You can see him visibly sigh as he gets up to open his window. You watch as he walks towards you. You cant help but feel the nerves build in the pit of your stomach. In one swift push Billy’s window is open.

“What do you want?” Billy whispers as you play with the sleeve of your hoodie.

“I know I shouldn’t be here, but can we talk please?” You ask quietly hoping not to wake his family.

“Why? So, you can insult me again? Don’t think so Y/N” Billy goes to close the window, but you place both of your hands on the windowsill.

“I’m sorry okay! I didn’t mean any of it and it was cruel of me to say those things because I know that’s the opinion you have of yourself. It was such a shit thing for me to do and I regret it so much because I might lose you and I really cant imagine life without you. I’m sorry about fighting with your friends, I’m sorry for making you look after me, I’m sorry for not telling you I love you and I’m sorry for being such a shit person sometimes” The rain is even heavier now as you continue to confess everything to Billy.

“Shut up and get in here” Billy holds out his hand helping you into his bedroom. As soon as you are in his room, he drops your hand and walk towards his bed throwing himself onto it.

“Thanks” You mumble shifting from one foot to the other starting to feel uncomfortable.

“So, you love me?” You look up from fiddling with your fingers to find Billy smirking at you.

“Uhmm…yeah I did say that didn’t I” You begin to pick at the skin on your finger as Billy stands up from his bed.

“And do you mean it?” Billy asks as he stops in front of you. You take a deep breath in before answering.

“I mean it, but I don’t want to make things weird between us” You say quietly

“I think it’s too late for that princess” You both laugh as Billy tucks a strand of hair behind you ear.

“So, what is this between us?” Billy takes you’re hand and leads you to edge of the bed sitting down together.

“I don’t know Billy whatever it is I don’t want to get hurt” You say holding his hand in yours.

“You know I’m not like” He was right you knew he wasn’t what the rumours made him out to be.

“But if you need space, I’m willing to give you it.” You hear Billy’s voice crack a little causing you to look up to find him looking away from you.

“Don’t give me space. That’s the last thing I want from you Billy!” You place your hand on Billy’s chin and tilt his head towards you. You can see the thoughts racing through his head as he begins to process everything. You are unsure on where you go form here but you hope it will involve talking to each other again.

“If you need space I…” Without thinking Billy leans forward and kisses you. You’re caught off guard and so when Billy realises you aren’t kissing back, he begins to pull away. You wrap a hand around the back of his neck and pull him back towards you, lips smashing together. The passion between you two fills the room and the tension lifts as the kiss continues. Billy is the first to pull away to catch him breath. You struggle to open your eyes after the sheer bliss you had experienced from the kiss.

“I don’t want space either…I guess we should go about this the proper way so Y/N will you go on a date with me?” You can’t help but smile at Billy’s attempt at doing things traditionally.

“Sure” Billy pulls you in for a hug as Def Leppard continues to play in the background. And just like that everything is back to being normal.

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Tag List: If you want to be added to any of my future posts then click here to be sent to the google form!

@an-antisocial-writer @charmed-asylum @takemepedropascal @technolilly @multifandomgirl16 @dreamin-of-dacre @1998--js

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housesovereign · 7 years ago

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[WRA-A] HOUSE SOVEREIGN IS RECRUITING!

We would like to expand our guild by a handful of members before we begin the first chapter of our campaign — we are currently in the thick of pre-plotting for our exposition-based prologue.

THE PREMISE

Following the fall of Gilneas, House Sovereign rallied to their forested coastal land south-east of Gilneas City. Unable to take back all of their baronies, the House collapsed around Rookscove Keep — intent on slowly reclaiming their lands north of the Blackwald while coping with Azeroth's changes at large. In addition to the general aspirations of regaining their former glory, House Sovereign yields an impressive magical school — at its head, the Lady of the House. Students of various specialties and beliefs filter into the program, often graduating to the elite squad of House magi.

ABOUT US

House Sovereign was created, initially, as a side project to showcase characters with ethically questionable intentions and to satisfy the itch for darker, heavier themes. The idea was to tap in to the system of a noble house - the bureaucracy, the history, the familial unity and the intrigue of maintaining a specific area of land - while keeping in mind the state of Gilneas as a kingdom.

Additionally, though using the framework of a noble house to cover the cult-esque magical intrigue isn’t the most creative and original of ideas, the dynamic between a house’s desire to rebuild, a lingering darkness beneath the surface and the constant threat of Gilneas’s contested territory has allowed us a wide window of creativity.

REQUIREMENTS

We accept any level, class and race so long as there makes some IC sense for the character to be interested, so long as you can fulfill these requirements!

AGE: 18+

APPLICATION REQ.: DISCORD & AN RP ADDON (TRP/MRP/XRP)

ACTIVITY REQ.: ROLEPLAY ONCE A WEEK (AT LEAST) IN GAME. EVENT ATTENDANCE (AT LEAST) ONCE MONTHLY. DISCORD RP NOT REQUIRED BUT ENCOURAGED!

OOC INFORMATION

THEMES: cult | magical, philosophical, moral intrigue | noble house | dark

EVENTS: freeform | 1 - 2 times weekly | structured storyline | personalized plots

FOCUS: character development | storyline progression | lore exploration | ooc plotting

ORGANIZATION: google drive | tumblr | discord

HOW TO JOIN

Contact [WRA-A] Catherynn in game or on tumblr (coldlongpromises.tumblr.com), or message @housesovereign!

Feel free to bring your original character in to the guild! Alternatively, should you not have a character created that would fit in, we have a list of open roles available to pick-up.

#wra rp #wraconnect #wyrmrest accord #wra #WoW rp

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tegningen · 8 years ago

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- An Evak fanfiction Recommendations masterpost -

- The list is divided into Canon and Canon Divergence and AU. - ✩ for my personal favorites. - New additions and updates will be marked with ϟ/ϟ.

02.04.17: 3 added, 10 updated.

Nyt!

Please, heed the tags and warnings before reading the fic.

(I’ve tagged only those authors whose tumblr url I know. If you find your work here, thought, please, please let me know who you are so I can gush over you and add your tumblr coordinates to this post.)

-- CANON - PART 1 (A-M) --

✩ LET ME KNOW (I'LL LISTEN) by alijan [G · 4,396]

"The first time Jonas sees Even, he is sporting his own snapback that Isak has stolen and which also surprisingly fails to ruin the guy's gelled hairstyle as he takes it off. The third year walks up to their group with sure confidence, his eyes trained only on Isak."

Or, the third season's (and later) events, Isak's struggle and Even himself from Jonas' eyes.

(SERIES: That grossly sweet couple | Part 1)

✩ LOVE IN A COLOR by alijan [T · 2,091]

One of Even's favorite activities is making Isak blush.

WINTER CABIN by alijan [E · 7,577]

Isak and Even go to the winter cabin with the boys.

THE MOMENTS IN BETWEEN by allyasavedtheday - @allyasavedtheday [T · 6,563]

It could be minutes or hours later when they finally let go of each other, though they don’t move very far.

Isak slips his hand into Even’s and presses their foreheads together once again. “Come home with me,” he whispers, a quiet request lost to the space between their mouths.

He’s close enough to hear Even swallow before his fingers tighten in Isak’s hold and he murmurs an, “Okay.”

A look at the moments between O Helga Natt and Passe på meg.

FIVE (5) TIMES ISAK WAS HIGH, AND ONE (1) INAPPROPRIATE TIME HE WISHED HE WAS. by AnonymousPoet [M · 2,477]

Isak feels like he's entering a new, ethereal dimension, where everything is still and the air is just a little bit firmer in his lungs, where the clocks stop and every movement seems slower, heavier, longer. Everything is immensely quiet, and he can almost hear the electricity buzz underneath his skin, inside of his bones, pumping in his veins -mixed to his own, scalding blood.

___________________________

Five times Isak was high, and one time he wasn't, but he wished he was. Just like the title says.

#HASHTAG by Bellakitse [T · 1,548]

Even gets Instagram, it’s all about Isak.

FIFA MADNESS by Bellakitse - @bellakitse [M · 1,471]

Even and Isak are playing FIFA, when Even questions Isak's awesomeness at paying the game. Isak is going to prove him wrong, or he would if Even could keep his hands to himself.

✩ HOT LIKE FIRE, TAKE YOU HIGHER by birthmarks - @fyfaenjonas [M · 13,691 · WIP]

Isak Valtersen was your typical teenage boy and with that came internalized feelings and avoidance of communication. He spent too much time morbidly thinking about his life than actively attempting to improve it. That was going to have to change soon though, considering the circumstances. He was a seventeen-year-old in his first serious relationship and everyone kept telling him that “trust and communication are the foundation of every healthy relationship!” (insert Isak-patented eye roll here).

The problem was... most of the time what he really thought about was sex. And while he knew it was completely normal to think about, he was much more content with ignoring the topic than experiencing how awkward it could be to discuss it.

Or: in which Isak and Even fall in love and discover their kinks.

KISSES ARE FREE by BloonStuff [T · 1,440]

When Isak fails to get Even a present for his birthday or valentine’s day, Even sets out to convince him why that just doesn't matter.

JUST AS YOU ARE by BluebeardsWife - @uweremythtaken [T · 22,308]

This is a retelling of the events of season 3 from Even's point of view.

YOU CAN HATE ME NOW by boxesofflowers, Eeyoreneedsahug - @poeandbeaux [G · 1,105]

"Do you hate me?” Isak has doubts and Even wants him to know he’s loved.

YOUR LUNGS, THEY'RE MOURNING by boxesofflowers, Eeyoreneedsahug [T · 4,151]

Isak doesn’t want to be sick. He doesn’t want to worry anyone. He doesn’t know how to be taken care of. Even wants to try.

(Sick! Isak trope = 👌👌👌. Sorry ass, Isak.)

WALKING THROUGH THE FIRE (PLEASE DON'T LET ME GO)) by boxesofflowers, Eeyoreneedsahug [T · 2,298]

Isak is sick. He doesn't want everyone to hate him. (They could never hate him.)

ϟ ✩ FALLING (THE WORLD IS YOURS) by Chips2 [T · 90,823 · WIP]

Even as main character during Season 3 with his backstory and life filled out.

When Even Bech Næsheim has a manic episode that makes him the subject of gossip in his final year at Elvebakken he decides to transfer out. Things are better at Hartvig Nissen but his personal life is turned upside down when he meets Isak, a second year, still questioning his sexuality.

(sååå bra 💛💛💛)

BREATHE ME by colazitron - @fille-lioncelle [G · 1,305]

Isak and Even shotgun.

I'M THE LIGHT BLINKING AT THE END OF THE ROAD by colazitron [G · 1,102]

... blink back to let me know.

In this minute, Isak and Even lie together.

WHILE THE EARTH SPINS by cosetties [T · 3,009]

In this universe, boys he liked couldn’t like him back. They were straight, they had girlfriends, and reading more into it only led to disaster. He wanted to be with them. He wanted to be them.

WE KEEP THIS LOVE IN A PHOTOGRAPH by daggertattoos [G · 2,834]

Isak: Seriously, dude, how many of these do you have?

Eskild's response to that was to send a bunch of other pictures, his phone beeping non stop and when he looks at it, it's mostly candids of the two of them from over the weekend, through the past couple of days.

or the one where isak and even relive their weekend together through photographs

DON'T YOU LET ME GO TONIGHT by DarkBeauty_890 - @shadeandadidas [M · 1,890]

It’s Even’s whispered I’ve missed you so much that truly does Isak in. After that second, he’s unrelenting, passionate, and unwilling to allow himself to feel anything other than the all-consuming warmth and relief of Even’s body against him.

Episode tag for the scene that killed us all. Features bits and pieces of that night and a wake-up call from our favorite nosy roommate.

THERE'S A LIGHT, BURNING BRIGHT by DarkBeauty_890 [M · 4,820]

“The fact that it’s so good when its good is kind of the reason it’s so bad when it’s bad.”

"What are you thinking about?" The very boy turns his head a bit on Even's pillow, shoulders bare and eyes even more so.

Isak's eyes holds all of the secret to the universe, Even thinks. Always open and trusting Even to never let him down. So he tries not to. Because letting Isak down is like letting the earth shatter around him.

WHEN I'M ALONE WITH YOU by DarkBeauty_890 [E · 1,698]

Isak Valtersen was shy. This much Even knew. He was quiet and he was soft and he didn’t particularly enjoy confrontation when it was unnecessary.

Which is why it didn’t surprise Even at all when the shyness and softness and sweetness carried over into their, eh, bedroom activities. Even got the first hint of it when they kissed that time in the pool. The way Isak just sort of melted- allowed Even to take the lead, it was glorious, he was compliant in the sweetest way.

HELP A BROTHER OUT by diamondjacket - @diamondjacket [M · 2,001]

“Do you ever go down on Even?”

Judging by the way Isak’s eyes bug out of his skull and how he almost chokes on his sandwich, Magnus probably should have eased into the topic a little more.

“Um, what?”

Yeah, he definitely should have. But it’s too late now.

(SERIES: A little help | Part 1)

↳ I GET BY (WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS) by diamondjacket [M · 5,347]

“So…” Even starts, and it’s only now that Isak notices that his expression is a little haunted. “I’m not totally sure, but it’s possible that Eskild just saw me naked.”

Or: Four times Isak’s friends were way too invested in his sex life, and one time they regretted it.

(SERIES: A little help | Part 2)

NO ONE COULD SAVE ME (BUT YOU) by diamondjacket [M · 1,192]

Isak, who didn’t want to kiss him on the street—even as Even’s mind was shouting yes yes please let’s show them let’s show them—but now shoots him a small, coy smile, who leans in and brushes his wicked mouth over Even’s, softly, without much fire but with so much heat, it leaves Even trembling, quaking inside. He feels his hands involuntarily clench into fists at his sides, and he almost chokes with how much he’s trying to hold back, to resist the urge to grab, to take. But oh God, he wants.

NOT THE INFINITY, BUT THE CAMERA by eiqhties [G · 2,058]

"I think that life's just like a movie, and that you can be the director of your own life. Do you get what I mean?"

MAGNETISATION by eiqhties [G · 2,691]

He thinks about it, sometimes. Thinks about how he shouldn’t have left Sonja like that. Shouldn’t have been so mean, so wild, so thoughtless. He thinks about it, but he wouldn’t change it, really. Wouldn’t trade in anything, swap out anything.

SICK AND PALE WITH GRIEF by eiqhties [G · 1,252]

But soft.

MINUTT FOR MINUTT a series by Enochianess [G/T/M · 13,252 · 38 fics and media]

Isak and Even's story continued

INTO THE LIGHT by fallingaway [T · 4,602]

Isak enjoys the school break, Christmas and Even.

✩ BABY, IF YOU'RE GONNA BE LONELY, BE LONELY WITH ME by gravinnen - @koninginnen [G · 3,449]

Isak is sad about stuff and thinks staring passively at the ceiling will magically fix all of his problems. spoiler alert, it doesn't.

(SERIES: in our rooms filled with laugher, we make hope from every small disaster | Part 1)

↳ ✩ AND YOU'RE THE MOON, I'M THE WATER by gravinnen [G · 4,252]

turns out things like negative feelings and insecurities don't actually disappear by never talking about them to anyone ever and Isak's not too excited about that. time to face some fears.

(SERIES: in our rooms filled with laugher, we make hope from every small disaster | Part 2)

EVERYONE CALLS YOU AMAZING, I JUST CALL YOU MINE by gravinnen [G · 6,187]

Isak knows there is something Even is not telling him and tries to get him to open up. it's not working.

✩ HEY LITTLE FIRECRACKER, BABY, TELL ME WHERE YOU'VE BEEN by gravinnen [G · 4,966]

Isak's been so focused on Even's birthday, he's kind of forgotten Valentine's Day is a thing that exists

THE DREAMS I COULD EXPLORE by iamjustakiddo - @i-am-just-a-kiddo [T · 2,351]

Saturday 18.12.16 - Friday 23.12.16

And his heart screamed with unison, three words he didn’t dare to speak.

(SERIES: Some say we all dance alone | Part 1)

↳ NIGHTS IN THE SNOW by iamjustakiddo [NOT RATED · 2,190]

All the infinite sadness, the desperation. All the breathless nights, the rush to the sky, reaching for the stars. Ink-stained fingers, bubbly laughter and a single tear. The taste of marijuana and sweet Rooibos-tea. All the ludicrousness and sensibility- that’s what Isak tasted. That’s all Even was pieced together from and what Isak wanted to drown in.

(SERIES: Some say we all dance alone | Part 2)

↳ EVERY PERSON IS ON AN ISLAND by iamjustakiddo [T · 3,303]

In these moments, they’d built their own tiny, sleep deprived empire, surrounded by walls of darkness and silence, desperately preventing any sounds to escape. When the heat would cease and they’d fall into the soft sheets with trembling limbs, breathing heavily, that’s when Isak would lean his head against Even’s shoulder and be gone in a few minutes. Even’s heart on the other hand would take hours to calm down, while he struggled for air, each time overwhelmed.

(SERIES: Some say we all dance alone | Part 3)

↳ HAVE YOU NO IDEA THAT YOU'RE IN DEEP by iamjustakiddo [NOT RATED · 1,632]

SØNDAG 12.2.17 01:54

Music still pounded through the walls, dull and muffled, while the two boys swayed on the spot completely wrapped up in each other, breathing in unison and hearts racing each other and the world gravitating around them, endless, infinite.

(SERIES: Some say we all dance alone | Part 4)

THE UNIVERSE WAS MADE JUST TO BE SEEN BY MY EYES by ikerestrella [M · 5,947]

Being with Even is not always a bed of roses.

Set six months after the events of Season 3. They are on a hiking trip, and Isak definitely did not get them lost in the woods.

SINCERELY YOURS by Joana789 [T · 4,759]

Sometimes, Even’s mind feels like a mess, and it seems like no one in the world can sort it out, especially not Even himself.

But there are no rules, with Isak.

YOU'RE MY STANDSTILL by Kandakicksass [T · 1,522]

The first day of school, he passes Isak Valtersen in the hall and is done for.

(”Jeg så deg første skoledag” trope also 👌👌👌)

✩ THE BOY WHO WASN'T SCARED TO LOVE BUT TO BE LOVED IN RETURN by kassie - @evenskardemomme [M · 35,710 · WIP]

Even's POV on all scenes that happened during season 3, plus a few AU scenes mingled in-between.

(Slight canon divergence)

WORTH WAITING FOR by KillianJones32 [T · 6,518]

Even gets accepted to study at a college abroad. Isak has to stay home for his last year in school. It's four months until Even comes home for winter break. They can make it four months...right?

YOU WON'T HAVE TO SAY YOU HEARD ME LEAVE by larrinfinity [T · 1,033]

What maybe happened after O Helga Natt

(SERIES: Off-screen | Part 1)

↳ TAKE MY BREATH AWAY (YOU KNOW I'M BOUND TO CHOKE) by larrinfinity [T · 1,091]

What maybe happened after The Almost Kiss

(SERIES: Off-screen | Part 2)

↳ WE'RE BOTH TOO YOUNG (TO GIVE IN TO FOREVER) by larrinfinity [T · 1,646]

What maybe happened after Even's breakdown

(SERIES: Off-screen | Part 3)

STILL HERE by littlemovie (Lejla) [T · 19,030 · WIP]

Looking at Even, Isak couldn’t stop his left hand from caressing the side of Even’s face. He looked so peaceful, and at ease, sleeping now compared to the first time Isak watched over him in his sleep. It was truly amazing how far they had come in just a week.

✩ HEARTS DON'T BREAK AROUND HERE by LostInAdmiration [G · 3,643]

Even was a ball of energy and fire - he flipped Isak’s life upside down the moment he came into it, and Eskild watched as Isak’s muscles began to uncoil and his heart started to fill and fill until it was positively overflowing.

✩ SOMETHING LIKE THIS by LostInAdmiration [T · 2,920]

"Isak didn’t know he could have something like this. Like a scene straight out of a movie - albeit a budget movie, with a mediocre script and slightly clumsy actors - but there he was, stood in a kitchen with a boy he loved, and who loved him right back, with the sun shining down on them both as they hugged each other tightly."

(Basically just a drabble about a sunny morning with pancakes and dancing in the kitchen, and soft boys saying 'I love you' to each other for the first time.)

SO MUCH OF YOU by mishabloom [T · 1,544]

Isak and Even cuddling in bed, Eskild barging in to say hello, and a lot of cuteness and soppy quotes

CONTINUE TO CANON - PART 2 (N-Z) »

CONTINUE TO CANON DIVERGENCE/AU »

#skamedit #evakedit #evak #evak fanfiction #skam #isak valtersen #even bech næsheim

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