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themonotonysyndrome · 3 years

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REDACTED verse - Another day in Dahlia

Summary: When worlds collide, Aaron and Smartass has the ‘old, married couple’ moment when a wolf is loose in a hypermarket.

Dahlia is lively today, the afternoon sunlight dazzling upon the city. Familiar faces, familiar sights and familiar roads are everywhere.

And yet, the man who couldn’t stop bickering with his lover since the two of them stepped out of IKEA is a changing man living in this familiar city.

Aaron likes to think that he retains his best qualities despite the passing of time. Firm, true and level-headed - traits that have served him well both in his personal and work life. Traits that have earned him recognition, achievements and praises. However, against a fiery soul housed within an infuriating yet gorgeous body, Aaron has never felt so breathless and helpless.

And most importantly, lovestruck.

Unstable and uncharacteristically hesitant, the pieces of himself that are held together with patience have been pulled apart by its seams. But they weren’t destroyed; no, they rearrange themselves into an amazing new form. Aaron isn’t quite yet certain what that new form brings, but already, he could feel himself grow into a man that wholly compliments his lover.

Like a planet revolving around a beautiful, bright star. He can’t help but be drawn by the star’s gravity.

There’s balance between them, despite their strong-willed personalities. They sooth the other when one burns too brightly, they offer guidance when the other is unsure. Balanced and happy, that’s what they are.

There’s never emptiness when silence envelops them. Isn’t there a saying that whenever you’re with your loved one, silence is never oppressive?

Although, to be fair, silence doesn’t last long whenever they’re together. Not when there’s always something to bicker, something to discuss and something to tease about.

Case in point, the ugly as fuck lamp that Aaron fought tooth and nail to convince his partner not to buy.

“Look, it’s not even your money; I was going to use mine for it!”

“It’s not about the money, Smartass.” Aaron replies back with a roll of his eyes. They’re at the parking lot getting ready to head off to the hypermarket next. The two of them had spent four hours of furniture shopping at IKEA after his Smartass made an offhand comment last week about his couch being way too old and lumpy for gaming nights and movie marathons.

But before either of them realise it, what was supposed to be a simple couch purchase turned into perusal of dining tables, desks and floor lamps. Aaron got them back on track when you excitedly pulled him towards that last part.

Aaron had never before questioned your taste in furniture before but at that point, he starts to draw the line at a red, human shaped floor lamp. It bows slightly with the most creepy smile he had ever seen on a statue before.

“I just don’t want to have a heart attack everytime I wake up, alright? You wanted it in our bedroom, beside our bed and it’s creepy beyond all reason.”

“It’s functional though.”

“So were the other floor lamps.” Aaron easily pointed out. He opened the car door and waited, unamused, for you to get in. Unfortunately, judging by how your arms folded across your chest in a stubborn pose, his spitfire didn’t want to drop their conversation.

“What if I put it in the living room?” You suggest instead, the familiar defiant spark made itself known.

Aaron held himself back from groaning in despair. Why are you so hung up about that lamp!? “I don’t think it’ll fit with the… aesthetic of our house, OK?” He tried the tactical approach first, knowing that a straight up no would not pacify his partner at all. “How about this; we’ll go with your couch and desk and my preference for the dining table. There. Is that good enough for you, Your Highness?”

You purse your lips, but the both of you know that you’re not so hung up about the floor lamp to drag this argument any further. Aaron wisely chooses not to comment how your lips slowly curve into a smile.

“Fine. I’ll let you win this round - ”

“Oh my god - ”

“But in return, I’ll be taking over for lunch later.”

Aaron immediately shut his mouth, surprise and secretly a little giddy that his Smartass had taken the initiative of making a meal for them. That lasted for about a split second before something dawn onto him.

“You want free reign at the hypermarket later, right?”

This time, you beam happily but say nothing as you finally slip inside of the Mercedes. And as usual, silence spoke louder than words. Aaron exhales loudly, not knowing whether to laugh or mutter a curse. Trust in his lover to have the final say, ultimately.

But that’s one of the many reasons why he fell so hopelessly in love with you.

The hypermarket is busy for a Saturday. Smartass pointed at the sales and promotions board display in big letters and numbers when the two of you entered the building, hand in hand. Ah, that makes sense. Children run about clutching snacks in their little hands to convince their exasperated parents into buying, worned out staff restock empty shelves and the scent of fresh produce and floor detergents clings in the air. A familiar sight.

“How do you feel about crabs?” Smartass begins the conversation. Aaron doesn’t understand why you bother asking him when you’re already dragging him towards the cold, seafood area. Aisles of fresh fish of all kinds are clearly displayed for visitors, the more expensive kind are packaged and a few men are working behind the butcher service counter.

“I can go for some crabs. It’s been a while anyway.” Aaron answered, grabbing a nearby stack of baskets for their grocery. He tried to recall the last time they had any seafood and his mind helpfully supplied a restaurant where they went to for dinner in March.

He lets you gather your thoughts as you stare at the frozen crabs critically as if they were spreadsheets. “I’m thinking of rice with a side of buttery crab meats, Salmon sashimi, Shiitake soup and lotus root salad. Sounds good?”

As soon as he invited his Smartass to permanently move in with him, you had totally taken over the kitchen. Apparently you weren’t terribly amused when he admitted that he’s not much of a cook but hey, he never once complained when you served the best homemade vegan burgers with a glare and a silent, “Go ahead. I dare you to say that they taste like shit. Make my day, Aaron.”

So instead, after he cleaned their dishes, Aaron proceeded to throw his lover on their bed to thoroughly thank you for the meal.

Four hours later, the flushed and surprised expression on your face was so worth it.

But we’re getting off tangents here.

“Sounds absolutely delicious.” Aaron replied and startled his Smartass with a sudden kiss on your cheek. “Now stop glaring at the crabs and pick some already. We have half of the ingredients back home and I’d rather not spend the rest of our remaining Saturday in the hypermarket. So let’s get to it.”

Smartass hum in agreement and grab your own basket. Together, they made quick work of what they needed to buy. Not just for lunch, but for the upcoming weeks too. Crabs, Salmons, some meat and later pea sprouts, red cabbages and lotus root - the both of them are more inclined to healthy meals rather than take outs and it really helps that Smartass suggest preparing ingredients that they could cook for the rest of the week, given their busy work lives. Vegetable dishes are flexible and easy enough to cook into anything anyway.

They moved on from the frozen, seafood aisles and the produce section to where the personal care products are. Aaron holds up his phone in between them so Smartass could check what’s next on the list.

“Oh shit. I totally forgot that my shampoo and conditioners just ran out.” Smartass blurted. “Thanks for adding that into our grocery list.”

Aaron scoffs. “You mentioned it twice during dinner last night - in between debating whether or not Game of Thrones is better than Lord of the Rings, mind you - so I can understand why you forgot” Colourful rows of shampoo bottles greeted them when they walk past a couple who’s pushing their trolley carts away from the shelves. He grabs your favourite brand and places them in his basket. “You’re brilliant, Smartass, but I can’t help pity that poor hamster living in your brain for having to run in its ball all day long.”

You gasp, affronted, while Aaron laughs at the look on your face. Even smacking his arm did nothing to stop his laughter. “You’re too easy to rile up sometimes, you know that Smartass?” He smirks and grabs a toothpaste next. They’re running low on that too. In retaliation for his remark, Smartass sneakily pulled that toothpaste out when Aaron was checking his phone and chose the one with the strawberry flavour instead.

When Aaron shot you an inquisitive look, you just smiled innocently and quickly distracted him by insisting that they need to get some snacks.

“That reminds me, it’s not on the list but we have to buy ramune soda. Oh, and some potato chips too.” You pointed out as the two of you rounded away from a large family who stopped in between the body wash shelves and hair serums. “Have you noticed that we go through ramune sodas like crazy lately?”

The snacks and beverage section is one of the highlights of this hypermarket, in Aaron’s humble opinion. Not only do they have an abundance of the local goods, they also have a wide selection of some really good imported snacks or as Aaon like to call it, your ultimate weakness.

“Yeah but be honest, are you really going to stop your addiction anytime soon?”

“What is this? Bully me day?”

“Hey, you’re the one who said it, not me, Smartass.” Aaron is quick to quip back and this time, you roll your eyes. Even if it’s true, it doesn’t mean that you have to like it.

But that’s Aaron - his words always serve a meaning and come straight from the heart when it’s for the things that truly matter. It’s annoying and yet, it’s one of his best qualities.

However, just as you were about to rebuke him, the two of you heard a passing conversation nearby the soda shelves.

“ - not going to play bartender at home again, Angel. Why not? Alright then; let me jog your memory, hmm? The last time I left you alone in the kitchen for more than 3 hours, you came out carrying a tray with the embodiment of everything unholy on this planet separated into three shot glasses.”

“It was just ramune soda mixed with rose syrup, grass jelly and vinegar!”

“Asher had a stomach ache for a week, Angel.”

“But Davey, how do you expect me to get better at it if you don’t let me practice? See? There’s a flaw in your plan!”

“I’d rather we go to a bar the next time you’re in the mood to poison the both of us.”

You didn’t mean to eavesdrop on their conversation but you couldn’t help snicker at the stranger’s very much put out and deadpan tone. It gives an implication that this isn’t the first time this ‘Angel’ did something as crazy as mix sodas with vinegar. Hell, even the man’s comment earned a soft chuckle from Aaron.

“Sounds like he got quite a handful lover over there. Remind you of someone?” Aaron whispered. They couldn’t properly see the couple due to a stack of Dorito boxes in between them but you could spot a tall man wearing a pretty nice looking leather jacket and his partner beside him.

“If you’re implying that I’m unreasonably difficult - ”

“No, no. Just… hmm, passionately stubborn, I suppose.” Aaron nonchalantly replies with a smirk. He guffaws when you poke at his sides and spin around to the rows of ramune with a dramatic huff. Aaron easily follows suit with a fond smile.

This section of the aisle is quiet unlike the previous ones that’ve been, Aaron noticed. The humming of the air conditioner above them and the crinkling of a plastic bag of chips in Smartass’ hand were the only sounds that broke the comfortable silence. Even the murmurs from the other couple melts into background noises the further Aaron and his walk away.

That is, until a hair-raising snarl shattered the quietness.

What’s worse, it sounded like a wolf.

Aaron reacted instinctively. He opted for the defense - grabbing his Smartass’ free hand, pulling you close to him. His searching eyes are frantic while his mind is trying to make sense that a wolf is somehow in this hypermarket. Full of people. What the fuck!?

Smartass, however, opted for the offense. You grab the nearest glass bottle by the neck and were about to smash it against the metal shelf if it weren’t for Aaron’s quick thinking. He immediately grabs your wrist and shoots you an incredulous look. Silently judging your choices in life.

‘You have a better idea on how to deal with a fucking wolf!?’ Smartass demanded in silence. Your expression is bewildered; as if you couldn’t believe that Aaron wouldn’t let you shank an unknown threat just around the corner.

In return, Aaron pulls you closer to his body and glares out, ‘I’m not letting you throw yourself in front of a wolf!’

‘I’m protecting us!’ Smartass countered back, glaring just as heatedly.

A sweet giggle suddenly interrupted their mental argument. Their hearts skip a beat in fear at the unknown.

“Ok, ok. How about this, Davey: I'll let you dress me up when we go to the bar tomorrow. How’s that? Does that make my Wolf not jealous anymore?” The same voice they accidentally eavesdropped previously bargained in a teasing tone.

Smartass and Aaron exchange a bewildered and confused glance. What the fuck did they just said? My Wolf? Was the realistic animal snarl came from the boyfriend!? He must’ve some serious vocal cords and throat to be able to make that sound!

Aaron exhales loudly while Smartass allows him to grab the glass bottle that you were still holding to put it back on the shelf.

“I think I just lost five years of my life.” Aaron complains.

Smartass said nothing. Without even saying anything, you march to where the couple are. Aaron curses under his breath and quickly chases after you.

The man in the black leather jacket and his partner glanced at his Smartass when you approached them with a practised smile. One that Aaron knew meant trouble. How could he not when he’s the receiving end of that smile more than he could count.

When Smartass wants answers, you’ll do everything in your power to get it and Aaron is really not looking forward to wrangling his partner from starting a brawl in the middle of a damn hypermarket.

“Hi there.” His Smartass began, your body language deceptively open and friendly. “Are you two alright?”

“Eh?” The one standing beside the tall, frowning man replies with a blink. Upon closer inspection, Aaron realises that he and what looks to be the leader of a local gang are similar in built.

“Can we help you?” The gang leader interjects. He’s frowning but he doesn’t appear angry. Just confused like his partner. Though he nodded in greeting when Aaron slid up beside Smartass.

“Didn’t you hear that noise just now?” Smartass plays shock. “It sounded like someone released a wolf in the hypermarket!”

The man in the leather jacket suddenly looked like he just sucked a lemon; his eyes are comically wide. Meanwhile, his partner’s eyes are equally as wide. Aaron detects a hint of realisation glint in their eyes. Now isn’t that interesting?

Well, Smartass thought so too. You pressed on. “You heard it too right? Damn near give me a heart attack! I wonder if the nearby staff also heard it - ”

“It’s probably the ventilation system or something.” The gang leader quickly replied, his expression oddly shifted to neutral. Beside him, his partner opens their mouth to say something but he quickly presses his palm over it. They throw a pointed look at him but he resolutely ignores it. “Anyway, good luck with your grocery shopping.”

Aaron watches him grab his partner by the hand and gently drag them away. It was only when they’re out of sight that they started furiously chatting.

“Wow, Davey, your slip up was even worse than Asher’s!”

“We’re so not telling him about this, Angel.”

“...Does this mean I can tell Babe instead?”

“Wha - No, that wasn’t an invitation to tell his Mate!”

Aaron turns to Smartass who just shrugs. Neither of them could figure out what just happened. He’s just glad that you let them escape.

“Maybe they have some really kinky roleplaying thing going on.” Smartass guessed, wiggling your eyebrows suggestively.

Aaron runs his palm down his face in exasperation. “I don’t give a shit, Smartass. Can we please just finish up our grocery shopping already? I’m starting to get hungry.”

“Alright, alright. We just have to grab a few more things and then we can pay.” Smartass assured him and off they continued on their way.

Though neither of them still couldn’t help but wonder how the hell that man managed to sound like a wolf so accurately.

Kinky roleplay or not.

I’m tentatively planning to make this into a mini series including the rest of the non-empowered characters with their lovers. I’m already writing for Oliver and Baby so we’ll see how that goes!

#redacted asmr #fanfic #second pov #they/them pronouns #gender neutral s/o #smartass (listener)#Aaron #david shaw #angel (listener)

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bbrandy2002 · 3 years

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Happy Birthday Burnsy!

The Country AU -- I'm Gonna Live Where The Green Grass Grows

Pairing: Drake x Alyssa, Liam x Riley, and a whole host of other TRR characters.

A/N: This was a silly little idea I had months ago for an AU built around the places and people where I grew up. I never had plans to actually write it, but I mentioned it to Burns, and well ... she wanted it lol so here we are. And she’s already read half of this and is the one who made the mood board for it and the song inspo hahaha. Thank you to @mskaneko for the edits of our OTP’s, and @charlotteg234 for pre-reading the first half of this.

Trigger warning: Gun usage, hunting, mild language ... I think that’s it

@burnsoslow

My dearest friend, when I think back at where we were one year ago, I can’t help but be reminded of the vastly different world we live in now. On February 5, 2020, there was no covid keeping us sheltered and fearful, families were complete, jobs were stable, and so many of the things we worried about then simply pale in comparison to now, Life wasn’t so bad. But here we are with all these new changes and mindsets. Through it all, one thing remained consistent: YOU. You have been my strength, my rock, the anchor that grounded me. We have cried together, laughed a lot together, worried for each other, and celebrated those small victories that were important to each other. And I get so happy when someone comments about how much they love the friendship between Riley and Alyssa because it's the most real part of Fearless. If anyone ever wanted to know what we’re like, it's all written out in that story. I’ve got your back, and you have mine. You’re my best friend and I just love the hell out of ya! I hope your birthday is amazing and that this fic is everything you wanted for this AU.

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On Sunday mornings in southern Georgia, you did one of two things: You woke up early for church services or woke up late to watch NFL football.

Some people figured out a long time ago how to do both.

Sitting in the back pew of the First Cordonian Church of Everlasting Peace, Alyssa Walker sat quietly with the sweetest southern belle smile, nodding her head along to the beautiful words spoken during Pastor Hakim’s sermon and hiding a pair of earbuds lodged in each ear.

She and her husband, Drake, had laid claim to the pew when they were teens trying to sneak a kiss or two during prayers. After ten years of marriage, they no longer needed to sneak kisses but stayed in that same seat, believing the biggest sinners should stay as far away from the minister as possible. Why be the barrier that may prevent the spirit from reaching the rest of the congregation? The couple felt it was the least they could do.

They were actually pretty good folks and well respected in their community. Alyssa had taught first grade for eight years at the local elementary school, where her two children, nine-year-old Audrey and six-year-old Patrick, also attended. Her best friend since third grade, Riley, was the art teacher there.

Drake worked nearby as the lead mechanic at Rys and Sons Chevrolet out on North Ramsford Avenue. Constantine had owned the auto dealership for 35 years before passing it down to his sons, Leo and Liam, when he ran for and became the town's mayor. Leo peaced out, heading to South Florida, while Liam took on the sole responsibility of ownership himself.

And while most people in this sleepy little town of Cordonia were Falcons fanatics, Alyssa grew up rooting for the team where her parents were born and raised before settling in Georgia as newlywed lawyers: The Chicago Bears.

With the game against the Packers blaring into her ear, she kept a keen eye on the rest of her fellow parishioners. When they clapped, she clapped. When they sang, she sang. She raised her hands in hallelujahs when they did. She had learned to read lips and could “Amen” and “Praise God” right on cue with the rest of them. All the while, she sat in contentment, listening to her weekly football games.

“The score with 14 seconds left in the second quarter is Chicago -- 14, Green Bay -- 17. The Bears have the ball on the 5-yard line. It’s third and goal. If Trubisky can score here, they’ll go into the locker room at halftime with a lead for the first time in this game, or possibly tie it all up with a field goal after this down. This is a huge, HUGE play, Jim ...”

Alyssa twined her fingers together and lowered her forehead onto them as she waited with bated breath for the announcer to call the play-by-play. As far as anyone else knew, she was praying fervently for the Hebrews crossing the parted Red Sea away from Pharoah's army that the pastor was chronicling.

“And here comes the snap. Trubisky backs up. He tosses to Robinson in the end zone. OHHH! So close… batted away by Alexender …”

“JESUS!” Alyssa yelled out in anger. With earbuds in, she didn’t realize how loudly that just came out of her mouth. Drake nudged her in the thigh. She glanced over at him for a second before he nodded to the 123 pairs of eyes that had all turned at once in her direction. It instantly dawned on her that everyone in the congregation heard the outburst.

Feeling the color drain from her face, Alyssa placed a hand over her chest and addressed, “I am soooo into this sermon, Hakim. Woohoo! Go, Jesus, go!” She pumped her fist in the air like she was rooting him on.

Drake dropped his face onto Patrick’s shoulder, who was sitting on his lap, to cover the incessant laughter that threatened to spill out of him. He was doing a terrible job of it, as a momentary burst of muffled snickers could be heard through the sound of the game playing in Alyssa’s ear. Her husband was nothing but a big kid himself -- she wouldn’t change that for anything.

“Mommy,” Audrey whispered next to her. “It’s about Moses. Not Jesus.”

Alyssa smiled, patting her daughter’s knee. “Same thing, baby. They both performed miracles.” She cut her eyes to the phone hidden under the cardigan draped across her thighs. “And the Bears need a miracle right now, guys,” she muttered, “Part those shithead Packer’s defensive line, Lord. It’s time to help my Bears get to the promised land.”

“Going for it on fourth down, Trubisky drops back. The Packer defense is putting a lot of pressure on the Bear’s offensive line. Every man is covered in the end zone. He has no one to throw to, Jim. They’re running out of time. Four seconds left. And, NOOO, they sack Trubisky on the 10-yard line … WAIT THE BALL IS LOOSE … THE BALL IS LOOSE ... he fumbled the ball. The Packers are scrambling to get it. There are green and white jerseys all over that ball. BUT LOOK … Green Bay’s Klark picks it up. He’s running the other way … and he just slipped … he just slipped, and the football fell right into the hands of Chicago’s Robinson --”

Alyssa grabbed Drake’s thigh, her fingers digging deeply with hope and panic. “Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck,” her stressed words weren’t audible to the crowd, but they were speaking volumes in her heart.

“--Robinson’s on the 20, now 15, he’s sweeping past the defense to the 10 -- 5 -- TOUCHDOWN, CHICAGO!!!”

"FUCK YES!" Alyssa jumped up, her arms outstretched in a V shape. “Hallelujah. Holy shit. Thank ya, Jesus.” She let out a huge sigh of relief, feeling nothing short of elated, not concerned in the slightest by the heads that twisted around again.

Hakim stood slack-jawed from the raised platform for a moment, his tallish physique slouching on the pulpit, before adjusting the microphone and clearing his throat deeply. "I'm certainly glad, Sister Alyssa is ... feeling the spirit this morning."

"I am feeling it, Brother Hakim," She shook her head profusely. "I. Am. Feeling it." She shot him a dimpled grin.

Drake snorted loudly, covering his face with one hand and grabbing the side of her dress to pull her back down with the other.

They turned to each other, neither one able to control the snickering and shaking of their bodies. Drake lifted a sleeping Patrick over his shoulder while Alyssa grabbed Audrey's hand; the Walker couple decided they were too immature for church this morning.

They laughed all the way to the parking lot.

"It's never a dull moment with you, baby girl," Drake chuckled, turning over the ignition.

"You know me …” She blew on her nails before rubbing them against her chest. “... just doing the Lord's work."

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It was customary in Cordonia for families to gather together each week for a big supper after church.

The Walkers traditionally took turns hosting with Liam and Riley, and Constantine and Regina. This week's meal was at the elder Ryses.

Sitting down at the dining room table, everyone licked their chops, hungry and ready to dig into all the made-from-scratch southern goodness Mrs. Regina had prepared: Fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, coleslaw, macaroni and cheese, green beans with hamhock, corn-on-the-cob, deviled eggs, biscuits, sweet tea, and coffee. It was all accompanied by two containers of broccoli salad, Alyssa picked up from the Piggly Wiggly deli after church, and Riley's lopsided carrot cake.

There was always a lot of food, a lot of love, and what would it be in a small town without a little gossip here and there.

"Regina, you've outdone yourself on this meal," Liam raved while placing his five-month-old son in a high chair and fastening the clasps. "If it tastes as good as it smells, we're all in for a big treat."

Everyone agreed as she sat down, Constantine pushing her chair in with a peck to the top of her head. "Thank you, Liam." She looked up at her husband with a sincere smile, rubbing his arm. "Only the best for our family."

She meant every word of that as she and Constantine glanced around the table at all the cheerful faces of the people they loved most — that included Drake and his family.

Drake's father had been the sheriff for many years before his untimely death, while the younger Walker was a teen. Connie had never met a braver, more hard-working man than Jackson; the now mayor stepped in after that death to be the father figure in Drake's life. Drake was already best friends with Liam, and over time, the family just considered him one of their own. Drake and Alyssa's children referred to them as Mamaw and Papaw Rys.

As everyone settled in and passed the food around the table, the doorbell rang; 7-year-old Ellie -- Liam and Riley's oldest -- jumped up to answer it. With everyone focused on getting their helpings, Riley leaned over and whispered to Alyssa, "Any more scoop on Savannah?"

Alyssa passed the potatoes to her and answered in a hushed tone, "I drove past her house yesterday ... Chuck was there. His big rig was backed right up into the driveway. They're not even trying to hide it anymore."

"I knew it." Riley slapped a scoop of potatoes onto her plate, passing them across to Liam. "When does Bertrand get back from that Bankers Convention in Atlanta?"

"I think Max said on Tuesday. And I guarn-damn-tee, Chuck will be there until then."

"Of course he will. Have you told Drake yet?"

Alyssa shook her head, peeking over at her husband, who was in hog heaven, dousing everything on his plate with white gravy, blissfully unaware of their idle chitchat. She turned back to Riley. "Not yet. You know how protective he is. I'll need to hide the gun cabinet keys when he finds out ... if he finds out. You remember how upset he got when Bianca got caught at the Love's Truck Stop with Landon Ebrim over the summer. His mama can do what she wants, but not with a married man."

Riley agreed with a nod before taking a sip and swallowing her sweet tea. "Ya know, I've never seen sweet Emmaline that angry."

"Yeah, me neither. She sure whopped ass that day." They both giggled lightly. "Landon's dentures flew clean across that truck lot."

"I saw her the other day at the Food Lion, grinnin' like a baked possum. Got that ol' dog for everything he had."

Alyssa huffed, "Cept' his nuts."

Ellie ran back in and hopped in her chair. "Miss Olivia is here!"

Alyssa stiffened, clutching her fork a little tighter before letting out a faint groan. Not that she didn't like the Assistant Principal of Cordonia Elementary -- she was her boss, after all, and they grew up together -- she could just be a little off-putting, sometimes with her treatment of Drake. In light of Olivia's recent divorce, she had, however, started directing most of her scorn on her ex-husband, Anton.

Everyone greeted Olivia as she strolled in behind the youngster, shrugging her jacket off and tossing it on a counter with her purse. "I smelled your chicken and taters all the way from Lythikos Drive, Regina. You know how I love a good rib stickin' meal."

"Is Travis and Waylon here?" Patrick piped up eagerly from the children's table, hoping to have some boys to play with rather than the three little girls who kept ganging up on him.

Olivia pulled out a chair and started loading her plate down. "They're with their daddy this weekend, sugar. I'll tell them you asked about them."

Drake lifted his coffee mug, not making eye contact with anyone. "Speaking of ... I saw Anton yesterday at the Dollar Tree ... with someone." He smirked into his drink. While everyone else knew who and was trying to avoid the elephant in the room, he owed her for years of squabble.

"Who? Madeleine?" Olivia spat, adding heaping spoonfuls of sugar to her already overly sweetened tea. "Bless her rotten heart, he was seeing her before our break up. Moved in with her right after the divorce was final, so I hope she's enjoyed cookin' and cleanin' after my youngins' all weekend, cause she's gonna be doin it a hell of a lot more now that she got herself fired."

Madeleine was a bank teller in the drive-thru at First Cordonia and also Leo's ex-fiancee.

"Madeleine got fired?" Alyssa asked in surprise. "She's been there for years."

The redhead swirled the sugar around in her tea with a spoon before licking it off and continuing, "Mmm-hmm. Bertrand caught her on video, stuffing her gaudy drawers into the vacuum tubes at the bank and sending them to that bastard when he drove through to make a deposit. He was making deposits alright. Right between her scrawny, cankled ass --"

"Olivia!" Liam quickly interjected, knowing once she got going, it would likely turn R-rated with several little ears listening. "I'm dying to hear how the Christmas Festival for next Saturday is coming along." He shot a look across the table at Drake for getting her worked up. Drake simply grinned.

By late afternoon, supper had been eaten, dishes cleaned, and pants unbuttoned. After a couple of hours of chatting on the back porch and watching the kids play, the two younger couples packed up leftovers Regina insisted they take home and were ready to hit the road.

Liam and Riley lived next door and walked out with the Walkers who were making their way to the Tahoe parked on the street.

Alyssa bounced and cooed over baby Jacob before handing him back to Riley and getting into the vehicle's passenger seat.

Liam was leaning into the driver's side window, having a casual discussion with Drake about the opening day of deer season next Saturday and asking what time he wanted to head out.

Alyssa was half-listening and half-working the stereo when an idea popped into her head. "You know what would be fun?” Both men stopped talking and glanced over at her. “We should all go?”

Drake knit his brows. “Go where?

“Hunting. We can make it a double date. You and me, Riley and Liam. The great outdoors. Some quality time together. I’ll even make snacks for everyone. It’ll be fun,” her voice was chipper. She was excited about it.

She was also deadly serious.

So were the dubious looks Drake and Liam gave each other over the thought of taking their wives on the most important hunting event of their year. Not that either didn't enjoy spending time with their significant others, but hunting was a whole different world. It was a one-person sport where you spent the day away from reality and responsibilities and just enjoying the great outdoors —a place to be alone and experience the thrill of a good hunt.

“Guys, I’m serious. We go fishing together, and I’ve shot targets plenty of times. I really wanna go hunting with you. Riley wants to go too, don't you?” She cast an inquisitive glance out her window at Riley, who glared back with the biggest what-the-fuck look she'd ever made. “See, she wants to go too.”

“Baby,” Drake began softly, giving her knee light squeezes. “I don’t mind taking you, but this is opening day. We’ll be in the woods for hours, in the cold. It’s not really what someone would consider a ‘date.’ And we’re going to the Festival that night … we’ll get a chance to spend time together there.”

She held his gaze as her lips began to quiver. “I understand. You .. you need time to be away from me, and it was a dumb idea anyway --”

“No,” Drake cut in. His heart plummeted from the sadness in her voice and eyes. “That’s not it at all. I love spending time with you. And if you really want to do this, then … let’s do this.”

“Really? We can go together?” Drake nodded with a smile before she squealed in his ear and pulled him into a tight hug. “I can’t wait! Thank you!”

Stuffing his hands in his pockets, Liam let out a heavy breath as he looked over at Riley -- The woman he knew would not be a fun hunting partner next week -- still standing on the sidewalk, appearing like she might faint. “Yeah ... I can’t wait either.”

---------------------

Saturday. 5:15 a.m. The cellphone alarm on Drake’s bedside table let off a series of rhythmic beeping sounds and vibrations.

The alarm wasn’t needed. The man had been awake for hours, listening to his wife's gentle snores; the anticipation of bringing home at least a 12-pointer keeping him from falling back asleep.

Letting out a ferocious yawn and a hearty stretch, he picked up his phone to dismiss the alarm and rolled over to wake Alyssa.

With her ass perfectly curled into the space between his stomach and thighs, his hands settled on her curvy hip, jostling her slightly. “Time to get up, my little peach. We gotta get crackin’ before all the good deer are gone.”

“I just need one more hour, okay? Thanks,” she protested with a drowsy murmur, pulling the pillow over her head.

Drake chuckled, rubbing soothing circles over her back. “No. We have to get up now. We’re wasting time, sleepyhead. Unless … you don’t want to go.”

Alyssa’s heavy eyes stung as she tried to peel them open one at a time. “No, I wanna … go ...” she trailed. Her eyes slowly shut again, and she was out.

On a day like today, Drake was usually up and ready in ten minutes. Once he could finally get his wife out of bed, dressed, and back awake again from where she fell asleep on the toilet, it was close to 45 minutes.

Maxwell, who was also a childhood friend and the music teacher where Alyssa taught, rented the room over their garage. He agreed to come down that morning and watch the kids while the pair spent their morning in the woods. Bianca used to help out in that regard, but the kids complained she slept the whole time, and Alyssa was pretty sure her mother-in-law smoked pot around them.

Drake loaded up the truck, placing his rifle and a smaller .22 caliber for Alyssa behind the seat. Dragging herself slowly to the vehicle, the night sky still pitch black and her breath turning to thick vapors in the frigid air, she listlessly tossed a Taylor Swift tote bag on the floorboard and climbed in.

Drake looked at his phone after everything was packed up to see if Liam had sent a message about being late. It was unusual for him not to be there already. Typically, his best friend was up and at his house before Drake was even ready. He sent off a quick text to check.

Drake: Where you at, man?

Liam: Running late. Riley had to put makeup on and do her hair.

Liam: I’m having so much fun already 😑

Liam: snark

Drake: Lyss couldn’t decide which gloves looked the best with her orange vest. I guess she wants to impress the deer before she kills them.

Liam: We’re not catching deer today. We’ll be lucky if we catch a cold. Be there in 10.

Twenty minutes later, Liam’s gray Silverado pulled onto the Walker’s gravel drive. Riley had wanted biscuits and gravy from McDonald's, and she had to run back inside to pee, so that set them back. But, with everyone now there, they were finally ready to head out.

Just down the rural road from where Drake and Alyssa lived, the current sheriff of Cordonia, Bastien, owned several acres of unoccupied land that he used for recreation. He had been a close friend of Drake’s dad and agreed to let Drake and Liam hunt and fish on his property whenever they wanted.

Turning onto the dirt road and opening the gate, the four friends arrived at their spot just as dawn was breaking.

No one spoke much as they trekked through the mud, sticks, and brittle fall leaves that littered the path to the deer stands. Riley and Alyssa were too exhausted to say anything. Drake and Liam just weren’t used to talking at all.

"Riley, love,” Liam whispered softly. “Can you watch how you’re walking? The noise is going to scare the deer away.”

“I can’t help it if … " She reacted loudly in frustration before Liam placed a finger over his lips, and she resumed speaking more quietly. “I can’t help it if there're leaves everywhere. I’m walking on them as delicately as possible.”

“How much further? I think my toes are frozen and I need coffee.” Alyssa bemoaned while walking on the balls of her heels. Drake was basically dragging her sluggish body by the hand. Her eyes were still drooping from exhaustion with every careful step.

“Just over yonder of that fence row is our stand.” He pointed out.

Alyssa aimed her flashlight around the woods in several spots. "And where do we pee at?"

Liam lightly snorted as Drake answered matter-of-factly. "Just over yonder of that fence row below our stand."

"Oh ... " her tone was small and apprehensive, "... I guess that's ... okay." She glanced back timidly at Liam, who was following close behind.

He shielded his eyes from the beam of her flashlight in his face and frowned. "I'm not going to watch you pee, Alyssa."

Riley gasped, "Eww! I don't want Drake watching me pee either."

"Shhhhh." Liam was quick to remind her again of the volume of her voice.

"Stop, shushing me, Liam! Those deer don't know I'm out here."

Drake grunted, then whipped around to face the three of them. "Would you keep your voices down? No one's watching anybody take a piss," he whisper-yelled. "Lyssa and I will be at least a hundred yards away from ya'll. Riley, I promise you can piss your little heart out, and I won't see it."

"We're separating?" Alyssa asked wistfully. "What if I need to ask Riley something, and she can't hear me yelling across to her?"

"You'll just have to ask her when we're done, baby girl. And ... please don't yell questions to her while we're out here. Low voices."

They continued on with their noisy hike.

"Having so much fun," Liam grumbled to himself.

-------------------

Liam and Riley headed to their tree stand as Drake helped Alyssa climb up the ladder to theirs.

The stand and ladder were made of plywood -- chipped and faded from years of exposure to the elements -- and were attached at the apex to an oak tree about twenty feet off the ground. At the top it had enough room to take a step onto, with a wooden seat just wide enough to accommodate them. One plank rail came out on both sides.

Alyssa plopped down onto the seat, clutching her tote bag of goodies on her lap. She lifted the brim of the orange beanie she borrowed from Drake -- that smelled of animal carcass and gun powder -- above her eyes and peered out to the wilderness spread monumentally below. She closed her eyes and slowly inhaled the fresh, dewy air, taking in the sounds of twittering birds, branches clashing from the nearby squirrel frolicking on them, and the rippling of a bubbling brook streaming down the hill.

A pleasant warmth overcame her as Drake's much larger body sat down next to her and protected her from the frosty wind blowing in from his side.

Alyssa wrapped her arms around his waist, snuggling into him. "I can see why you like this so much. It's so quiet and peaceful ... look how purty it is out here, Drake. It's just real purty, isn't it?"

Working diligently on getting their gear together, he stopped briefly to look out; affection glowed in his eyes. “It sure is, darlin’. Almost as purty as you ... and notice I said 'almost.'” He winked, and Alyssa blushed, feeling that same love trickling up inside her she'd had since they were teenagers. Drake could charm the pants off a chipmunk, but she was thankful he only used that gift on her.

"Sooo ... " She drawled in her thick Southern accent. "How long will it be before the deer start coming out?"

Drake drew the barrel of her gun back after loading it with shells and explained, "Don't know. It could be minutes. It could be a few hours. Just whenever they head this way, I reckon."

Perplexed, Alyssa nodded slowly. "A few hours? I s'pose that's okay. What do you do while you're waiting?"

He shrugged, passing a gun to her. "You just ... sit here."

"You just sit here and do what?"

Drake leaned over to kiss into her orange cap and replied, "Wait."

"Wait." She acknowledged. "I can do that. I'll just sit here ... and wait."

Several minutes had passed, and Alyssa was already bored with listening to nature, Drake's gurgling stomach, and sitting quietly with nothing to do. Every so often, a shotgun blast was heard in the distance, signifying either someone out there had gotten their prize or Riley had driven Liam insane. It was the only break from the monotony that came with the boredom of sitting in a tree for who knew how many hours.

Letting out a giant exhale that caught Drake's attention, she propped her rifle against the railing and pulled the cloth tote that was sitting between her boots into her lap. Rummaging through the bag, she pulled out her phone and began thumbing out a message.

Drake furrowed his brows and asked, "What're you doin'?"

"Just texting Riley,' she answered dismissively. He shook his head and leaned it back against the tree while she formulated her message.

Alyssa: You still alive over there? How's it going?

Riley: This is boring as shit.

Riley: And now my texting is apparently scaring away the deer. F the deer Liam. F all the damn deer!!!! What were you thinking, Lyss?

Alyssa: I was thinking we could spend quality time with our husbands. The men we love and cherish with all of our hearts. I’m having a great time with Drake so far 😍😘

Alyssa: And no one twisted your arm to come bitch.

Riley: Liam's just staring through binoculars. He hasn’t spoken in 20 minutes except to tell me to point the gun away from him or to quit moving. Let’s go get our hair did at Adelaide's.”

Alyssa: OHHH Yes! And get Chinese food ... CRAB RANGOONS!! I'll have Drake drive us back. Girls Day Out. Love you!

Drake let out a belch and blew it away when Alyssa turned to him with a dazzling smile and a sparkle in her blues. "Can you drive Riley and me back to the house?"

"What? Right now?" he shrieked. She answered him with a cheerful nod. "What happened to all that talk about wanting to spend quality time with me?"

"I still do. But ... we're just sitting here, not really doing anything. I could be getting my hair done for tonight's festival. I also have a ton of laundry to do, some papers to grade, and I’m supposed to be making the Devereaux’s famous peach cobbler for the raffle. If I leave now, I’ll have time to do all of it.” Alyssa knew she probably wouldn’t do half of that, and Audrey would likely make the cobbler, but it made the situation sound more urgent.

"It's opening day, baby. I'm not leaving this spot." He reached into the pocket of his overalls and pulled out his keys. "If you and Riley wanna take my truck, I'll ride back with Liam."

She gave him an exasperated look. "I don't know my way back to the truck. And I sure as hell know Riley doesn't."

He smirked, stuffing his keys back. "Then you're stuck."

The next hour was brutal. Alyssa texted Riley to alleviate the boredom for several minutes, but there had been no responses in a long while. She wasn't aware that Liam tossed her friend's phone over the hill when she started making TikTok videos of her plight -- Liam took his deer hunting seriously: No noise meant no noise.

Drake wasn't much better; he was quieter than his usual self. It wouldn't have been so bad if she could at least talk. An occasional whispered word was not going to cut it.

Alyssa sighed heavily. She wiggled around for comfort. She unwrapped a Nutty Bar. She crunched. She opened a can of pop. She tapped her fingers. She flipped the pages of a magazine. Each one got that look from Drake that let her know it was too loud. If she ever made it out of there, she planned to jabber and stir until she couldn't do it anymore.

After another half-hour of stewing quietly in her thoughts without a sign of a deer anywhere, Alyssa decided now was the time to finally just talk.

"Do you ever think about having another baby?" It was a topic that had been on her mind for a while. To her surprise, Drake didn't give her a look or even freak out the way she anticipated. Despite his own rule of silence, he even responded in kind.

"Yeah. Kind of a lot."

Her right brow darted up. "Really?"

Drake took a breath and shifted the gun across his lap. "I mean, of course. It's always been my dream to settle down and have a bunch of youngin's with the woman I love." He studied her lit-up face; he'd swore she'd gotten more beautiful with age. That's why he hesitated when he added, "But ... "

Her shoulders slumped at his words, and a deflated look impressed upon her face. "But ... " The word barely made it past her lips.

Drake reached for her hand and gripped it tightly. "Lyssa, we have so much going on right now. You're working on National Boards, Audrey has piano recitals and basketball, Patrick has peewee football and Boy Scouts. We barely have time -- except for right now -- for just ... us. I'm not saying,"never"... just that right now ... isn't a good time."

"I understand that, but ... we've always made it work. And don't you miss those tiny little fingers wrapped around yours? And the way they smell fresh out of the bath? And those chubby little cheeks pressed up against yours?" she goaded.

“Of course I do. I remember the first time I held Audrey and PJ in my arms -- there’s just no better feeling in the world than ...to look down ... " Drake paused as his voice cracked, and his brown eyes glistened like glass. " ... and to see someone so small ..." When she sniffled, it made it that much harder for him to speak. "... that you created with the woman you've loved since you were 16 years old. But I like who they are now, and watching them grow, and doing things with them ... And, well ... there’s no shit clean up.”

“You obviously haven’t washed Patrick's clothes in a while,” Alyssa retorted with a chuckle that brought out one in her husband.

"I’ll have to talk to him about that." He gazed deeper into her eyes. "But I do love you ... more than all the peaches in Georgia, Lyssa Claire.”

Alyssa smiled.“That’s what you said to me when you promised to marry me when we were teens.”

Drake returned his own smile. “I did. I remember like it was yesterday too. Sitting in your parent’s basement, watching Friends reruns, eating pizza, making out. And hell, it’s still as true today as it was then. Somehow, even more."

Their cold lips parted and joined halfway for a fervent kiss, with Drake's hand meandering around the subtle groove at the junction of her waist. Just as it became more intense and desirous, a rustling of twigs off in a nearby thicket caught Drake's ear, and he broke away, his eyes scoping the perimeter. Alyssa wasn't offended, she heard it too, and her heart raced with excitement.

Lifting the binoculars hanging from his neck, he spotted two deer eating from a blackberry patch some thirty yards away. He pointed in their direction; Alyssa gave a quick thumbs up, letting him know she saw them too.

Drake carefully lifted the rifle resting in his lap as Alyssa leaned forward and squinted to get a better visual. "Is that a buck and a doe?" she whispered, not moving an inch.

"Sure as fuck is." He mounted the stock of his .30 caliber, Winchester, just beneath his collarbone; the rush of this moment coursed ravenously through his body. He lined up the scope and placed a steady finger on the trigger -- his thumb pulling the hammer back.

“Wait.” Alyssa loudly whispered. “You can’t shoot him.”

"I'm gonna. Better cover your ears."

"No, Drake. There's a doe with him. What if that's his wife? You can't just leave her all alone without him."

"Lyss, this is the whole reason we're out here."

"So you can make a widow out of her?"

"No ... so I can make deer chili out of him."

Alyssa's mouth flew open. "No. No. RUUUUUUUUN! RUUUUUUN!"

Drake pulled his face away from the scope and fired her a look. "What the hell are you doing? They're getting away!"

She tilted her chin boldly. "I don't care. That was her husband, and they're in love, and you can't take that away from them. I would be so sad if we were just out eating berries and someone came up and shot you, ALL SO THEY COULD EAT DRAKE CHILI!".

Drake dropped his head. He knew there was no point in arguing with her. As long as he’d known her, she was stubborn, and at that moment, she was dead set in believing those two deer were living out the greatest romance of all time. Nothing he said or did would change her mind on that.

A thought emerged while he attempted to comprehend the logic of the situation. Those deer ran off in the direction where Liam was set up. Maybe if he could give his friend a heads up, it was still possible at least someone would leave those woods with the prized buck.

Turning his back from Alyssa so that she couldn't stop him, he pulled a small walkie-talkie from his pocket and radioed Liam. Alyssa knew what was up and jumped to her feet, thrusting her arms around him in an attempt to stop the travesty.

"You can't do this, Drake," she hollered, "That’s her soulmate. And why don't I have a walkie-talkie? I want a walkie-talkie!"

While seated next to Liam, Riley was swinging her legs, purposefully making the soles of her boots scrape against the platform. Liam tried to ignore her; maybe he had been a little too uptight about every little noise and utterance she made. But this was playing a whole different ballgame now: she was now making it her mission to piss him off.

Prepared to pound his head against the tree, Liam gritted his teeth, skimming his eyes in her direction. "Love, do you have to do that?"

"Did you have to throw my phone in the woods?" She spat back.

Liam rubbed his hand over his face. "No, and I am sorry that. I apologize for all of eternity. I promise I will get you another one as soon as we get back, okay?”

Riley huffed. "Fine, but that phone had all of my contacts on it. It had our babies' pictures and videos on it ... our vacation photos. I can't get those memories back ever, and I have to find it, and God only knows where it landed. It could be ..." She stopped rattling on when she caught sight of the distressed look Liam was giving her. Knitting her brows, Riley asked, "What?"

"Nothing ... just ... can you lower your voice a little? You're gonna scare the deer away,"

He regretted it as soon as it came out.

“LIAAAAM!”

He saw the steam gushing out of her ears. There was no time to answer the incoming call on his walkie-talkie from Drake.

Belting out a furious screech, Riley jumped up and tried to jerk the gun from his hands. There was no question she wouldn't shoot him, but she'd sure as hell shred his favorite gun apart piece-by-piece and toss them all the way to Portavira Lake on the other side of town.

Riley tugged with all of her might. "I have HAD IT with being quiet for those damn deer, Liam. HAD IT!"

"Sweetheart, you need to calm down ..." He stood up in front of her, pulling back on the rifle even harder, surprised -- and not pleasantly so -- his considerably smaller wife had this much struggle in her.

"Don't you sweetheart me. You have shushed me for the last time, Liam Preston Rys!"

“Okay, I’m sorry! But can you at least admit us fighting over a gun is dangerous? Somebody is going to get seriously hurt, and I don’t want it to be you, Riley. Please. I won’t shush you anymore, I promise.” His face softened, eventually adorning a loving smile at his wife, who, with a sigh, was unable to resist that handsome face and relaxed her grip.

Riley gave him a half-smile in return. “I’m sorry, too. I’ve ruined your hunting trip.”

“Yes ... you did.” Liam agreed, dodging the playful slap she nearly made to his upper arm. “But I don’t want to fight anymore.”

With the War of the Ryses finally over, they went in for a makeup kiss until Drake’s voice called out to Liam again through his walkie talkie. Liam set the gun down on the bench and leaned it against the tree before he started digging into his pocket to answer the device. Riley dropped down onto the seat, her elbow brushed against the rifle and caused it to slide away until the barrel end hit the railing and set off a powerful blast.

When the ringing in both of their ears subsided, and the smoke had cleared, Liam and Riley collected themselves from the sudden spine-gripping explosion that shook them both. While Riley explained to Liam what happened, a hysterical sounding Drake came back over the walkie-talkie, wailing, “Alyssa’s been shot! Alyssa’s been shot! Help me!”

__________________

Later that evening, in the courthouse square, the street was lit up with zig-zagged rows of red, green, and white lights. Strands of garland were wound around every lamppost in perfect spiraled loops, and red bows hung and waved with the wintry breeze.

With traffic rerouted away from the area, vendors lined sidewalks selling local goods to put the town's citizens in the festive spirit. What would this small town in Georgia have been without boiled peanuts, low country boil, fried green tomatoes, barbecue, and peach everything?

Once Constantine had lit the 30-foot spruce, surrounded by hundreds of merry people from all walks of life that made up this small community, the festival was officially kicked-off.

In a large tent set up on the square, Liam and Riley laid out styrofoam containers and drinks they’d purchased from a barbeque vendor on one of several picnic tables inside. With their two young daughters munching away on their meal, and the stroller with their sleeping son beside them, they both sat down with heavy hearts and restless minds.

Liam bit into his barbecue sandwich, noticing Riley only prodding at her mac-and-cheese while staring off into the distance. He didn’t have to ask what was wrong; he knew what happened that morning was bothering her with guilt and worry. It wasn’t every day she accidentally shot someone.

“Are you going to be okay?”

Riley shook her head slightly with a sad look. “No. It’s just not the same without Alyssa here. You know how much she loves Christmas and the festival. She was so looking forward to it too, until --”

“You shot her.”

“Yeeeeeesssss,” she cried out. Liam reached across the table and gave her hand a comforting squeeze, his thumb caressing her smooth skin. Riley continued to sniffle as she grabbed a handful of napkins and wiped the barbecue sauce off Liam’s sticky fingers that were now smeared all over hers. “I didn’t mean to, I swear it. And the way … and the way Drake cried. It broke my heart. Now he has her on bed rest AND house arrest. He won’t let her take calls. I’ll never see or hear from my bestie agaaaain.” The tears continued to flow in steady streams.

Liam stiffened, feeling the eyes of everyone in that tent, gawking at his overly-dramatic wife breaking down. He started to tell her to lower her voice, but after the gun battle in the woods, he thought better of it. “Riley, darlin’, you know Drake is really overprotective of Alyssa. And as scary as what happened was, she only needed the one stitch and band-aid for her graze wound. Something tells me Drake won’t be able to keep her down long.”

---------------------------

Liam was right. As much as Drake tried to keep her in bed so he could wait on her hand and foot, protect her from the careless friends of the world who could inadvertently do his baby girl harm, and check to see if she needed a new band-aid every few minutes, he could not keep her down. She had been far too excited to hang out with the people she loved so much and celebrate at one of her favorite festivals.

Maxwell had left for the events with Audrey and Patrick an hour ago; they were part of the children’s caroling group and needed to be there early. Against Drake’s wishes, Alyssa showered, got dressed, and made sure he knew in no uncertain terms would he be able to prevent her from going. The only thing he knew to do was to go, follow her around the entire night, and make sure she wouldn’t get shot again.

They circled the block where everything was held several times, but spaces to park were impossible to find. Three blocks away was the church where they attended, and the parking lot was completely empty. Drake didn’t like the fact that Alyssa would have to walk so far in her debilitated condition and was prepared to haul her piggyback style if he had to, but this was the best spot he could find.

Drake moved the gearshift into park and reached over to grab Alyssa’s arm, who was already bounding out the door. He pulled Alyssa back inside, the chilly air blowing through her open door swept her straighten hair this way and that way.

She cocked her head to the side and exhaled, “Drake, I can open my own door. I’m not broken. It’s just a scratch. I’m fine.”

“I know.” He smiled that tenderhearted smile only Alyssa had ever seen. The same one sending a shudder through her already chilled body. “I changed my mind,” he replied simply

Alyssa slammed her eyes shut and groaned. “I just told you I was fine --”

“No, no,” He shook his head. “About having another baby. I want to start trying.”

Saddled with curiosity, she slid back into the truck and shut the door. “But, I thought you said we didn’t have time for that --”

“Yeah, I did say that. I still believe it. But … today made me realize that yesterday is gone. Tomorrow has not yet come. We have only today …”

Alyssa’s hand flew to her mouth as she laughed out loud. Drake gave her a confused look before chuckling awkwardly to himself, “What’s so funny?”

She lowered her hand, still laughing. “You got that saying from a quote on a poster in my classroom. You’re the one who hung it up for me.”

The memory dawned on him, and he lowered his head, attempting to cover the guilty grin that spread over it. “Well, hell. Here I was trying to make you think I was all insightful and smart and stuff.”

Alyssa’s hand splayed across his rugged chest as she leaned over to kiss him.“You are very insightful and smart. You know I never settle for anything less than the best.”

“I s’pose.” he said, forking his fingers through his hair. “But … I guess what I wanted to say was … I know that bullet missed you, barely … but what if it hadn’t? What if I’d left those woods without you today? Just like you were afraid that doe might. Time wouldn’t matter anymore. There will NEVER be enough time with you. You’re my life, Alyssa Claire. You’re my lover, my friend, my heart, my confidante, my soul, my everything … my little peach. I want to experience all that life has given me with you as my wife … and forever make time with you.”

“DRAAAKEY!” she bawled, spreading her tiny arms wide around his bulky body. Alyssa drew him into her so hard it nearly crushed the wind right out of his lungs. “I -- love -- you -- so muuuch!” Drake patted her back and kissed into her hair as she sniveled into his shirt. He hated when she cried, but damn if this didn’t feel good to him. Anytime she was happy made him that way too.

They took a moment to kiss and pet each other a little before Alyssa sat up and asked, “So … when do you want to start trying for a new baby Walker?”

He shrugged. “Whenever you want, baby.”

Alyssa looked through the back window of the truck and scanned the parking lot. She bit her lip and looked back at him impishly. “What about … now?”

Drake’s eyes flew open wide. “In the church parking lot?”

Pursing her lips, she affirmed, “Yes. We’ve done it behind the Piggly Wiggly plenty of times. And let's not forget the ‘Great Ass Blow-out of 2019’ in the Atlanta Convention Center parking garage.”

“I will never forget that.” Drake shook his head as that momentous sexual experience replayed in his mind. “Mmmm, you performed magic that day, woman.”

She raised a brow and coaxed him on, “So? What’dya say?”

Drake took a tentative look around at the dark, empty lot, then back at her. “We’re so going to hell, but I’m in.”

“Eeeeeee,” she squealed, jerking his arm around in excitement. “Try to keep your ass out of the window this time, okay?”

Thirty minutes later, Pastor Hakim pulled into the church parking lot with Mara, the game warden, following behind in her truck. There had been several reports from passerby’s of loud animals howling and screeching behind the church. The stray cat population was out of control in that area, and several cats had burrowed their way inside the church on occasion.

Hakim parked his car, with Mara pulling in beside him. They both got out simultaneously and listened quietly to see if they could decipher where the commotion was coming from.

Within seconds, a load moan roared out, followed by several consecutive whimpers that were hard to make out by the duo.

Mara listened intently, then gestured with her flashlight to an area near the back of the lot where clusters of shrubs and dry brush bordered. Hakim ambled behind her, the noise getting closer and closer until the pastor's brow furrowed at the shaking of a nearby truck.

“Damn, teenagers,” he grumbled as they tipped toed discreetly.

Mara crouched down by the truck's tailgate, Hakim bending over while she duck-walked toward the driver's side door.

The game warden turned to the pastor and instructed, “On my three. 1 -- 2 -- 3.” They both jumped up at the same time, flashing the light inside the cab. “HAHA Caught ya! OH MY GOD!”

Alyssa, who was on top of Drake, completely naked except for the band-aid on her left arm, looked up in utter humiliation and shock. She crossed her arms over her chest to cover her breast, feeling like she might faint. Not knowing what to say at that moment to rectify their actions or why those two were still staring inside the truck, Alyssa smiled sheepishly. “I’m still feeling the spirit, Hakim.”

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#drake x alyssa #Liam x Riley #gun usage #hunting

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chanstopher · 2 years

Note

*head in pillow kicking and screaming* i am not worthy of such praise and love dreamy love jfjsjdjs am I smiling like a big ole potato? Yes so if anyone thinks it's me smiling at a kpoppie boy wrong!! I am smiling because of how soft I am for dreamy (and yall should also as well just saying. Instantly makes life better but what do I know? I'm just skz anon from another dimension lolol)

But noo don't feel bad for essay answers! Im sure it would have been lovely to read, you are worthy of an essay ok? But I pass the vibe check!? I have them cool kid vibes!? Yessss (funny enough I wanna share a kinda funny tmi? so you know that reblog game on here where it says "tell me what kpop idol vibes" so I reblogged it from mutual because gotta inform them of the cool vibes and I kid you not they told me I give of bangchan vibes and when I say I cried dreamy, I sobbed. Idk wanted to share this because you mentioned the vibe check and I have two proud moments now and two, chan lol.) Also you are welcome thy duck lord for the title. If you see this then do know I picture you holding a cute duck in your arms (probably has a cool mohawk and its pink colored) while the godfather theme plays as you walk.

But my week is swell! Am I lazy and have no sleep schedule? Yes but am I just bopping along? Yes I am. This reminds me I need to go on a star wars movie marathon after I finish deadpool2 lol ok now I hope this sends!

asdg so i read this yesterday when i was driving aroudn with Duck and i was giggling like a lunatic over it <3 youre so precious and i love you so much i especially loved the smiling over a kpoppie boy wrong!! part hehe

and omg no i totally get the chris vibe from you youre so sweet and comforting and very easy to talk to, and so supportive its very christopher bang of you <3 plus i adore you and we all know that hes .... ok in my book. fine i guess.

Ducky also wholeheartedly accepts your image of them, was pretty flattered i think lol.

omg i feel like tungle specifically doesnt send me your stuff sometimes like it hates us talking specifically :( because i answer all the ones i get so :< this site just doesnt want us to be happy together.

i think sleep schedules are a myth i can not remember having a good one at any point in my life. ppl who get 8 hours every night are just npcs i think lmao. I havent watched a star wars movie in a HOT minute tbh I should probably fix that too soon. the last star wars thing i actually watched was the mandalorian and well that was a while ago too lol

gonna go answer your other ask in thesvtverse now MWAH!

#drm.ask #anon #skz anon

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catsandstrawberries · 4 years

Text

Rogue Firebender

Pairing: Firebending! Jeon Jungkook x Firebending! Fem! Reader

Summary: After spending time as a fire nation general you decide to go rogue and rebel against the genicide the nation is causing against the other elements. But a mission to save an earth bending group goes wrong when your worst enemy shows up. Jeon Jungkook.

Warnings: Enemies to lovers (Enemies to sex friends?), vaginal sex, oral sex (fem receiving), spit kink, slight FemDom, Violence, some mentions of gore but nothing to bad, swear words, Jungkooks kind of an asshole.

Based on Avatar the Last Airbender

Part 2

This wasn't my best plan.

I'd like to say I'm good at making plans, and by making plans, I mean split minute life or death decisions, but today was going downhill fast.

I didn't calculate a multitude of things that day.

I didn't calculate how absolutely frustrated I would be and how that would cloud my mind.

I didn't calculate the sheer amount of earthbending slaves the squadron had captured, and I definitely didn't calculate the firebender that would ambush me.

Jeon Jungkook.

The issue with Jungkook was that despite being the same age as me he was practically the fire lords next in line. A dog, willing to bend at the rules and orders as long as he was given a treat and praised like a good little puppy.

Jeon Jungkook was also one of the most talented firebenders I had ever met, and it was a shock to the four nations that I had escaped him for so long.

But that was their fault for underestimating me.

Shackles clanged against the ground, the sound reverberating through the mountainside as soldiers led woman, men, children all in a line towards deaths row.

I defined myself as a freedom fighter, fighting to free those enslaved by the fire nation who used them for their personal gain.

But I was more commonly known as the rogue firebender on every wanted sign in the four nations.

A small child grasped onto his mother's hand, elephant tears slipping past his eyelashes, a monkey stuffy clutched in his hand as he scanned the empty scenery.

Empty, save for me.

I had intercepted a fire nation transcript of them transferring and killing slaves, but there were three times the amount then I expected. Freeing them would be a hassle if I wanted to bring them all back to the mainland and away from fire nation reign.

I grumbled in frustration under my breath. Getting frustrated had always been an issue of mine and my mood just seemed to boil with annoyance.

Four guards led the group, four guards are easy when they don't involve innocents, but I had a sneaking suspicion these guys wouldn't play fair.

I had learned from my previous encounters that jumping up and shouting 'hey ugly!' wasn't the best way to get their attention, so I'm attempting a more solid approach.

My foot made direct impact with the soldier's face and I smirked at the harsh smack that followed.

I threw a serious of fireballs towards the three soldiers, screams, and shouts from the earthbenders filling my ears as fire soared over their heads.

I leaned back as colors of red and orange flew by me, barely evading the destructive flame. I dropped to my knees and swung my leg out to knock the solider off guard, smirking in satisfaction while they all groaned in pain on the ground.

Breaking away from the soldiers I rushed to the group of earth benders, wincing when they all recoiled back from me.

"I won't hurt you, I want to help you."

That was another issue with being a rogue firebender, nobody trusted you, even if you were saving people's lives. I was still a fire bender.

I held my hand below the chains, a small flameworking at the metal until it seared and broke in half.

"Listen, get to the checkpoint, someone will be there to help you cross back into earth kingdom territory, but you need to hurry."

They nodded as a collective and went running in the opposite direction, the little boy giving me a shy wave as he disappeared. Relief passed through my body as I watched them leave, well...until I heard his voice.

"Such a noble act, little rebel."

My body froze and a tingling feeling spread over my skin. The fire in my bones warming at the sound of his voice.

"Taking out four soldiers at once, impressive. But hears the thing, I may be one person, but even you know I'm stronger than all four of them combined."

I slowly turned around, a mop of black hair and olive skin greeting me, red eyes filled with speckles of gold gleaming my way. His fancy robes of red and black stuck to his skin, his mark of nobility. I hated him.

"If you're stronger than all of them then how come I've won every fight?"

His calm composure faltered for a moment, a snarl curling onto his face, "because you love to run."

Speaking of running...

Although I loved getting in a brawl with the attractive 21-year-old who had a jawline sharper than any cooking knife, I was exhausted.

Tracking down secret human trade routes was a lot of work, and though I made fighting four men look easy it took energy.

So for the first time in my life, I took Jungkooks advice,

I ran.

"Shit." I briefly heard him mumble followed by the harsh sound of his boots on the dirt.

I kept a strong pace ahead of Jungkook, I was more agile than him, faster than him, everything was stacked on me getting away.

Except for terrain.

Leaves and branches cut against the skin of my arms as I pushed through the multicolored forest near the edge of the mountainside.

Prickly bushes and plants caught on the fabric of my pants and rocks stung against the bareness of my feet.

Despite the not so good situation, I was smiling. Maybe I was cocky, but I was happy because I knew I was gonna win. I knew that I was faster and better then Jungkook and he would never, ever, bring me back.

But the sudden terrain no longer held flat ground but a deep drop towards a glistening pool of water. My heels dug into the ground as I skidded to a stop, my heart rapidly pounding in my ears as I looked for an escape route. Just before I could jump, a body collided against my back, and a scream escaped my lips. The two of us tumbled down towards the water, dirt sticking to our skin and rocks cutting against our bodies as we rolled and eventually hit the water.

My vision exploded with colors before briefly going black, my senses only comprehending my heavy breathing and the dragging and pulling consciousness of my mind.

Did I mention I fucking hate Jeon Jungkook?

My back stung as if hundreds of needles were being stabbed into my skin, my throat constricting as a pressure pulsed on my chest. My vision which had previously consisted of darkness suddenly sprung to life when I rolled on my side, coughing out the water that had invaded my lungs and rubbing at my red eyes.

Then I noticed him.

Hovering directly above me, his mouth glistening with water and his hands hovering over my chest. The realization suddenly dawned on me and I harshly pushed him, my hand swinging back to spew a fire attack on him only for his hand to catch my wrist. Calloused fingers tightening around my tensed arm.

"I save your life and this is what I get?" His gruff voice showed no ounce of sympathy and I fired back,

"you were the one who pushed us off that cliff, you idiot." At my words, I fully take him in, a layer of clothing is missing so now he's only in a simple black tunic and his normal fire nation general pants. His hair is dripping with water and a trail of blood leaks from a cut on his lip. I openly smirk at his wound.

"Thanks so much for trying to ruin my life, but I'm leaving."

As soon as my body puts pressure on my right ankle, a broken sob is escaping my lips and I'm collapsing back onto the pebbly surface.

Jungkook stands and watches, a blank look on his face until I collapse and his lips curl in a smirk.

"I don't think so little rebel. You're coming with me back to the fire nation."

My blood turns cold, my eyes gaping at the man who I had so expertly evaded for so long, had finally won?

"You are a monster." I seethed, wide eyes now narrowing in on him as he kneeled down to my level, fingers harshly grabbing at my chin,

"there's a reason you're on every wanted poster in the nations. If anything, you're the monster (y/n)." I hate the way he says my name. I hate the way he looks at me as if he can control me, and as if he's won. The fire nation will never win if I have anything to say for it. So I do what any other person would do, I spit in his face.

Jungkook had another thing coming if he thought getting me back to the fire nation would be easy. I couldn't bend myself out of the situation because of the fact I couldn't walk. No walking means no running. So instead I decided to be the most annoying prisoner he ever had until I figured out a way to escape.

"Get on the stupid horse."

"It's not a horse, its an alpaca, and they have feelings unlike you so stop insulting it." Jungkook spluttered while I sat on the ground in front of the barn we had found.

Since I couldn't walk Jungkook had forcefully carried me on his shoulder like a sack of potatoes until we found civilization, and we just so happened to stumble upon an alpaca farmer willing to sell.

"I don't care what it is, get on it or your gonna be dragged back." He seethed and I held up my bound hands, nothing but a rope that I could easily burn through stopping me from escaping. Well, that and my twisted ankle.

"You expect me to get on that thing by myself? I'm incapable." I said with big eyes and a pout forming on my face.

Jungkook, ever the gentleman, picked me up suddenly and threw me onto the alpaca, an oooof breaking from my mouth at the sudden change.

"Their. Let's go."

Jungkook had, for some reason, taken a long way around, and before we could cross into fire nation territory, we would have to pass an earth bending town run by the fire nation.

The closer we got into town the more Jungkook seemed to tense. Steering the alpaca closer to him by the reigns. Jungkook gave me a glare and mumbled,

"I'll be right back." To where I have no idea. The fact he was leaving me alone was unsettling on many fronts, but I had a sneaking suspicion he was still watching me.

People walked by in waves, barely paying any attention to me who had one of Jungkooks generals robes pulled on my shoulders. If anything they refused to look at me assuming I was a fire nation general than an ally.

I hated it.

"Did you hear about what happened? They found a few of them."

A stranger spoke and without anything better to do, I listened in.

"That's horrible! What's happening to them."

"The fire nation is taking them to the town center probably for an-"

Jungkook suddenly appeared in front of me, a black hat in hand while he attempted to fit it on my head.

"Stop moving." He grumbled.

"Why do I need a hat?" I asked while he messed with strands of hair, his face inches from mine.

"Because if people recognize you they'll be a riot." I scoffed and tore my face away from him, tempted to spit in his face again.

"(Y/N)." For the first time since we've been together since the fall, he spoke earnestly, softly.

"Don't do anything stupid, I won't stop them if a guard tries to kill you." The feeling of hope that Jungkook had changed, suddenly disappeared and a frown spread on my face.

Jungkook led the alpaca in silence, bordering around the large crowds that started to form in the center of town.

"What's happening?" I asked. Jungkook disregarded my question, nothing but a silent look given to me before he responded,

"nothing."

A scream erupted from somewhere and the crowd started to murmur,

"What aren't you telling me!?" I whisper shouted above the noise.

Jungkook opens and closed his mouth, suddenly at a loss for words, and on my own accord, I scanned the crowd, searching for answers or a sign, and then I saw it.

A small monkey stuffy and elephant tears.

"This is an execution. They're gonna kill them." I spoke breathlessly.

"People of the earth kingdom, these slaves were found on the run, and by order of the fire nation, they are to be publicly executed. Rebellion is unacceptable and anyone associated with the rebellion will be killed."

My head shot to Jungkook at the soldier's words,

"Jungkook we need to do something. They're innocent." Jungkook refused to look at me, the only answer I got from him was the head of black hair.

"Jungkook there are children about to be murdered."

"I know! But we need to ignore it!" He shouted, sounding as if he needed to convince himself rather than me.

"Ignore it? Jungkook you will never be more than anything but a dog to the fire nation. A rug the fire lord will wipe his feet on, simply because you are too blind to the injustice around you."

Hurt flashed in Jungkook gold-flecked eyes, his eyes going wide much like a puppy. I didn't dote on it and instead lit the rope tying my hands together, kicking fire towards Jungkook who barely avoided the attack.

I hopped off the Alpaca, pain shooting up my leg as my ankle throbbed against the ground. Instead of putting pressure on it, I started to hop forward, ignoring Jungkooks shouts and swears from behind me.

I pushed past the crowd, tripping over people, and racing to get to the child before the guard could.

It was my fault they were found, I couldn't let them die.

It was the boy and his mother, both hugging each other as a fire nation guard stalked around them. Taunting his prey before he would publicly burn them to a crisp.

That bastard.

I saw the flame escape his palm first, a grunt escaping my mouth as I lunged forward towards the mother and son. Sweat dripping down my skin as I caught the flame, redirecting it back towards the solider.

Murmurs spread across the crowd, a few shouts of the rogue firebender igniting the area before the general let out an annoyed shout, a flame spreading around him in a circle.

I must not have realized how much energy I used because before he even stalked towards me my legs were collapsing under me. I weakly pushed a flame toward the general stalking towards me, blocking my body in front of the duo behind me.

He ignored my weak attempt to protect them and grabbed me by the throat. I scratched at his hands while he lifted me into the air, my windpipes struggling to take in air.

"You think she can save you?!" I gasped in pain when my body slammed into the ground, fighting to gather my breath as my body blended into the dirt. My body igniting with shock at the sudden drop.

"She is nothing. Anyone who associates with her will die." From the corner of my vision, I watched him reach out towards the boy, his stance flowing backward in a sign of pre-bending. Before I could do anything a voice broke through the crowd.

"Stand down general." Jungkook appeared in the center of the ring, his hand enclosed around the wrist of the general while the boy and his mother cowered behind him. Sobs escaping their mouths.

"Major Jeon-" The general fell into a low bow.

"Sir these slaves were found running from the fire nation, punishable by execution under the fire nat-"

"I've pardoned them." I would have had a similar reaction to the general if I was able to fully move. His head whipping up and his brows furrowing in confusion.

"But-"

"I am taking the rebel to fire lord Ozai, he will need witnesses and requests to speak to the slaves themselves."

"Sir-"

"Are you defying a direct order from the fire lord?" Jungkook maintained a calm composure, an annoyed scowl on his face while the general groveled on the ground at his feet.

"Of course not sir-"

"Leave, all of you!" Jungkook shouted unemotionally to the crowd who filed out as soon as the command left his mouth, the general following after them.

Jungkook walked over to me, kneeling down and placing one of my arms over his shoulders.

"You're an idiot." He mumbled while I leaned on him for support,

"look whos talking Mr. 'I won't stop them if a guard tries to kill you'." The mother shook violently with tears as we approached them, the boy looking at us in confusion as he clutched his monkey.

"We aren't taking you to the fire nation," I spoke with earnest, Jungkook shooting me a look that I ignored.

"But you do need to leave, get as far away as you can, and don't stop until you're in Ba Sing Se." The mother fell into my arms, a difficult position considering I was still leaning on Jungkook, 'thank you's' spewing from her mouth and a combination of snot and tears wetting my shirt. When she had collected herself the little boy stepped forward, and for a moment I thought he was going to hug me. But his little arms wrapped around Jungkooks leg, a smile on his face as he peered up at him, "thank you for saving mommy, monkey and me." He snuggled his face into Jungkooks leg and I analyzed Jungkook's reaction, watching his shoulders slump and his eyes fall before he gently placed a hand on the boy's head full of blonde hair.

Once the two had successfully left, Jungkook silently forced me on his back, leading us down a random trail through the woods.

"What are you doing?" I asked. He didn't respond and only started to walk faster.

"Jungkook where are you going?"

"Shut up."

Jungkook walked ahead another mile or so before he finally placed me down in a clearing, the sun starting to set behind us.

"Jungkook?"

"Do you ever shut up?" He said as he started a fire, sitting down directly in front of me and placing my ankle onto his lap. He handed me a stick and gently prodded my mouth open, his thumb tracing the outline of my bottom lip. "Bite down on this."

I followed as he said until a strangled scream escaped my throat, my back flinging backward as Jungkook suddenly snapped my ankle back into place.

"Fuck you, Jeon!" I heaved out, crawling onto my knees and glaring up at him.

"I just saved your life." He fired back, eyes raging,

"You didn't save my life you saved yours! If I died there then you wouldn't get to bring your prize back to daddy Ozai!"

"Shut up!"

I rolled out of the way as a red and orange flame shot towards me, and without thinking I flung my body at Jungkook, the two of us falling to the ground. I threw a series of punches at him, most of them hitting his chest and one hitting him square in the jaw. Jungkook grabbed at my waist and flipped us, his fingers grabbing my wrist and pinning them against the ground.

Our chests rose and fell with exhaustion and Jungkooks face suddenly fell into the crook of my neck, his grip still strong on my wrists.

"What happened to you? You used to be the best major in the fire kingdom?" He spoke softly while my brain went haywire. My past in the fire nation was dark, I did things for them I regret. Bad things I believed to be good, but even when I started to suspect they were bad, I still did them. I used to be the best, yes, at killing people, hunting people down.

"Look at my stomach." Jungkook looked at me wide-eyed as if asking for confirmation before letting go of my hands. Peeling away the fabric against my torso only to suddenly pull it down.

"Who did that to you?"

My fingers softly played with the fabric,

"Ozai. I publicly disobeyed his orders, he wanted me to teach his son a lesson. Beat him up. I couldn't. So he burned me." I lifted the fabric over my head, Jungkook harshly looking away from me.

"Jungkook. Look at me." Jungkook slowly took me in, nothing but a bra, pants, and a scolding burn against the skin of my torso.

"The fire nation kills innocents, and he's gonna kill you too if that means he gets his way."

Jungkook looked at me with unshed tears in his eyes,

"It's all I've ever known."

"I know." My answer was automatic because I've been in Jungkook's shoes. Faced the issues and controversy in my own mind, but I no longer saw it as betraying my own nation but helping save it.

"C'mere." He mumbled, pulling me into his lap. The soft pads of his fingers tracing the outline of my scar that glowed by the light of the fire.

His hands caressed the sides of my ribs leaving ripples of touch in his wake. His eyes straying upwards to my eyes, big brown doe eyes locking onto mine as if I was the key to all of his issues. All of his pain.

"Let me touch you." Jungkook was straightforward in life, and I don't know why his words shocked me so much, but they did. The want pouring from his eyes and the warmth emitting from his body clouded my brain, clouded my mind until I whispered,

"Okay."

Jungkook leaned forward, his mouth ghosting over mine before he leaned in, connecting our plump lips to one another. Melding our moves in a dance of fire and passion. My hands traveled up towards his head, curling my fingertips around his dark hair and pulling when he knawed against my bottom lip.

He groaned under my ministrations and gave me a half-lidded look,

his hands picking at the fabric of my bra.

Getting the message I grabbed at the fabric and pulled it overhead, Jungkooks eyes widening at my breasts that bounced with the freedom. His hands traced upwards until his thumbs toyed with my nipples. A hiss passing through my lips while a smirk spread on his face.

"Look at you little rebel, getting all red and responsive under me. I'm gonna make you feel so good." He mumbled just before taking the bud in his mouth, sucking and grazing it with his teeth.

"Kook" I muttered while I watched him switch breasts, my legs twitching at the sight of him looking up at me with my nipple in his mouth.

"Take your shirt off." Jungkook gave me a wink at my command and reached for the back of his shirt, pulling it up and over his shoulders.

"Yes, commander." I paid little attention to his joke, my eyes tracing the ridges and outlines of his stomach. Admired his toned section as well as the beautiful tummy fat that had started to form.

"I want to make you scream, little rebel." His fingers pushed down at the pants that stuck to my skin and he gently pushed me down on the ground, the dirt scratching against my bareback.

"I want to see this beautiful little pussy."

Self-consciousness suddenly passed through my body in waves and my legs crossed at the sudden chill of the night air. A red flush spreading over my face as memories of the girls Jungkook attracted through his time as a general. When we were both at the fire nation Jungkook was known for getting the prettiest girls, fucking the best girls. Was I a good fuck?

"Hey." As if Jungkook could sense my stress his hands cupped at my cheeks, his eyes locked onto mine.

"You're beautiful."

The redness of my checks only seemed to darken, and I twisted my head to the side so he wouldn't get the satisfaction of looking at me.

"Shut up and make me feel good."

I didn't hear a response from Jungkook but I felt his response. His fingers trailing down to between my legs. His other hand spreading my legs apart while he laid himself down on his stomach, fingers gently spreading my folds apart in front of him.

"So pretty." He mumbled above the ringing and embarrassment in my ears.

"Jungkoo-ok." I half groaned half moaned while he inserted his middle finger into my cunt, adding his ring finger with the help of my wetness forming around his fingers.

"You're so wet for me rebel." A wet feeling spread from my inner thigh to the edge of my folds, my body jerked at the feeling.

His fingers spread in v like motion and a broken sob escaped my mouth, an annoyed yell following when he pulled his fingers out.

"Jungk-!" I gasped as he dragged me closer to his mouth, his fingers wrapping around my hips and a quick slob of spit falling onto my clit.

"I can't wait to taste you rebel, are you gonna cum on my mouth? You better." His thumb rolled around the bud of my clit, the moisture of his spit allowing his thumb to roll in all directions.

And then his mouth was on me. His tongue licking a long strip up my pussy, encircling my folds and sticking it in my hole as if it was his fingers. My back arched under his ministrations and tears formed in the corner of my eyes,

"cum baby" Jungkook muttered against my pussy, wiggling his lips further into my cunt, glistening juices covering his lips and dripping onto his nose.

"I'm so close," I mumbled out incoherently while Jungkook added a ring finger, his mouth engulfing my bud into his mouth and sucking harshly.

My mouth fell open and my legs shock while Jungkook coerced my orgasm, my head falling back onto the ground and a broken moan responding to the juices that flew through my body. My hips grinded upwards before falling to the ground, twitching in the aftermath of my orgasm.

"I was right. You taste like heaven little rebel." Jungkook wiped at his glistening mouth and my belly couldn't help but do flips at the sight, energy shooting down to my core despite the exertion I had just been through.

"Take your pants off Kook." Jungkook smirked at me and raised an eyebrow, "I'd rather have you take them off." I glared at him but he still listened, but before we could do anything I suddenly winced at the soreness of my back. I couldn't stay like this for another round.

I flipped myself over Jungkook, his eyes widening in surprise as we switched positions.

"That's better."

My eyes traveled downwards to Jungkooks dick. It was long and curved, the girth enough for my hand to fit around it, enough to fill me up and give me relief.

I threw a leg over his hip and pumped his length twice, watching his eyes clench, and his tongue pokes against the inside of his cheek.

"As much as I'd love to get a handjob right now, I really want you to sit on my dick."

I took Jungkook advice to heart, rubbing myself against his head and finally sinking down on his dick. A moan escaping the two of us as I bottomed out on his lap.

"Fuck you're so full."

I clenched harshly against him, the new feeling of being filled sending my senses into overdrive as they tried to accommodate to him inside me.

"Fuck." Jungkook whined, his head falling backward,

"if you do that again I'm gonna nut inside you." I almost chuckled at his statement but my body was working before my brain could process, my hips lifting before pushing back down. A constant flow starting while Jungkooks hands gripped at my waist, helping me bounce against him.

"Fuck Jungkook, why do you have to be such a fucking idiot." I breathed out in between moans.

"Do we really have to do this now?" He spoke in gasps.

"Maybe if you came with me..." Jungkook thrust upwards and my hands shot to his chest to sturdy me.

"I don't want you to die (y/n)" he growled and thrust upwards once more before I caught my bearing, flipping my hair to my right shoulder and rolling my hips against his while he stuttered.

"Fuck I'm cuming." Jungkooks cum shot through me in waves, squirting into my body, just as he suddenly sat up and rubbed his thumb against my clit in harsh circles.

I grabbed at his wrist to anchor me while I sobbed at the onslaught of pleasure, my own orgasm shortly following while I collapsed onto him.

After a solid minute of the two of us catching our breath, we rolled onto the ground, our chests falling and rising in sync.

"Go rogue with me," I whispered, afraid of his reaction while his eyes downcast.

"I can't, we still have to go back. I'll help you though, I'll tell Ozai you should be commissioned back into a position of power. You can be a general again."

Hurt washed through me in waves. Hurt at how naive Jungkook is, and how conditioned he had been by the fire nation, he was the golden boy of the fire lord. How could I think he would change for me?

"I'm sorry Jungkook."

"For what?" The rock in my hand slammed against the side of his head. Hard enough for his eyes to fall shut and for him to have a horrible headache in the morning, but not hard enough for him to die.

I dressed quickly, sending Jungkook one last look before racing into the forest. I knew this wouldn't be the last time I would see him, I just hopped one day he would change, for his sake and mine.

"See you later Jungkook."

Taglist: @rebeccawoodrow @gee-nee @koochiekoo

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ladyideal · 3 years

Text

Ficmas~ Day 18

Pairing: Eomer x Gender Neutral!Reader

Word Count: 1042

Warnings: religious tone, mention of Canon violence.

Summary: You, Eomer, Eowyn, and Faramir come together to celebrate (C)hanuk(k)ah.

Requested By: @groovyfluxie

A/N: I hope I did this justice. But if anyone wants to correct me on anything, please throw me a message and I'll fix it.

"Say it slowly again, my love."

You giggled. Teaching Hebrew words to Eomer was becoming a challenge. Sometimes he'd get close, but most of the time his pronunciation was nowhere close. Yet it warmed your heart that the prince would try to learn your religion.

For that, you were grateful.

"Tznuit," You tried once more, fighting the grin off your face as you tried not to laugh out loud. The sun had set over the horizon, and Eomer headed inside after a day of training his men.

He shook his head. "Elvish seems nothing compared to that beautiful language. Forgive me my love, but I'll keep on learning. I am nowhere near modest though."

"Will Eowyn join us?"

"Unfortunately not, Faramir and her have been joined at the hip ever since they've been wed," He shook his head. "She sent gifts in advance for tonight."

You brightened up at the thought. Eowyn always sent thoughtful gifts from jams to tunics. "I'll thank her on the next package over to Gondor."

Of course, it'd been a little more than a year since the Battle of the Pelennor Fields that made your husband King of Rohan. King Theoden passed on the fields, and without an heir, the crown changed to your then fiancé. Within a year, he was crowned King, you married him, and ruled by his side.

Eowyn also married Faramir, the last of the family that stood as the Steward of Gondor. The dead were mourned, the injured were treated, and lives were slowly rebuilt back to its former glory.

Suddenly, a Rohirrim rushed into the hall, breathless as he slid in front of Eomer and you, and bowed. "My Lord, Lady Eowyn and Captain of Gondor have arrived."

Sharing a giddy grin, you bounded out and met Eowyn with a bear hug. "Eowyn!"

"Y/N! Chag urim sameach!" (Happy Festival of Lights.)

You squealed in delight. "You actually learned how to say it! But I thought you weren't coming. Eomer said-."

"Eomer?" She laughed, letting you go and shaking her head. "No, no. Brother wanted it to be a surprise. I wanted to let the gifts arrive early or I would forget to bring them along the trip. I thought it would be nice to learn a little Hebrew, even Faramir knows."

“Hanukkah sameach!” Your brother in law greeted. (Happy Hanukkah.)

Both Eomer and Faramir nodded at one another, hugging each other with a one armed hug.

"We're not late are we?" She peered back at you with a frown. "I told Faramir here to leave earlier."

"No, no," You stepped back to Eomer's side. "Was just about to start actually, so you came just in time."

"Let us change out of our travel cloaks and we'll join you."

Placing the last candle onto the menorah, you took a deep breath.

"Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, asher kid’shanu b’mitzvotav v’tsivanu l’hadlik ner shel Hanukkah," You started.

(Praised are You,

Our God, Ruler of the universe, Who made us holy through Your commandments and commanded us to kindle the Hanukkah lights.)

"Baruch atah, Adonai Eloheinu, Melech haolam, she-asah nisim la’avoteinu bayamim hahem bazman hazeh."

(Praised are You,

Our God, Ruler of the universe, Who performed wondrous deeds for our ancestors in those ancient days at this season.)

With the shammash in one hand, you lit the last remaining unlit candle. Watching as the candle lit up, you smiled as you replaced the ninth one and turned to your small, but happy family.

"I'm starving, anyone ready for dinner?" You grinned, thankful that everyone you loved was alive and well. King Theoden's death was a hard hit on Eomer and Eowyn, and you understood their grief.

It took a moment for them to shake out of their own stupor. Faramir lost his older brother Boromir to the orcs, and his father on the eve of the battle. Much like your husband, your now sister in law had her own fair share of grief in pain.

But still thankful for the men that died serving for King, country, and Middle Earth.

"Before I forget, I brought your favorite jelly donuts too." Eowyn spoke, smirking as your eyes widened.

"You made sufganiyot?! You're the best Eowyn."

"I know I am," She laughed.

Soon, plates upon plates of latkes, a large pot of brisket stew, and a few dishes of savory kugel were placed on the table. Already you had sneaked in a jelly donut and nearly moaned out loud on how good it tasted. If it wasn't for your husband to literally toll you away from the dessert, you wouldn't have enough room for dinner.

The challah and pretzels were freshly baked. Even gelfite fish and tzimmes made a show this year, courtesy of Eowyn again.

"Thank you for coming," You spoke gratefully. "Edoras can be painfully silent without you. When your brother gets busy during the day, I have learned to find a hobby of my own or go out for some gardening."

"Oh don't I know it, Y/N," She teased back, helping herself to another portion of the potato latkes. "Eomer won't ever admit it, but-."

"Eowyn," Your husband cut in, a warning tone present in his voice.

"Oh come on, tell me. If he's already trying to stop you from telling a secret, I would love to know." You grinned, scooching your chair closer to hers.

"Only if I win the dreidel this year. I don't kiss and tell," She grinned wickedly.

"You're lucky I managed to make some gelts this year, nearly burned down the kitchen when the cooks messed up the first batch," You paused. "You're on."

"I have a little dreidel. I made it out of clay.

And when it's dry and ready, then dreidel I shall play.

Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, I made it out of clay.

Oh dreidel, dreidel, dreidel, then dreidel I shall play."

As Eowyn sang the dreidel song, you leaned on Eomer's shoulder with a content smile. It had been a busy day filled with cooking and baking, but everything was all worth it to have the Great Hall filled with warmth and laughter.

"Y/N?"

"Hm?" You answered.

"An L’Dodi V’Dodi Li. Chag Sameach, Y/N.” (I Am My Beloved’s And My Beloved Is Mine. Happy holidays.)

Eats Everything: @asraime @aspiring-ginger @bluesclues-1234 @mournthewicked @keijibum @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @also-fangirlinsweden @fandom-imagination-ss @mysoulshideaway @mayday1284 @sayanythingcreations @lykxzandlove @supergeekfangirl @your-sparklywinnercollection

Tolkien: @im-a-muggleborn @fxngsfogxarty

Urban: @fandomsfeelsandfamily @justa-traaash @yueci

#eomer x reader #eomer #eomer fanfiction #x reader #x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #gender neutral #hanukah #hanukkah #chanukah #lotr reader insert #lord of the rings #31 days of ficmas #ficmas2020 #deb writes

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huntress1024 · 4 years

Text

Crashing the Masquerade: (Tyril x MC)

Rating: PG-13

Word Count: 2k

Summary: This is my first ever fanfic, and it’s just how I imagined the Blades gang getting ready for the masquerade! I love the dynamic of their group!! 😊 lemme know if you want to be tagged!

Taglist: @queerbrujas

Nia chatters excitedly as Adrina braids her hair, “Just imagine! The music, the lights, the magic!” She bounces up and down at the vanity and Adrina almost pokes her with a pearl hair pin as a result.

Imtura, already in her elegant forest green and gold ensemble, scowls from the window seat. “You do realize we’re on a mission tonight, right Nia? We can’t exactly dance the night away while simultaneously waiting for a murderer to strike.”

I expect Nia to blush in her typical fashion, but I am absolutely surprised when she turns in her seat to grin at Imtura. “You look too lovely to be so cross tonight, Immy. Has it crossed your mind that we can do both?”

Our orc companion gapes, before quickly recovering and muttering under her breath, “I am going to kill Mal.” She aggressively tugs at the dress’s waistline for the third time in five minutes.

I laugh and motion for her to stand and turn around. “You have to admit, it’s a cute nickname. And Mal says it with love.” My long, nimble fingers make quick work of the gold lacings at her lower back, loosening them ever so slightly. “Better?”

She breathes a huge sigh of relief. “Much.” With a wicked glint in her eyes, she gives me a pat on the back that leaves me winded from her orc strength. “Thanks, Zammy.”

Nia clamps a hand over her mouth, but a giggle escapes anyway. I roll my eyes at the joke. “That will never catch on.”

“I don’t know, I think it’s rather catchy.” Mal waltzes in the room unannounced, Threep perched comfortably on his shoulder.

He wears a dusty charcoal jacket with coattails, gold plating running along the shoulders, arms, and belt area. A marble mask covers half of his face, adorned with a gold wing. The look is distinctly Mal, bold and daring, but refined and noble as well. He winks at me, catching my eye. “Well? Do I pass for a snooty noble?”

I laugh, nodding appreciatively at his look. “I don’t think snooty is in your genes, but yes, you look great. Threep, did you help him with this?”

The nesper, smug as ever, flaps his wings in a haughty manner as he gives Mal a once-over. “Indeed. Perhaps you will learn to respect my wisdom, Valori.”

Mal scoffs, dropping Threep in Imtura’s arms. “That’ll be the day. Can’t believe I’m saying this, but I’m gonna go check on elf boy.”

Usually I would laugh at the joke, but instead my heart clenches, thinking of the current state Tyril must be in. “Has anyone been able to talk to him yet?” Mal, Nia, Imtura, and Threep sadly shake their heads, and I sigh in disappointment. On our party’s trek back from the catacombs, I had tried to come up with something to say, but what could possibly have been said to erase the agony he was feeling? I opted for silence instead, staying by his side the whole time. He had brushed his fingers against mine before he headed to his quarters to prepare for the masquerade, and I have not seen or heard from him since.

Mal gives me a dry smile, trying to cheer me up. “I’ll just tease him about whatever the hell he’s wearing. His pompous, stick-in-the-mud attitude that we all know, and love will come back, trust me.” He snatches an apple from the bowl on the vanity before leaving the room. I turn away from Threep’s praise of Imtura’s dress and her mumbled retorts to join Nia and Adrina at the vanity as the Lady of House Starfury recounts stories from previous masquerades. “Last year, the gorgeous Lord of House Moonfall asked me to dance. Three times.”

Nia gasps, delighted. “Really? What was he like?”

Adrina chuckles, smiling at the faraway memory. “Oh, we hardly talked. I was so nervous to be in his presence that I couldn’t seem to get two words out. And he was such an excellent dancer, I did not want to say anything that would ruin the moment. I would have danced with him all night if I could, but Tyril scolded me, telling me it was ‘improper’ to not switch partners after an extended period of time.”

“Well, hopefully he’ll be singing a different tune after tonight,” I say, smirking. “I don’t intend to let go of him.”

Adrina tips her head back, cackling. “Oh, that will be a sight to see. Tyril is horribly proper when it comes to public appearances, but if anyone can help him loosen up, it’s you Zamira.” She places the final pin in Nia’s fiery braid, then offers her a hand to help her rise from the chair. Nia squeals at the sight of herself, twirling and letting the voluminous skirt fly around her. “I look like a princessss!!” She exclaims, dancing a little jig that has Adrina and me laughing.

“You look stunning, Nia.” The dress features various shades of blue, from sheer mint long sleeves to a cerulean corset, and indigo and navy skirts that give a starry twinkle when she moves. Embroidered flowers and vines grow along the dress, and her blue and gold mask compliments her lovely golden-brown skin. “Lords won’t be able to take their eyes off of you!”

She blushes delicately, giving me a bashful smile. “I do not know about that, but I’m flattered all the same.” Her meek mood dissipates as she shoots me a mischievous grin that is surprisingly more Mal Valori than Nia Ellarious. Perhaps he is finally corrupting her, I muse before Nia interrupts my thoughts. “Besides, you and I both know there is one lord who will be positively indisposed tonight when he sees a certain lady.”

Now I’m the one who is blushing, but I refuse to let a bloody priestess know she got the better of me. I feel my face trying to suppress the pleased beam that threatens to take over, but it’s no use as I reply, “Hmm. I don’t know who you’re referring to, but I’ll take the compliment nonetheless.”

“No one will be ogling you tonight if you go in that horrid potato sack of a dress,” Threep says matter-of-factly, sniffing the intimidating golden horns from the shoulders of Imtura’s dress. “Just out of curiosity, are these tipped with poison? It would make for an excellent weapon against Kaya tonight.”

Imtura gapes, outraged. “That was an option? Why didn’t anyone tell me?!”

“Can we come back to the ‘potato sack’ comment?” I snap, glaring at Threep. “Tell me, Oh Wise One, whatever shall I wear to satisfy you?”

Completely oblivious to the sarcasm, he straightens his posture in Imtura’s arms, studies me with that wide and unblinking stare of his, and definitively replies, “Butterflies.”

Okay, I was not expecting that. “Um, is that supposed to be a color?” I ask lamely.

“No, you simpleton. Butterflies signify transformation, renewal, light. For you, Zamira, I find it a very fitting concept.” Adrina immediately leaves the room, shooting me an excited smile over her shoulder while doing so.

“It’s true!” Nia chimes in encouragingly, taking my rough hands into her soft ones. “You’ve come such a long way from the girl I met in Riverbend who just wanted to escape and go on an adventure.”

I blush at her words and give her a playful push. “You’ve come a long way too, Priestess. I wouldn’t even know how to use my Light if it weren’t for you. Scholar Vash would be proud.” Her eyes brim with tears at my words, and I give her a hug, brief but strong. A light breeze brushes my skin, and I turn to see Adrina proudly holding a dress to me, and my heart stops at the sight. “Oh, Adrina…you shouldn’t have.”

She shakes her head, pushing the dress towards me. “Nonsense. You have done so much for my brother in these past few months, and I cannot properly express my gratitude for it, but this will have to do for now.”

If not for the excitement already bubbling inside of me, the hopeful spark in her eyes would have done me in. I gently take the dress from her hands, nodding in thanks, and duck behind the changing screen. The dress is easy to put on, and I am pleasantly surprised by how light and airy it feels against my skin. I step out shyly from behind the screen, and Nia, Adrina, Imtura, even Threep gasp at the sight of me.

The dress is composed of a faint sky-blue tulle fabric, the color strongest at the bodice and slowly fading to a white with subtle traces of lavender and pink when the light catches it so. It is sleeveless, but on each shoulder a flower in the very same shade as the lavender accents pin tulle identical to the color of the dress so that it flows behind me like a cape. True to Threep’s word, lavender and cerulean butterflies grace the waistline and front of the dress. I feel ethereal in this dress with the colors of a dawn sky, a delightful contrast to my dark skin, and I grin at Adrina, hoping it is enough to convey how much I love it. It works, for she smiles back and makes quick work of my white hair to pin it into a regal low bun, and adds the finishing touch to the ensemble: a lace silver mask inset with crystals that spans across my face and ends just at my nose.

Imtura breaks the silence first, lips curling in mischief. “I’m no fashion expert, but ladies…I’d say we’re ready to piss off some pretentious elves!” She lets out a cheer, passing Threep to Adrina before charging from the room, not even checking to see if Nia and I follow before she leaps onto the crumbling banister and speeds downward to the once grand foyer. I give Nia a shrug before linking my arm with hers, ad we say a quick farewell to Adrina and Threep before descending the staircase to join Imtura and, not originally noticing him from his veiled position in the shadows until we hear the unmistakable scolding voice belonging to no other, Tyril.

“While I am aware of your opinion towards my kind, I implore you to behave in a manner tonight that will not add to their suspicion of us. We will need as few eyes on us as possible if we are going to succeed in obtaining the Scepter.”

“You mean fewer eyes than the ones openly judging you for showing your face around here and bringing the riff raff into Undermount’s pearly gates? Gee, Tyril, you always ask so little of us, somewhat of a challenge would be appreciated,” Imtura snaps, words dripping in sarcasm from her fangs.

Tyril sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose before continuing, “Please. Just try. After tonight, you can drop kick as many of my people as you would like, but tonight, do try to be civil.”

“I think you mean our people,” I say teasingly, trying to lighten the mood once Nia and I have reached the bottom step. Tyril, completely unaware of our descent during his tense exchange with Imtura, snaps to attention and turns to greet us, lips pressed in a tense line before they part in a mesmerized “Oh” at the sight of me. Normally I would glow with pride under his stare, but I’m too busy trying to keep my own mouth from dropping in kind as I take in his appearance.

The outfit bears similarities in style to his everyday armor on our journey, but the colors are pure Starfury. He poses a striking figure in the royal blue and silver armor that extends from his chest to his abdomen, a magnificent steel belt with a royal blue gemstone in the center to accent it all. His shoulders and forearms are adorned in imposing armor the color of an angry sea, and a stormy grey cape clasped by a brooch across his chest. His mask is pure silver encrusted with sapphires and crystals, only accentuating his piercing blue eyes even more. Lord Starfury indeed. It wasn’t hard to imagine him hosting parties and being a prominent political figure in the Undermount hierarchy, not in this outfit where he was the embodiment of a lightning storm.

In a surprise reversal of roles, I am the one at a loss for words, and he is reveling in the idea. My blood rushes through my body as he bows before me, taking my hand and kissing it with such reverence and admiration before meeting my eyes and pulling his lips away, murmuring “My lady” against my skin in a manner that has me blushing furiously. I move to stand beside him, intertwining my fingers with his, grateful for his presence and leadership, despite everything he must be feeling after the catacombs. I squeeze his hand, hoping to express that and more to him, and when he squeezes back, I know he understands.

“Let’s get this show on the road,” Mal calls as he saunters down the staircase, smirking at the sight of us all waiting for him.

“I wouldn’t have pegged you for the dramatic entrance type,” Imtura crows, sticking a foot out in an attempt to trip him as he steps down from the last one, which he deftly hops over.

“What can I say? I’m an insufferable ass.” He offers his left arm for Nia, and his right one for Imtura. “Hope you ladies can tolerate me as escort for tonight.”

Nia curls her fingers around his arm, giggling. “Of course, Mal the Magnificent.”

The rogue turns to me and Tyril with a triumphant glint in his eyes. “See? It was only a matter of time before it caught on!”

In typical Tyril fashion, my elven escort gives an annoyed humph. “I’d sooner be corrupted by the Shadow Court than call you that.”

“Ah. I see even a party can’t loosen up Tyril the Tyrant.”

Even hidden by the mask, I can see Tyril’s sculpted eyebrows rising in horror as he splutters, “Wha—How dare yo—”

Nia, ever the peacekeeper, gracefully interjects “Oh, look, there’s the carriage!” And with that, our party of five sets off into the night, ready to crash a ball.

#blades of light and shadow #blades of light and shadow fanfic #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #mal volari #nia ellarious #imtura tal kaelen #choices fanfic #playchoices

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wild-houseplant · 2 years

Text

WIP Wednesday

Praise the lord and pass the potatoes, my punctuality was just a phase. Getting back to my dysfunctional schedule is like coming home! ^_^

With this in mind, the snippet I offer is... hmm. I don’t want to say NSFW because I don’t think it is. But for context: that Ser Landry guy does the “I demand satisfaction” line to Rhodri, who recently became aware of Zevran’s flirtations, and she assumes Ser Landry means something rather unsalubrious. She tears him a new cloaca. I’ll stick it under the cut to be on the safe side.

Thanks heaps for the tag @heniareth and @siriskulksnerding for the tags and for showing off your gorgeous works :D :D I’d like to tag you back in anticipation for the Wednesday that’s almost come around again and tag @icylook @strixgirl (if ya don’t mind?) and @anna-the-great-and-terrible -- no pressure, I know these are busy times. Just if you fancy it! :D

The knight squinted at the Warden.

“You were at Ostagar," he murmured. "You're Duncan’s apprentice.”

She nodded. “That’s me, yes. How do you do? I am Sev–”

“You killed my friend and good King Cailan!” the man snarled, cutting her off mid-sentence. “I demand satisfaction, ser!”

Zevran’s daggers were already drawn before Rhodri’s mouth could finish falling open. After a moment of stunned silence had passed, the scarlet-faced Warden drew herself up to her full height.

“HOW RUDE,” she shouted at the man. “Not a shred of modesty to you! Coming up to me in the middle of the marketplace to proposition– no, demand that I have sex with you!”

Rhodri stomped her foot, and as the astonished man started spluttering out a protest, she yelled over the top of him.

“You people think Tevinters will sleep with anyone, I suppose! Well, you won’t know any part of this Tevinter’s body except the back of her hand! Upon my word, if I knew your family I would go to their house this instant to tell them what a lecherous beast they’ve let loose among civil society!”

With half the market downing bags and tools to watch the spectacle, the blockaded other half formed a protesting glut at the edges of the standstill. The town guard, who had been observing their exchange from her station by the Alienage gate, trudged over now. She tsked and eyed the Warden and the man with inured disinterest.

“Do you really need to air your grievances in the middle of the market square like this?” the guard asked tiredly. “It’s causing a pile-up.”

“There is a need if one is going about one’s business only to have a filthy swine catcall them!” Rhodri asserted, pointing at the knight.

“I challenged her to a DUEL,” the accused roared, his face now brick-red. Whether it was from embarrassment or the strain of the shouting was rather less clear.

“INDEED!” she bawled back. “WITH THAT SWORD YOU KEEP IN YOUR SMALLCLOTHES, IS IT? Come near me or my people again and I’ll send you home to your mother with your 'sword' in a box!”

With a loud harrumph, she turned to the party.

“We should keep moving, my friends,” she said calmly. “There’s much to do before the sun sets, and if this is what Denerim is like during the day, I shudder to picture it after nightfall.”

Zevran caught the apoplectic knight’s eye and smirked, twirling his blades before re-sheathing them.

#WIP Wednesday #on a sunday hallellujah we're back in business folks!#Rhodri absolutely does mutter a tirade of outraged Tevene to herself after this #Is she blushing because of offended modesty or because she's being (apparently) hit on in front of her crush?#The answer is both. Very much.#Cue immense smugness from Zevran for a number of reasons #Rhodri Amell #Dragon Age: Origins

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dragonanddirewolf · 5 years

Text

The Ice King and Dragon Queen

Once upon a time in the far North, where the snow never stops falling and all buildings are clad in ice, sat a man in a great hall feasting with his men. The man had raven hair and grave eyes, and he sat at the main table although he was no lord, for he was named King by the men before him. The man’s name was Jon, and he was troubled.

Winter had arrived at Winterfell, but the North knew winter well, hence it was not the season darkening his mind. The King had heard tales about dead men rising from the ice, and though no man could yet prove to have seen these creatures, the history books spoke of such occurrences.

Jon was a fighter with a gleaming sword named Longclaw, and his men too came from brave houses, but according to his maester none of this would matter.

Maester Aemon told him: “My King, these are dark times, and they grow darker by the day. If we are to see the sun shine once again, we must defeat the evil from beyond the Wall.”

“What can defeat what not even death could claim?” Jon asked.

Aemon replied: “Only rain quenches a drought. Only love overcomes hate. Only fire will melt the ice.”

“Though wood is scarce, we have fire,” Jon spoke. This was true; alongside every hall in Winterfell, and there were more of these than can be counted by a common man, flickered a torch. In every chamber a fireplace was ablaze. Even in the courtyard a great fire roared, warming those unable to attend the meal inside.

“Common fire will not kill the dead,” spoke the maester. “Only flames breathed by a dragon can give these men peace.”

“There are only three dragons in the Seven Kingdoms,” spoke Jon, “and they are guarded by their Queen. But it shall be so; I will set out first thing tomorrow.”

“I will gift you this for your journey,” Aemon said as he presented the King with a bag. It was a knapsack of worn leather with a rusty clasp keeping it shut. “This will grant you four things you need for your travels. What these things are, I do not know. Whenever you are in need, reach into the bag, and you shall find your way forward. But use it with care - for only four gifts shall emerge, then no more.”

The King thanked the maester for his kindness and then set off to bed. He was still troubled as the night carried on, but with the knapsack at his side, he felt a little more at peace.

At the break of dawn, the King set out on his journey. To avoid attracting attention, he kept his company small; to his right rode his Hand Ser Davos, a man whose guidance he knew to be fair, and on his left trudged his trusted direwolf Ghost, a large white beast with eyes as red as blood.

For the first seven days they travelled at sunrise and settled at sunset, finding shelter at inns along the way. In these lands, the King was well known and liked by the people, so food was served aplenty and the bed always free of charge. In the evenings, as the townspeople gathered around their table, the King spoke to the worried folk, promising them peace and prosperity. He assured them he was seeking to fight their cause down South, and no man questioned his words. Wherever they went, they were met with smiles, and the bards sung songs of praise:

The King, His Grace Born from Ice In him we Trust The North shall Rise

The King, His Grace Fighting the Fight Akin the Gods He leads us Right

For the following seven days, the daylight hours seemed to stretch further into the evenings, and ice started melting off the roads. Hardened weirwood trees were replaced by hundreds of rivers, fresh grasslands and fields of corn and barley. Instead of feasting on blood sausages and potatoes, the King and Ser Davos were served fish and fresh vegetables. However much they likened the change to their meals, they also sensed a change to the folk surrounding them. The King’s face was known, but his powers did not reach into the riverlands, and here the people were wary. In the evenings, no one gathered by their table, and the bards sung songs of caution:

Kings and Queens Who can Recall Which one will Rise Which one will Fall

Kings and Queens Are sure to Battle And smallfolk will Fall Akin to Cattle

Seven more days followed of rivers and roads leading through thick woodlands. At Ser Davos’ advice, they spent that night sleeping under the stars. He said:

“In the North, you are a hero. But the further South we travel, the less power your title of King carries. You have no royal blood to speak of, and no family name attached to your claim. Many here do not know of your face.”

“This is true,” agreed Jon.

“I suggest we hold our coin. Men of the North are not known for their riches. To pay our way as we have before would arise suspicion.”

“Yet we must find a way to get presented to the Queen,” Jon spoke. “I have heard she is kind, but this does not mean she is not cautious. Why should she welcome a stranger?”

“To present yourself as King could cause undue trouble,” Ser Davos warned.

For days, the King’s mind had found peace in the surroundings, but at his Hands’ words it was as if his troubles returned at once. As their bonfire died out, he buried himself in Ghost’s warm fur and answered the silent night: “Yet to deny my claim could mean the end of the North.”

As the sun rose, they were awakened by the sound of galloping horses. Light was still sparse in the thick of the wood, so the King and Ser Davos stepped into the bushes with their hands on the sword hilts in preparation for a fight.

At first, they could see nothing in between the trees, but then an entourage of men appeared. Each was clad in shiny armour decorated with fine stones, and each was atop a strong white stallion neighing with fury. As the men noticed the King and Ser Davos, they turned their horses and rode through the shrubs to surround them. Jon counted at least thirty men, but it was the man atop a black stallion who demanded their attention.

“If you planned an ambush, you should’ve brought more men,” he spoke, riding into the midst of the circle to stop before the King. “Who are you?”

Jon looked upon the man. He was dressed in hardened leather, his brown hair was roughly chopped at his nape, and his dark eyes were filled with suspicion. His hand rested at his belt where he held not a sword but an arakh. Jon wondered if he was from outside the Seven Kingdoms.

It was Ser Davos who spoke: “We wish no fight. We are mere travellers on our way to King’s Landing.”

“I have never met a traveller carrying fine steel,” spoke the man and pointed to Jon’s sword. “However I have met thieves who claimed such possessions to be their own. I shall only ask once more - who are you?”

Jon knew he could not fight off thirty men, yet he could not admit his kinghood either. As Ser Davos had warned, speaking of the North in these parts could cause trouble, and now they were looking at said problem.

As the man’s face grew impatient, Jon remembered maester Aemon’s words and he reached into the knapsack at his side. His fingertips closed around a small, cold form, and as he held out his hand, he presented the man with a ring.

The sunlight from above fell through the leaves, and it made the golden jewelry shine. It was a man’s ring, thick and smooth, and atop it carried the Targaryen sigil; a three headed dragon, the eyes decorated with rubies.

The man’s face turned pale. “Forgive me,” he spoke, “I did not know you represent the Queen. My name is Daario Naharis. How can I be of assistance?”

“We wish only to travel in peace,” Jon spoke.

“It shall be so. Please allow me to lead you through the woods, for there are many more men heading this way who will make the same mistake. Should hardship befall you, I would blame myself for not helping.”

“Forgive me, but I thought these woods were no longer well travelled,” spoke Ser Davos.

The man looked surprised. “Surely you jest, Ser? After the Queen’s announcement, men from all of the Seven Kingdoms and beyond now travel these roads daily. Albeit rough, it is the most direct route.”

“You too travel for this reason?” spoke Jon, choosing his words with care not to reveal that they did not know of any announcement.

“Why of course. A marriage to the Queen? What foolish man would not present himself at this opportunity!”

They bid their farewells at the edge of the woods, and the King and Ser Davos watched the men ride off into the distance.

“The Queen is to be married?” Ser Davos spoke once he was certain they were alone. “Why, this is the perfect guise to meet her.”

“I do not wish to play her for a fool,” Jon spoke.

“You would only do so if she wishes to take your hand,” Ser Davos said. “Besides, I am sure many men will approach King’s Landing at this proclamation. We shall hide ourselves amongst them.”

The King seemed less certain. “Truly? How many eligible lords reside in the Seven Kingdoms?” he asked.

Ser Davos smiled: “My King, who said anything about lords?”

The King had brought Ser Davos along for his guidance, and as always it turned out to be correct. As they rode toward King’s Landing, they passed many lords dressed in their finest garb preparing for an audience with the Queen. These lords were either atop the finest stallions known to man, or they rode inside carriages decorated with gold, and all of them were followed by their soldiers and liegemen. They made for an impressive sight.

However they met many more common men; burly smiths dressed in homemade armour, and farmers riding carriages filled with whatever little they owned, and peasants, hundreds of them, walking on their own two feet only, their belongings fitting into a single sack in their hand.

Though most had never seen the Queen, bards danced along the way, begging for coin as they sung songs of promise:

The Queen, the Queen With silver Hair Her rule is Strong Her skin is Fair

The Queen, the Queen A sight to See All dressed in White A bride to Be

“I worry she shall have no time to speak to me,” Jon said as they stopped for the night. Although they had decided to spend some coin on an inn, they had been unable to find anywhere with a bed still available. Even the stables were filled to the brim with men seeking shuteye on the hay, the horses left to fend for themselves in the summer night.

Instead, they camped by the roadside, watching as some men continued to walk through the falling darkness.

“You will have to compete for her attention,” Ser Davos agreed. “But I cannot imagine that she will see each and every one of these men.”

“I just don’t understand,” Jon spoke as he rested his head between his hands and glanced into the flames of the bonfire. “From the tales I’ve heard about the Queen, she was never described for her looks, only her power, her kindness, and her justice. Now, every bard in the kingdom sings of her silver hair and violet eyes.”

“Most men marry for beauty or wealth,” Ser Davos said. “It would make no sense for them to sing of her rule.”

“That is what I don’t get,” Jon spoke.

“Forgive me, my King, but I do not follow?”

The King furrowed his brows as he scowled at the fire in thought. “Why would a powerful Queen invite every man in the Seven Kingdoms to beg for her hand? It seems not a wise thing to do.”

“My King, you are without a bride yourself. Perhaps akin to you, she has not met someone for whom her heartbeat quickens. Perhaps she only wishes for someone to make her with child. It is not for us to worry about. Keep your eyes on our goal - we need her dragons.”

“Perhaps,” Jon nodded, but as Ser Davos drifted off to sleep, he remained awake. Once the flames died out, he glanced toward the starry sky instead, and wondered: “Why can I not rid myself of this feeling of unrest?”

Before they reached King’s Landing, chaos unfolded before them.

It was as if overnight a town had grown around the capital itself; a town of tents, and tables filled with merchants’ wares, joustings knights on the fields proving their valour, lords and ladies seeking to secure their offsprings’ claim through agreements with other houses, children playing on the road, peasants drinking in the ditch.

The King and Ser Davos rode slowly through the makeshift place, Ghost leading the way as his size forced the crowds to part before them. Wherever they looked, there was something anew to look upon, and this change from the cold, silent North almost overwhelmed Jon.

“My people are preparing to fight for their lives,” he spoke, “whilst here no one feels hardship.”

“I hear the Queen is supported by the Golden Company,” Ser Davos spoke. “No doubt it has impacted the coin coming through the city.”

“I suppose not every man could fit beyond the city walls,” Jon said, “so instead here they camp. I wish not to be one of them, I must hurry home as soon as I can.”

“Then think quickly,” Ser Davos said and gestured ahead.

The King brought his horse to a halt as they stood before the city walls. Here, the main entrance had been shut, and sellswords from the Golden Company stood aplenty blocking the little side entrance. Every man who approached them was questioned and, Jon noted after a few minutes of observation, more often than not turned away.

“There are seven gates,” Ser Davos reminded him. “My King, perhaps another will be less protected?”

The King looked around them. As far as his eyes could see, tents and market stalls stretched around the walls, and so did a thick line of sellswords. “I am afraid you might be in the wrong,” Jon spoke. “One gate is as good as the other. I must find my way in.”

“State your purpose!” a man roared.

Only then did Jon realise that he had been approached. Two sellswords clad in gold stood before him, their eyes barely visible through the narrow holes in their helmets.

“We wish to trade,” Ser Davos said.

“You can join the market behind you,” the men advised.

“Our wares are fine,” Ser Davos pressed on, “we only wish to speak to shopkeepers.”

“Force me not to repeat myself twice,” the men warned, their hands on the hilt of their swords.

Jon knew he had to interrupt. “Sers,” he spoke and got off his horse. Before the broad men, he appeared small; he was at least a head shorter than both, and his simple black clothing and cloak no match for their thick armour. Somehow, it seemed they realised this too as the men relaxed. For the moment, their hands left their swords. “Forgive us, we have travelled a long way. We need to go beyond the city walls. We have good coin.”

“Many have good coin. Did you not see the lords when you rode here?” one of the men asked. “The Queen has commanded that no more men are allowed into the city.”

“Surely this must be a mistake,” Ser Davos spoke. “Is she not seeking marriage?”

The men scowled, and they both knew at once that he had spoken in error. “Our orders are not to be questioned,” the sellswords spoke, drawing their swords. “If it is trouble you seek, we shall comply!”

In that moment, Jon’s fingertips brushed across the knapsack at his side, and he once more recalled maester Aemon’s words. He swiftly pushed his hand into the bag and retrieved a scroll.

As he offered it to the men, he could tell their hesitation, for it carried the Targaryen seal.

“Please, Sers,” he spoke, “I did not wish to show you this, but we have been officially invited. Read and you shall see.”

Urged on by the King’s earnestness, one of the men accepted the scroll, broke the seal and read the content within. What it said, neither Jon nor Ser Davos knew, and they were not offered a peek themselves. Instead, they were quickly ushered inside the side gate, much to the uproar from the people behind them.

“We too wish to be let inside!” men shouted. “We too wish to see the Queen!” But the door was shut behind them, and Jon, Ser Davos and Ghost found themselves alone on the streets of King’s Landing.

“I only have two gifts left,” Jon spoke that night.

They were seated in an inn within the walls, dining on the local stew and ale. They had not dared to spend their coin on better food, so they filled their mouths with thick grub whilst looking longingly at the table next to them where a lord was stuffing himself with veal.

“Well, we have made the journey,” Ser Davos spoke. “Perhaps you will not even need it.”

“Aye, we’ve made the journey, yet my travels are not over,” Jon spoke. “Do you not find the situation strange?”

“I find it wiser not to speak,” Ser Davos said and stuffed his mouth with bread.

Jon glanced around them, just to ensure no one was listening, before he too dipped back into his food.

They had wandered the streets of King’s Landing for hours and found the place to be strangely empty. In comparison to the many men they had seen approach, few had made it inside the walls.

Jon pondered upon the situation; the Queen had announced her intention to marry, yet she wished not to see any men. They had attempted to approach the Red Keep only to be turned away by the Kingsguard situated there. In comparison to the sellswords outside the gates, they had been more gentle as they spoke:

“My apologies, the Queen will not see anyone.”

“We have been invited,” Ser Davos had told them, “Did your men at the gate not tell?”

“My apologies, the Queen will not see anyone,” they had repeated, and they continued to do so until the King and Ser Davos turned and left for the inn.

Jon poked around his stew with a piece of bread. “We must find a way,” he spoke.

“Yes,” Ser Davos yawned, “tomorrow we shall find a way, but tonight we shall sleep - and in a bed for once. I bid you goodnight.” He nodded his head at the King who returned the gesture.

Jon watched Ser Davos make his way upstairs before getting up himself. “I shall bid Ghost goodnight,” he told himself, “and then I too shall seek the bed.”

Outside, Ghost was waiting by the door. Jon stepped into the warm summer night and offered the direwolf a slice of meat. “I am sorry, Ghost, it was all I could buy without causing suspicion,” he spoke as he watched the wolf swallow the meat at once. He was about to turn back inside as a shadow caught his eye.

There, on the otherwise empty streets, walked a woman. She was clad in black, causing her to be almost invisible in the shadow, and her brown hair bobbed around her head as she hurried along. It was only when she shortly stepped into the moonlight that Jon noticed the pin upon her chest; three dragons spun together in a silver circle.

As quietly as he could muster, Jon took off behind her, trailing her footsteps up the street, around corners, down narrow alleys. He wondered if she knew she was being followed, for she sped up at once, her feet taking her around a corner in such a hurry he was sure he would lose sight of her. But then, as he too turned the corner, he was met with a silver blade to his throat.

“Why do you follow me?” the woman asked in a whisper.

Jon held his hands up to show he had no weapon drawn. “I noticed your pin,” he admitted.

“You speak as if you do not know me,” she said.

“I do not,” Jon admitted. He felt he had no choice but to choose the truth. The knife pressed harder to his skin.

“Do you jest?”

“I am no jester.”

“You wish to see the Queen.” Jon must have looked surprised at this, for the woman smiled. “Of course. That is the wish of every man, but especially a fraud.”

“Why do you call me so?” Jon asked.

“The sellswords told me of a man entering the city with an official letter from the Queen. Now, they are but foolish men, but I am Hand to the Queen. I know of no such letter, so therefore no such letter exists.” The knife was now pressed so tight to Jon’s throat that he was sure blood was flowing. Yet, when he glanced down, he saw none. “I will give you one chance only to explain yourself.”

For a third time, Jon’s fingertips stroke across the knapsack. He knew of no other way to save himself, so he reached in and said, “Will this convince you?” and held out his hand.

In his palm, he held a single winter rose. It appeared so bright and frail that he almost couldn’t believe its existence. Of all the gifts he had produced, this seemed the least favourable, and yet the woman before him appeared shocked.

She put away her blade and instead reached out to touch the blue petals, as if to ensure they were real. “You wish to see the Queen?” she whispered. “It shall be so. Follow me.”

Alone in the night, his bag now almost devoid of gifts, and holding a blue rose only, Jon walked with the woman to the Red Keep, and the King thought to himself: I shall now either fail my kingdom or grant it its freedom. He knew not yet which.

As the King entered the great hall, he was struck by the sheer size of the Iron Throne.

Made from melted swords, it rose from the marble floor toward the ceiling, each step of the way hardened by the twisted blades sticking out before it. It was more beast than beauty, and Jon found himself thinking that this truly was a seat of power.

The hall was greatly lit with hundreds of torches along the walls. The flames reflected in the stained-glass windows, causing colourful lights to dance all around him. Yet, the further up the throne his gaze went, the darker it got. The shape of the backrest was so twisted and grand that it caught itself in its own shadow, and it was only as his eyes got used to the darkness that he noticed someone was seated atop. It could only be the Dragon Queen.

The King lowered his head in respect. “Your Grace,” he spoke, “I thank you for seeing me at this hour.”

The Queen did not speak. Instead, she slowly got up from the seat and started making her way down the stairs. Each step was slow and calculated, and she stopped halfway, her body revealed to the light whilst her face was still in the shadows. Jon could see she was clad in a long, blue dress, delicately embroidered with fiery dragons. Whenever the folds in her skirt moved, they seemed to come alive, dancing alongside her hemline.

They reminded the King of his purpose, and so he spoke: “Your Grace, I mean no harm. I have travelled a long way to see you.” He lifted his gaze to seek hers, but he could not determine her expression in the darkness. “I come only to ask one thing of you.”

Finally, the Queen spoke: “Many men have travelled far to see me. In this you are not alone.”

“I have heard so, your Grace,” Jon agreed, “however what I ask of you will differ from them.”

“That I have heard many men say too,” the Queen said. “Every man believes himself to be different. No one aliken themself to their peers.” She folded her hands in front of her as she paused, then continued: “But it is true. You do differ.”

Feeling a sense of hope, Jon allowed himself to straighten up. “Your Grace,” he started in earnest, but the Queen’s sharp voice cut through:

“You are different in that you deceived my men, and you tried to deceive my Hand, and now you believe you can deceive me.”

“I have done no such thing,” the King protested, “nor do I wish to.”

The Queen flickered her hand, and a light shimmered in the air. Something hit the ground with a sharp noise, then rolled across the floor to his feet.

As Jon looked down, he saw the ring he brandished when Daario questioned him.

“My Hand sneaked this from your pocket when you met,” the Queen spoke. “Do you deny it is yours?”

“I do not,” the King spoke.

“Then at least you have some honour left. Now tell me,” she said, taking one more step down so that her whole frame was bathed in light, “why I shouldn’t let my dragons feast on you?”

It was then the King realised that the bards’ had sung in earnest about their Queen’s appearance; she had long hair which shimmered like silver, black lashes framed her violet eyes hard akin jewels, and her skin was as fair as snow.

He averted her eyes with another headbow. “Your Grace,” he spoke, “I understand every man in the Seven Kingdoms seeks your hand in marriage.”

“They do, and even common folk have dressed in their finest garbs before approaching the Keep, yet you stand before me like a traveller.”

This the King could not deny. His clothes had remained the same for most of his journey, and tonight was no different. His black tunic and breeches were simple, and his cloak made of roughspun wool to blend in with the townspeople. But here, where every man wished to offer a themself to the Dragon Queen, he stood out for the wrong reasons. He was like a fool who did not know his left from his right, and he reddened under the Queen’s scrutiny.

“Your Grace, I mean no disrespect,” he assured.

“Yet you keep calling me Grace and not Queen,” the Queen noted as she stepped further down the throne. The closer she came, the more of him she seemed to take in, her eyes seeking his body.

“I apologise, but I will not allow myself to deceive you,” Jon spoke.

“How so?” the Queen asked, now on her final step.

“My name is Jon,” he spoke, “but I am commonly known as the King in the North.”

On this final step, the Dragon Queen paused as her eyes grew wide. She was watching the King before her for a few seconds before she spoke: “You are the one they call the Ice King.”

“That is a nickname of mine,” Jon agreed.

“Peculiar. I imagined an Ice King to be blond,” the Queen pondered.

At this, the King smiled. “I apologise for the disappointment.”

“How do I know you are truly who you say you are?” the Queen asked, her eyes narrowed in thought. Her hands slipped to the small of her back as she leaned forward, gazing into Jon’s eyes.

At this, Jon reached into the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a ring of his own. The band was silver, and atop it was decorated with the Stark siegel, the head of a direwolf. “I offer you this,” he spoke, “but also what convinced your Hand to trust me,” and in his other hand, he presented the single blue rose.

It seemed to the Queen the ring mattered less than the rose, for she took the flower and held it before her eyes, watching it with awe. “These are hard to come by,” she spoke. “They grow only in the cold.”

“I did say I travelled far,” Jon spoke.

The Queen lowered the rose. “I get the feeling you did not approach me to propose a marriage.”

The King shook his head. “No, your Grace, I am afraid my proposal is less joyous.”

The Queen seemed to ponder for a moment, then she gestured for him to follow. “Let us speak in a more private chamber,” she said.

It was only then, as she led him behind the throne and further into the Keep, that Jon realised they had been watched the whole time. Alongside the balconies above them stood men brandishing crossbows, each of them with an arrow pointed straight at him, their eyes following him coldly.

The Dragon Queen stood in front of a window, her eyes grave as she watched King’s Landing stretch out before her. “What you ask of me is a lot,” she spoke, “more than the men who seek my hand.”

“I would not ask if I did not believe the North to be in dire danger,” the King spoke. He was seated at a table in her chamber, a map laid out before him. On it, she had circled Winterell, alongside with the Wall of the North. Somewhere between the two, the dead now roamed, that he knew. However the Queen seemed less certain.

“You have seen these dead men?” she asked.

“I have not,” Jon admitted. “But my maester has studied the history books. The tales do not lie.”

“Forgive me, but I disagree,” she spoke and turned to look at Jon. “The history books always lie. Are they not written by those who won the wars?”

“The maesters write the books,” Jon said, “they work from a perspective of truth.”

“The truth is not a perspective,” the Queen smiled. “I am afraid your heart is not as cold as the North from which you come. You think people too kind.”

“I want to believe that your heart is not cold either,” Jon spoke. “I want to believe that you will lend us your dragons for this fight, lest we shall fall.”

“My dragons are my strength,” the Queen spoke. “I am called the Dragon Queen. My dragons are not simple cattle to be ordered around. They are great beasts with a mind of their own. They are my children.”

“I apologise if I offended you,” Jon spoke, “but my people rely on me for their safety. I must do all in my power to grant them a peaceful life.”

“That I can admire,” the Queen spoke. She once again turned to look out of the window, this time waving for Jon to join her. As he stood by her side, she gestured at the scene before them. “Look, this is the heart of the Kingdom. Whoever sits on the Iron Throne also sits on the responsibility of protecting this realm. If I take off with my dragons, who shall see to my people?”

“Last I checked, the North was part of the Seven Kingdoms,” Jon spoke.

“Yet you do not consider me your rightful Queen, or else you should not be named King,” she retorted.

The King knew she was right, so he spoke no more, but just watched the city with her. They had been talking for so long that the sun was now rising. In the horizon, the pale light started stretching its way across the land.

It was the Queen who broke the silence: “I am no coward. I believe in righteousness. I will fight evil where I see it. I shall not be broken.” She glanced at Jon, and he saw in her eyes a sadness. “But alas, I find myself in a war in which I am a stranger.”

“You are at war?” the King spoke in surprise.

“The men at the gates seek my hand. This is known. They have all heard the announcement, and they have all come to claim me as their own. Some of them come with ill wills, but many only seek to better their future. This I cannot fault them.” The Queen folded her hands at her front as she sighed. “Understand this; I did not make the announcement.”

The King furrowed his brows in confusion. “You do not seek to marry?”

“Once I did. But the man betrayed me.” The Queen walked back into the chamber, looking ahead of her as she spoke: “What do most men seek from this world?”

“I do not know,” Jon admitted. He turned to watch her walk. “Power? Wealth?”

“Most men seek to leave a mark on this world. A mark that will last for centuries. That kind of mark requires an heir.” She turned to look at him, the sadness once again twinkling in her eyes. “The man whom I was to marry betrayed me for I could not offer him what he wanted.”

“You cannot bear children,” Jon concluded quietly.

“It is by his words that I am now seeking marriage. He thought there would be no greater humiliation to me than for men to ask my hand, only to turn away once they find me barren.” The Queen shook her head. “Now, the bards sing of my looks, this I know. But trust me - if word was to come out, they would sing of nothing but my lack of womanhood.”

“I ask you not to speak of this, I ask you to join me in fight,” Jon promised, but the Queen shook her head once more.

“If I am to leave the Keep with my dragons, it would read as a sign of defeat. The Queen has fled her people, the Queen is chasing the northern King. The Queen submits to a man. I have partaken in those tales before. I do not wish to partake in another.”

The King did not know what words to speak. For a moment, his fingertips brushed across his knapsack as he remembered maester Aemon’s words once more. If only he was to reach inside the bag, he would surely find a magical gift that could convince the Queen to assist him.

However, as he looked into her sad eyes, he found himself unable to undo the clasp. For what man uses magic to steer the will of a woman? Only a devil in disguise.

As he remained silent, the Queen took it as a sign to conclude: “You understand now, Ice King, why I cannot lend you my dragons. I am in a position of strength and weakness all at once. The strength must win, or I shall fail as Queen.”

It was the Queen’s Hand who let him out of the Keep. They walked in silence, but as he stood by the gates to the city, he turned to look upon her.

“I am sorry,” she spoke.

“I am too,” he said. “Please, may I ask one question before I leave?” The Hand nodded, and the King continued: “Why did the winter rose convince you to bring me here?”

At this, she appeared surprised. “Did the Queen not tell?” she asked.

“She took the rose, but she did not say why this made her trust me.”

“It is not for me to say,” the Hand spoke. Her brown eyes sought the floor and for a moment the King believed she would say no more. But then she spoke: “It is the prophecy.”

“What prophecy?” he asked in earnest.

“It is not for me to say,” the Hand repeated her earlier statement. “My apologies, you must leave now.” At this, the doors opened, and the King found himself walking the long way from the Keep to the inn, all alone in the empty streets once more.

However, he did not make it far before both Ser Davos and Ghost were upon him.

“My King!” Ser Davos called. “You had me worried. Where have you been all night?”

“I spoke to the Queen,” the King explained.

Ser Davos looked surprised, but he urged him on: “Did she agree?”

Jon shook his head. “She will not lend us her dragons.”

“I feared this would happen,” Ser Davos said. “Can we convince her?”

“I am afraid she has her reasons,” Jon spoke and, before his Hand could say another word, he decided: “We should spend our coin wisely and gather all the weapons we can - we must make sure our men can fight.”

“Steel will not kill the dead,” Ser Davos spoke sadly.

“No,” the King agreed, “but it will delay our own demise.”

As they made their way back up North, their horses were heavy with swords, and the weight slowed them down. However, they had barely made it to the riverlands before they could tell things had changed. At the edge of the woods, where they had before slept, they now saw signs of ice creeping across the forest floor.

“Winter is upon us,” the King spoke as the first snowflakes swirled through the air above them. “I hope we are not too late.”

“We must press on,” Ser Davos spoke, “and ride all the way through the night.” So they did - as the sun set, they continued, fighting their way through the darkness guided by Ghost’s sight only, and they rested just for an hour or two before sunrise, leaving their eyes caked in sleep. So they carried on for weeks, as the snow grew thick around them, and the riverlands turned akin to the North itself.

At their first break at an inn, they found no fish and vegetables to be served. Instead, the innkeeper could only offer them watered down ale and stale bread. “My apologies,” he spoke, “this is all we have left. Winter came so sudden. I fear we shall starve our way through.”

The King and Ser Davos ate the bread in solemn silence, both of them aware that if winter was to last, no one would starve their way through. The season would be too long for mankind to survive.

On their way, the King noted that the mood had changed. Where before people had watched them with caution in the midlands, they were now scarcely noticed. Everyone was too busy gathering what little they could in preparation for the season, and the bards no longer sung of caution but rather fear:

Kings and Queens It matters Not All lives Winter Takes It cannot be Stopped

Kings and Queens Men of strong Will It matters Not All it shall Kill

“These are gloomy songs,” Ser Davos spoke once to a young bard who had entertained at the inn. “Could you not sing something else? The Bear and the Maiden Fair, perhaps?”

The bard only shook his head and replied: “We bards are the history keepers. We sing of what we see and what we know. Alas, this is all we know these days. Ice and snow and death. They say the dead are rising. Would you like to hear a song about that?”

Ser Davos handed him a silver coin for his silence.

By the time the King and Ser Davos reached Winterfell, they could barely make their way through the dense snow to the castle. Once inside the warm hall, as he was shedding his cloak stiff from ice, Jon’s sister Sansa approached him with concern.

“Did it work?” she asked. “Did you convince the Dragon Queen to come?”

The King shook his head sadly. “She cannot come.”

“So it shall be,” Sansa spoke quietly. She turned to face the fire in the great hall, a solemn look on her face. “This place shall become our crypt.”

“I will not sit still as the dead approach,” Jon said, and as he spoke he turned to face his men in the hall. They were seated at the tables, looking hopeless at their hands, but their heads rose at once as their King spoke. “No one should sit still and await death. That is no way to face uncertainty. We shall stand brave, and we shall fight, and the Gods be good, it shall be a good fight.” He drew Longclaw and held it up, the blade shimmering in the light from the fire as he shouted: “Men, will you fight for the living!”

And at once, they all rose, each brandishing their own sword, and they joined in the shouting, promising: “We will fight ‘till the end!”

As the men journeyed outside, setting up their defences, Sansa pulled the King aside for a quiet word. “You should seek maester Aemon,” she said. “I am afraid the cold has taken its toll on him.”

“Is he dying?” Jon spoke with concern, but Sansa could not bear to even nod. Instead of waiting for a reply, Jon hurried through the hall and up the stairs to the maester’s chambers.

He found the door ajar, and the maester in bed, his pale, blind eyes searching the ceiling. As he entered, the maester spoke: “So you return, my King.”

“Maester Aemon,” Jon greeted. He approached the bed with hesitation, but finally sat down on the edge as the maester reached out for him. His hand felt so small and frail in his own.

“I am afraid darkness is descending upon me,” the maester spoke. “A strange thing for a blind man to say, perhaps, but true nonetheless. I feel it in my bones. My end is near.”

“Is there anything I can do?” the King asked.

“You spoke to the Queen,” the maester said. “This I know.”

“I’m sorry.” He could not face the maester as he spoke, but instead eyed the floor: “I could not convince her to come.”

“Trust in the prophecy,” spoke the maester.

At this, Jon looked at the old man with surprise. “You know of the prophecy?”

The maester smiled as he spoke:

“When darkness swallows the moon, and mankind turns on itself

When seasons fight for truth, when North and South collides

Then shall the blue winter bloom, then shall beasts rise from afar

Then shall gold and silver rejoice, and Summer and Winter be one.”

Jon’s hand closed tightly around the maester’s. “Please do not speak in riddles, you know I am no good with words,” the King begged, “please, tell me - is there hope?”

But the maester’s eyes were no longer seeking the ceiling. They had stopped moving altogether, and so had his heart.

It was the first death that winter would come to claim at Winterfell.

At first, the dead were a few. The men of Winterfell easily outnumbered the creatures as they approached the castle, and their bodies were slain and returned to peace once more.

However it was as maester Aemon had warned; common blade did nothing to stop them, and only hours after they had been killed, their bodies rose once more to approach the castle walls. They attempted arrows, but the men rose once more. They attempted fire, but from the smouldering heat the dead men rose again. Nothing could stop them, and as the days passed by, a few became tens, and tens became hundreds, and soon the men called to their King:

“They are too many. They will break down the gate!”

The King stood on the walls and he saw that it was so. The dead outnumbered the living, and with every man he lost, they gained another soldier for their army.

“It is a losing battle,” Ser Davos spoke. “It matters not how many swords we brought from King’s Landing. These men cannot be killed.”

“What choice do we have but to fight?” asked the King.

“We need dragon fire,” spoke Ser Davos.

The King’s face grew dark at this statement. “Aye, that I know, but we have none. It is as maester Aemon said; the prophecy has come true.”

“What prophecy?”

“He said that darkness shall swallow the moon,” the King spoke and gestured toward the sky. It was so black that not even the light from the stars could manage to twinkle through. “And that mankind will turn on itself. Is this not what we are seeing? Men fighting their own?” He leaned over the edge of the wall as he looked down upon the scene before him.

There, far below them, the creatures were crawling atop one another, with no regard for themselves or their own. They were reaching and pulling and dragging at whatever their hands could get a hold of. They were trying to pull the wall apart, brick by brick.

“What more did the prophecy foretell?” Ser Davos asked.

The King continued gloomly: “That beasts shall rise from afar which these men have. Did they not journey all the way from the Wall? So it shall all end when Summer and Winter becomes one.”

“Summer and Winter, and Spring and Fall,” Ser Davos spoke, “it is all one to us now. There will be no more day and night, and no more light and dark, and no more warm and cold. This shall be all that is left for mankind.”

“But mankind itself shall not even be left,” the King spoke and turned. His cloak fluttered behind him as he walked the steps down to the courtyard, drawing his sword Longclaw as he strode ahead. There, around a bonfire, the last of his men stood. In an attempt to slow the army beyond the gate, they were burning the bodies of their fallen friends, and to the ashes that rose from the flames, they said their last goodbyes.

Behind them, Jon noted, the gate was bulging. The dead were piled atop one another, trying to use sheer weight to bring it down. He stepped in front of his men, his back turned to them and his sword at his front, as he spoke:

“Men, you named me King. It is an honour you bestowed on me. I have no royal blood, and no claim to any house, but in me you saw a leader, and I have strived to lead with justice. Now, I shall repay your honour with the only thing I have left - my life. May the Gods, both old and new, have mercy on us tonight. We shall not fall without a fight.”

With that, the gate broke, and the dead entered Winterfell.

They came like a wave upon them, and as they threw themselves at Jon, he realised he did have one thing left; one last gift from the knapsack. So as the bodies piled on top of him, he used his last strength to reach into the bag. His fingers searched inside the leather, and it was only as he opened his hand in front of his eyes that he realised it was empty.

Four gifts he had been promised. Three he had used. Yet it seemed he had none left to claim.

It was in that instance that a wind broke out across the courtyard. As soon as the King thought he had no hope left, the dead were blown off him, and he found himself able to breathe once more.

Jon gasped in the cool air which had never felt sweeter, and he opened his eyes to what he thought was the sun rising above him. But the warm light was dragonfire; it ran in streams across the dark sky, and the wind was no wind at all, but the wave from a dragon’s wings.

The King hurried to his feet, and he watched in awe as the giant beast landed beside him, its black scales shimmering in the light from the bonfire. He glanced up across its thick body to the rider at its top.

There sat the Dragon Queen, clad in gold which shone like the sun itself. She looked down upon him, her violet eyes no longer like hard jewels, but soft like water.

“Your Grace, you came,” the King spoke in surprise.

“I did tell you that I believe in righteousness,” spoke the Queen. “I will fight evil where I see it.”

“Whatever did change your mind?” the King asked.

The Queen reached her hand out for him, and Jon grabbed it, climbing atop the giant beast until he was settled behind her. She placed her hand on his cheek, and he could feel the heat from her skin melting the sheen of ice on his face. “You did,” she spoke.

It was then two dragons passed them from above. One glimmered green, the other was as bright as ice. They circled the castle, their mouths breathing fire, and wherever their streams hit, the dead fell to never rise again.

The Queen smiled at the sight, and she grabbed a hold of the scales in front as she urged: “Hold on tight, Ice King, for you are about to witness the power of my children.” With that, the dragon took off from the ground, bashing its wings only twice to reach heights greater than Jon had ever been.

The King grabbed a hold of the Queen’s waist with one hand, careful not to lose hold of his sword in the other, and he watched the scene beneath them in awe;

All around Winterfell, the ice was aflame. Dead men were burning, and they turned to smouldering ash before his very eyes. The few who tried to flee were swiftly chased down by one of the Queen’s dragons, their fire inescapable.

“I cannot believe you came all this way,” the King spoke as the dragon circled the castle guided by the Queen.

“Did you not travel far to see me too?” she asked.

“I came to ask for your help,” he spoke, “but I had nothing to offer but a rose.”

“The blue winter bloom,” the Queen spoke. She looked over her shoulder at the King as she spoke: “You know not of the prophecy, do you?”

“I know the beasts from afar, for I have fought them myself.”

“You truly are misguided,” spoke the Queen with a smile. “The beast from afar are my dragons, for they have come to bring North and South together.”

It was only then that the King seemed to understand the words that the maester had spoken. He looked at the Queen’s golden garments, and then he raised his silver sword. Together, the two gleamed in the night. “Then shall gold and silver rejoice,” he spoke.

The Queen nodded: “And Summer and Winter be one.”

To celebrate the defeat of the dead, Winterfell held a feast. As the dragon fire died out, the first rays of sunlight pressed through the darkness, and soon the ice around them started to melt. Men and women from villages near and far came to Winterfell to thank their King for bringing an end to Winter, but before his people the King spoke:

“You honour me, but the honour is not mine to have. When all hope was lost and our future looked bleak, the Dragon Queen arrived to save us all. I ask of you - hold up your horns, and cheer for the Queen of the Seven Kingdoms!” Hence the people held up their horns of mead, and they cheered the Queen on, for if their King said it was so, they knew it to be the truth.

As they sat side by side at the main table, the King turned to the Queen. “When I travelled to King’s Landing, the bards sung songs of you and your beauty. I will tell you this - they did not do you justice.”

The Queen raised her brows: “If you think you are the first to praise my looks, you shall be sorely disappointed.”

“Although you are a sight, it is not your beauty they did not do justice. It is you - your kindness, your strength, and your righteousness.”

At this, the Queen reddened, and she held the King’s hand gently. “Many men sought me for my looks, but left for my lack of womanhood. You sought me for my strengths, and left at my command. When you said you differed, you were right. I am sorry I did not believe you then.”

“Your womanhood is not tied to your womb,” the King spoke, “it is as you say; men want to leave a mark on this world. I too wish to leave my mark.” At this, the Queen wanted to withdraw her hand, but the King held it tight as he leaned in to whisper to her lips: “The mark I wish to leave it this: North and South as one, Summer and Winter as one, Warm and Cold as one, the King and the Queen as one. Peace and prosperity.”

“I gift you my swords,” he spoke, “for I wish no longer to fight. I gift you myself, for I wish no longer to rule alone. I wish to call you my Queen, if you will have me as your King.”

Hence the prophecy was fulfilled in a kiss between the Ice King and the Dragon Queen, and as spring claimed the lands around Winterfell, the two married under a weirwood tree.

At the wedding, the bards did not sing of beauty nor children but a song of love, and it went like this:

The King, the Queen Two souls in One The King, the Queen A love akin None

The King, the Queen Hearts beat Anew The King, the Queen Their love is True

The King, the Queen Now wait and See The King, the Queen Peace and Prosperity

---

Thank you to @dracoignisworld for this amazing fairytale. Hope you all enjoyed it as much as I did

#jonerys #game of thrones #fan art #fanfiction #illustration #writing #fairytale #my art #digital art #jon snow #Daenerys Targaryen

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iamtaran · 4 years

Text

Rendezvous* AU

Jaskier is a professional, usually. He had worn out all the rough edges of this particular character over the years until it felt almost more comfortable than returning to being Julian at the end of the week. It may have taken a few years to curb his decidedly modern mouth and gain the respect of his fellow re-enactors, but during the open weekend when the visitors poured in? He was always on pointe. Spending the greater portion of an entire weekend in performance, in character-- it exhilarates him. The joy from the visitors, their laughs and surprise and unprepared blushes when he singles them out for a bit. If he could, he would eat it and live on it forever. Except, well, a man has to eat real food as well, and Jaskier had skipped breakfast in his rush. Normally, that wouldn’t be a problem. This particular Rendezvous at Alafia River always has more bakers, potato roasters, and poorly disguised Highland Games food carts peddling fish and chips than one could shake a stick at. Jaskier had simply followed his nose. It wouldn’t be a problem... Except the baker is the most attractive man Jaskier has ever clapped eyes on. “Essi, Essi, Essi,” he chants. “Essi, you’ve- I swear, if you don’t turn around-” “Jaskier, for god’s sake,” Essi hisses, sandwiched between a wooden stall and the shielding curtain of his body where she is attempting to subtly adjust her slipping décolletage. “I’m a little busy.” “Not too busy for this! Essi,” he whines. A hand smacks his arm, hard. “I’m not getting thrown from the Voo over a nip slip you f--forking child,” she grumbles into her cleavage. That adjusted, she nudges his shoulder out of the way. “Now, what are you whining about?” She looks, as usual, gorgeous, even with the momentary fashion crisis. No one looks better in crisp white chemise and dusty rose robe anglaise in linen. Well, except- “Him.” *** (*A Rendezvous is a historical reenactment/ living history event that may last an entire extended weekend, an entire week, 9 days. Participants camp on-site in pre-1860s period clothing, using as much historically accurate gear as possible and disguising any absolutely necessary modern amenities to keep from breaking immersion. Sometimes, the last weekend of the event is open to the public non-participants to wander through, purchase from artisans and craftsmen, often including folks from local tribes, and enjoy the musical or martial performances, historic rifle ranges, archery, delicious food, hatchet throwing, and more. This encounter may or may not be inspired by a memorable Rendezvous encounter as a visitor.)

Jaskier has never in six years seen this particular baker at this particular Rendezvous. Would that I had, he thinks somewhat wildly. It’s not one thing, really, that catches his attention, which sometimes does happen. He has fallen in love with a stranger’s heavy-lidded eyes, or a singular profile, or even the way someone tucked their legs up under them in a library chair. It is the way his pale, silvery hair wisps and half-curls around his face and across his forehead, where heavy brows furrowed in concentration. It is the shocking softness of his mouth compared to the granite cut of his jaw and the roughness of his stubble. It is his hands. Jaskier thinks they might be the most beautiful hands he has ever seen. The strength, the gentleness, the competence with which they folded and kneaded, then with swift, short turns tucked the dough into a boule to add to the nearly filled board behind him. Jaskier isn’t the only one watching. The man, whether it be what Jaskier sees or the smell of his already-baked loaves, has drawn a crowd. (And he really does suspect it is a mixture of both. No one should look so good with the sweaty, unwashed Rendezvous look. Most people look as you might expect after a week-long historical camping trip. This man looks like a rugged wet dream.) Even as Jaskier looks, the baker slices the top of the dough with a slender knife frankly dwarfed in his grip, settles the boule on the board, and with a sharp flick of his elbow slides the whole dozen of them into the mouth of the clay dome oven radiating heat at his back. Even presented with the man’s astonishing back (and astonishing backside, lord, blessed be the fall-front trousers)--even then, Jaskier finds he can’t stop staring at his forearms, revealed by his rolled shirtsleeves. “Oh, you’ve got it bad,” Essi murmurs, and laughs when he jumps. “Well, go on. Go buy your bread and flirt with him. I’m going to get chowder from the fish and chip tent.” “But- Essi,” Jaskier flounders, “we, it- the performance!” They had planned to spend the last couple hours of morning trolling the main drag and the surrounding lines of tents and stalls, singing and playing, he on accordion and she the violin. They even have a couple new bits he is dying to run through. Jaskier thinks of his wallet and all the tips they might be making even now and whines. That being said, his eyes draw back to the dimple along the muscle of the baker’s forearm without his permission. Essi pats his back mockingly. “Frankly, my dear, I refuse to perform with you like this.” “Excuse me! Like what?” She doesn’t deign answer. Instead, with a wink, she steps back into the crowd, calling, “I’ll meet you at the Live Oak Stage for the noontime performances!” and leaves him there. Which is also when Jaskier hears the first keening notes of a familiar song. He already knows he is ruined before turns to take in the scene-- the baker with the fiddle pressed under his chin, the bow so delicate in his blunt-fingered hand that Jaskier’s heart leapt into his throat. The angle of his wrist, the tilt of his brows-- then he glances up through unexpectedly dark lashes and his amber eyes flash golden in the light. “Oh, Jesus wept.” *

As it would turn out, the handsome baker’s name is Geralt, and his rendition of Tiersen’s sur le fil is so beautiful that Jaskier can’t help but draw closer, like a moth to flame.

As it also turns out, the baker whose name is Geralt lowers the well-worn but immaculately tuned fiddle after the one song, allowing Jaskier to step close enough to embarrass himself. He gets half way through a too-long ramble about Tiersen’s works and praise for the man’s performance, and I’m a musician myself, can’t often be convinced to pick up a fiddle but-- when the baker grunts, points to the not-exactly historically accurate but not-not period appropriate accordion in his hands and asks, “Do you know La Noyée?” Which is how they end up playing together for the next thirty minutes until the bread has baked.

Which is also when Geralt introduces himself and gruffly thanks him, mentioning how his assistant usually accompanies him but he gave her the morning off, and then pays him in bread with a healthy slab of butter and aged cheese on top. Jaskier learns quickly that he is a man of few words. Somehow, however, he can read the sincerity in his thanks in his minute expression. They had drawn in quite a crowd, and Geralt is quickly made busy on the next batch of orders.

Jaskier knows when his presence is in the way. He is a little sad to go, but still, he knows he will be buzzing with the energy of their performance and the electric current that had passed between them every time Geralt glanced his way to time his accompaniment or signal a flourish. That can be enough. “Well, it’s been- ah, absolutely lovely playing with you, dear Geralt, but it seems I will only be in the way from this point- can’t bake to save my life, I’m afraid-” as he begins to slip away.

“Bard.” Jaskier freezes, surprised. Geralt cleans his hands off on his equally floury apron and pulls a tiny folded up pamphlet from inside its deep pocket. Jaskier takes it without thinking, on autopilot. “I’m part of a demonstration around 2, over at the fencing pit next to the musket range.” Jaskier can’t be blamed for how long it takes his brain to catch up with the unspoken invitation; but when he does, he beams.

He goes, and is promptly bowled over to find Geralt changed from his frankly too-flattering baker’s smock and fall-fronts into the traditional kilt and shirt sleeves of a highland foot soldier-- sans coat. Jaskier sees why when he lunges forward into a fast-paced mock battle with a broad sword that he slings about as if it were light as a rapier. Jaskier is... he needs to sit down.

He spends the rest of the weekend finding every excuse he can to go visit Geralt the too-handsome baker, and gets to meet his apprentice, who is also his daughter. Jaskier is stricken dumb for all of two seconds before he realizes they get on like a house on fire. Geralt has to chase them off when their chatter on historic social norms, musical trends, and current pop stars gets to be too much. Then they both have lunch with Essi, and the conversation turns to hsitoric fashion, materials, and ends with the two ladies roasting his poor man dandy outfit alive. He stands up for himself nobly. The high waisted trousers make him look trim! And braces were designed in the early 1820s, just like the accordion, thank you! Yes, he DOES know that it is considered terribly risque for his braces to be visible and not worn beneath a coat, why do they think he did it? No, he doesn’t think that they clash with his silk cravat in the least! He might be a rake and a rogue but he is still cultured. And well bathed, unlike most of the brutes around here! Essi calls him a floozy; Ciri, 16 and the least shy girl he has ever met, agrees. (He loves the two of them all the more by the end of it.)

Jaskier plays with Geralt a couple more times, after Essi gives him her blessing. She had found a bluegrass group in desperate need of a violinist after theirs abruptly came down ill, and she is more than happy to flirt with their cellist there, especially since they pop up stage in the middle of the Rendyvoo garners huge crowds of tip-happy listeners. She does chat with Ciri when she stops by, however, and Geralt. Jaskier doesn’t hear what happens, but she manages to get the big man to flush. Jaskier wonders on it for the rest of the day. Will she reveal her secrets??

The Voo ends and Jaskier is a besotted wreck. He tries quite hard to make his goodbye to father and daughter not the least bit tearful-- and immediately fails when Geralt pulls out a smartphone and gruffly tells him to put his number in.

They live much closer than they might have assumed. I can’t decide if Geralt really does own a bakery, or if that’s just his somewhat secret hobby and in reality his profession better matches his dangerous strongman persona-- a garage, a historic fencing and swordplay gym, perhaps a high-paid security professional. All of them have some interesting possibilities, I’ll be honest. Regardless, working Rendezvous’s and ren faires is half hobby half side-profession. Jaskier is thrilled to find that, since moving to the area recently, he and Geralt will be working a lot of the same events. He is excited a completely normal amount.

Y’all know what’s up. Wooing. Courting. Two idiots who don’t recognize their emotions (because, yes, Jaskier might have realized Geralt is a looker, but it takes him much longer to realize what the fuzzy feeling in his gut is whenever Geralt is particularly soft, or speaks gently to his daughter, or smile when their huge great dane comes barreling out to greet them and oh, no.) Also, historic costumes that just, they just really inspire some thirst.

If y’all think for a moment Geralt looks any less handsome in modern clothes, you are surely mistaken. Jaskier despairs the first time he sees him. It’s just... it’s not fair!

Except the local ren faire comes around and it’s Geralt’s turn to despair. He may, in fact, never recover. Y’all know that post that’s been going around...

ok fin. that’s all i got, i hope yall enjoyed.

#the witcher #fanfic #geraskier #taran writes #historical reenactment AU #yes there was a real baker who was real handsome #he pulled out the accordion and his assistant the fiddle and played a yann tiersen song i can't remember the name of but recognize every tim #and my gay little heart went OH #do i want to be you or are you just fantastic?#jokes on you baby taran #the answer was both

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yourcoolfriendwithallthecandy · 3 years

Text

Why So Jaded Chapter 11

Oh it’s getting to be a family affair now. AO3, FFN. The chapter is called The Give For The Take for a very good reason. Enjoy.

Why So Jaded?

Chapter 11

“So were you good for Vi?” Helen asked Jack when Violet dropped him off at home on Sunday night.

“Yeah! We had a great time. We got to hang out with Barret the whole time.” Jack gleefully informed her.

“B..who?” Helen asked.

“His full name is Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, Mr. Pine, my other asset at work? We call him Barret for short.” Violet tried to honestly yet vaguely answer.

“Oh, but I thought he was on house arrest at SEB for the bet he made?” Helen asked.

“He is, so we hung out with him. He helped Jack with his school project about radio waves because the Lord knows I couldn’t.” Violet informed her mother.

“And he’s friends with Evan’s mom! You know Evan- he usually goes to Milham park with his little brother Alex and his little sister Kaely? Tammy has short bobbed hair cut, brown hair.” Jack tried to jog his mom’s memory.

“Oh yeah! Tammy. She’s really nice.” Helen recalled.

“Well I got invited to Evan’s birthday party in a couple of weeks, can I go? It’s on the 18th. They’re having it at Scene It.” Jack pleaded.

“I could take him if you already had plans.” Violet offered as Helen looked at her calendar on her fridge.

“Yeah, that would be nice.” Helen appraised.

“We’re supposed to be taking Jr and Dillion that weekend.” Bob said as he came over and looked at the calendar.

“Yeah who did Dash spend his weekend with anyway?” Violet asked as both of her parents just shook their heads with a defeated sigh.

“Who knows.” Bob grumbled as he got a beer from the fridge.

“So tell me about Barret, Jack.” Bob invited.

“He’s awesome! He cooks so good, like Bobby Flay, like he made us all these amazing dishes from scratch and he showed me how to make a risotto, he’s a genius and an inventor and he explained radio waves to me and I should be getting an A on this project. And he’s actually really nice and sucks at cards. I demolished him at rummy but he was a really gracious loser and a good sportsman, he has no ego and he’s not the most handsome guy but his personality is awesome, just a really nice, easy going guy.” Jack appraised honestly.

“And that’s why we’re friends.” Violet added.

“Aww, that’s sweet.” Helen cooed as she got dinner ready as Bob simply nodded and retreated to the living room with his can of beer as Jack followed his dad and continued to sing Barret's praises, in an effort to get his dad to at least like the idea of Barret.

“Can you stay for dinner Vi?” Helen asked hopefully.

“I’d love to. Here, let me help.” Violet offered as she grabbed some potatoes and started to help peel them.

“So what’s Barret really like?” Helen asked as they stood side by side over the trashcan peeling potatoes.

“He’s genuine. And a gentleman. We ended up staying really late Friday because we just got caught up talking and getting to know each other, and by each other, his company and myself. Jack obviously knew Barret’s company and played nice with the other kids and it was just a nice dinner that I got to stay for and it was just...hanging out with friends. They’re just normal people. Like normal normal, with kids and mortgages and student loan debt. Anyway, Barret didn’t want me to drive home exhausted so he let Jack and I take his bed while he took his own couch. He was just..really nice. He never pushes for closeness or intimacy of any kind, he's down to earth whereas with Phil it’s just one head game after another when his head isn't crammed so far up his own ass it comes back out the other end again or when his head gets so big, it can't be contained inside Madison Square Gardens because it's a freaking blimp and his ego is as fragile as a hanging nut sack, it's a very nice and welcome change of pace. It was actually almost fun to just be casual and hang out and not watch the clock to count down the minutes until I’m free. And not having to always watch my back and watch the exits and think of exit strategies or expecting attacks every other second or worrying about doing or saying the wrong thing that’ll bite me in the ass later, like turning off for once instead of always being on you know?” Violet answered honestly.

“Well I’m glad you had a good weekend and it sounded like you spent it with a friend. You need more of those.” Helen noted as she smiled at her daughter.

“Thanks, so. How was your weekend?” Violet returned.

“It was so fun. We ended up doing a gig upstate and after we got a cabin and just got to relax after, it was great.” Helen sighed happily as Violet simply smiled, albeit a little sadly. Because she doubted she would ever get to enjoy the wedded bliss her parents enjoyed. If she lived long enough to get married that is.

Just then Dash came into the house.

“Oh good, I didn’t miss dinner.” Dash smiled happily as his stomach started to growl.

“If you’re gonna help eat it, you should help make it.” Violet urged.

“But you two do it so well, I would only be in the way.” Dash excused himself as he grabbed beer from the fridge and started chugging it.

“You look really nice by the way Violet, green is definitely your color.” Dash praised as she squeezed by them to get to the box of cookies on the counter.

“I’m not giving you any more money, you still haven’t paid me back from the last three times I gave you money.” Violet immediately insisted when Dash tried hugging her from behind.

“Who said anything about money?” Dash pretended to be appalled that Violet would insinuate that.

“No one, and it will not be brought up again.” Violet insisted and she could only smirk smugly when he huffed and pulled away from her sullenly.

“So which underwear catalog model were you with this weekend Dash?” Violet asked.

“Victoria’s Secret, with Bianca.” Dash grinned cheekily with a click of his teeth as Violet visibly gagged.

“For the love of God and all that holy, please tell me you wore a condom.” Helen urged.

“Uh I think we should be asking Violet if she’s been wearing condoms when she was with Phillip in Vegas of all places, I’m surprised she didn’t come back married as Mrs. Sebastian.” Dash snidely returned as he began to walk away and Violet’s eyes glowed ultraviolet for a moment as her anger started to build.

“First of all, that’s none of your business, second, that was work and well within the parameters of my contract, third, considering my track record, as opposed to yours, who has not one, but two children already by two different women? And they’re only six months apart? And don’t you pay enough in child support already? You really want to add a third payment?” Violet spat back.

“Well some of us don’t roll around in money Violet! Besides, aren’t you paying enough in rent at Sky Way?” Dash sneered condescendingly.

“Oh for fuck’s sake, you know if you could keep it in your pants for more than five minutes, you’d be able to afford to live there too, don’t you get enough in endorsements between Nike, Body Armor and all your White Lightning merch and endorsements? Just up your appearance fees or better yet, if you- you know, invested some of that money instead of spending it faster than you’re making it, you’d be able to live wherever you wanted to.” Violet returned defensively.

“I do invest it, it’s just not getting the same returns your money makes apparently.” Dash returned.

“Oh my God, will you two stop it! Ugh, aren’t your kids supposed to get along once they leave home?” Helen complained.

“Dash, just go to the living room, dinner will be ready in a bit.” Helen decided.

“Stuck up.” Dash muttered under his breath.

“Leech.” Violet spat back.

“If he moves back in you better be charging him rent.” Violet insisted to her mother.

“Oh trust me, he’ll never move back in because I would never let him bring home another woman other than the two he's already impregnanted and when he wasn’t working, he’d be watching his own kids.” Helen reassured her.

“And heaven forbid he not have a revolving door on his bedroom.” Violet spat.

“I’m still holding out hope that he’ll find the right girl and settle down.” Helen confessed.

“Yeah, somehow, I get the distinct impression that will happen to Jack before that ever happens with Dash.” Violet ventured as she took her now peeled potatoes and rinsed them off in the sink before she got a cutting board out and started cutting up the now peeled potatoes into bite sized chunks.

“Well it just might happen with you before it could happen with Jack.” Helen teased as she bumped Violet’s hip with her own as she put her own peeled and rinsed off potatoes next to the cutting board.

“Ha! No.” Violet returned.

“Well I mean Barret sounds promising.” Helen shrugged and all Violet could do was laugh even harder.

“Yeah, no, I sincerely doubt that’s ever going to be a possibility.” Violet shook her head no.

“Why not?” Helen asked.

“Uh, well, he has quite the storied past. Granted, he isn’t the same guy he was, say, a decade ago, but uh, there’s too much history there.” Violet hinted.

“Like what kind of history?” Helen prodded.

“The kind that got him...really really hurt. In every conceivable sense. He made some really bad decisions in early youth, youth, teens and early adulthood and granted he pays for them, just about every day. But…it’s very complicated.” Violet tried to choose her words carefully.

“Everyone has history Violet. Doesn’t mean it has to haunt us the rest of our lives.” Helen insisted but Violet just huffed a mirthless laugh again. If that were the case, she wouldn't have such a hard time sleeping in the first place, or wake up in a cold sweat screaming her head off half the time.

“How old is he again?” Helen asked.

“He’s 31, seven years my senior.” Violet answered.

“Well that’s not that big of an age difference, especially once you pass your early 20’s, now if he was like 15 or even 20 years older than you, then yeah, that would be an eyebrow raiser of a difference.” Helen figured as she went into her fridge and got a wine cooler and offered Violet one who gladly took it and opened it and started drinking it.

“So what makes it so complicated?” Helen posed.

“Uh, well besides the history. Just our...positions. Phillip keeps me on a short leash and it’s only because I’ve “mixed business with pleasure” that I have any breathing room now. Phillip is jealous and possessive enough that...to pursue anything with anyone while I’m still under contract is a very bad idea and too dangerous. Phillip has a way of reaching out and touching people, and not in any kind of good way. And Barret is also under contract and his contract is even longer and more severe than mine. But we are…” Violet paused as she tried to decide on the best words to use.

“We’ve grown close to being friends because we’re just...two birds, in side by side gilded cages.” Violet finally murmured lowly as she finely diced the potatoes as she realized they should boil these and make mashed potatoes.

“So what has he done to incite you to view him like that?” Helen posed as she rinsed off some asparagus in the sink as another vegetable for dinner.

“He’s healing me.” Violet answered honestly.

“Like emotionally or physically?” Helen asked.

“The latter, the former is probably impossible.” Violet specified.

“Like with your central cortex?” Helen posed.

“Yep, he used his genius and formulated my current medication, he got me in front of the curve instead of always chasing behind it. It’s like I’m a teenager again, before any of it ever hurt and I can use my powers for hours instead of mere minutes before the pain sets in and the longer I'm on it, the better. I’m actually sleeping at night because of the sleep aids he’s made for me, granted for anyone else, they’d put them into a permanent coma but for me, they’re just right. I’ve shared them with Tali and they’re curing her too and even all the other Supers at The Agency with the same problem. Grated Phillip makes The Agency pay through the nose for theirs but for now they’re free for me and Barret is risking everything to get me my own protected supply that Phillip can’t touch or better yet, control, just in case Phillip tries to hold them over my head to keep me in line, which I wouldn’t push past him. Barret even made a suit that should protect me and everyone I protect that has features that every Super will want and every Super who is a handler will need. And he gives without any thought or want or need to be paid back. Even when he has so little, he’d give it all before ever being asked. He’s helping me with Dragon Eye, he’s...he’s an unlikely ally and an even unlikelier friend.” Violet explained as Helen’s eyebrows rose in surprise to hear of these developments. Granted, she didn’t like Phillip as far as she could punt him either. Something about Phillip put her on edge and had her own intuition telling her something was wrong with him and that he was much more dangerous than he looked but she couldn’t put her finger on it or explain it. She got the sense he was a sleezeball and Helen would have never forgiven Violet if Violet had come home from Vegas as Mrs. Sebastian.

“Sounds like a pretty awesome guy to me Vi.” Helen shrugged with a knowing grin.

“He is. He just...has an unfortunate past.” Violet answered.

“Was he in the mob or something?” Helen guessed lowly.

“Uh, no, not that I’m aware of.” Violet shook her head.

“Is he a serial killer?” Helen teased as Violet huffed a mirthless laugh again.

“Technically I’m a serial killer Mom.” Violet answered in all seriousness and honesty.

“Oh no you’re not. You’re a Super, no Super has clean hands, on either side but you're on the good side. Guilty blood saves innocent blood, and it's because of that guilty blood that you've saved countless innocents which more than makes up for it.” Helen assured her daughter.

“Even if my hands have the blood of other Supers on them?” Violet posed.

“Yes.” Helen insisted.

“Not all Supers are good people, and not all Supers are heroes. You’ve gotten your hands dirty trying to keep the world safe and everyone else clean, you’ve had to make the tough decisions and the hard choices. But they were the right ones. If it was easy, everyone could do it. But you’re special and you’re one of the good guys, if not one of the best. You’re the best kind of hero, one that doesn’t need to constantly be in the spotlight and have every good deed praised by the masses, unlike others we know.” Helen reassured her as Helen gave the living room a dismissive glance.

“I doubt you’d give Barret the same speech because his hands have just as much Super blood on them that mind do.” Violet posed with a disbelieving look as Helen was taken aback.

“Ok, now you’re scaring me. Who is Barret?” Helen asked in all seriousness.

“Google him, Google- Bartholomew Maximillian Pine, just don’t scream or yell when you find out and don’t tell Dad, the last thing I need is for Dad to go Papa Bear and kill him before I can get Dragon Eye off my plate.” Violet answered before Helen got her phone out of her back pocket and googled it.

“Why does he look familiar?” Helen asked as she looked at the images of him that came up.

“Cross reference Buddy Pine, aka Syndrome.” Violet said before Helen sharply inhaled through her nose as her eyes got impossibly wide.

“See? Do you see why I didn’t want tell you? Because of this reaction right here.” Violet insisted.

“I...I thought he was in a wheelchair? After the accident with the jet turbine.” Helen finally spoke.

“He was in a wheelchair, he was in one for a few years after that accident and had to be put together and get surgery after surgery to be made somewhat whole again, it was why he didn’t go to prison after Syntech crashed and burned as did Syndrome. But Barret has assured me that Syndrome died in that jet turbine and it’s beyond clear to me that he is telling me the truth and he shows me that that's the truth by his actions that he is nothing like what he once was, except for the genius inventor thing, that never changed but everything else did, you'd barely recognize him now but hearing him talk might jog your memory. Or even Dad's especially. Barret has suffered enough from all of that and especially how Tali helped tear apart and break down the very empire she helped him build and left him with nothing where he had to start from an all new low. Not only did he barely have a dollar to his name, he was left in literal pieces that had to be sewn together and be ripped apart piece by piece in every way before he put himself back together again. It’s actually impressive how he’s managed to make it this far despite all that. And even with all that history. He’s...he’s surprisingly not bitter or holding any grudges, even against Tali, because he got his ass into some much needed therapy. Here, watch this with your headphones.” Violet urged as she handed her phone to her mother and had her watch the video that she had saved to her phone as Helen put her headphones in her ear and watched the video as Violet watched her mother carefully, watching how she started off wearily then gradually went from weary to understanding then sympathetic as the video progressed.

“So, you ready to take all that back?” Violet questioned when Helen finished and handed the phone back.

“Nope. Who else has seen that?” Helen asked.

“Tali, she cried when she watched it. She said that if he had been like that a decade ago, she never would have left him, or betrayed him and has asked me to help Barret and take care of him to the best of my ability, which I have happily agreed to and Barret makes it easy for me to do so. I don't do so strictly out of obligation or because it's owed or expected. I do it because I want to. Which is a first for me, especially in this job.” Violet answered.

“Well, it’ll take some time for everyone to come around to the idea of just you being friends. I think it should only matter what people are in the present. Obviously, he’s suffered the consequences of his actions.” Helen appraised.

“He has suffered, more than enough.” Violet insisted.

“Then I trust your opinion of what he is now.” Helen insisted.

“Really?” Violet posed disbelievingly.

“Like I said, the past shouldn’t haunt us forever. And if you said Syndrome died all those years ago. And he’s a changed man, then I will trust you on that. You aren’t one to trust anyone easily. And every ounce of your trust is hard earned and if he’s earned it, and if you trusted him enough to let Jack hang out with him, because it's no secret he's your favorite, much less yourself, then that’s enough.” Helen insisted.

“So you’re not pissed that I let Jack hang out with him?” Violet asked.

“You let Jack hang out with Barret. And Barret is a good guy. That’s all that matters.” Helen insisted before Violet quickly enveloped her mom in a tight hug.

“Thank you Mom.” Violet thanked her, not realizing how much her mother's approval would mean to her or how assuring, reassuring, validating and vindicating it was to have it.

“You’re welcome.” Helen reassured her. Ever so thankful and grateful that Violet let her in on even this much.

Truth be told, Helen was resentful to The Agency for turning her daughter from a good but shy teen to a stone cold killer. When Violet had come home from a stint that took almost a year, Violet just came home and held Jack and didn’t let him go for weeks. And often took him to bed with her and cried herself to sleep holding him. Violet wouldn’t breathe a word of what really happened and what she had been doing was top secret and only the highest of higher ups even knew about it, but after that, Violet was never the same and she was fiercely protective of Jack who was only 3 at the time and she was only 17, almost 18 herself at the time as well. Thus why the two shared their current super close bond. All Helen could think of is that involved children. Maybe the target had little children that Violet left orphaned, that was the only thing that made sense to Helen and to Bob. But after that, Violet just did mission after mission, back to back to back and started earning more than her parents ever did combined. And each time she came home, less and less of herself came home with her and when Violet moved out at 18, Helen feared she would lose all contact with her, and Helen had never been more devastated when her fears proved true.

When Violet was 21, she did another really, really long mission that took over a year and Helen didn’t hear from Violet that whole time and all The Agency could tell her was that she was on mission and undercover, wouldn’t say where or with who. But whatever it was, it didn’t end well. Helen and Bob had been watching the news and three major catastrophes seemed to happen at the same time, complete with natural disasters on top of political upheaval. And then they had gotten a call from Violet from a burner phone, saying that she was done. And she was disappearing for good and that she was just calling to say goodbye.

That had been the worst of it.

To beg and plead with your only daughter to just come home, where it was safe, where she would be protected. And to have that same, oh so precious daughter inform you that she would put them in too much danger if she did that. That she couldn’t protect them. She couldn’t even protect herself. And that the danger was bigger and stronger than anything they had ever known. And that if they only knew what had really happened, they would never welcome her home anyway. And that this was for the best. And it was going to be better this way.

Then silence.

And it didn’t matter how many times Helen and Bob went back to The Agency and rallied the troops and threatened to bring hellfire down on all of them if they didn’t give them their daughter back or at least tell them where she was. They were going to hang every last person at the agency on their own bullshit lies tied into a noose around their necks. No one would tell them anything, mostly because the people there didn’t know and everyone who did was unreachable and "conveniently" overseas and completely unreachable. Bob and herself had even officially quit and retired. And had even tried looking for her on their own but never did find her because Violet had been trained to never leave a trace. And Violet was always- successful.

It wasn’t until Phillip and The Agency found her and brought her home a little over a year later that they got to see her in the flesh. And while it was a blessing having Violet back home, working a ‘normal’-ish job that was mostly 9-5 through the week with the occasional overseas trip, it still kept her here in Metroville, and kept her close and brought her back into the fold so to speak. But the real Violet, Helen feared, never did come back. Or at least the Violet that Helen could remember or recognize.

But then, about a couple of months ago, Helen noticed she started seeing glimmers and glimpses of the real Violet again, like Violet's spirit was slowly returning to her body. She was still incredibly guarded, and secretive. But she was easing up, Helen supposed, at least smiling more, and being more accessible, at least physically, emotionally though, that was another matter entirely.

But Violet did take to Dash’s kids really well when she first came back. Feeling sorry and sad that she missed out on them. It wasn’t unusual for when Helen and Bob had them for the weekend- Violet would ‘drop by’ for the weekend too, with clothes and toys in tow and doted on them the way she doted on Jack when Jack was that age since Dash Jr. was three and Dillon was two and a half at the time and now Dash Jr. was four and in preschool and Dillon was now three and a half and she got along remarkably well with Ashley, Dash Jr's mom who was Dash's high school sweetheart, and Amy, Dillon's mom, Dash's first college love. But Violet got a lot harder on Dash, making sure he always paid his child support and spent quality time with his kids and even chipped in financially with their mothers, making sure that Jr got into an amazing preschool and made sure that Dillon would too, and helping them as much as she reasonably could. And with Jack, she usually bought the bulk of his school clothes and fabrics and trim which she happily took him to the garment district and let him go nuts in the fabric warehouses, bringing home yards and yards of fabrics for his ‘creations’ and even paid for her parents to put on an addition to their house so Jack had his own studio to create in and was super encouraging to Jack with his interests, and often did all she could to help them out, either physically or especially financially and made sure to give them heads up on her schedules of when she was going to be in town or out of town so if they needed to, they could depend on her, or invite her to their own social things that they had going on.

But right now, it was Helen’s intuition telling her that the reason she was seeing more of the real Violet, was because it was Barret of all people bringing it out in her, and for that she was grateful and it was because of that, she could learn to forgive him for the past.

Monday morning Violet came into work and was surprised to see a woman in Phillip’s office already, and it was someone she didn’t recognize as she was sitting in his lap as he showed her something on his computer as her giggle got on every nerve Violet had.

“Mr. Sebastian?” Violet posed politely.

“Oh, Ms. Parr, good morning.”

“Good morning. Do we have anything new for Mr. Pine today?” Violet asked formally, since he was obviously otherwise engaged as Violet’s glasses revealed to her exactly who was sitting in his lap and so intimately embraced in it. Another ballerina. Cheseray Wilkenson, prima dancer for Villefort Dance Company.

“Yes, actually.” Phillip said as he picked up his tablet and did a swiping motion from his own tablet to hers before her tablet got the new data and Violet froze when she saw it as she blinked in surprise from her tablet then back up to Phillip.

“By the way, how is the new suit?” Phillip asked and Violet actually did well keeping the dread and fear from her eyes and her face.

“Good, so far.” Violet answered.

“Excellent. I’m happy it’s working out for you.” Phillip offered and Violet simply smiled politely in view of his ‘company’.

“Is there a problem Ms. Parr?” Phillip baited.

“No, no problem at all, will that be all Mr. Sebastian?” Violet asked.

“Yes.” Phillip nodded.

“Very well,” Violet nodded as she then went to her own office and opened her own computer case from The Agency and accessed her files before pulling up Dragon Eye and did a search for when the last time someone accessed it and her heart dropped when she saw that Phillip was the last one to look at it, Saturday night. After herself, Barret and Jack had been working it as she remembered the wave pattern from the cameras. She had been in the apartment side of the space most of the time where the cameras had only come on in a wave a few times but she had thought nothing of it, since it was going to be Nelson, Pike, Leland and Smith in the security booth but there was no way for Jack and Barret to know that they were on a wave pattern and it obviously happened way more frequently for them to figure out what they were up to. That’s how Phillip knew that they had made progress.

He knew. But she was sure she’d be forced into trying to slit her own wrists if he knew that Dragon Eye was really him.

She closed it out and looked more closely at what her tablet had received as she tried to see what was really there. Was this a test? A trick? A trap? Or just Phillip keeping up with her? Her gut was telling her something was off and something was wrong. She needed Tali’s advice and she called her on her phone.

“Yes?” Tali answered.

“Hey, can you meet me for lunch today? Please?” Violet proposed.

“Uh, yeah, sure, where did you want to go?” Tali answered.

“Don’t care, somewhere uh, private and spider free.” Violet proposed.

“Luigiano’s.” Tali suggested.

“Yup, see you at say...11:30?” Violet proposed.

“Yes, of course Dear, see you then.” Tali answered.

“Thanks.” Violet said before she hung up and quickly went to Barret’s floor.

“Good morning Ms. Parr,” Barret greeted.

“Good morning Mr. Pine, uh, you have a few new items for your agenda this week.” Violet informed him as she couldn’t wipe the confused frown off her face or the fear from her eyes to save her life as she did a wiping motion from her tablet to his and then looked at him pointedly to make sure he actually saw what was in front of him.

“Oh, huh.” Barret finally murmured as he looked it over himself, and also frowned in confusion before he looked back over to Violet before they had a silent conversation with just their subtle facial expressions before he finally reached over and tapped her hand with his knuckle three times but tried to make it look like some random twitch.

“If you don’t have any questions, I’ll leave you to it then. See you this evening Mr. Pine.” Violet formally said before she left and went back to her office before she went into her bathroom and became invisible, her clothes she had been wearing, transforming into her suit before she marched from her bathroom to Phillip’s office, only to walk in to seeing Phillip balls deep in his new ‘pet’ on his desk before she sarcastically gagged then marched straight to Barret’s floor and tapped him again, three times, in rapid succession on the shoulder when she had made it back before he ‘casually’ decided to go to the bathroom himself and once in it, he blew out a breath of relief when a forcefield suddenly enveloped them both as she reappeared before him.

“So what’s going on?” Barret asked.

“He knows we were working on Dragon Eye. I was able to see who saw Dragon Eye last. And it was him. He saw it very late Saturday night. He’s out to exploit you even more than he already is.” Violet answered anxiously as she started pace inside the bubble of the forcefield.

“Yeah but a Super would need your powers to make them invisible too. The suit is meant to work as an extension of yourself and it takes machines that take up most rooms to turn it invisible without your powers. To put the same suit on any other Super, it’s not gonna work. And even if it did, unleashing a small army of completely invisible Supers who don’t have the same moral compass you do- is dangerous, like Supervillain level of dangerous. No offense.” Barret offered.

“Oh none taken, I completely agree. Just having one of me is already too dangerous. I mean it would be nice for The Agency to have someone else for my kind of work but even I would have no way of seeing them.” Violet worried.

“Well...not...not necessarily, when you’re in the suit, when you’re invisible, if you’re wearing the hood, you could see them, you could see, in theory anything you wanted to see. If I make your suit for anyone else. There’s ways I can make them that even you can see them, all I need is to reconfigure the visor section of your suit and even reconfigure your glasses when you don’t wear the suit over your head or give you special contacts or make it so that the the nanos always recognize each other, even from a distance, even from each other’s invisibility. Like x-ray vision but I guess...not. It can be done. It’ll be tricky, but it can be done.” Barret realized as his spark was working into overdrive figuring it out.

“Here’s my other request. While you’re doing that- make my suit EMP proof. Because one of my powers is to mimic an EMP signal, it’s one of the ways I can “burn” the cameras and listening devices and other electronics. But if you could make it so that the EMP signal, knocks out other’s invisibility but keep mine intact. But I also need a way for my own SOS signal to be EMP proof. Like I want to be a thousand feet underground in a copper mine or a lead mine and the right people would still be able to find me and rescue me.” Violet proposed.

“You got it.” Barret immediately agreed.

“Thank you.” Violet thanked him as she stopped her pacing to hug him tightly.

“I think it’s a trap.” Barret confessed.

“Oh I know it’s a trap. But at this point, I need to put my bloody feet in the water to attract the shark and I need a way to set my own trap for it and to spring it at the right time. Springing it too soon and we’ll never catch him. We need a trap of our own.” Violet answered as she just clung to him as he did the same to her.

“But the thing is, if he knew Saturday night, at the time he checked, that was the time Pike was getting off and Leland was getting on, Nelson got Friday night and he made sure to destroy the evidence of the uh, incident. And all he wants is when and if you ever get to leave here alive, to take him with you.” Violet conveyed.

“Oh, yeah, that totally works, it was Nelson that got you the necklace.” Barret immediately agreed.

“Figures. But that leaves Pike or Leland to spill the beans. Pike was in the same boat that Nelson was in when I talked to them Saturday morning and according to everyone, everyone in the security detail is ready to follow you out of here. But I don’t know if Pike was just saying that to curry favor with me or if he was genuine. Nelson I believe is genuine. Pike and Leland, I wouldn’t put it past them to be two faced. So we’re just going to have to be extra careful from here on out and choose our steps carefully. And anyone’s loyalty who can be bought isn’t worth having.” Violet murmured to the crux of Buddy’s neck and shoulder as they just hung onto each other, Barret refusing to let go before Violet would and was perfectly content to just enjoy this, plus he couldn’t chance endangering her by engaging her romantically or at least emotionally when she had so much to lose before Violet finally reluctantly let him go.

“I better get out of here, just in case I’ve been gone too long.” Violet excused herself.

“Thank you.” Violet whispered as she stood on her tip toes and kissed his cheek just as she vanished and just as Barret was about to go ‘fuck it’ and reach out and really kiss her back, she was gone, phased through the walls and he even reached out and tried to feel for her but she was already gone.

“You’re welcome.” Barret finally breathed as he reached up and rubbed the back of his neck anxiously before he sat down and actually used the bathroom as he held his head in his hands and thought of all the ways to give her what she asked for. Electronics that were EMP proof. Ways of seeing the invisible that he had worked so hard to make invisible in the first place. But at the same time, make her own SOS beacon a lighthouse among flashlights all while doing it under Phillip’s nose and off his radar, and off The Agency’s radar.

Meanwhile Violet came back into her office’s bathroom just in time to hear Phillip calling for her once he came into her office, “redressed” in her original clothes she had been wearing before.

“Yes Phillip?” Violet asked as she held her lower belly, pretending to have just had a huge bowel movement.

“Oh, there you are. I apologize for having company earlier and not letting you have freedom of speech in front of her.” Phillip began.

“Thank you.” Violet said simply as she took her seat behind her desk.

“But now that you’re here, I take it I’m free to speak to you now?” Violet posed.

“Yes of course.” Phillip agreed as he took a seat on the other side of her desk.

“About the new suit's possible release for The Agency. I will insist that we bring Edna Mode on onboard, otherwise no Super will have anything to do with it for fear of offending her and Edna Mode is a dangerous enemy. I will take on a thousand Dragon Eyes before I piss her off and you should have the same fearful respect for her that I do, to do otherwise is to court death and social suicide in this business. Edna has been designing super-suits since supers became a phenomenon and into popularity for the last 40 years, every Super, hero and villain alike has always used Edna. She is one of a kind and she’s neutral. This will feel like a betrayal and it will feel like we’re “stealing” this from her. And if The Agency pushes this on their Supers, that will mean that the only Supers to use her will be villains and that’s a recipe for disaster. Also my suit that Mr. Pine designed, was designed with me specifically in mind, specifically for dealing with Dragon Eye. The suit's capabilities will not be available should anyone else try to put it on. So unless you plan on cloning me, which I will never agree to, it won’t work. However, let’s say Mr. Pine does devise a way to get other suits to mimic what mine can do. Do you really think that’s a good idea to hand over truly invisible suits to an Agency that could hold the entire world hostage? The Agency already controls every Hero practically world wide. Or worse yet, if just one suit falls into the wrong hands and gets replicated, every enemy now has a way to waltz into any building, into any place they wanted to and kill you or me or anyone else without a trace. One of me in the world is dangerous enough. Imagine ten of me, a hundred of me, an army of me but without my moral compass and without my ethics. There could be thousands, millions even. All invisible, all uncontrollable and pure chaos and disaster. And all of it would have your fingerprints. Can you imagine the already delicate stock market crashing and sending the whole world into a recession that we’ve never seen before? Is making a few million off of new suits for The Agency worth all your billions that you already have?” Violet posed skeptically.

“Well, when you put it like that, no.” Phillip realized.

“Now I do agree that Mr. Pine’s new suit does have certain features that would be helpful for every Super that are non power specific. Instead of selling invisible suits. Sell the features that are non power specific, sell them individually and let the Supers and The Agency pick and choose and custom build their own- with of course- Edna’s approval, and Edna's control if she would agree on redesigning anyone’s suit. Also, Edna is used to having 100% of the profits of all super-suits and working all on her own before Jack was born. Mr. Pine made mine for free as a favor to Jack and myself because he’s a good person and because we asked nicely. Well, begged and pleaded because Jack and I are desperate to get Dragon Eye because he’s been on my roster for forever but because of his own powers, no other Super but me will touch him and I would prefer to keep it that way. Dragon Eye has the ability to make people commit suicide, imagine his own army equipped with my suit. Me and every single Super at the Agency would be in danger, including you because you have clearance at The Agency, you’d be just as big of a target that I am. Do you really want to risk it?” Violet posed skeptically as she leaned back into her chair and folded her arms over her chest and crossed her legs and fixed him with a look.

“No.” Phillip decided.

“Then change this in the roster.” Violet said as she handed him her tablet.

“Also you do realize that he would have to go to The Agency and to Edna Mode’s house to work on those super suits and every moment he’s off doing that- he won’t be here working on SEB stuff so his own output for SEB will wane to a degree as will his focus since it will be divided too. However it will prove fruitful in the long run because you’ll have an in with every other Super and you’ll be even father on The Agency’s good side and an even closer bedfellow and the chances of getting premium contracts will grow. It’s just a matter of do you want the money that would usually go straight to your pocket to change hands a few times before it does?” Violet posed.

“I think it's worth it for any profits made with any endeavor with The Agency to change hands and have a chance to multiply before it comes back to me will be sizable.” Phillip answered.

“Fair. But know that you will only have a limited time for that to occur. Because once Mr. Pine is no longer under contract with you, he’ll have his own in with The Agency because of this. He used to be the most powerful and influential non Super before his fall from grace and you effectively took his place. Once he leaves, he may want a bigger piece of their pie. Be prepared to share.” Violet warned.

“Well there’s a lot of time between now and then, and accidents happen, besides you’re his heir apparent, I wouldn’t mind sharing all the pie you wanted with you.” Phillip offered and all Violet could do was huff a laugh and grin crookedly as she just shook her head. Violet would sooner slit his throat before she would slit Barret’s as Phillip mistook the roguish curve of her grin as her delight at the prospect which only made him happy that Violet was still on the ‘murder’ side of things as far as Mr. Pine was concerned. Which meant that if she did get closer to Mr. Pine, it would be purely to undo him and further devastate him in the end. Which meant he could fully trust her with him.

“Also, I noticed that you loosened up the safety protocols for Mr. Pine’s outings. Why?” Violet asked since she had him right there.

“Uh, it was a Raid Day thing. I thought you’d feel better knowing he wasn’t “crawling with spiders” too, besides, I completely trust you with him and I know your specialties, the less “evidence” of any kind of friendly relationship, the less can be used against you, in the case you have to do the deed. However, if you are seen by his friends being with him all the time and getting cozy, that will place you well outside the realm of suspicion to them. Especially since you have more than one connection to them.” Phillip answered and Violet realized Phillip’s trap. He was trying to trap Barret, using herself as bait.

“Ok. Well thank you, that’s very sweet and thoughtful of you, I really appreciate it.” Violet thanked him before a thought occurred to her.

“By any chance, is that why you are hanging onto Miss Cheseray Wilkinson for longer than a weekend? Because if you’re “engaged” with her, that may seem to appear to free me up to get “cozy” with Mr. Pine?” Violet asked as she uncrossed her arms and simply let her arms rest on the armrests of her chair.

“You always were so clever Violet.” Phillip beamed proudly as Violet simply leaned forward on her elbows of her desk as Phillip did the same.

“God you’re despicable.” Violet praised, despite her grin, she wanted to throw up when he leaned across the desk and kissed her. But she swallowed it down, along with her disgust for him. Barret’s life and survival hung in the balance, she needed to protect him. The money- she could care less about, she had more than enough just from The Agency, any money from Phillip was always extra. But for Barret's sake, it would be worth it. But for now, she needed to get Phillip right where she needed him and keep herself above suspicion in order to keep her own head from rolling. She couldn’t protect Barret, let alone anyone else if she was dead. And Phillip still held the power to pull the trigger so to speak. She still needed to finesse the gun from his grasp. And she still needed to figure out a proper trap for him too. One that he would be willing to release Barret from his if it meant his own freedom, much less his own life to be exchanged.

“Well Mr. Pine and myself are barely now only friends, for anything romantic is to happen, it is going to take some serious time and some very convincing measures and greater freedoms for both of us and he will not only have to be enticed, but feel free to pursue me without the fear of any backlash or danger of any kind. And I’ll need it in my contract that no retaliation or counter measures will be taken for any romantic entanglements for either of us because his fear of you may always outweigh any desire he has for me and it is that fear that keeps him in line and behaving for us so we need to balance it. And of course the occasional, if not quite frequent unsupervised time spent while in contract would be most helpful and if any of my enemies become his by association, I can’t be held responsible for that. But at the same time, if anyone is going to take him out, it will be me and me alone that will do it. No one else is to ever interfere and whether he lives or dies, will be a matter that me and only me will ever decide one way or another and who knows, he may prove to be useful to me for many years to come, decades probably, why should we prune a bush just as it begins to flower? Why not let it bloom it’s heart out and enjoy it’s fruits for the long run? Granted you get to enjoy the fruits of his labor for the next two years. I would hate to kill the golden goose before it gets a chance to lay it’s best golden eggs a few years from now? Because while I will inherit everything he has, why not let that bush flower and fruit to its absolute fullest and ripest before it’s harvested?” Violet specified with a flourish of her hands.

“Oh of course. I absolutely agree with you on that.”

“But again, all of that will take time. Are you patient enough for all of that?” Violet posed.

“Oh don’t worry about me. I won’t grow bored if that’s what you’re worried about. Cheseray will do quite nicely as a good distraction.”

“Well if that distraction ever gets serious, I wouldn't hold that against you Phillip.” Violet cooed, because honestly, Cheseray and the rest of her dance company could take their turns with him, she didn’t give a fuck.

“Oh I wouldn’t worry about that if I were you.” Phillip reassured her.

“Well, if my hands are going to be full with Mr. Pine for the foreseeable future. I may need help with the position of your handler. And I fear for bigger trips like the ones to Tokyo and Hong Kong and the like, you're going to need an official handler since I’m going to be Mr. Pine’s for those engagements and well every engagement and outing from now on, because closeness does breed fondness after all.” Violet proposed and subtly consciously nodded which got Phillip to nod subconsciously as well.

“Of course, consider this your reassignment to him then. I believe I can enlist others to stand in for your post for the time being while you are otherwise engaged.” Phillip offered.

“Would you like me to arrange for that or did you have someone in mind?” Violet posed curiously.

“Oh I have a few in mind. I’ll take care of it myself. Your hands are already so full from handling Mr. Pine for me. I couldn’t possibly ask for you to find your stand in too.”

“Well if I may make a suggestion?” Violet offered.

“Oh I’m all ears.” Phillip grinned giddily.

“Don’t get Veronica Andrews. She’s a little too strictly business for your tastes and you will lose ground with her for the same things that gained ground with me. May I suggest perhaps a man, who is perhaps- familiar, accepting and incredibly accommodating for all of your needs who will use the same foresight and thoughtfulness I possess and will pleasantly surprise you?” Violet offered.

“Oh do go on.” Phillip urged her.

“He has a bit of a wild reputation and may have been in a scandal or two himself. But, he should be a good fit for you. His name is Leopold Traeger. Also known as Mysterio.” Violet recommended.

“Really? Mysterio?” Phillip posed.

“Most think he’s just a second rate Super, but those in the know- know differently. He’ll be perfect for what you need him for.” Violet cooed.

“Then I will take your recommendation.” Phillip grinned which got Violet to smile victoriously.

“Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a lunch date with Mirage. I’ll need all the insights and tidbits I can possibly harvest from her.” Violet excused herself as she got up and smoothed out her skirt.

“Oh of course, please do send her my best.” Phillip offered as he mirrored her.

“One last kiss then, besides, I would hate to be the reason you and Cheseray were to ever have a disagreement, let alone an argument or for her to feel any kind of jealousy towards me or feel threatened by me and our closeness. I can’t go ruining your relationships can I?” Violet cooed as she gave him one last kiss. Kissing the last of any emotional attachment with him goodbye with it.

“Goodbye Phillip, or should I say, Mr. Sebastian?” Violet slipped back into her handler voice as she sauntered away.

“Goodbye Ms. Parr.” Phillip called after her wistfully.

Violet went to Luigiano’s for lunch early and happily realized that Tali had already made a reservation under Octavia for a private booth. The restaurant was owned by The Seven Kings Mafia, so there was absolutely no cameras or listening devices and there were completely enclosed private booths in one of the private dining rooms that were bulletproof and sound proof and if you needed to discuss any kind of business, Luigiano’s is where you went. Plus they had one of Metroville’s best wine selections and the staff that worked in the kitchens turned out some of the best Italian food in the area that was on par with any Italian grandmother's cooking mostly because the kitchen was full of real grandmothers from all over Italy that were brought over by the seven families that made up the Seven Kings of the Seven King's Mafia and you had to be an important somebody to even be on the list of guests allowed to make reservations and thankfully both Violet and Natalia were on that list. Violet sat down and ordered her favorite wine and some antipastos before Natalia came a few moments later, turning heads like she always did, because even after being a mother of two, her figure had morphed from slim and trim to dangerously curvy but still undeniably sexy and Natalia was still a head turner wherever she went, wearing one of her more couture outfits and looking more like a mob boss’ wife more than anything before she was shown to her booth before her own order was taken then the doors of the booth were closed and secured as Violet and her happily dug into the antipastos that had been delivered already.

“Violet Darling, I was surprised to get a call from you, what’s going on?” Tali asked.

“What do you make of this?” Violet asked as she handed Tali her tablet as Tali took it and read through what was on it before she let it set on the table and got her glass of wine and began to drink it before she looked back down at it, holding the chilled glass of wine to her cheek as he cheeks flushed as she stared down at it as she did her best to school her features to stay composed as Violet could still see the real fear behind her gorgeous green eyes.

“It’s one hell of a trap.” Tali noted.

“I know. It’s a trap for Mr. Pine, I’m the bait.” Violet offered before Tali shook her head no.

“No, you have that backwards Dear. Mr. Pine is the bait, you’re the prey. This is a give. The real question is- what is Phillip taking?” Tali asked.

“Phillip still thinks I’ll kill Mr. Pine at my earliest convenience.” Violet answered.

“Nope, that’s not it. That was a term already agreed upon and understood under the previous terms. These are new terms. Which means new stakes. This is the give, what is the take?” Tali repeated emphatically.

“My sanity?” Violet guessed. “I told him about the creepy crawly spiders. He agreed to kill them for me and that Mr. Pine is like a big can of Raid to me. Phillip hasn’t killed them yet, but he put them to sleep for now.” Violet revealed.

“No. That’s not it. Did Phillip propose? And more importantly did you accept because this is a big “leap of faith and trust” there’s no way Phillip would take this leap, without either knowing for certain that you will catch him, or, more importantly, know for certain that his leverage against you outweighs this, it’s like gambling, and he’s the house, the house is always going to win and this is your first pay out. But there’s no way you get to leave the casino. It’s way too early and the night is way too young, again, what are the stakes, what is the take? The real take? Are you going to be Mrs. Sebastian?” Tali asked plainly.

“No, uh, in fact he has a new squeeze in order to free me up for Mr. Pine.” Violet answered.

“Well it’s clear he’s “loaning you out” like a pimp trading hoes or an exhibit at a museum. What is Phillip taking to keep you loyal to him? To keep you obedient and in line? What is more precious to you than your heart that Phillip knows you'd give up everything to keep safe?” Tali urged her.

“Jack.” Violet breathed in horror as that realization hit her like a brick to the face.

“It was Jack who came to SEB to redesign the suit. It’s Jack who has been working with Edna on Dragon Eye. But Jack is at home, Jack would know if there’s spiders at home or at school and Jack is so far- immune. Unless... Phillip found a way to make himself more potent. Oh God. I told Phillip he needed a new handler while I was “reassigned”. I suggested Mysterio because Mysterio would be able to give Phillip all the freedoms he wants, without too many constrictions of ethics or morals, much less codes or laws. Mysterio has had issues with drugs in the past. If Phillip gets ahold of...any number of things he’ll be too strong. Even for me. Maybe even for Jack or my parents, or anyone.” Violet realized.

“I gotta go.” Violet realized as she took the tablet back and got her things together.

“Thank you for lunch, sorry to eat and run, I gotta…”

“Just go.” Tali waived her off as Violet quickly walked out of the restaurant, doing everything in her power not to cry in public as panic whirled in her chest and she went straight to Jack’s school and had him come to the office while she did her best to wait patiently for him to come before Jack came into the office in confusion before he looked into the office to see Violet before his eyes got wide to see her expression.

“What’s wrong?” Jack asked.

“Oh, uh, you have an appointment with Dr. Pine today that Mom forgot to call the school and let them know you had.” Violet offered.

“Oh yeah, uh, let me go get my backpack.” Jack said as Violet went with him and ordered her secret bike to meet her at a doctor’s office where she managed to find- a Dr. Pine on staff. He was an orthopedic surgeon, who specialized in pediatrics. Perfect.

“What’s going on?” Jack whispered.

“Phillip changed the stakes. We need to strategize with Barret.” Violet urged him.

“Shit.” Jack cursed under his breath.

“That was fast. We were just there for the weekend, we left Sunday afternoon, it hasn't been 24 hours since we last left. How did he change it so fast?” Jack asked in a hushed whisper as he got back to his locker and got his stuff along with work from his teacher before he followed Violet out of his school.

“Read this.” Violet said as she handed Jack her tablet as she drove like the wind to the doctor’s office as she checked her phone to see where her bike was en-route to her.

“I just got done with lunch with Tali, she said that since I’m not officially engaged to Phillip, that that is the give and asked what the take is. I think because you were at SEB, that Phil plans on taking you as leverage against me. I don’t know when or how, but you need to make sure that at school and especially at home, that it’s spider free. But since I officially got reassigned, I suggested Mysterio as my replacement. Mysterio has a history with drugs, more-so with weed than coke but I wouldn’t put it past him. If Phillip gets back on coke- he’ll get too strong, even for me and I’m afraid even for you.” Violet insisted.

“Yup, that tracks.” Jack nodded in agreement before she parked her car and hit a remote on her keys before an enclosed motorcycle slid it’s enclosure back as Violet quickly changed into a pant suit so she could ride the bike astride as Jack got on it with her and got the second helmet and put it on before he hung onto his sister tightly from behind her on the bike and rode with Violet back to SEB in the cloaked bike, weaving through all the traffic, like a thread through a tapestry and once in the SEB parking lot, Violet enveloped through her forcefield as she ran into the building, phasing though the walls and such to get to Barret’s lab before she got Jack safely into Barret’s bathroom before she went up to Barret and tapped his arm three times before he lifted his head and took the cue and went into the bathroom and blinked in surprise to see Jack in there before the three of them were enveloped into Violet’s forcefield.

“Ok, now what’s going on?” Barret asked before Violet repeated what had happened with Phillip and then again with Tali as both Barret and Jack had to sit on the floor as Violet sat with them as all three of them simply held their heads in their hands as they sat cross legged on the floor in a triangle.

“How do we get out of this?” Jack asked.

“Other than in a casket.” Barret specified.

“Or me in a wedding dress answering to Mrs. Sebastian for the rest of my life, however long or short that may be.” Violet groaned as she raked her nails over her scalp.

“Wait.” Jack breathed in softly as an idea bloomed in his head.

“Is there a way to measure someone’s individual brain wavelengths, like a taking a stamp of a fingerprint. And is there a way we can inject, something like a dye, like the kind of dye they inject you with when you have an MRI, but it can stick to foreign wavelengths, like dusting for fingerprints, but on the brain, to see if Phillip has had his “fingerprints” on other brains. Like I know Violet’s brain is going to look like a joint passed around at a party.” Jack began which got Violet and Barret to snort a laugh at his allegory. But he had a great idea.

“But if we can find actual evidence of this suicide seed. It should show up right? And even if it got removed, there might be evidence, like the water stains left behind in a flower vase. It’s worth a shot right?” Jack offered.

“Definitely.” Barret readily agreed.

“And if we can make it so that once it’s found, the dye can act like nonstick spray on a pan, to keep any further ‘fingerprinting’ from happening to the brain itself but make his efforts still show up?” Violet ventured as Jack and Violet looked to Barret hopefully.

“In theory yeah, but it would take images and I need Phillip’s biometric data. And that’s not going to be easy to get.” Barret began.

“Well, we’ve used Dragon Eye as our cover so far, I’d have offed myself already if Phillip knew he was really Dragon Eye. We can use that as our in. We can use the Agency and I can get you set up with passcodes and ways to use The Agency’s databases and super computers so that you can work on stuff that even Phillip can’t see and we can hide it in plain sight because anything secret or top secret or whatever Phillip always likes to poke his nose into. We can even use your cipher to code it. Make it so that IRize and your other companies can get read into it and at least they can keep a second copy of it as a back up and Jack, I hate to do this to you so but get you another back up, keep it with Edna, no one in their right mind would go after her or invade her space, they’d be making an enemy with every Super world wide on both sides.” Violet mused.

“Yeah, that works.” Jack said before Violet got a nosebleed.

“Fuck, I’ve used too much of my powers today, we gotta cut this short. Jack I gotta get you back and get you off at home.” Violet realized as she grabbed some toilet paper to stuff it into her nose to stop the bleeding as Buddy noticed that the blood itself seemed to pulse in and out of invisibility within the tissue, like a cuttlefish strobing it’s lights and colors which he thought was peculiar.

“Ok,” Jack readily agreed before Violet got Jack back and managed to hack into the real Dr. Pine’s medical computers to fake a note for Jack before her bike drove itself back to her secret hideout apartment before Violet took Jack home and lied to her parents about how she had made the doctor’s appointment for Jack because he was complaining of pain in his feet because the real Dr. Pine was an orthopedic surgeon and they were getting a consultation.

Then Violet returned to work as usual and went to check in with Phillip for the evening check in and stopped dead in her tracks when she saw someone with Mysterio in Phillip’s office.

White Lightning- none other than her brother, one Dash Parr.

Fuck. Wrong brother. It wasn’t necessarily Jack that was the take. It was Dash.

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likesomekindofcheese · 3 years

Text

Lady Gloucester Chapter Two: The Berries

Fandom: Shakespeare’s tragedy King Lear

Pairing: Edgar Gloucester and Fem! Reader

Word Count: 7K

Summary: Your parents have arranged a match for you. You are brought to the high court of England to marry the king’s godson, shy, naive Edgar of Gloucester. Though you have caught the eye of his haf-brother, Edmund as well. As you come to know each other, you learn more of the truth of each brother and the reality of the families of the nobility of England. But disaster is soon on it’s way...

Warnings: mentions of sex, brief mention of rape (no actual attack, just a character being a butt), mean fathers, unrequited love, some fighting, arranged marriages, and so much self-indulgence you could put whip cream on it. Some friends to lovers.

Chapter One is here

“Where in god’s name is the fire, is this the way to treat your king?!” Lear vented as he waddled into the main room. All of you were poised. Dressed well and garbed for his entrance. Hours were spent waiting for the night or finding and preparing your best clothes as servants scrambled to prepare food and clean. You were ready to meet your lord and sovereign. Ready to make a good impression, to be seen as worthy for his godson. The man who walked in could have any fussy old grandfather just in grander clothes and rings with a thin crown on his white head. You thought a king would have a presence that would be more…kingly. He would greet people, gesture his hands to move them like game pieces. But he looked around, only concerned about the fire and his own comfort. He tossed his soaked cloak to a servant, jumping back from its weight. Any head who turned to him bowed lightly and he only snarled in return. “Your majesty….” Lord Gloucester began, he bowed and then walked with open arms close to the king as if to embrace him. Lear’s beard matched the whiteness of his hair, and his eyes were sharp as a hawk. His ears stuck out like a child’s and though he was of average height and slouched in his posture, he carried himself with pride as if he were seven feet tall. Edgar glanced over at you for a moment, he leaned over to whisper in your ear quickly. “Make him feel good, he likes that. Say nice things to him.”

Nodding, trying to understand something simple and yet complex at the moment, you bit down hard and watched the king. “Well-hello! Welcome! Welcome my dear lord!” he greeted; he took out his hand as Gloucestor plied to take. “I am honored by the first step you took in my humble home!” he praised to him. Edgar stood behind his father, his hands planted behind him. Every now and then he glanced at you, over in the corner to watch. “Well, thank you!” Lear relaxed and smiled more at Gloucestor’s words. Lord Gloucester gestured to Edgar and he patted the back of the young man with strength. “Your majesty…” he said dutifully. “How fares my godson?” “Well, your most royal highness” Edgar replied politely. “He’s especially happy since we…since we now have the young lady who is his wife here-remember?” Gloucester reminded him. His eyes went to you and you sucked in a breath. You felt your own parents tense up with nervousness and excitement. Even though the king was a fussy old man, he was the king. “Oh, yes! The lady…where is she?” “Y/N, Y/N, sweetling, come here…” Breathing in deep, you stepped forward, Edgar gave you his arm and catching it, you went before the king. “Your highness, I present to you, the future Lady Gloucester!” he announced. With every bit of grace, you could muster, you dipped into a clean curtsy. Keeping your eyes down, you only took note of the dark blue ends of Lear’s robes. “Isn’t she a pretty thing, your grace?” “There are hundreds of pretty girls, pretty is common. What we need are decent ones, ones with good heads on their shoulders.” “Y/N is a true gentlewoman, I assure you. I wouldn’t give my son away to any run-of-the-mill girl!” “Yes, yes, Lady Y/N….what do you have to say for yourself? Your king asks you to speak!” Edgar turned to you and nodded, he placed a hand on your arm and made it tight as if for safety. His advice resurfaced. “I was just…struck by the presence of your majesty. I am not worthy even to dine with you, but yet as good and just as you are, I feel honored to be here in this room, much less to marry your godson.” You praised, eyes still down. “Ha! Well, a nice girl! A decent girl, Gloucestor, indeed!” You saw his long hand gesture up and you looked at him in his sharp eyes, the color of a sapphire. His bejeweled hand touched your cheek, tapping it lightly. You remind me of my daughters-where are they? Where the devil did they go?” “It was raining, father, the carriage got stuck!” a low, smooth voice echoed from the door. The three young women glided in like birds with their fine silk dresses. One had red hair and a high nose in a bun, the next one blonde hair in a similar bun with a simpler dress and dark, sharp eyes like her father. The third was small with dark hair and wore a genuine smile, unlike the serious faces of the other two. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- “Fie that cook, where is our bread?!” the king yelled, slamming his fist on the table. Jumping at the sound, you sipped your water quietly. Feet shuffled as servants ran up to serve bread before the meat could be brought in. You were placed next to the middle sister, the blonde one. She was tearing off bits of bread methodically. What was her name again? That was right… “How are you, Princess Reagan? I heard of your marriage upcoming next week-are you excited?” you asked. She turned to examine you. “Yes, very. Do you plan on attending,” she replied. “I do,” you responded politely. As you turned to drink again, she added on more. “Then you better wear something better than that,” she insulted. Confused and shocked, you glance down at your dress. You hear Goneril, the red-haired oldest, cracking back a suppressed laugh. Looking down, you eat dinner quietly until you hear Edgar across from you. “But I think… no one should outshine the bride on her wedding day, princess”, Edgar reasoned, gesturing at you. Lear pointed his knife in his daughter's direction, oblivious to the food being finally poured onto his plate. “Reagan! Don’t be so horrid! Why are you always like this? If only you could hold your tongue, stupid girl!” Lear cursed. He dug into the chicken a servant was handing him, heaping on a generous amount. Blinking fast, you saw her lips purse as she replied quietly “y-yes, father.” The small, dark-haired princess looked around, eyes wide. She then noticed the king. “Father, have you eaten today?” “Why, I’m eating now!” “All day, you weren’t here at breakfast. Did you have breakfast?” “Why no I…I didn’t.” “Oh, father! Go ahead and enjoy the food…” “For you, darling, I will!” Nodding, you continued to eat. Though you noticed there was an empty chair. No one acknowledged it or commented on it. You turned to Gloucester on your other side, cutting his potatoes into large chunks. “My lord, where is Edmund?” you asked. “He’s in his chambers. Now is not appropriate to introduce him to the king. He has to prove himself worthy first.” He commented plainly. It made you think of the moment when he took off your glove and kissed your hand. You decided to tell no one about it. Perhaps he was just playfully flirting since that was just what he did with all women. He hardly spoke to you since. Only bobbed his head when you passed by him. You saw him chatting with a few maids and how they giggled a fury after he left. But you noticed how often he would keep to himself. Hardly speak. Even servants seemed to eye him carefully, or the male ones, anyway. Besides, there was a sadness in his speech that struck your heart once you thought it over. And being a bastard in a house where that was flaunted in his face could not have been easy. You eyed one servant passing by. “Excuse me, has Edmund dined yet?” you asked the boy. “No, he has not.” “Are there any other plates?” you questioned. “Plenty, my lady.” “Could you please bring up some food to him?” “He refuses to eat!” “Tell him it’s a gift from me. Give him some decent cuts of the food, Sirrah.” You ordered. Later, they sat sewing. Skipping past your own mother at her needle, you went to Goneril. She sewed with a straight back and her eyes right onto her work. In the corner, the fire roared away to keep off the misty chill of the night. “Your highness…” you greeted. “Lady Y/N, what brings you here?” she asked. There was not a friendliness in her voice and it made your smile frozen on your face. “I just wanted to ask…ask…how fares your lord? ” “Another cold. Again. He cannot travel and has to lay in bed.” She reported. She settled it down over her dark grey dress and glared at you in the face. “Oh, I’m sorry.” You replied, inching away. “Y/N, do you always speak of husbands and marriages?” she criticized sharply. “No-no I do not! I only wanted-” “Pfft, if you have nothing more interesting than that to say, I am not interested,” she snapped. Her hands went back to her needlework as if nothing happened. Crushed, you went over to the corner. You wondered where your own sewing went to, and without anything to do with your hands, you folded them on your lap with your head down. The dark-haired daughter turned to you. Glancing over to see they were distracted, talking about things such as the weather or any gossip, she leaned to you to speak. “I am so sorry…they should not have said that.” She said kindly. “And of course they were guests, you couldn’t have fought back.” “Thank you…thank you for your apology, your highness. You’re very kind.” “You just don’t know anyone!” “I…I don’t! Your name, your highness? I forgot…” “My name’s Cordelia! And you don’t have to call me your highness…it just feels good to meet a woman who isn’t a lady in waiting!” Feeling yourself smile back, you relaxed as you looked into her brown eyes. “But enough about me- What about you, how do you fare, Y/N? This isn’t your home! How do you feel about your betrothal?” “I’m…nervous, that’s all. So much is changing. I’m far from home, from most people I know…” you answered. “I can’t imagine how hard it can be, but...Edgar and the Earl are lovely people. You will be fine.” Cordelia assured. A page came by to rekindle the fire. You heard your mother try and make polite conversation with the other two princesses with hushed, restrained voices. “May I ask, if I may be bold, your heigh-Cordelia…I’ve been wondering something. Your father loves Gloucester so much. Why aren’t you married to Edgar by now? Or your sisters? As the king’s daughters, shouldn’t it make sense that you’d be Gloucester’s first choice?” you asked “Our parents pushed us together for a while. My sisters both laughed at the idea. They’d rather marry with a Dukedom at least rather than some earl. So, they decided to see if I would go with Edgar. They made us court for a little bit.” She recalled. “Oh.” Lurching away, you examined her face for nay envy or bitterness. There was none. “But anyway, we tried but…nothing happened. I saw him no more as a friend. I was scared to tell him and his father, but he thought the same! He just didn’t think he’d make me happy as a husband and I don’t think I’d be a good wife for him! So he brought it up easily and they consented. And so it did not happen besides… there are these other men I like more…and they're visiting! Weekly!” she squealed. I’m now finally having suitors!” “Suitors!? How romantic!” “Yes, I…I can’t believe I only get to marry but…it’s thrilling! The king of France is lovely, though the duke of Burgandy is the most handsome man I've ever seen! He even wanted to duel some other fellow for writing some verses for me-“ “Does it scare you?” “I confess I enjoy it a lot! I have all sorts of outings with them-chaperoned, of course- isn't that silly!” “It’s not, it’s exciting!” You both laugh lightly. “We don’t get to choose a lot but…we have this one choice where it matters…and I’m glad it is one of the crucial ones.” She said. The rain pattered and there was thunder in the distance. You heard feet scuttle as if the servants were giant mice. A maid as big as your pinky scurried up to the room to announce to the princesses that it was getting time to retire. The storm was going to force the king and his daughters to stay overnight. But somehow, the thought didn’t make you nervous. Cordelia was gracious, hardly leaving your side. Eating together and sewing, telling stories. You found she loved history and was able to explain things to where you understood them plainly like a good teacher. She made you smile. She cheered up even the gloomiest hall and she even had a knack for playing all sorts of games, mature and childish. Once the mud had cleared and the rain was light, you felt sad to see her go. “Here, there are some books from the library, you might enjoy them…” you offered, as a small parting gift before she boarded her carriage two mornings later. “Wait, may I invite you, y/n?” she asked, her fur gloves holding onto the books. Her father was being helped into the carriage. “Me? No, I couldn’t!” “I think you need to have another woman around who isn’t your mother! And you need to come over and see me!” “Well…yes, I guess so.” “I promise, no one will bother you! You may visit our palace, or I’ll visit yours! Do you not mind? I’m not being a bother, am I?” “No, Cordelia, you aren’t!” “Time to get in the carriage, dear, Burgandy wants to dine with us tonight!” Lear reminded, sticking his white head out. “Burgandy-then I must go!” she cheered before hopping into her seat. As the door closed, you saw Lear lean over and kiss her cheek before it took off. Even he seemed to melt around her. Sighing, you watched the carriage vanish over the horizon. “If only I could be like Cordelia-a princess, adored and worshipped with beautiful men fighting over me. My choice of the litter, and not chosen for me…” you sighed. It must be nice to be as lovely and as desired as Cordelia.

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It was nerve-wracking at first to be on a horse. It was a strong, moving animal that could knock you out or kick you if you gave it a reason. But as long as Edgar was there to help you, lesson by lesson, it made you braver about riding. “Come on, come on!” Edgar said, leading the horse on its reigns. You held it gingerly. He picked up the pace, walking in a wide circle in the back courtyard. Gloucester walked by with another earl, Kent, discussing something passionately when he turned and saw you. His dark red robes flapped with the breeze and his bright eyes glittered when he saw you two. “Well! A young man leads a sweet betrothed on a steed-if it wasn’t a horse I would have mistaken you for the Nazarite couple that brought our Lord!” he commented. “Father, we have no grand, divine matters as a holy child- I am just teaching Y/N how to ride…” he explained. The wind made his cheeks pink and his hair tossed. From your high advantage, you couldn’t help but admire him. “With Joseph! He’s the gentlest one-he already likes her!” Edgar continued, patting the horse's muzzle gently. There was a small laugh from Gloucester. From the back, your mother smiled as she read her book. She usually sat in the corner as you and Edgar did things together. Just to make sure everything was kept appropriate. “Is that why we have no apple tarts for dessert this month?” he asked. Edgar shook his head but grinning, you bobbed your head up and down. He turned around, saw you, and then added. “Yes…my lord father, it is!” Gloucester went to the horse and then looked up at you. See, he’s a gentle soul…all you have to do is give him apples and he’ll be like your dog…” “He’s a lovely horse,” you cooed, gently patting his speckled face. “And he’s every bit as arrogant as his namesake without some colorful coat!” The horse had the sweetest brown eyes too. Beautiful and fierce, but he carried himself with lightness. And that lightness came across in his speed and the strength you felt.

”Let me help you down, Y/N...”

Edgar placed his hands right over your body. With an odd, warm feeling all over you, you accepted the touch as he helped you off. Lingering in the light hold for a bit, you stepped off and wiped your hands on your skirt. “Thank you, thank you for teaching me…” you said. “It was a joy to, my lady. I’m glad you’re able to ride a little.” Edgar added. From the window, there was a pair of eyes watching you both, Looking up, you glimpsed them before they flashed away. But you decided to ignore it. Maybe it was your father. Walking inside the castle through the stables, Edgar squeezed your hand to wish goodbye before he left off to the library. Behind you, you heard slow footsteps. “Did you heed my warning?” Edmund asked. “About what?” you asked, hands folded before you. “I told you, he left a maid pregnant and she died bearing a babe…any woman he has is bound to die, do you want that to happen to you?” he asked, looking you over. “Who are you speaking of?” you questioned, stepping forward. The stable had sunlight pouring through from the door. It was musty and smelly with animal dung. “Your ‘lord’, Edgar of course!” he said. Crossing your hands, you walked up to him, you glared daggers into Edmund. “The first time we spoke, you told me you were a half-brother. And yes, you mentioned a maid becoming pregnant, but you never specified who the father was. Then that means you’re speaking of Gloucester. Everyone knows what you are-you can’t fool me with that. That maid wasn’t Edgar’s maid, wasn’t it?” He paused, his head bowing down and then huffing deeply. “Yes. That maid was my mother.” A horse brushed his lips before he bit onto some hay. You heard another clopping by as it was led to its stable. “Y…did you enjoy the food?” you asked, trying to lighten the subject. “Yes, yes I did. I can’t fool you, Y/N, but I can make you hate him.” “My lord, what do you want of me now?” “I want your safety, isn't that obvious?” “How kind,” you sarcastically remarked. “Observe Edgar, observe him, and soon you’ll see he is…a horrid, spoiled man. He never earned anything-it was all handed to him. He’s a baby. How could you have a baby with a father who is a baby himself?” he dared, pointing his finger at the door his brother left through. Standing your ground, your eyes never left his. “I will observe him, and give a few months’ time, give you my answer. I’ll break off the betrothal myself if I don’t think it’s fit.” You reasoned. He blinked in surprise. He smiled “really?” “Really.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Later, you found where Edgar would be. He spent long hours of his free time in the library. Creeping over, you knocked on the door. “Oh-Y/N! What a surprise!” he greeted. His brown head popped from a table piled with books. “Why are you here?” If you were going to figure out if these warnings were true, you had to be proactive. Which means you had to be unaccompanied in one room with Edgar to see who or what he really was. “I just wanted to…to see you…to see what you were up to…” you said. Swallowing the other reason, doubt began to creep in. What if Edmund was right? Maybe he was reading something nefarious. “I just found this collection of plays and it’s fascinating!” “Plays?” “Yes! See!?” Looking inside, you saw it was a large book filled with all sorts of thin lines and names. Stage directions in brackets. “I’ve been lost in it all day!” he confessed. “What plays have you read?” you asked. “Histories, tragedies, pastorals, comedies, comic-pastoral, tragic-historic, historic-pastoral, comic-tragical…every kind!” he said. The smell of the old pages lured you in. And besides, you needed to stay with him per Edmund’s dare. “Could I…could I look at it too?” “I have an even better idea…let’s read one! Aloud! It’s how it should be!” he encouraged, his eyes wide. “But you have to read it with emotion, not monotone-alright?” “Alright!” He sat you down on a chair next to him. You selected a light comedy to read. Soon you were switching characters. Edgar was extremely talented. He altered his voice and moved his hands to make each of his own characters different. You found you were watching him read to the point you forgot your own place and had to catch yourself. In one scene you played a beggar encountering a shepherd. You had to read the beggar. “Oh, please sir! Sweet swain! But for a penny…” you attempted a decent tone. He shook his head a little, but with a smile. “Y/N, try and make your voice raspy and jumpy-“he advised. “That’s how the beggars on the streets talk if you notice them…” “Alright…” You tried the line again with a raspy quality and he laughed and applauded. “I just have trouble with the beggar’s lines, I promise! And the farmer-he just speaks oddly!” “Just do that one, and for the farmer…have you heard the way they talk? Their accent?” he asked. Turning the page over, you recalled the odd farmer visiting the palace to discuss something with Gloucester. “Yes, with the lilt and their r’s? Let me try that…” you said, trying to get the flavor of the sound. As you found a line of the farmers, you realized it wasn’t as hard as you initially thought. And he was smiling in encouragement. The door creaked as it opened. “Quite comfortable, are you two?” Gloucester asked, poking his head in boldly. Standing up, you blubbered out “m-my lord, we were reading, was all! I promise you nothing-” “I see, I see! Edgar’s a clever lad-well read lad, he is! I’m glad you both could enjoy it! But lady, your father has been calling you and would like to speak with you.” He announced. Checking around, you didn’t see your father nearby. Perhaps he was with your mother in their chambers. “I’ll leave at once…” you said. But you felt Edgar take a step near you, you turned around. “Y/N, could you come again, you think? Read another one?” he asked, his eyes bright. “I…I will. Thank you!” As you left, Gloucester closed the door and turned to his son. “Nothing happened?” Edgar shook his head, walking forward and gesturing in a slight panic. “I swear on my right arm, nothing inappropriate happened. She didn’t say anything too forward and I was chaste as ice with her…we’ve only touched hands and that’s all! We didn’t even touch hands as we were reading!” His father let out a sigh. “I was worried…I was hoping for a kiss!” “Father?!” He relaxed and smiled, letting out a half-laugh in disbelief. “I want to know my son will be happy! At least, have a wife he likes kissing!” “I have to confess…you’ve told me ladies love it but…at the thought of kissing her I…I shake! Besides, how will I know she wants it? Then she really will hate me!” “Have you considered asking her?” he asked with a grin. Edgar shoved his hands in his pockets and exhaled deeply. “Well, it’s too early for any kissing anyways…” Gloucester walked closer, his voice a little sharper. “You’ve always been shy around women. Polite. Formal. But now you’re being too formal. But it seems like this lady will be your wife at this rate. And you understand the laws about annulment-how easily your marriage could be denied like it never happened. And leave all your lands and title heirless, too!? You will make sure the marriage is consummated…” “Father!” he gasped, his ears turning pink. “You’re a young man and she’s a lovely woman! It shouldn’t be a challenge! I have to make sure the marriage is solid and …besides, I want to see my own grandchildren!” “I can’t think of…of that without a heart attack…it’s not that I don’t like touching her or I don’t want to kiss her I just…I get nervous when I’m with her! Why are we even talking about this now!? but…Father, I just want to…I want to make sure she’s…she’s happy…” he said. Gloucester patted his shoulder lovingly. “You don’t have to touch her now! Not at all! We’ll think of something” ------------------------------------------------ The physician felt your head. “Humph, she’ll be fine. It won’t be pleasant, but she’ll be fine…” Head spinning, you laid down further and coughed into your fist. Your parents looked at you worriedly. Sitting down, your father reached over to hold your hand. The illness arrived right at Goneril’s wedding, rendering you unable to go. For a few days, you laid burning of sickness in your bed. “It will be alright, it’s just a little fever…” he assured. He felt warm. Everything was freezing. Freezing cold. You remained in bed with blankets piled over you. At a knock at the door, you hear a familiar voice, his voice. “How is she?” Edgar asked. “Nearing the end, she’ll be better in a bit after some rest. And she’s taking medicine.” “Thank God.” Edgar walked forward, holding a large bowl with a spoon in his hands. “My lord? What are you doing here?” you asked worriedly. He was seeing you as you were sick, your face lost of its color, your hair horrid, and your voice hoarse, far far from “loveliness itself.” Part of you wanted to just bury yourself in the blankets before he could see you. But he looked at you kindly. “I have this. I heard Y/N was sick and I…I wanted to bring it here.” He brought a bowl of brother and a spoon. “Eat all of this broth, there’s a special tea I’ll give you later. My mother insisted on these when I was sick, it will make you strong, Y/N.” Nodding, you sipped the broth, delicious to you. The tea was bitter and full of herbs. But your taste buds were weak. You didn’t mind. It felt good on your stomach. “I’m sorry I… I look like this…” “But Y/N, you’re sick!” “You don’t think-“ “You don’t have to feel like you have to be pretty all the time for me, or my father or anyone…just rest!” Soon enough, you were sleeping soundly. Edgar even came by to talk, telling you stories about his childhood, things he heard of some old king named Arthur, and his companions, and adventures. Reading from books his mother would read him. You hardly noticed the hours passing and your sickbed became pleasant with his company. You were lying asleep. Edgar sat by on the chair, watching you rest soundly. A smile pressed on his face. The color on your face was returning and you had a small smile on your face as you dreamed. “So…a little peck on the head?” Gloucester asked. Excitedly. “No! She’s asleep-and she was just sick too!” “I’ll never understand a man who wishes to be so formal with his bride-to-be!” he muttered, shaking his head. “Alright, I won’t kiss her yet. I’ll give her something…what do women like? What does she like?” “I know she likes books, like me. She seems to like animals well enough. And she likes these foods because she smiles when we serve these at dinner…” Gloucestor recalled, listing various treats off of his fingers. ------------------------------- “Checkmate, I win.” “Again, Cordelia? I can’t believe you.” You gasped, blinking at how her white pieces in one turn overtook your own black ones. “See for yourself, plainly I’ve won!” she reasoned, though there was a mischievous light in her eye. “We should switch to cards-You always win the strategy games!” you teased, taking in a deep sigh. “You just need help with coming up with better strategies!” she laughed merrily. “I can help you with that!” As you began to pick up the pieces to stand again, the floor creaked with the weight of a new pair of shoes on it. Looking up, you saw it was Edgar. Dressed in a nice jacket, his shoes shined, and his hair combed. He held his hands behind his back. “I’d like to speak with Y/N, for just a minute, princess.” “Speak away,” she consented, eyes wide in curiosity. “I have this, a gift….” In his hand was a small bowl of your favorite berries. “What?! You found them in season?” you cried. “A sweet thing, for my sweet mistress. To make sure she is fed and has something to taste she loves…” “Edgar, I…thank you!” You sat this time with Edgar’s added presence as you played cards. He joined sometimes, other times he contented himself to read. But the berries did taste wonderful as you popped them in your mouth. As the week passed on and became the next month, he went over with his father behind him. You sat in the hall with your mother finishing your breakfast. “Here, open this box.” He said, nudging a wooden box in his hands. “I had to ask my father, but he gave his blessing…” Inside was a beautiful necklace. The gems sparkled with the yellow morning light. “Could I…could I put it on you?” he asked. “Yes.” Taking the necklace from his box, you turned around, moving your hair out of the way. His arms reached over you and you could feel his breath, Aware of his closeness, of his hands around you. The cold metal gave the sensitive skin on your neck and shoulders goosebumps. When he clasped it, you felt the contract with his hands. Suddenly vulnerable for no reason other than you were very physically close. Heart fluttering a little more, you turned around slowly. “My lor-Edgar, I…thank you…” you replied. It felt light and cold on you, but you loved the color and how it looked against your skin. “That was my mother’s necklace. My father gave it to her, and now it will be always yours,” he informed. “I will take good care of it,” ------------------------------------------------- Every month you stayed, there was another gift. The next month brought you a special new skirt to wear which you did for him. The next month it was a rich springtime, so you had arrangements of flowers. The next month you had your own little collection of books like his. With each gift, he became less quiet. You talked more. Of your memories. What you dreamt of last night. Your childhood friends. Your own fathers and mothers. The more you thought of it, late at night. You wondered what you would tell Edmund. Awaking in the middle of the night it struck you- the six months were running up already. He was pitiful. He was charismatic. He was charming. He was clever. And he looked at you with a slight smile and sometimes a wink that made your stomach drop. Perhaps this was to get you to fall for him… Tossing in your bed, you wondered about what being married to Edmund would be like… He tried to trick you with his words and outright lie to you. He tried to persuade you that a generous, gentle young man was a bad person. If you could throw away Edgar and marry his brother, what kind of marriage would that be? Even if Edmund inherited anything at all, he was making a fuss of nothing. Was it because of…jealousy? The thought made you wish you could shrink away and hide. Getting up, you paced your chambers in the dark of night, turning it over. Technically, you could refuse the older and leave unscathed. Marry the younger even. But you didn’t want to do that. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ “Edmund, I have observed him closely enough. I see no real fault in your brother.” “You aren’t looking closely enough,” he quipped. He leaned against the wall, eyes peeled for anyone listening or watching. “Closely?! The other day I saw him as he was sitting peacefully at the window, observing how the rain fell down. A fly came by and landed on his leg. I have seen many people attempt to swat at the creature and kill it, but he…he let it be. When it stirred, he would only glace at it, moving his clothes so it would go somewhere else, but was content to live with it in peace. Why should I be repulsed by a man who would not hurt a fly?” you asked. “He barely even has his sword with him!” He huffed, then crossed his arms again. “You haven’t known him long, you’ve only known him for a few months, I for years…” he reasoned. “Edmund, do you think I am foolish?” you asked angrily. “I…what, no. Not at all, my lady.” He walked over to you and looked you back into your eyes. Taking in a deep breath, you squeezed your fists and spoke as calmly as you could. “Edmund, I don’t want to marry you.” He paused. His frown was stubborn. He put his hand to his mouth, thinking before he continued. “It’s my status. I was born of lechery and you mistake me for lecherous.” “No, I don’t…” “If I had a claim to that title. If I was called a real son, if I could have a few acres of that land, just a few more rooms of the castle, be called ‘earl’ or ‘lord’ or what have you and spoil you with all of those trinkets…would you take me?” Giving it careful thought, you shook your head firmly. “No, Edmund. I don’t love you like a wife. I will love you like a sister, a friend. When I become countess, I will make sure you are every bit as equal. You’ll have some land, plenty of money-Edgar will be earl then. I’m sure I can persuade him. We’ll take you to court. I’ll make you dine with the king and his daughters too! But…I cannot force my heart to love what it cannot…” “Do you love my brother then?” Freezing, you gave it a bit of thought. “I…I don’t know. I’m not sure. But I…I like him. And we are already engaged, he will be a good husband to me, I know it.” “Oh, because of all of those silly things he spoils you with! If I had his money, I’d give you a hundred of those necklaces and ten horses!” he boasted, gesturing away. Taking in another breath, you dared not lose your ground now. “Why do you even like me? You’ve known me less than you know my brother and you don’t like him yet you’re fond of me?” He swallowed. You saw him tear up a little. “I still remember the night you sent me food, I thought I…I had hope that maybe, maybe you could see me…” he cursed. He then went to the wall and punched it with his fists in frustration. Taking a step forward, you softened your voice. “I do see you, but not as a lover… There will be a maid for you, someday. A wonderful, sweet, beautiful maid who will make you happy. But I cannot make you happy and you cannot make me happy either. That is all, I must leave.” ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- It was solacing to walk about the gardens. The late spring was arriving and with it the blooms. There was heat and you could smell the hotness on the dirt and feel it on your sweat as you walked continuously on the ground. Often your father stayed in, dozing away the afternoons but your mother joined you. You discussed everything and nothing. Often on those walks, she was more candid about marriage. What to do with quarrels and conflicts. She told you everything about what happened with lovers and spouses in a bed together and what to expect on your wedding night and on nights after. Where men wanted to place it on you and what you could do, how it could be painful or enjoyable. Your ears burned and you were glad that only some flock of sheep could hear these words. But you returned, discussing everyone at home. How badly you missed them, funny stories, and how odd it was that this was now your reality. How this strange, large castle was now even called “home.” “Do you have any questions?” “No, not anymore…” you answered. As you both returned to the castle, you heard a clanging noise and the sound of harsh grunts. “What…what on earth is it?” your mother asked. You thought you recognized Edgar’s voice. Following her, she curiously turned the corner, going to the stable where horses were kept. There was Edgar with a sword fighting away with a tall, thin man with curly black hair and a thin mustache. “Good, my lord! Now parry-there!” he spoke with a thick accent you could not place. He parried but lost his footing, only to get a tap on the leg. “Oh-there!” “I can’t believe I missed that!” Edgar cursed. Turning, he saw both of you, his eyes widening. “Oh! Lady Y/L/N! And Y/N!” A few chickens scurried out of the way, past your petticoats. “Are we stopping some needless fight?” your mother asked. Edgar shook his head, face flushed from the movement. ‘No, this is my swordsmanship instructor-I’m sorry, I’m not that good.” “My lord only needs some practice, is all! Head too much in books and no real action!” the instructor joked. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw his younger brother watching from the shadows. He looked at you, but he did not wink. “Any good gentleman should know how to fight properly! Like my brother-Edmund! Oh, he’s good!” he bragged, gesturing to him. The instructor applauded. “Will Sir Edmund like to try?” Edmund was quiet. “Unless you fear upsetting the ladies, brother.” “We can stomach a fight for practice-your respect means well, but we can handle it!” your mother shrugs. “Gladly,” Edmund said. Though there was a slight twinkle in his eye that made your stomach drop. He unleashed his false sword, swinging it high in the air before he landed it. Eyes wide in panic, Edgar threw his sword up to stop it. It hit with a loud, wooden clang. Edmund was aggressive, furiously attacking him. Backing him into corners, Edgar ducked, the sword barely missing him. Your mother pursed her lips though the instructor practically glowed with excitement. But you had a feeling that it had nothing to do with just practicing. Watching worriedly, you decided enough was enough. “Stop! Stop! Both of you-stop!” you walked forward, hands-on hips. Edgar turned, glancing his head up at you, Edmund swung, knocking the side of his body. With an “oof” he fell on his bum to the ground, Edmund’s sword at his face. “Well played, gentlemen! My lord Edmund- practically born with a sword!” the instructor praised, clapping. “That’s your problem, you’re not a born fighter, brother. If only you could thrust properly” he added with something in his tone that made you feel cold. Marching up, you took his hand and pulled Edgar to his feet. He was surprised, first at the feel of your hand on his own hands, eyes wide with embarrassment. “Are you alright?” you asked, brushing off some hay from his shirt. “Perfectly fine!” he assured his face blank. Turning around your skirts, you suggested that your mother and you go inside and sew. The less you saw of Edmund today after that, the better. ---------------------------------------------------------- “Today we celebrate, for now, am I a year older, with two lovely sons, a daughter-in-law to be, a wedding in two months, lands, a king for a friend, and all the luck of the world!” Gloucester announced, drinking deep his goblet. Drinks followed in his honor. You were getting used to standing by Edgar more. Both of you held your goblet in both hands and drank deeply. You caught a slight cough, holding in the beverage and he laughed at that. Wiping up your lips with your sleeves, you smiled. “Everyone, go! Dance!” Gloucester wished. “Musicians, play! Dancers, dance! Fools, go fooling! Just be merry tonight!” “Dance with me!” you insisted. You took his hand and pulled him down. “What! I’m not that good…” he denied. “Doesn’t matter! Just dance with me Edgar, once!” you pleaded. “Well, alright! You wound up dancing four whole dances together. He laughed and you realized he was good. He caught on quickly. Even when he messed up steps you both burst into laughter. As the music faded, you both went to a corner, catching your breaths and drinking water after all that excitement. Edgar tapped at a small crack on the brick wall. “Here, this spot near the walls…do you hear the wind?” “I do!” “It’s the best spot…makes you cool down at once!” “Ah! I feel it!” you say, waving your hand over it. It was further away from the crowd. The music and chatter were dimmer and you could hear each other clearly. Both of you put a hand to feel the blast of cool wind. Refreshing despite the sweaty heat of movement. “You are a good person, er dancer!” you corrected, looking down in embarrassment. “What?!” “You’re a good dancer!” “So I am not a good person, then?” Eyes up, you set your drink down. Inside your dress, your legs shook a little. “Edgar I…months ago, I didn’t even know who you were. Only that you were to be my husband. I was so worried that…that you would be a monster. But you’re not that…you’re…you’re kind and intelligent, and you make me smile and I…I’m just…I’m glad you’re, well, you!” He beamed, his hands taking yours. You felt his own pulse race as he asked. “Can I kiss you, Y/N!?” Nodding, you leaned forward, tilting your head forward. Edgar kissed you. He tasted like the wine they served and it was quiet. But it was far from bad. Away in the middle of the crowd, Gloucestor noticed. He lifted his cup, drinking it deeply with merry mischief in his eyes. His second son, noting the intimate moment as well among a feast bit down on his teeth. You held it for a while and then leaned away. Both of you sucked in a bit of air through your nose. Almost giddy, you sputtered out a comment. “That was…that was nice…” He nodded. His face was bright pink and his grin was the biggest you had seen it. “I don’t think it will be a bad thing at all to be married to you,” he said. “I don’t think so either.” There was a pause, he then took your hand. “Would you like to eat with me? They served some pastries-you have to try the gooseberry one.” ---------------------------------------- Those memories stung in your head now. Happy moments. Ones made miserable in an hour. You thought Cordelia would be enough, you thought it would stop there. But that night, Edmund’s cries of “torches! Torches! Yield! Father!” rang through the halls. You and Gloucester rushed to the stables, his hands pulling up his robes. Walking outside, he looked around the stables only to see Edmund. It was night, and thunder lolled with a warning of a coming storm. “What is it?” “Look-I bleed!” He opened his hand to show a cut on his palm. “What, why were you fighting!” “Where is Y/N? Where is she?” he asked, his head swishing as he found you behind the Earl. “Oh, Y/N, my poor y/n! Thank heavens you’re safe! I fought, I fought him, for your honor.” “My honor?!?” you cried. Gloucester glanced at you with fear. “Father, didn’t I tell you! I should have warned her too, I never thought….you must know, Tonight, Edgar was plotting to kill you to have his inheritance, he turned me over to boast to me-he’d have Y/N too, he…he was planning…” He pulled up the key to your room. “He planned to creep into the girl’s chambers as that poor maid slept and ravish her there in her bed-she’d be forced to marry him after! And no one left to protect her, poor soul!” “What-oh! You poor thing!” Gloucester went over and held you tight. “I would never let that girl within a mile of that demon had I known, I swear on it!” “As if his plot for you wasn’t enough! I couldn’t stand him to speak so crudely-to commit something unthinkable to that innocent maid, so I drew my sword to stop him. He only cut me, then ran away.” “Villain! Where are my men-get them! Search everywhere for him! If Edgar is found here, he is dead!” Head shaking, you could hardly believe it. You broke from Gloucestor’s arms. “See! Even she is in such shock that such a sin could even be thought of!” Edmund accused. You escaped back to the castle. Up, up, up you ran, skirts flying. Not caring that guests were over. Not caring for anything, your head spinning and your throat dry. You opened a window out to the open. It was dark and rain pelted on your face and hands. Lightning crashed, with brief light all over. You could hardly make out the wilderness in the night. But what you could make out were the sounds of hoofbeats and the dim flame of torches. You scoured everyone for one figure, one body, one hint that he was out there, somewhere. “Edgar!!!” you cried, your voice barely echoing out. Thunder rolled again. “Edgar! EDGAR!” you screamed. Hoping, praying, somehow, he would hear you. That you would make out one small figure in that dark. That you would see him turn back. But the men with torches advanced. Their swords were drawn, and they were drawn for your betrothed. They rode off into the night with a whinny of their stallions. You had sunk down on your knees. Thinking of that first kiss briefly, on the night you danced together, of your gifts, of your sickness thinking of everything that just happened, how it all seemed like a nightmare and yet it was all real, you finally sobbed. Sobbed and heaved until you had no voice, and your face was soaked with tears. You lost your friend. And now you lost him too. To think it all began with a letter. That stupid, stupid letter. To think you never saw any of this coming. All because of a letter that arrived that first morning. You wished you could have burned it away instead of letting it sit burned in your pocket, mocking you with its innocent words.

“His highness, King Lear, will be dividing his lands between his daughters. We would like for you to be present.”

Taglist: @rhapsodyrecs @queenlover05

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bitsandbobsandstuff · 5 years

Text

A love that never leaves (Epilogue)

Summary: Sometimes when you go looking for the past, you find things you never expected. When an accident brings him face to face with something he never knew he lost, Bucky Barnes begins to understand an age old truth – it’s so easy, sometimes, to love the things that destroy us.

Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: Bad language. Death by fluff.

A/N: Here we have a visit from a very hungry super soldier, an enormous helping of domestic bliss, and an unexpected surprise for Bucky. Thank you to everyone who stuck with me on this little adventure. I appreciate every bit of encouragement and support, and I hope you enjoy the end! ♥️

If you’re interested in the song the boys are whistling, it’s a war song from 1942 “Praise the Lord and Pass the Ammunition.” You can find it on Spotify. ☺️

Links don’t work, so if you want to access the full ALTNL Masterlist, just click the MASTERLIST header on my blog.

Previously...

Slipping a knife from his boot, he crouches down and digs his blade into the tree. With a few twists of his wrist, he carves a rough cross deep into the base of the tree trunk. He gazes at the small token for a minute, before sliding the knife back into his boot.

Standing with an inaudible sigh, he backs away. Straightens himself up. Snaps his feet together and offers a sharp salute to the unmarked grave.

“Rest easy, Soldier,” he murmurs.

And then Sergeant Bucky Barnes turns and heads home.

*****

One month later

Out by the woodshed, Bucky lifts the hem of his shirt and wipes the sweat from his face. Sorting through the pile of wood, he finds the best piece, balancing it on the chopping block. With an easy swing, the sharp blade arcs through the air and the pieces tumble into the growing pile.

Chopping wood seems unnecessary this late in the season, but he likes the work. Manual labor feels cathartic, and he relishes the pull of his muscles with each swing. Besides, even though he runs hot, he knows she doesn’t. If he has to put in some elbow grease to keep her warm, he’s happy to do it.

Spring is so tantalizingly close, he can almost taste it.

More and more of the ever-present world of white disappears daily, the shining sun turning the world beyond the cabin into a slushy mess of mud. So muddy in fact, they’ve gotten her truck stuck twice.

The first time they got it out no problem, but the second time - Bucky has that memory tucked away forever. While the wheels spun uselessly, he got out to push, which was a nice idea in theory. Until the truck leapt forward and he face planted in the mud. When she hit the brakes and jumped out, she ran around back to find him staggering to his feet, covered head to toe in black muck.

Of course, her surprised laughter turned to shrieking when he chased her through the slop until he caught her, picked her up, and threw her in a snowbank, his fingers tickling the entire time. They rode home dripping wet and covered in mud, barely able to stop laughing. When they arrived, Bucky pulled her into the shower with him until they were both perfectly clean and thoroughly interested in getting dirty again.

Yes, spring is a magical time.

Life feels new. After a long, cold, dark winter, he can finally see the other side and everything it offers. It’s like being born again, his life with her brimming with hope.

Taking a deep breath of the clean air, he selects another chunk of wood.

Above the sharp thwack of the ax, he hears a faint sound floating on the breeze.

Shading his eyes, he sees a figure walking along the road. Even from here, he sees a bright red stocking hat pulled low over his head, a hitchhiker’s bag strapped to his back. There is a brief flutter of nerves, before his stomach eases. The slope of broad shoulders and bouncing walk are telltale signs, but then he hears the whistle of a familiar song. Embedding the ax into the chopping block with a dull thunk, he whistles the tune in return. Strange words he unconsciously knows from another time.

Praise the Lord, we’re on a mighty mission

All aboard, we ain’t a-goin fishin’

Praise the Lord and pass the ammunition

And we’ll all stay free

Dusting off his hands, Bucky ambles down to meet the man, a relaxed grin on his face.

“Still singing that damn song?” Bucky greets him. “Anyone tell you the war is over?”

Steve Rogers pulls off his stocking hat with a theatrical groan and uses it to mop the sweat from his face.

“Classics never die,” he huffs. Running sweaty fingers through snarls of golden hair, it sticks straight up in an awkward mohawk. “God damn, this was a fuckin’ walk. You got anything to eat? I’m starving.”

Grabbing Steve in a giant bear hug, Bucky lifts him off his feet and Steve squawks in protest.

“You’re such a little shit. Come inside. Got someone you need to see.”

*****

On the porch, Bucky removes his mud-covered boots and neatly lines them up beside the front door; raising his eyebrows, he points for Steve to do the same. Steve grins at the domesticity and follows suit, before following him inside.

“Hey darlin’?” Bucky calls and there’s an answering shout from above.

Dressed in old wellies, jeans, and a knobby grey fisherman’s sweater she appears, trying to zip up her jacket as she trots down the stairs.

“Buck, if you actually want potato soup tonight, I have to go into town. I didn’t realize when you said you ate all the bacon, you literally ate all the bacon. There were three pounds of it, how did you even -” looking up, she stops.

Astonishment floods Steve’s face when he sees her, but he schools it quickly. Standing up straighter, he nervously tries to smooth his hair, before eventually recognizing the futility and shoving his hands in his pockets. He gives her a bashful smile instead.

“Hey. I’m, uh, sorry for just showing up. Probably should have called, I just -”

The words are struck from his lungs when she bounds forward and throws her arms around him, knocking him back a step. Steve hugs her tight, glancing in surprise at Bucky who looks on fondly.

“You never have to call, Captain Rogers. You’re always welcome.”

“Christ, no,” Steve grimaces when he releases her. “Call me Steve, please. Get enough of that Captain bullshit at home.” Catching himself, he looks momentarily horrified. “Shit, I mean shoot, sorry, pardon my language.”

“Please,” she says with a laugh. Elbowing Bucky, she winks. “Let’s not pretend I haven’t heard worse from him.”

Wrinkling his nose, Bucky wraps a playful arm around her neck. “I told you, it’s how I spice up my vocabulary. Science says swearing makes me smart.”

Rolling her eyes, she pokes her fingers into his belly and he grunts breathlessly.

“God, you two are adorable,” Steve says seriously. “I think I’m gonna vomit.”

Placing his whole hand over Steve’s face, Bucky shoves him away while she laughs, her arm curving around his waist.

“Want me to go warm up the truck? Pull it around for you?” Bucky asks, and she kisses his cheek.

“No, I’m good. Stay here and catch up. Maybe get Steve some food, I’d hate for him to starve,” she says.

“I love her,” Steve stage whispers.

Grabbing a bundle of tote bags, she heads outside, stomping carelessly through the muddy yard. On the sunny porch, the two men stand shoulder to shoulder, waving as she drives the clunky old truck down toward town. Once it disappears, Bucky turns to Steve and claps him on the back.

“Come on asshole, I’ll fix you some breakfast.”

*****

One carton of eggs and a loaf of bread later, they sit on the porch with steaming cups of coffee. Bucky tucks an errant strand of hair behind his ear as he leans forward, elbows on his knees. Steve sits back in his chair, long legs stretched out and crossed at the ankles.

“It all sounds insane, doesn’t it?” Bucky asks quietly.

Fiddling with his coffee cup, Steve scratches absently at his beard. “Maybe. Maybe not. We always knew there were others. Whatever they did to him, it wasn’t perfect, but it must’ve been enough for him to survive. Whatever survive means.”

“Yeah. I guess so. ”

Taking a long drink of coffee, Steve frowns at his boots before looking up to Bucky. “So, you buried him then?”

There’s a defiant edge to Bucky’s voice when he responds.

“Just felt right. He was a soldier, not a lab rat.”

Steve shrugs casually as he sits forward. “I get it, don’t need to convince me. We don’t have to tell anyone.”

Amused at the blatant lack of adherence to the precious world of protocol, Bucky gasps.

“Goodness gracious, I’m clutching my fuckin’ pearls. Did I just convince Captain America to commit treason?”

“Well you always were a terrible influence. So many bad decisions, all because of you,” Steve says loftily.

“You’re so full of shit,” Bucky laughs. Steve grins wickedly, knowing full well all their youthful indiscretions came from his ridiculous decisions; not that he’ll ever admit that one to Bucky.

At the thought of their past though - it makes him wonder.

“Can I ask something?”

“Hit me,” Bucky says easily. There are a couple minutes of silence, while Steve tries to find the words he wants.

“When she wipes memories, that’s - that’s it? They’re gone for good? We couldn’t - like, there’s no chance of getting them back?”

Bucky smiles ruefully. “No. I was curious, so I asked. But she said it was absolute. Looked so miserable when she told me, I’m sure as shit not mentioning it again. Besides,” he contemplates the blue sky beyond the porch railing, “it doesn’t matter. What do I need all that for anyway? Got her. Got you. That’s enough.”

The relief in Steve’s reply is palpable. “Good. I hated your dumbass running around trying to dig up the past.”

“Me too,” Bucky sighs. “Only did it ‘cause I thought I should. But now - I’m just worrying about the future. Those are the only memories I need.”

They sit in companionable silence, gazing out into the cool morning. In the treetops, birds chatter back and forth, and Steve feels himself relax. An unfamiliar peacefulness steals over him, filling him from head to toe; he almost doesn’t hear the quiet question.

“Stevie?” Looking sideways, he finds Bucky watching him calmly. “I don’t want to do it anymore. I’m tired. Just want a normal life, a home with her. Something quiet. Is that - will that be okay?”

The hesitancy in Bucky’s voice hits Steve like a fist to the face. Turning away, he blinks back tears and clears his throat.

“Yeah. Yeah, Buck. Of course that’s okay.”

That unspoken weight always dragging Bucky down disappears. With Steve’s words, the decades seem to fall away and there - the fleeting image of Sergeant James Barnes flashes across his features. Lighter. Softer. Carefree and full of laughter, wanting nothing more than to hang up his boots and find a warm home with the girl he loves.

“Thanks,” Bucky whispers looking back into the clear morning, a contented smile on his lips.

With the crisp breeze swirling around them, the soldiers sit in silence. One light haired and one dark, with two matching pairs of blue eyes, and two gigantic hearts.

*****

The sun is just beginning to sink when Bucky announces he’s going to go clean up the woodpile before it gets dark. The night air blows sharp when he opens the door, ushering in the wintery chill that still insists on arriving when darkness falls.

“Nah, stay here and catch up,” he urges, when Steve goes to grab his jacket. “It’ll just take me a few minutes.”

“Thanks love,” she murmurs and Bucky beams at the pet name, a happy bounce in his step as he heads outside. Grinning at Steve, she goes to the refrigerator and pulls out two bottles of beer from the depths, popping the tops and handing one to him.

“Cheers,” she says, clinking them together and he nods shyly. Pulling out knives and cutting boards and stock pots and skillets, she assembles everything for the potato soup Bucky begs her to make at least once a week. Salted water is simmering on the stovetop, before Steve finally speaks.

“I’m sorry.”

Scrubbing potatoes, she looks up in surprise. “Sorry for what?”

Steeling his nerves, Steve frowns. “For not coming back. For letting you deal with his death alone. Always promised him, if something happened, I’d do my best to take care of you. And then I just -” he breaks off.

Wiping her hands on a towel, she reaches over the counter and squeezes his hand. “You just saved the world,” she says gently.

Swallowing hard, Steve looks down. “Still. My best friend’s girl, and I let her down. I let both of you down.”

Releasing his hand, she picks up her knife and starts dicing the potatoes.

“No, you didn’t. If I’ve learned nothing else in this life, it’s that you can’t stay in the past. What’s done is done, and now we move on. We’re all here now, Steve,” she says quietly. “That’s all that matters.”

Taking a deep breath, Steve lets the tension of his apology melt away. “He always said you were smart.”

“Hmmm, did he now?” she says with a mischievous grin and Steve can’t help the responding smile; it feels infectious.

The kitchen radio plays in the background, filling the small kitchen with the punchy sound of trumpets and piano, the world of old French jazz. Steve watches her cook, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“How come - how come you didn’t call? Didn’t tell us you were here?”

Without replying, she lays out slices of bacon and starts chopping. Immersed in her task, it takes her a minute to respond.

“When I heard they found you, I almost came to New York. But then, I imagined telling you what happened and - I was too ashamed.” Setting the knife down, she looks up and he sees deep sadness in her eyes. “The last time I saw him, he had no clue who I was, and I had no idea if he was still alive. It all seemed impossible. And then I saw him come back, and I just - you were with him and I was so relieved. He had you. I knew you’d do everything in your power to help him recover. After what I did, I didn’t think I should be part of that.”

Canting her head down, he sees her shoulders slump slightly. Steve knows that feeling better than anyone, what it means when you can’t save someone. Particularly when you can’t save Bucky Barnes.

“Back then, you saved him. During the war. I hope you understand, I hope you know.”

She doesn’t speak, but finally looks up. “Know what?”

He gives her a gentle smile. “How much he loved you. Never shut up about it. Used to drive us all crazy with all his sighing and his mooning around.”

The brilliant smile she gives him lights up her whole face and Steve feels his own lips curve in response. Both of them automatically glance toward the front door when they hear Bucky’s boots clomping up the porch steps.

“I know,” she says, her eyes shining bright. “He tells me every day.”

*****

Steve has more than a thousand stories about Bucky, from growing up in Brooklyn to traipsing across the European front to all their avenging these past few years, and unfortunately for Bucky, Steve seems dead set on relaying every stupid thing Bucky’s ever done. The worst part is, he can’t even refute the stories - Steve could be making everything up, and Bucky can’t even call him out on it.

A fact he continually points out and a fact Steve blithely dismisses.

“Trust me,” he says with a sage nod. “Captain America would never lie.”

“That is the biggest crock of shit I ever heard,” Bucky states. He looks mildly put out when she shushes him.

“Hush Bucky, I need to hear this story.”

“Uh, no you most certainly do not,” he replies, as Steve tells about the time him, Bucky, and Sam were stuck in a safe house in Mexico and every time Bucky went to sleep, Sam moved everything in the apartment three inches before convincing Bucky the place was haunted.

“Well for fuck’s sake, there are aliens aren’t there?” Bucky exclaims. “Why the hell not ghosts?”

Scooping up a huge spoonful of soup, Steve swallows it down and gives him a serious look. “That’s true Buck. And that’s why I supported your idea of having a séance to contact the ghost. It seemed like the sensible thing to do.”

“I hate your face so hard. Remind me why you’re here again?” Bucky groans. Leaning back, he slings an arm around her chair and tucks his face against her neck. “Don’t believe anything he says. He lies,” his plea is muffled.

Patting his head, she scratches her fingers in his hair just like he likes, and he hums delightedly. “Don’t worry, I think you’re very adorable.”

“I am very adorable,” Bucky mumbles.

Lifting up his bowl, Steve slurps down the rest of his soup; smacking his lips, he gives them a mysterious smile. “Actually, there was another reason I came to visit.”

Bucky pulls away from her and glares at him. “Was it to destroy my happiness?”

“No, that’s just a fringe benefit,” Steve says cheerfully. Shoving away from the table, he goes to his oversized backpack and starts digging. Pulling something free, he comes back to the table and sets a cloth bag in front of Bucky.

“It’s a bag,” Bucky deadpans. “Inside a bag.”

“Smartass. Open it.”

Wiggling his eyebrows at her, Bucky un-cinches the bag and pulls out a leather satchel.

“It’s a bag, inside a bag, inside - a bag.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re hilarious?”

“Literally everyone who’s met me,” Bucky says with a grin. Glancing curiously at the worn brown leather, his smile begins to fade. Something about the bag seems insanely familiar, and he racks his brain -

And he catches his breath. Wide-eyed, he looks back up at Steve.

“Wait. Is this -“

“Yep,” Steve says, eyes sparkling. “You’d left it back at the base camp, must’ve gotten stuck in some of the camp containers they shipped to headquarters. Anyway, I spent the last three weeks banging around the SHIELD archives trying to see if I could find anything - there’s so much shit down there by the way, like an episode of hoarders - and then I was digging through this moldy ass box, and there it was.”

“My bag,” Bucky marvels. Excitement fills his face, bright sunrise in the evening. “From the war, from before. All my stuff.”

“All your memories,” she says breathlessly, squeezing his thigh.

“Go on,” Steve encourages. “Open the damn thing, I’m dying to know what the hell you kept in there. You never let me see anything.”

The leather straps are fastened tight, decades of moisture and dust creating a concrete knot that takes several minutes to unravel. It creaks irritably when it finally gives way and Bucky tugs it open. One by one, he pulls out items.

A book appears first. Front cover torn, they see a copy of ‘A Tree Grows in Brooklyn’, one of the compact armed service editions published for soldiers. Some of the pages are stuck together and as he thumbs through it, Bucky sees familiar handwriting. Notes he scribbled in the margins, passages he underlined. Words and phrases pop out like friendly messages from another life. Flipping toward the end, he finds his favorite line, one that caught his fancy when he read the book again last year.

“Dear God,” he reads, voice wobbling slightly, “let me be something, every minute of every hour of my life.”

He touches the words with a cautious metal finger and looks up to find her watching him, a soft look in her eyes. Leaning over, he gives her a kiss and she brushes his hair back.

“You were always something, no question about that,” she says and Bucky smiles.

The next item is a thick sheaf of papers. Folded into neat rectangles are a set of maps, the ones he and Steve received from the Priest in her village, before they headed out on that last mission.

“Oops,” Steve says sheepishly. “Guess we never did get those back to the church.”

Two white, army issued packs of cigarettes follow; when Bucky tips out a Lucky Strike, it crumbles to powder in his fingers. His silver lighter is next, scales of brownish-red rest covering one side. As he tries to light it, the coils give a harsh screech.

“Okay, I was gonna give up smoking anyway,” he shrugs.

When he pulls out a dented flask and unscrews the cap, a faint wisp of whiskey floats out. Steve makes a gagging noise and shudders.

“Holy hell, I remember that garbage. Dugan bought it off a medic at a field hospital in Germany. Cross my heart, it was the worst shit I ever tasted. Gave me nightmares.”

“I remember it too,” she pipes up, looking slightly nauseated. “He convinced me to try it once and I haven’t tried whiskey since.”

Bucky grins at them both and plunges his hand into the bag again, this time, jerking back with a curse. Cautiously, he reaches in again and discovers an open switchblade. Carved below the marble handle in flaking gold are the letters JBB.

“Becca gave that to you, before you shipped out,” Steve says quietly. “She sold her pearl earrings to buy it.”

Rubbing the white marble gingerly, Bucky gently folds down the blade and sets it carefully aside. It hurts for a minute, and his throat works hard to swallow down the emotion.

“Anything else in there?” she nudges lightly, and he shakes himself from the reverie.

Reaching into the bag, his hand bumps something. Buried at the bottom, he feels a soft bundle, a rectangular parcel wrapped in old green cloth. When he pulls it free, he has to unwind it several times before they discover what lies beneath.

Bucky blinks when he sees it, his heart leaping at her soft exclamation.

“My letters,” she says, wrapping her arm around him and curling closer.

“Your letters,” he repeats faintly. Sudden tears fill his eyes and he surreptitiously wipes them away, gruffly clearing his throat.

Handling the paper reverently, he brushes his fingers over the faded handwriting. The whole bundle is tied together with a broken boot lace, and it takes a few tugs before it releases.

Eleven letters.

Eleven letters, written just for him. Eleven of his very own memories, real and tangible and full of her love. Something he knows he kept in his coat pocket every day, drawing comfort and strength from her words, while he battled through the horrors of that unending war.

Unfolding the first one, he takes a deep breath.

10 March 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I wanted to write this on your birthday, so I could fill it full of all the things I wish we could do, if you were here. Maybe next year, everything will be possible. The war will be over, and your day would look something like this.

We could spend it in Paris, how lovely that might be! We could sleep in, no need to get up early. I might wake you up with a kiss, one on your cheek, then on your nose, then on your lips, and then I’d make you breakfast in bed, strong coffee and fried eggs and sizzling slices of bacon and fresh croissants, and we could spend the morning reading the papers and laying in the sun. Then we might go for walk down by the Seine, see the bridges and the booksellers, throw coins in the river and make wishes. Eat chocolate cake and drink bottles of wine. Whatever your heart desires my love, it would be your day. Maybe that night, we would be walking home, and hear a musician playing in the streets and we could stop and dance. Just you and me, holding each other in the moonlight.

And when we get home, I think I’ll take you upstairs to soft sheets and soft pillows and all kinds of things that are rather inappropriate for this letter, but I can certainly tell you one thing - sleep would not be on our minds.

Something to dream about for next year.

But if you remember nothing else on your birthday, I hope you will remember there’s a girl in France who loves you with all her heart.

6 June 1944

…and please don’t ever tell Steve, but I laughed forever at your letter. Such a demure, solemn man when I met him, I keep picturing him covered in mud and so frustrated with all of you! I do hope his knees are feeling better, give him a hug from me.

Sending you all my love, now and always.

19 August 1944

Dear Jimmy,

I’ve never been to a drive-in movie, but I must tell you, I think it sounds wonderful. I have no doubt we could show those kids a thing or two, because the simple truth is that I could spend my entire life kissing you. There would be no need to ever stop, I know that much.

The days of sunlight are long now, and so often I lay out in the field behind the house, where the grass grows tall and the world smells like wildflowers, and I think of you until long after the stars appear. The sweet taste of your lips, the rough feel of your hands, the sound of your voice when you say my name. How much I love the red highlights in your beard and the dimple in your chin and the way you purr like a house-cat when I scratch my fingers through your hair. Everything you are, your kind heart and your curious soul, it fills me with a wanting I cannot explain.

Do you know, when I fall sleep, your face is the last thing on my mind? Sometimes I still believe this is a God, because He lets you into my dreams every single night.

30 December 1944

My love,

Just this morning, I let you go again. Back into this wretched war. It feels unforgivable, letting you leave. My heart fled with you and I admit, tonight I am having trouble remembering to breath.

You are the one thing that gets me through everything. Isn’t that so strange? I had no idea my heart missed you, until the day we met. There are so many things I want to say to you. Things I want you to know about me, who I was and who I am. So many things I want to learn about you.

But now, if I concentrate hard enough, I can almost hear your voice. It’s there in that lost place between sleep and awake, where you tell me good night darling, that Brooklyn drawl coloring your words.

There is nothing I want more than a life with you. Sitting on the porch while the sun sets, holding your hand. Falling asleep wrapped in your arms. Loving you until there is nothing but grey left in your hair. I miss you so much. Please, please, please come home soon.

Resting her head on Bucky’s shoulder as he reads, she follows along in silence, reliving every word, every phrase, every bit of punctuation. How familiar it seems, even after all this time.

When Bucky finally sets the last letter down, he turns to her. Tipping his head down, he touches his forehead to hers and closes his eyes; cradling his face in her hands, she rubs her thumb over his lips. Neither one speaks. Old letters and faded memories and quiet breaths are the only words they need.

*****

The evening is late when Steve flops on the couch and gets comfortable. Digging through the hall closet, Bucky returns with a couple pillows and a fuzzy blanket and tosses them over.

“Alright Rogers. You need a teddy bear? Glass of milk? Bedtime story? Should I check under the couch for monsters?” he asks and Steve flips him off with a huge yawn.

“G’night, asshole.”

“Night, punk.”

Flipping off the lights, they leave him snug in the warm darkness downstairs, the flames burning low in the fireplace. Steve watches as they walk upstairs together, Bucky patting her on the butt as she walks ahead, muttering something that makes her laugh. Buried in the couch cushions, he smiles drowsily as he listens to their quiet voices get ready for bed, the calming footsteps above, the soothing laughter gliding down the stairs.

It sounds perfect.

Like a home.

Slowly and surely, the firelight lulls him to sleep.

*****

Standing in the bedroom doorway, her mouth curves up at the image.

Leaning against a pile of pillows, Bucky sits with all his letters spread around him, shuffling through them again. They haven’t left his hands all evening, so perfectly enamored with his small treasure, something he never expected.

“Would you like me to write them for you again? So you have fresh copies?”

Squinting up at her, he contemplates the offer, before shaking his head.

“Nah, already have them memorized. Besides, now you can write me new ones. I like to be romanced.”

“Hmm. I had no idea this relationship would be so much work,” she teases.

Gathering up the letters, he places each in the correct envelope, wraps them back up in a fresh piece of cloth, and tucks them into the drawer of his nightstand. Giving her an outrageously sultry look, he clicks off the lamp and pats the bed next to him invitingly.

Slipping under the sheets, she immediately tucks her cold toes against his leg and he yelps at the icy feel, but lifts his arm automatically, letting her nestle into her favorite spot against his chest.

“Good god, you need to wear socks to bed,” he says with a shiver.

“No, I don’t. I have you,” she says happily.

Smothering a laugh, he rolls to face her. Face to face on the same pillow, two pairs of eyes adjust to the dark room. When she traces the back of her knuckles down his cheek, he catches her hand and presses a kiss to her wrist.

“Love you,” he whispers.

“Love you,” she breathes.

Comfortable silence fills the room, and as the minutes tick by, her eyes grow heavy. Sleep never comes easy for him, so Bucky watches her instead, content to fill his sleeplessness with nothing more than the curves and shadows of her face. He can hear her heartbeat slow, her breathing steady, and right before she goes under, a thought pops into his head.

“Darlin’, can I ask you something?”

“Course,” she says sleepily.

“All the stuff you’ve kept over the years, what you had hidden around the house. Why’d you do that? Hide it that way?”

Slow fingers trace up his chest as she thinks, and her voice is low and raspy with a reply.

“I know what it means to lose everything you’ve ever known. Instead of having it all up here,” and she taps her forehead, “I keep things everywhere. Never all together, so I can’t lose everything at once.”

“Are there more things in the house?” he asks curiously, and she hums.

“Lots more,” she answers, and snuggles closer. Closing her eyes, she presses her lips to his skin. “Can I tell you more tomorrow?”

“Sure,” he murmurs.

A moment later, her deep, even breaths tickle his chest and Bucky keeps watching, mesmerized by the sight. Everything he ever wanted, everything he ever needed, right there. Wrapped up in his arms.

Around them, the room is blanketed in darkness, deep blacks and shades of gray and he thinks about all those memories he’s collected. All that color, good and bad, and what it means to have a past. And then he thinks about the future, free from the turmoil of war, with nothing ahead but the delicate blue of her cool touches and the bright gold of her sunny smiles and the rainbow of color he hears when she laughs.

So many colors. So much time.

The paintbrush in his head lays down to dream. Closing his eyes, Bucky drifts to sleep.

*****

#bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #bucky fic #altnl

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