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romanoffsbish · 2 years

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My Body, My Choice

Natasha Romanoff x PregnantFem!Reader

PregnantFem!Reader x GN!OC (Ex)

Not together yet, more like a “meet-cute”

Natasha Romanoff, who’s no stranger to all things regarding lack of choice finds herself at a rally in favor of an individual’s right to choose, accompanied and supported by her fellow Avengers. Unintentionally she stumbles upon a rather interesting woman in the crowd, and things get messy quickly

Warnings:

The Government, Cops—at protests/in general, Violence, Roe v. wade discussion, Past traumas resurfacing. Very much hurt / comfort, with a cheesy/hopeful ending.

If this is likely to offend you, feel free to pass by, but I’ll never apologize / not call the world out for being a literal hellfire. 🤷🏼‍♀️

June 24, 2022

Natasha woke up with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of her stomach, and no matter what she did it remained there; slowly crawling up, and gnawing at her chest throughout the entirety of her morning training.

She took a shower to wash away the remains of her workout, secretly hoping that it would also alleviate this unbound anxiety, but nothing changed.

It wasn't until she reached the kitchen for breakfast that she began to understand the source of her anxiety. Wanda was angrily muttering curses in her mother tongue, aimlessly waving her spatula around in the direction of the TV that was quietly playing the morning news, and getting batter everywhere.

"Can you fucking believe this?" Wanda scoffs, Natasha quickly moves around the angry Sokovian, avoiding the flying batter and approaching the TV so that she could draw up an understanding for her best friend's unbridled anger.

———

Supreme Court overturns Roe v. Wade, ending right to abortion upheld for decades

The emboldened headline reads as it trails across the screen, causing a new wave of pain to suddenly crash over the former assassin deep seeded trauma being brought back to the surface without relent.

"No, I can't!" Pepper seethes as she walks in, angrily slamming her sunglasses onto the counter, and meeting Wanda's fierce gaze.

"Yeah, this is going to ruin so many young mens lives." Tony adds, and the women all turn to him with unchallengeable glares, causing the man to slowly back himself out of the kitchen with his hands raised in surrender.

The women continue to discuss the many implications of the ruling, how traumatic it's going to be for so many, and in many other ways deadly.

Natasha just sits there silently, no longer really feeling the pains of hunger, but also not really trusting her legs to get her back to her room. Flashes of her time in the red room continue to play in the back of her mind as she listens in.

Natasha's no stranger to the conversation at hand, she remembers a time when she had actually been "pro-life." Natasha's stance at the time was entirely rooted in the trauma of never having been given the choice to begin with.

The right to be a mother, should she dream it—which she did—was stripped from her before she'd even reached her adulthood. After many thoughtful debates with her only adversary at the time, and his wife Laura, she began to change her tune. The realization finally hitting her one day like a semi truck that what she was so vehemently protesting against was what she deserved all along.

The right to choose; to make the decision herself.

To have a right over her body and how it was to be used.

The simple common sense prospect that the government should have no say in the matters of what a person chooses to do with their body.

The right to medical anonymity..

"We should go to a rally." Wanda says, catching the redheads attention.

"I'm already on it! The Avengers backing a cause like this will hopefully have some sort of positive influence." Pepper mutters, leaving the kitchen at once with her phone to her ear, and a plan in her heart.

Wanda turns to face Natasha, shocked by her lack of engagement seeing as how the redhead is almost always quick to join in on such topics.

"Oh Nat..." Wanda coos, realization suddenly hitting the witch, and it's only then that Natasha also realizes she was crying.

Wanda pulls her friend into a strong hold, the burning pancakes long forgotten as she holds her trembling friend close, and finds herself crying along with her.

What a rough day it is to be a human...

—

June 26th, 2022

After a few counter-debates, a couple bruised egos, and a nearly bruised face the Avengers had all banded together to join the citizens of New York on the streets. All in agreement that no matter their personal beliefs that a person shouldn't be subjected to said beliefs under the threat of law.

Natasha's hair was thrown up into a lazy bun, wearing a red bandanna to keep the stray hairs from her makeup-less face. Donning a pair of biker shorts, all day sneakers, and a t-shirt that read: "My Body, My Choice!" and just beneath the words was a spread of flowers surrounding a raised skeletal middle finger.

A bittersweet smile consuming her face at the sight of her family all coming together and rallying in favor of such a divisive topic.

Tony—redeeming himself, was in the thick of it, holding an overly enthusiastic Morgan up on his shoulder's, her tiny voice managing to roar when chanting along with everyone else in the crowd. Pepper was nearby them, handing out pamphlets of information to all those in need while also handing out ice cold waters to those who'd already been out in the sun for hours.

Steve, with some tough love from Sam and Bucky had joined the rally as well. Holding up a very anti-Uncle Sam's club sign that read: "This is not the America that we fought for, we respect women, and their right to choose."

Bruce was holding hands with his girlfriend, walking alongside her as Helen held up the other end of the sign they'd formulated the night before. Information upon information disproving the "life begins at conception" argument, and reading the justices to filth.

Thor was deep in the crowd, lifting up arm loads of children, and allowing them to perch atop his biceps while he marched along, shouting in unison with the people around:

“My Body, My Choice!,”

“Keep your rosaries off our ovaries!,”

“Our Bodies,

Our Futures,

Our Abortions,” and a slurry of others.

He surely had the spirit, and that was truly all that mattered.

Wanda had commandeered the makeshift stage, reading the court to filth on her own accord, while also reading the anonymously sent in stories of all those with a uterus, and all the ways in which they've been mistreated.

Stories ranging from how they nearly died carrying their babies to full term, just to be forced into pushing out the soulless body of all their dreams of what could've been.

To the ones about not having the right to tie one's tubes without express permission from a husband, and that's only after giving birth to two children—one of each sex of course.

Then the discussion of overall reproductive health, and the accompanying discrimination Trans men face whenever taking their health into their own hands. Between discrimination, lack of adequate care, and pure ignorance many slip through the cracks of the deeply broken system.

Natasha was proud of her best friend, passing her by with a thumbs up as she walked alone; intent on observing the diverse crowd full of people coming together, while also on FaceTime with Clint and his brood.

Heart soaring incredibly high whenever a little kid was donning Avengers themed apparel while fighting for what was right, only ever stopping her march for photos with said youth of the world.

"Did you see her in her black widow suit replica? Oh and when her face lit up when she saw me, it was just so adorable." Natasha gushes to the archer, who at the moment can really only see her sharp jawline, and a glimpse of her beaming smile after the interaction.

Clint's smile matched hers, as he began to imagine the day his best friend would greet his family with one of her own; his thoughts were quickly brought back to the reality of the day though when he heard intense chanting.

"I'll talk to you later Clint!" Natasha shouts over the chanting, then smiles down at him as she presses the red button.

Natasha was peering ahead at the loud crowd, noticing that in the far out distance there's a line of cops at the end of the street all clearly overdressed in combat gear.

"It's horrible isn't it?"

Natasha turns to the direction of the voice to see a gorgeous woman stood to her left. Looking down she notices the rather sizable bump residing beneath the perfectly illustrated shirt: "Pro Choice" is what it reads with the universally known closed fist holding a hanger up in between the words. Then on the back is a drawing of a uterus, curved around the top of it the words read:

"Uteruses Brought You Into The World."

Then below the illustration it reads:

"Uteruses Will Vote You Out."

"The rights of millions stripped away, then we're made to feel wrong for legally protesting so that we'll just be beaten into silence." You continue, Natasha listening as best she could while admiring your pretty face.

Simple observation tells her you’re seemingly harmless, so she’s left to wonder where it is you manage to store all this pent up rage. Then she looks beside you to see you were here alone, she'd assume your partner was working but then she takes notice of the obvious indent on your finger where a ring once sat.

You felt her inquisitive stare so you decided to answer the number one question on everyone's tongue. Seeing as how she didn't ask herself, you felt it fair enough to tell her.

"They left..."

Natasha's eyes widen as she realizes you caught on to her stare.

"Just handed me $100 to get an abortion then walked right out the door, fucking idiot thought that would even be enough."

"Oh, I'm so sorry to hear that. I didn't mean to stare, nor less did I mean to seem as if I was trying to pry." She stutters out a half truth, having always intended on taking your appearance in, but not in such an obvious way.

You refrain from smiling at her nervousness, seeing as how she was the Black Widow, and was known for her ability to play things cool.

"Don't be... It's a fair question when you see a pregnant woman with a ring line. Well, actually it really isn't fair to ask, but it is to wonder." You chuckle out lightly, enjoying the beautiful smile you're able to pull from her, not really knowing why she’s smiling but being grateful for it nonetheless.

"I just don't see how someone leaves you, you seem so sweet." Natasha admits without hesitation, and a blush tints her cheek when she feels your hand squeeze her own in appreciation.

"Well thank you kindly, I guess they just fell out of love with me, getting pregnant wasn't easy for us, and when it finally happened they had apparently just checked out."

"Oh, so this was planned?"

Natasha didn't mean to say it so offensively, and you were able to understand that, but still you released a bitter chuckle while pulling off to take a much needed break from marching. When Natasha followed you off the street you weren't sure why she was so invested in your story, but you continued on nonetheless as she settled beside you on the curb.

"After we had already tried to do it on our own at home, we ended up spending years doing fertility treatments, and somewhere along the way their faith had apparently wavered. When they left they even told me that the last time they only partook in the treatment because they had expected it to fail.”

Natasha grabbed your shaky hand the moment she had seen the tears falling from your eyes, she didn’t exactly know you, but she could definitely tell you didn’t deserve this, and to see you like this honestly broke her heart.

“Here I was excited to bring new life into the world with my spouse of five years, and the whole time they were just hoping it would fail. All my time and energy went into finding ways to fix me, to figure out why I couldn’t pull this all together, I convinced myself that I was broken, but now I know it was never me.”

“It was perplexing to say the least, I’d almost always make it through the first trimester, then it would all come crumbling down. From the outside we looked like the ideal couple who’d just fallen on hard times, but now that they left I realize I’m the better one for it. Without the fighting, and the abnormal bouts of stress, I was able to get passed my usual lull, and now here I am, six months later and thriving.”

Natasha appreciated the way you were able to smile through your tears while rubbing your free hand over your protruding belly.

“I’m not looking forward to being alone, but my daughter here will be loved immensely, and I’m out here rallying because I’ll be damned if my little girl here has to grow up in a world where her rights are treated as nothing short of expendable. She deserves better than that, all these little ones running around here do.”

“Yeah, they do, and I’m just happy to hear you realized along the way that you did as well. Your ex sounds awful, and if you want me to handle them just let me know…”

You chuckle at her casual offer of violence, then after a moment you are made aware of yourself, and the ways in which you’ve probably embarrassed yourself in front of the beautiful, well put together Avenger.

“I’m sorry.” You meekly relay while pulling your hand out of hers to wipe away at your tear covered face.

“Honey, please don’t apologize, I was the nosy one who followed you around, and I’m glad I did. You’re like a breath of fresh air for me.”

“Yeah, because I’m sure your fellow Avengers are just so hard to live with.” You tease, and the woman smirks at your jab.

“Trust me, you wouldn’t believe the half of it.” She teases right back, standing up she wipes the gravel off of her hands and onto her pants then she extends her hand out to help you up.

The both of you continue to march with the crowd, sharing far more lighthearted stories, and with each one Natasha feels herself becoming more drawn to you, and your beautiful, intricate story.

“No way the God of Thunder did that!” You gasp, and the redheaded beauty laughs freely at your obvious shock.

“Yes, he did! I promise you…”

“So, you’re telling me that he literally just bursted through the doors of the compound with no warning in only his underwear after months of being away?”

“Yeah, and instead of telling us why he was nearly naked and covered in muck he was running into the kitchen in search of his secret pop-tarts, and when he found them gone it was a living hell… He threw all of us outside, and we were made to stand under a storm until the culprit made themselves known.”

“Who did it?” You ask, shaking with anticipation, your money was honestly on Tony, he sounded like enough of a man child.

“After about an hour of running surveillance Tony’s AI had discovered that it was indeed Thor who’d finished them off…”

“No fucking way, this just keeps getting better.”

“Yeah, so he was quick to take off before anyone of us could obviously retaliate. It was honestly the weirdest Friday off I’ve ever had.” Natasha recalls, and you concur that it indeed sounds weird as the both of you laugh over the ridiculous story, and your joined hands casually swing between your bodies.

Natasha obviously noticed that your hand had somehow made its way into hers, the woman had never been big on touch, but with you it was different. The whole time her heart had felt like it was going to explode from the pure bliss having you close had brought her. Then within another second she was beyond grateful that it was there because she was able to swiftly spin you around and pull you into her body.

With how immersed in your lighthearted bubble the both of you had been you had failed to realize how hostile the energy had become the closer you got to the end of the sanctioned off march. One second you’re both giggling, the next you’re choking on tear gas, struggling to breathe while the redhead uses her own body like a total champ to take the blows of whatever projectile comes your way.

Natasha took her flannel from around her waist and threw it over your head, doing her best to shield you from the lingering gas. Surveying the area she noticed a group of rogue cops working to arrest people, using brute force, her heart was near to shattering as she saw children in their lineup.

Her mind had been pulling her every which way, but at the forefront was her need to protect you from any harm. Luckily for her she saw Tony shoving Pepper and Morgan into the car with Happy, so she waved him down then escorted you in that direction.

“Honey, I’m going to leave you with a good friend of mine. He’ll take you back to our place, and our medical team can help with the gas.”

“What about you?” You ask, hands tightly holding onto her shirt, as you try to hide the tremble in your voice but of course Natasha picked up on it.

“Don’t worry about me sweetheart, I’m going to stick around for a bit, do my best to help the people who need it, maybe even put the cops in their place.

“Please don’t, I don’t want you to get hurt.”

Natasha smiles widely at your words, not that you could see it, but your concern for her did in fact warm her heart.

“Honey, I think you forget who I am..” She teases, removing her flannel from your head, then taking a bottle from Pepper’s hand she drenches her flannel, then ties it securely around your irritated eyes.

“Please stay safe…” You relay, reaching out to cup her face, but in your blinded stupor you instead ended up lightly groping her.

“I can assure you my boobs will be just fine, don’t you worry…” She laughs out, finding the moment rather hilarious, albeit endearing.

She pulls your rapidly retreating hands into her own, squeezing them for reassurance that all is well as she settles you into the car.

“I’ll be just fine honey, I’ll see you soon.” She whispers into your ear before gently kissing your lips, and slamming your door shut before you could say a word.

Walking away with a newfound pep in her step she pulls her batons from her bag, and walks in tandem with her team towards the pathetic line of combat officers who started a battle they were never meant to win.

—

Natasha returns to the compound with her fellow Avengers who all made their way towards the medbay to get themselves patched up. Today wasn’t meant to be an Avengers level threat, but the moment cops made the peaceful protest violent that’s exactly what it became. Though her body was aching from the constant blows she took, all she’d wanted was to ensure that you made it back here safe and sound.

Her search ended quickly, having heard your calming voice singing a lullaby from the common room. Observing from the doorway she saw you sat on the couch looking as good as new, with a sleeping Morgan’s head beside your lap, hand gently working through her tangled hair as you soothed her to sleep. Somehow you’d convinced Pepper she’d be safe with you, then Morgan herself allowed it, and for you to have pulled that off tells Natasha she wasn’t wrong in putting her trust in you.

Natasha walks into the common room, approaching from the side on quiet feet, quietly greeting you, and being met with your beautiful, kind smile. It quickly falls though as you take in her appearance, noting her split lip, bruised knuckles, and scattered bruises along all of her exposed skin.

“I don’t even know where to start with you.” You finally speak, voice maternal and stern, causing the once beaming Avenger to wince as she looks down at you.

“I-I…”

“First you charm me with that stupid smirk and your beautiful caring eyes, then you save me as if I’m some damsel in distress which is like the opposite of the feminist movement we are meant to be apart of, but somehow that has only seemed to further my attraction to you…”

Natasha smirks at your ramblings, paying no mind to the pain it inflicts when she does, because your words serve no purpose greater than to bring her joy.

“Then you just kiss me, absolutely no warning whatsoever, and then you just run off like that’s the thing to do… Look Natasha, I’m not interested in games, so I need to know…”

You attempt to stand up, struggling more than expected as the lived upon couch attempts to swallow you whole. Natasha’s arm wraps around your waist, hoisting you up the rest of the way as if you weighed nothing, bringing you that much closer to her.

“Like I was saying, I need to know your intentions here, because—.”

Natasha cuts you off with a gentle, but passionate kiss, lips moving against yours for but a brief moment before she’s pulling back to confirm your concerns.

“You’re not playing games, and I promise you honey, neither am I…”

The twinkle in her eye, paired with the soft smile is enough to let you know she’s serious.

“Well, I don’t normally kiss on the first date.”

“This was definitely not our first date.” Natasha scoffs, causing you to giggle, then as your giggles subside a tense silence falls around the both of you.

“I thought I told you to be safe…” You whisper, reaching out to brush a thumb over her lip, the gentleness of your touch sends a shiver down her spine.

“Honey, this was nothing, I promise I’m fine.” She’s quick to brush you off, placing a kiss to your forehead before she’s scooping up the five year old and grabbing your hand to take you elsewhere.

Natasha observes your adorable pouting face, so she relents on skipping visiting the medbay for the sake of your peace of mind, wanting to ensure she doesn’t stress you out.

“I’ll make you a deal honey… You take a much needed nap with this little one, and once you wake up I’ll have been down to the medbay, and have a dinner date planned for us. You in?”

“Definitely…” You squeal, followed up quickly by a yawn, laying down beside a slumped Morgan, finally allowing the exhaustion you’d been ignoring consume you once you were surrounded by the comforting scent of Natasha’s sheets.

Natasha quietly shut her bedroom door once she hears your light snores, feeling utterly accomplished as she sprinted off towards the medbay, nearly tripping on her way down to tell Wanda everything.

Who knew that being on the right side of history would be enough to bring her towards a prospective happy ending; finding you was like a one in a million chance, and if it all goes well her far off dreams will have become a reality…

——————————————————

3,890 Words

https://www.buzzfeed.com/amphtml/meganeliscomb/pro-abortion-rights-protest-signs

https://www.hrc.org/press-releases/icymi-human-rights-campaign-resources-on-how-the-end-of-roe-v-wade-impacts-the-lgbtq-community

https://www.guttmacher.org/abortion-rights-supreme-court

(For reference on Y/N’s shirt)

#natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha x fem!reader #natasha x y/n #natasha x you #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff fluff #natasha romanoff pov #natasha romanoff oneshot #natasha romanoff x female reader #natasha romanoff x you #natasha romanoff x y/n #natasha romanoff x reader #gxg #natasha romanoff x pregnant reader #black widow pov #black widow #black widow fluff

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enby-hawke · 2 years

Text

Chapter 27- The Turning Point

Read from beginning

Tw: slutshaming

Words: 7180

Ship: Malcolm/Leandra

Leandra thought she was getting sick, though she wasn’t feverish. Lately, she’d been feeling nauseous when she woke up, and had even thrown up a few times. She was also feeling more fatigued than usual, but that could have been a lack of proper sleep. She didn’t have any other symptoms of the flu though, and the feeling usually went away by midday, after food had settled in her stomach. But smells were getting to her more than before, and she was having a hard time getting used to washing dishes, scrubbing toilets, and doing other nasty chores she was not used to.

Leandra still hadn’t found a job, although not for lack of trying. She had applied for several dozen positions, from burger flipper to maid. Her resumé was unfortunately very specialized in music, and she was blacklisted from every theater company, including the small community-run center at Lowtown. But it seemed like not even a McDickens wanted Leandra to represent them.

Leandra was running out of her savings fast and, though Mara had reassured her that all the jewelry and clothes that Leandra had insisted on selling would cover them for a while, Leandra couldn’t feel comfortable borrowing money from Mara, especially considering Mara had a child to think about.

Still, Leandra wasn’t sure what she was going to do.

Jaheem had offered her a job as a legal secretary at his firm, but Leandra wasn’t sure she could take the offer. She was starting to pick up some of the jargon and now had the vague idea of how the law worked after hanging out with Jaheem. Some of the subjects they discussed even reminded her of conversations she’d have with her mother, though these discussions were more productive and interesting.

Jaheem had given Leandra some law books to read when she expressed interest in his work, but they felt so far out of her expertise that she was quickly overwhelmed. She also felt hesitant to get closer to Jaheem.

Leandra had been engaged to Guillaume since she was ten years old, and then she cheated on him with Malcolm. When both of those relationships ended in disaster, she just threw herself at Jaheem without even thinking it through. Leandra was considering that maybe she needed to have a clean break from all men, and experience what it was like to live just for herself. She didn’t know how to function without a man by her side. She’d never even considered just being single. Perhaps she should take this chance to expand her hobbies, pick up a few new skills, and just learn who she was and what she actually wanted out of life.

She wasn't sure what to do with her family's slaving secret with Jaheem, Mara, and Harvel under threat. Leandra's post was quickly forgotten about and soon she was paralyzed, forced to adjust to this new normal. She tried to warn Jaheem about the threat, and even showed him the photos. He told her to remain quiet for now, but he didn’t seem especially bothered and reassured her that he was taking every precaution to keep himself safe, even going so far as to cook all his own meals to avoid being poisoned.

Leandra was still worried for him. She knew that Jaheem had not stopped investigating the Council, and she feared it would spell his end.

She stopped dreaming of Malcolm three nights ago. She thought she should be relieved, maybe she was finally moving on, but nightmares had only replaced her dreams instead.

For the last three nights, she was set adrift in the middle of an ocean, no land in sight, with high stormy waves threatening to bowl her over. She would scream as the waves slapped her, smacking her body and battering her. In the waters it looked like something was reaching for her, trying to drag her under.

A strange orange Templar that reminded her of Carver would always come in a grand navy ship, accompanied by a pink fairy and yellow owl-child. They would always throw her down a rope ladder and bring her back to shore and then she’d promptly wake up.

On this particular morning after a failed job interview as a front desk worker at a Hightown hotel (not one of Guillaume’s), Leandra fell asleep crying on the couch again, and then she was back on the stormy waters.

She screamed for help as she clung to her raft, splinters digging into her fingertips, her throat growing hoarse. Black octopus-like tentacles kept licking her legs, threatening to pull her under. She saw multiple yellow swirling goat eyes peering at her, like crocodiles in the water.

The Carver spirit came back in his majestic ship, wood richly auburn, colorful masts that parted the churning clouds with the flap of the cloth. The creature in the water seemed to flee the rays of the light, hissing like static.

Leandra clung unsteadily to her raft, her fingers sore and raw. She felt relieved to see the strange Spirit again, even if she was unsure why he kept appearing. Leandra hoped she wasn’t developing random feelings for Carver now. She couldn’t handle it if her heart chose to be even more fickle.

Carver threw the rope ladder down to her like usual, and Leandra quickly grabbed on and climbed up as fast as her shaky limbs would let her. Carver helped her over the ledge and steadied her on her feet, rubbing her trembling shoulders.

The owl child blinked their large eyes at her curiously, the pink fairy sitting sleepily on their shoulder. They never said anything. They just stared at her and giggled creepily.

“You used to have a ward? Why do you not sleep with it anymore?” Carver thinned his lips, his skin somehow a lucent vibrant orange like a flame.

“Ward?” Leandra was hugging herself, sopping wet and shivering. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You used to bless your family with it and now your prayers are unspoken. They are needed now more than ever,” Carver told her sternly.

“My prayers?” Leandra blinked confused. “Are you talking about my rosary?”

It was now kept in a drawer in Mara's parents' dresser. She couldn't bring herself to pray when the Maker had been so cruel.

“I do not care what you call it.” Carver snapped. And then he put his hand over his heart, covering up the Sword of Mercy on his chest as he bowed curtly. “I am sworn to protect you, but my strength is already strained even with Kindness’ and Honesty’s help.” He gestured to the two Spirits beside them. “The magic on your ward will protect you from Zelophehad. It’s foolish to go without it right now when the Somniari is compromised.”

Leandra shook her head. “I don’t understand what you’re even saying.”

“Just wear your rosary.” Carver tripped over the word like it was unfamiliar. He took her by her shoulders. “Listen carefully and heed my words.” Carver’s lips thinned. “You must return to the Somniari. He needs you more than ever.”

There was that strange word again that Malcolm was always called in her dreams. This was also not the first time Carver asked this, but she snapped at him every time and this time was no different.

Leandra’s nostrils flared, pushing Carver away. “He should have thought that before he cheated on me!”

Carver pulled back his hands, clenching his fists as he looked down. “He is almost broken. If you don’t go… you’ll regret it.”

Leandra felt a chill run down her spine, his words sinking into the pit of her stomach. She couldn’t help but feel like he was right.

Then she woke up to a strange shouting.

Harvel and Mara were bickering as they entered the house together, Harvel wagging his finger. “That man is thirty-six years old! Why is he even interested in a twenty-three year-old!?”

Mara rolled her eyes. “You’re making it sound creepy. It wasn’t like we started dating by checking each other's IDs.”

Harvel’s face was red from his neck to the tip of his twitching ears. “Still, once he realized that when he was a lad of eighteen, you were still playing in mud puddles, a proper man would have done the right thing and backed off to find a woman his own age!”

“I don’t like proper men,” Mara grinned teasingly. She nudged her Lolo, as his wrinkles deepened in a scowl. “You’re acting like he groomed me or something. Carver and I are both adults that can make our own decisions.” She then narrowed her cat eyes in a glare. “You said you’d butt out!”

Harvel huffed. “How can I when you’re dating an old man?! I mean what do you two even have in common?”

Mara smirked and crossed her arms with a salacious grin on her face. “Plenty. But probably nothing you want to hear about Lolo.”

Harvel went a shade redder and so did Leandra. “Girl, I have no idea what to do with you! You’re making the biggest mistake of your life!” Harvel threw his hand up in the air as he leaned unsteadily on his cane.

“And it’s my mistake to make.” Mara turned on the TV and plopped down on the couch next to Leandra, ending the conversation.

Leandra blinked the sleepiness out of her eyes as Harvel muttered and settled in on his lazy boy recliner with a creak of his knees.

The TV turned to a law and order show, aptly named Order and Law, that was basically a rip-off of real atrocities that happened in Kirkwall, but played up for drama. This particular episode was about a killer who liked to bind up rich couples with their own belts, murder them in their homes, and steal a pair of the woman’s expensive shoes as trophies. It was as ghastly as the usual episodes were, and Leandra found it horrifying, but Mara and Harvel were really into them and liked to try to guess who the murderer was. They were constantly making bets.

Harvel’s eyes were glued to the TV, eager to speak of something else. He immediately said, “Ten silver that it’s the cab driver.”

Mara rolled her eyes. “Not taking that bet. It’s obviously the cab driver.” Her eyes drifted to Leandra and when she noticed Leandra was looking down at her hands, her face grim. Mara touched her knee. “Don’t worry. Maybe in the next interview they’ll give you a chance.”

Leandra noticed her hands were trembling slightly. She gulped down a shiver. “Mara… I had a really strange dream again.”

Mara smirked. “What else is new?” She waggled her eyebrows leaning in close. “Let me guess… something raunchy that made you a little too wet.”

“Girl, your Lolo is right here!” Harvel snapped, turning up the TV.

Mara giggled at Harvel’s scowl and Leandra’s reddening face.

“Nothing like that,” Leandra croaked embarrassedly. She gritted her teeth and stared at her palms, remembering the splinters in her fingers from the raft, feeling so real. “Actually, I had a dream about Carver… and he told me that there’s something wrong with Malcolm.” She found her chest tightening in anxiety. “I have a really bad feeling.”

Harvel and Mara looked at each other.

Harvel jabbed a knotty finger at Mara. “We agreed not to tell her.”

Mara flung her hands out, looking a little desperate. “Doesn’t a message from Andraste change things?”

Harvel scowled. “Since when did you become religious?”

Mara crossed her arms huffing, “Even I’m not dumb enough to ignore a sign from the Maker.”

Leandra’s eyes darted between the two of them in confusion. “What are you talking about?”

Mara took Leandra’s hand, her face uncharacteristically serious. “While I was at the prison today, Carver told me something… “ Mara looked at their clasped hands as her lips thinned. “He just found out Malcolm almost died being punished by the new Knight-Captain three days ago. He’s still unconscious and they’re not sure when he’s going to wake up.”

Leandra gasped, her heart thudding as tears flooded her eyes. Three days ago? That’s when she stopped dreaming of Malcolm. “No…” The tremble in her hands turned violent. “No, Maker, not again.”

Mara squeezed Leandra’s hands trying to steady them. “I’m sorry.”

“No,” Leandra repeated, shaking her head so tears flung off her face. She took her hands back from Mara, all her grief boiling into fury. “The Maker is not doing this to me!” She jumped to her feet, determination flooding her from head to toe. “The Maker will not take him from me!” She rushed for her purse, slinging it over her shoulder.

Mara rose to her feet. “Leandra, where are you going?”

Leandra quickly slipped on her heels. “To see Malcolm! Mara, I need to borrow your car!” Leandra didn’t even wait for Mara to answer. She grabbed the keys off of the rack and rushed out the door.

Leandra wasn’t used to driving. Honestly, she had poor spatial awareness, which sometimes unbalanced her and made her bump into things, so she always preferred to have a driver. But today was an emergency and everyone else just had to stay out of the way.

She tore out of the driveway, slightly jumping in her seat as she hit the curb. She sped through every street in the tiny white economy car, and even cut through a few red lights, leaving skid marks in her wake and somehow missing every Guard patrol.

She rapidly approached the Docks and pulled into the lot where the train to the Gallows lay. She parked haphazardly, part of the tire on top of the sidewalk. She immediately rushed out, got on the next transport to the Gallows, and stormed inside the Courtyard.

She squared her shoulders, head high and proud, remembering all the training her parents taught her. She knew she didn’t belong here, but you couldn’t tell from the way she took command of the place. Leandra scanned the Courtyard, seeing the Tranquil selling their enchanted equipment to visiting nobles. She snapped at a nearby mage with blond wavy hair and green eyes. “You! Do you know where Malcolm Hawke is?”

The man flinched at the name, and he narrowed his eyes as he curled his pink lips in a sneer. “Oh, right. You’re his slut.”

Leandra snarled and slapped the man with an indignant look on her face. “I demand to know where he is, right now!” Her hand was stinging but it was worth it.

The man staggered back, holding his bruised cheek. She had made a red handprint on his pale skin. He sneered. “I’m not your servant. Who do you think you are, putting your hands on and making demands!? I’m an Elliot!”

Leandra knew the house’s name, but they were a lesser noble house where Leandra came from a greater house. She scoffed, unimpressed. She waved him away as if he was a bug. “I do not have time for you.”

She didn’t want to waste a second arguing so her eyes started darting around for someone else to ask.

A brown Templar with dark slick hair and a tiny mustache walked up to Leandra with high eyebrows and raised hands, trying to calm her. “Ma’am, you cannot go barging in and assaulting our mages.”

Leandra narrowed her eyes. “Do you know who I am?”

The brown man went a shade darker as he looked down at his feet, suddenly too nervous to look at Leandra. “Everyone knows who you are, my Lady.”

Leandra went red as the noble mage snickered into his hand, but she swallowed her embarrassment, remembering why she came here. “I am also Jaheem Omenma’s personal legal secretary, and I’ve been made aware of civil rights abuses. As of today, I’m taking the whole Circle to court!” She was suddenly glad she had an interview today because, with her grey business skirt suit, she definitely looked the part.

The Templar went pale and looked at his colleagues, unsure of what to do.

Suddenly a small figure careened into Leandra’s legs. “Auntie! Auntie!”

Leandra almost tripped in her heels but caught herself. When she looked down, Isaac was wrapped tightly around her. He had a huge ecstatic smile on his face, but there were dark circles under his big red-rimmed eyes.

Leandra couldn’t help but scoop her nephew into a hug. How she needed to see his face. “Isaac! How I missed you!” It felt so good to wrap her arms around him. After Colette, Isaac was all she had left of Revka’s family.

Isaac’s bright smile fell and his lip began to quiver. He clung to Leandra’s skirt. “Auntie… I did a bad thing.”

Leandra stroked Isaac’s cheek soothingly with her thumb. She was just grateful that the Maker gave her this chance to see him. “Whatever you did, I forgive you.”

Isaac’s eyes started to glisten. “You shouldn’t… Malcolm’s hurt because of me…” The tears started to spill down his cheeks as he hiccuped, looking down at his quivering hands. “I did a bad thing…”

Malcolm and Isaac knew each other? Did Malcolm reach out after Leandra told him about Isaac?

She held the boy against her as he cried, aware that the Templars were stiffening at the sight, looking particularly guilty.

Leandra held him for a few moments before she got down on her knees and looked Isaac in the eye. “Can you take me to Malcolm?”

Isaac nodded, wiping his wet face, and took her hand, leading her deeper into the building. “I was gonna see him, anyways.”

The brown Templar reached out for her. “Ma’am, you need clearance to move throughout the Circle!”

Leandra snapped her head over her shoulder so fast her hair flipped. “Fuck your clearance!”

Leandra flinched with the Templar. She shouldn’t have said that in front of Isaac.

Isaac’s tears broke into a smile as he hid a giggle in his hands. “Fuck,” he echoed.

Leandra sighed deeply, thinking of poor Revka. But Leandra guessed that her children picking up curse words was the least of her problems.

She squeezed the boy’s hand. “Let’s go, Isaac.”

As she walked away she heard the brown Templar turn to his colleagues and say, “Hurry and get the Knight-Captain.”

Isaac led Leandra through some hallways. Hand in hand, they passed mages and Templars who all stared at Leandra, knowing she didn’t belong but not knowing what to do about it. Soon she was in a chamber with very little sunlight, lined with beds. The walls were barren stone, the beds separated by white sheet dividers that gave some semblance of privacy. Leandra strolled through the room, taking in the Chantry banners of the flaming sun hanging over the beds. Her eyes scanned the patient’s faces until she found Malcolm tucked into a corner.

Her heart splintered to pieces when she saw the state Malcolm was in. He was wrapped in bandages from his head to his chest, his face yellowing from healing bruises that looked bone deep. The bandages on his head looked dark with blood. He looked so frail, like a mangled doll.

Malcolm’s IV bag dripped fluid steadily. The beep of the monitor scanning his heart was unsteady, out of rhythm. His breathing was shallow and uneven, his face tense with pain.

Leandra rushed up to Malcolm and took one of the chairs already seated beside him. She grasped his hand, still warm but limp.

Isaac took the seat next to her, and laid his head down on Malcolm’s stomach, sniffling heavily.

Malcolm didn’t respond at all.

Suddenly two people, a strict black elf with purple eyes, and a brown man with shaggy dark hair and a goofy smile came into the hospice. When they spotted Leandra, their mouths dropped and their eyes went wide.

The brown man rushed up to her and pointed as if he was seeing a ghost. “You’re Leandra!”

Leandra raised an eyebrow, squaring her shoulders, preparing for whatever insult he was about to fling. “I am.”

The man breathed excitedly, taking the seat next to Isaac. “Oh, this is great! Malcolm will be so happy to know you came.”

Isaac didn’t respond to greet the other two. He just continued to lean on Malcolm, gripping the sheets that were tucked around him with tightly clenched fists.

Leandra smiled, patting Isaac’s head. “You must be one of Malcolm’s friends.”

The man hopped excitedly in his seat, his energy reminding her of a puppy. His brown eyes sparkled at her like diamonds. “Yeah, I’m Charlie. And this here’s Taylor.” He pointed to the elf standing at the foot of Malcolm’s bed, checking his chart.

Leandra recoiled at the name, her lip curling. “Oh… You’re Taylor.”

She inspected the elf, comparing her features to her own, but Leandra found herself burning in jealousy at the elf’s beauty. She had deep brown skin like rich fertile earth, a well-balanced face with a beautifully shaped wide flat nose, and big full lips that looked plush enough to kiss. Her hair was fluffy and stood up on her head like a cloud and she had twisted braids into the top of her head so it made a cute half-do. Her black thick rimmed glasses obscured her eyes and gave her a rather intelligent look, but still her eyes were so vivid. Leandra had only seen that violet in flowers or paintings. They shined brightly in the way only an elf's could.

Taylor raised a disinterested dainty eyebrow. “Yup, I’m Taylor,” she said in a monotone voice. She checked the IV drip, adjusting some of the settings with the click of a button as she studied the chart in her hands.

Leandra turned her head, blushing. “Damn it, you are really pretty.”

Taylor’s eyes widened in surprise and she chuckled. “Well, thank you.” She cocked her head, her cloudy hair swaying as she narrowed her eyes, her lips twisted in a smirk. “Wait… do you still think Malcolm and I are dating?”

Leandra crossed her arms blowing her bangs off her forehead with a huff. “Well, that’s why you’re here, right?”

Taylor and Charlie laughed together, making Leandra feel like she was the butt of the joke.

Taylor walked to the foot of Malcolm’s bed and put his chart away. “Let me be clear.” She gestured at Malcolm’s broken form. “This is a walking disaster masquerading as a man. The fact he hasn’t died from his own stupidity is a miracle.” She rolled her magical eyes. “Sure, he might be pretty, but then he opens his mouth and you realize he’s the biggest dick in existence, and that pretty wears off quickly." She scoffed. "Believe me, lady, you can have him to yourself.”

Leandra blinked, speechless and puzzled. "I happen to like what he says… sometimes."

Taylor and Charlie shared a laugh, making Leandra blush.

"Then you really might be meant to be." Taylor touched her chin and gave Leandra a pitying look. “I’m not saying to take Malcolm back. If you do, you'll definitely be putting up with his childish tantrums for the rest of your life, and I wouldn’t want to subject anyone to that…" She dropped her eyes back to Malcolm. "But I’m not lying when I say you changed him.”

Leandra’s eyes widened at that, and she lifted her head, paying attention to Taylor in new interest.

Taylor furrowed her eyebrows in what looked like a frown as she stared at Malcolm, but a small smile tugged at the corner of her full lips. “Malcolm was always a loner. All he did was sleep all day and pull pranks. He picked fights with everyone, even me and Charlie. He is literally the laziest man I have ever met. He never turned in a single assignment because he thinks he can get by on talent alone, and that makes him insufferably arrogant.” Taylor chuckled her eyes far away as if in a memory. “The only reason he passed his classes is that he was always able to ace the aptitude tests, but everything changed after he met you. You gave him purpose. ” She looked at Leandra with truth in her eyes. “He somehow pulled his grades together and managed to jump ahead to graduation, just for a chance to be with you. Believe me. He wouldn’t have done that for just anyone.”

Leandra looked at Malcolm, tears filling her eyes. “So, Malcolm was telling the truth? You two dating was just a ruse?”

Taylor’s shoulders sagged in relief. “I’m so glad we don’t have to do that anymore. It was humiliating.” She then walked up to Charlie and stood behind him, putting a casual hand on his shoulder, and ran her dark fingers through his wavy brown hair. She had a bright smile on her dark face. “Besides, Charlie and I are the ones that are actually dating.”

Charlie smiled back just as brilliantly and reached up to squeeze her small hand, dwarfing it. “It feels good to finally say that.”

The tears started to spill off Leandra’s cheeks. If Malcolm was telling the truth about Taylor, then what else was he telling the truth about? Did he truly love her? Did he truly want to marry her?

Leandra remembered when Jaheem found out about her and Malcolm, how she expected that harsh judgment, but instead he talked to her, gave her a chance to explain herself.

She loved Malcolm. If her relationship was that important, shouldn’t she have had that conversation before she decided to run away? Didn’t he deserve that?

Leandra threw her head in her hands in a sob. “I’ve been such a fool.”

Isaac wrapped his tiny arms around Malcolm’s body. Isaac’s shoulders were trembling, his wide big eyes on Malcolm’s bruised face, his lip quivering. “I’m sorry, Malcolm.” Isaac’s shoulders started to shake as he broke down again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Leandra was surprised when Taylor reached out and started stroking Isaac’s dark brown hair out of his eyes. “Isaac, I already told you. Malcolm is an adult and he knew what he was doing. It was not your fault.” She kissed the side of his temple.

“It was,” Isaac blubbered, snot running down his nose. “I did a bad thing...”

Leandra’s heart was shredding, hearing Isaac sob. She scooped Isaac up and cradled him to her chest, feeling how much he trembled. She bit her lip, looking up at Taylor, trying to blink back the tears blinding her. “I don’t understand how this happened.”

“It’s my fault,” Isaac cried, his voice muffled into her chest.

"No, it's not," Taylor repeated, shushing him gently. She patted his head, her lips thinning. “Isaac was just being a boy. He did something that would have gotten him in a lot of trouble and… Malcolm took the blame.” She bit her full bottom lip. “I understand why he did it, but… what I don’t understand is why he kept pushing Meredith.” She gritted her teeth, her voice wavering. “I know he’s really hurt, but I’m still so mad at the idiot!” Tears pricked the corner of her eyes. “He wouldn’t stop goading Meredith. It was like he was trying to die.”

Charlie’s lips thinned as he looked at his friend’s mangled body, his usual smile unable to shine.

Leandra couldn’t stop the tears from falling from her eyes. The loss of Colette and Revka was so fresh, the fact that Malcolm was shattered in front of her almost broke her. This wasn’t the first time Malcolm had saved Isaac either. And not only that, she’d ignored the Maker’s sign for three nights and let him suffer all alone. Leandra felt ungrateful for his sacrifices, unworthy of his love. Would he ever forgive her?

How long had he been acting like this? She knew something was wrong when he gave back the ribbon. His eyes seemed so dead, so hopeless. She thought he had given up on her, but it turned out he had just given up. But she couldn’t see that then. All she could see was her anger.

The bell chimed several times. Leandra looked around to see Charlie and Taylor shuffling to get up. Taylor grabbed Isaac gently by the shoulders. “C’mon, hon, it’s time for class. We’ll visit Malcolm again on our next break.” She smiled at Leandra. “We should give your aunt a few moments alone with Malcolm anyways.”

Isaac sniffled but dutifully and untangled himself from Leandra’s arms. Isaac had left a mess of snot and tears on Leandra's chest but she didn't mind.

Leandra leaned over and kissed Isaac on the cheek and wiped his snotty nose with the back of her sleeve. “I love you, Isaac. Try to be a good boy.”

Isaac nodded, tears falling off his chin. “I’m gonna be a really good boy from now on, Auntie, I promise.”

Leandra wiped some tears off his cheek soothingly, and then Taylor grabbed his hand.

She looked at Leandra, her smile turning tense. “Enchanter Jakoby and I have been performing healing sessions on Malcolm nearly every hour on the dot. He is responding to them, albeit a little slowly, but you shouldn’t worry. That’s normal considering the graveness of his wounds.” Her eyes dropped but then she forced herself to look back at Leandra, a forwardness in her gaze as she tried to take on a reassuring tone. “Please allow him time to heal. He will get better,” she said with absolute assurance.

Then Taylor led Isaac out of the hospice, Charlie’s hand intertwined with hers on her other side, so they almost looked like a family.

Leandra was left alone with Malcolm, or at least as alone as she could be with the other sick mages in bed, but their faces were hidden by the courtesy curtains so she could pretend they were asleep or not listening.

Fresh tears welled up in Leandra’s eyes as she stroked the curls off Malcolm’s forehead. His hair looked dull and less vibrant. His skin was paler than usual, his cheeks sunken and sallow. He was breathing unevenly, his body so still he looked dead, if not for the slight movement in his chest. She wrapped her hand into his limp fingers, still lifeless to her touch. She held his hand to her cheek, still feeling the warmth there and taking comfort in that at least. “Please, please don’t die.”

He didn’t respond. He just breathed raggedly. His heart was an unsteady drum, out of tempo, and it seemed to be fading with every beat.

“I’m sorry,” Leandra sobbed, her tears hitting his chest. She squeezed her eyes shut, unable to look at the bruises marring his beautiful face. His hand was still lifeless to her touch. “I’m sorry I didn’t believe you. I’m sorry for everything.” She squeezed his freckled hand, hoping he would squeeze back, but he didn’t respond. The tears dripped off her chin. “Please, I can’t lose you, too.”

She didn’t know what else to do. She leaned over him and cupped his cheek, bringing her lips in to kiss him, as she held his hand to her heart, letting him feel it beat.

He breathed against her mouth, and to her surprise, his lips responded. She could taste the dizzying alcoholic rush of his tongue against hers, even through the bitter iron blood. Her lips sparked with the same electric current she remembered, her heart thudding wildly in her chest, his warmth flooding her with comfort and peace.

She pulled away, to find his honey eyes fluttering open, glinting to gold in the light.

But they were unfocused. He looked past her in a faraway daze. “Leandra?” he whispered, voice weak. His hand finally squeezed back.

She stroked the tension from his cheeks and forehead softly, scared that if she pressed too hard she would hurt him. Happy tears streamed down her face. “I’m here, Malcolm.”

The corner of his lips twitched into a smile, but it seemed like even that gesture was too much for him. His eyelids looked heavy and kept drooping down. “Leandra…” he repeated, his voice trailing off as he drifted back to sleep.

His face looked more peaceful, and he started to breathe more evenly, his heartbeat on the monitor steadying to a more stable pace. Leandra smiled through her tears, hoping that her comfort was enough to bring him through this.

Would he even remember this with the head wound? How could she let him know that she was here for him?

Then suddenly she remembered that she still had her ribbon tucked in her purse. She had placed it there back when she was considering giving it to Jaheem, but every time she tried, she just couldn’t. It always belonged to Malcolm. She knew that now.

She tied it snugly around his wrist, and then kissed the palm of his hand, feeling his warmth on her cheek. “I promise they won’t get away with this.”

His fingers gently squeezed back against her hand again.

That’s when a blonde statuesque woman with ice blue eyes came marching in. Her scowl etched deep wrinkles into her angular red face.

“What are you doing?! You are not allowed here!”

Leandra wiped the sorrowful tears from her eyes, anger replacing it and she rose to her full height. “Malcolm is barely clinging to life! Is this kind of punishment usual in the Circle?”

Unfortunately, Leandra wasn’t very tall, so the Templar towered over her. And she seemed rather unimpressed with Leandra.

“Obviously you don’t understand how things work here. Malcolm is a special case, so he needs special punishment.” She had a razor smile, like a wildcat playing with a mouse, and she placed a hand threateningly on the foot of Malcolm’s bed.

Leandra’s heart thudded in her chest as she was hit by the Templar’s words. She seemed gleeful that Malcolm had been put in the hospice. How did Malcolm ever survive this place?

Leandra scowled, her hands clenching to her sides. “Who is in charge? I demand to know who put Malcolm in the state he’s in!”

The Templar smirked, placing a casual hand on her chest plate. “I’m Knight-Captain Meredith Stannard, and I’m afraid I’m the highest in the chain of command that you’ll see.” She preened at the title, like a cock fluffing its feathers. Then her blue eyes sharpened at Leandra like a knife. “But I’m not afraid to admit it, I was happy to do the honor.”

Leandra recoiled at the name. This was Meredith? She seemed like a ruthless, calculated person and Leandra was terrified for her nephew and Malcolm.

She huffed and then tore into her purse and handed Meredith a card with Jaheem’s name, profession, and noble stamp, a crest of a snake with an elephant’s head. Jaheem told her the creature was called a Grootslang, and there was a story they told about it in Rivain. The Grootslang was sixty feet long, and once slithered through the land devouring its prey, man and beast alike. And it was not only destructive, but clever, and guarded a cave of diamonds it kept hidden from everyone. The Gods decided they had made the Grootslang too cunning and powerful, and so they had to split the creature into two, an elephant and a snake. Jaheem said his family chose that crest in remembrance when the Southern Chantry split his family’s kingdom, but he said someday the families would reunite under one banner and take their country back.

Meredith seemed to understand the implication of the crest. Her face went a shade paler.

Leandra raised her chin. “Paragraph six of page thirty-three of the Mage Civil Rights code states that any punishment a mage receives must not be excessive to their crimes.” She pointed to Malcolm’s broken state. “This is beyond excessive!” Leandra snarled, her nostrils flaring. “I promise you there will be an investigation to see if there are any more abuses to uncover! I think we can both agree I’ll find plenty!”

Meredith looked slightly nervous before she narrowed her eyes and sniffed. She tore up Jaheem’s card into little pieces and dropped it in front of Leandra.

“Your little lawsuit doesn’t scare me,” Meredith sneered. “Now you need to get out!”

Meredith grabbed Leandra’s arm in a bruising grip and started yanking her out of the hospice and back to the train yard. Leandra was barely able to keep up with Meredith’s quick pace, almost tripping in her heels. Meredith practically shoved Leandra back into the train and Leandra watched the Gallows fade into the distance across the water, Malcolm and Isaac still trapped inside. Her heart had been left stranded behind with them.

Soon Leandra was walking back to the parking lot, rubbing her bruised arm marked with Meredith’s fingers, only to find a Guard talking with a tow truck driver. Mara’s car was in the back of the tow and the Guard seemed to be waiting for her.

Leandra rushed up to the Guard and tow driver. “Wait, wait, wait, Sers, I’m here! You don’t need to tow the car. I can take it back home!”

The tow truck driver leered at Leandra’s curves with his dark eyes. “Can’t help you, Miss. You were double parked and on the sidewalk. It’s a ticket either way.”

The severe-looking blond Guard scribbled something down on his notepad. “Make that two tickets.” He ripped the tickets and handed them to Leandra. He pointed to Mara’s car, chewing a wad of pink bubblegum in his yellowing teeth, pale stubble lining his cheeks. “This license plate was caught on camera, speeding down the highway and running several red lights. I’m afraid it’s going to be a pretty hefty fine or you might be facing some serious jail time.”

Leandra’s heart sunk, cursing her own stupidity. She couldn’t ask Mara to pay for this, but she wasn’t sure how she was going to cover this herself, especially since she was lying about being Jaheem’s legal secretary and definitely didn’t have a job.

That’s when Jaheem’s voice sounded behind her with perfect timing that only the Maker could manage. “Don’t worry, Officer. Forward the ticket to me, and I’ll take care of it.”

Leandra didn’t know when he got there or how much of the conversation he heard, but Jaheem was already handing his card to the Guard.

The Guard raised an unkempt blond eyebrow and nodded. “Alright, Messere. Thank you for your time.” And the Guard started strolling back to his patrol car, satisfied.

The tow truck driver crossed his hairy, beefy arms. “Does that mean you’re paying to not have the car impounded?”

Jaheem smiled gracefully. “How much do I owe you?”

Leandra grabbed Jaheem’s hand which was already reaching into his pocket. “Jaheem, I can’t possibly let you do this.”

The tow driver narrowed his eyes. “It’s two sovereigns.”

Leandra’s mouth gaped. She couldn’t afford that. Two sovereigns might not have seemed like a lot to Leandra a couple of months ago, but that would cut her savings in half and she wasn’t sure she could survive on what was left.

Jaheem patted Leandra’s hand with a knowing smile. “The Gods have blessed me with abundance. Really, it is no trouble to help out a friend in need, especially one as special as you.”

Leandra’s gut twisted with guilt as Jaheem handed over the sovereigns. The tow driver pocketed them and started lowering the car off of the truck.

Leandra’s hands twisted as she fidgeted, unsure what to say about the gesture.

“So I got a call from the Knight-Commander’s office, and apparently I have a new case,” Jaheem’s smile was mischievous, his cocoa eyes twinkling. “I take it that means you’ve accepted my job offer.”

Leandra tucked some hair behind her ear shyly. The guilt pooled in her gut. How could she say anything but, “Yes.”

Jaheem seemed delighted, and that stunning smile brightened his dark face. He raised a shaved brow. “I have to admit your methods are a little unorthodox. There’s a protocol to even getting an audience in the Circle, you do realize that,” he chuckled lowly. “I’m going to have to smooth down some ruffled feathers.”

Leandra ducked her head, ashamed. “How else was I going to see the truth for myself?”

Jaheem’s eyes narrowed in interest and he touched his large hand to his square jaw. “And what did you see?”

Leandra’s face got hot, her eyes down at her feet. “Malcolm was beaten so badly, he was put in a coma. He looked so frail… so broken… I’m not sure when he’ll recover… if he’ll recover.”

Jaheem’s smile dropped a touch. “Malcolm? Your ex-boyfriend Malcolm?”

Leandra hesitated, knowing she still needed Jaheem’s help, and that the truth might not make him want to… But how could she lie? He would find out sooner or later.

“Yes,” she admitted and bit her cheek, rubbing her arm awkwardly. Now she wished she had insisted that Jaheem not pay for her tickets, but the fact was she didn’t know who else to turn to.

“As you know, Malcolm’s an elf. He has no legal protections unless we give him some.” Leandra gritted her teeth. “And I saw my nephew.” Her eyes started to glisten as she fought tears again. “That boy is so traumatized I don’t know how he’s going to heal. Is that even possible in a place like that?” She looked up at Jaheem, pleading, the tears threatening to spill. “Please… tell me there’s something we can do.”

Jaheem’s face was a mask, and Leandra was unsure what he was thinking. She knew this looked bad. Not only had she impersonated being his secretary, she had gotten a speeding ticket and nearly gotten her friend’s car towed rushing to see her ex-boyfriend, who she told Jaheem she was definitely not going to see again. And now she was asking Jaheem to protect Malcolm.

But Jaheem didn’t seem mad, or at least not outwardly.

He grabbed Leandra’s hand and rubbed it with his thumb as he gave her a careful smile. “I’ve been waiting for a chance to attack the Circle for abuses. Perhaps the Maker gave us this opportunity.”

Leandra smiled, her gratefulness pushing the tears down her cheeks. “So you’ll help?”

Jaheem smiled but didn’t kiss her hand like usual. He just squeezed it comfortingly instead. “I would not turn you away in your hour of need, my Lady.” He put his hand over his heart. “I couldn’t do anything for your aunt, but perhaps there’s a way to help your nephew and Malcolm.”

How could she be blessed with such a kind and understanding man like Jaheem? Leandra was overwhelmed. She pulled Jaheem into a hug, her shoulders shaking in relieved sobs. “Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.” She just kept repeating those words, again and again, unable to stop.

Jaheem rubbed Leandra’s shaking shoulders with a soft smile on his full lips. “No thanks, necessary, my Lady. I’m only doing my job.”

#da writing #my writing #malcolm/leandra #malcolm hawke #leandra hawke #dragon age #some delicious hurt/comfort #I cried writing this #They're back together #Malcolm's just unconscious so he just doesn't know it yet lol

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happyyyandcrazyyy · 3 years

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i love you (kaz brekker x reader)

summary: the first time kaz ever tells (y/n) that he loves her.

warnings: nudity (not sexual and not detailed). kaz and (y/n) had been working on his touch aversion and he’s much more comfortable with touching her.

Kaz Brekker didn’t do baths. He could take showers, after all the feeling of droplets falling down his skin to wash away the dirt wasn’t nearly as similar to having water surrounding his body, tides moving back and forth. He had only ever bathed once, when his body was aching and battered and bruised and his leg felt as if it had been broken once more and he thought that maybe the water could soothe the pain. It had only made matters worse; he got pulled back into nightmares, cold water reminding him of the sea, hands pulling him down, bloated bodies and dead faces. He had stumbled out blindly, hand grasping his neck. It felt like drowning all over again.

Yet here he stood, body half naked, eyes looking warily at the water and the bare back of the girl. She was providing the privacy she knew that he needed by having her back towards him. That was something he deeply liked about (Y/N), she was patient and kind, always aware of his needs, never pushing him too far.

“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” she reassured him, not needing to turn around to know his jaw was clenched and his bare hands were shaking.

“I know,” was his soft reply. He cursed himself for the weakness in his tone. It was moments like this in which he was pulled back to his childhood. The boy that now stared at his lover, hands trembling slightly, was Kaz Rietveld not Kaz Brekker and most certainly not Dirtyhands. He hated he could be reduced to the shell of the man he once was just by the look of an inanimate object that could do him no harm, a stupid bath of all things.

(Y/N) turned around to meet his eyes. She never looked at him with pity, not even after she had found out about Jordie and everything that had turned him into the monster he now believed he was. Maybe it was because she loved him or because she saw more than what laid in the surface of who Kaz Brekker portrayed himself as. Or maybe it had something to do with the fact that she knew what it was to be broken down and the pain and struggle that came with rising from the ashes. She knew by experience what it was to evolve and turn yourself into someone stronger, someone who wouldn’t be subjected to broken dreams and broken spirits ever again. Either way he was grateful for that, he reckoned he wouldn’t be able to stand a pitiful look, not from anyone and especially not from her.

Then, she smiled, a smile so bright Kaz thought it might’ve been able to cleanse his soul, to cure the evilness from his spirit. She was powerful that way, in a gentle and kind manner so unlike anything the Bastard of the Barrel was accustomed to.

(Y/N) had accidentally wandered into his life all those years ago and had never once left his side (even when he was hurtful and mean and menacing). She progressed slowly going from being an annoyance to him thinking of her with fondness, somehow she managed to worm her way into his frigid heart.

He had never asked why she’d done it, stayed by his side that is, and maybe that was because he was scared of the answer he would receive. She saw him in a light that no one else did, not even himself. Kaz wasn’t sure he wanted to know exactly what she saw in him— self loathing was something hard to walk away from.

“Take your time, my love. All the time you need, I’m not going anywhere.”

It was in times like this, in which her words made his heart race and his stomach fill with warmth, that he wondered what he’d ever done right to even deserve her companionship. He’d never told her, and he never would, but when he laid alone at night Kaz often thought that she deserved better, someone who could give her everything he couldn’t provide. She deserved someone who could hold her through the night, who could make her smile, who wasn’t constantly playing hide and seek with Death. But Kaz was selfish and so he kept her close, as long as she would have him then he’d be hers. Having her around was beneficial to him as well; she made him a better man. Make no mistake he was still Dirtyhands, cunning and mischievous, not afraid to break bones and cut throats to get what he wanted, but his mind was sharper whenever she was around and he felt more human than ever.

(Y/N) turned around again, back towards him once more, hands holding water and rinsing her arms as she hummed a Kerch song. The sound of the lullaby released some of the tension from his arms and Kaz found himself clenching his hands to stop the tremors and nodding to himself.

He could do this. He knew he was ready.

Stripping of his clothes was easy, there was a layer of trust that had been built upon the years and this wasn’t the first time they’d ever seen each other naked. Besides, there wasn’t much modesty in Ketterdam. Walking towards the bath, going against the fight or flight instinct that arose as he made his was towards the water was much much harder. But he swallowed down the fear, just as he had taught himself to do, and kept his focus on her. She was his anchor in that moment, what kept him afloat (maybe she’d always been just that).

Slowly, he lowered himself into the bath behind her. She shifted forward, giving him space and making sure their skin wouldn’t touch until he was ready for it. He gripped the sides, waiting for the memories to pull him back in time, but that never happened. The water was hot enough to redden his skin but not enough to burn, it was so contrasting to the way the sea had been the day he’d swam with corpses. (Unbeknownst to him, she had planned it that way, making sure to reduce any sort of possible triggers). After a couple of minutes and no flashbacks he found himself sighing in relief.

Kaz couldn’t see her face but he knew that her eyes were adorned with pride that seemed to be reserved just for him and a tiny smile that made the dimples on her cheeks appear. She always got that look whenever he made small progress— like the first time he’d ever held her hand without his leather black gloves or the first time he’d ever kissed her, lips locking but hands remaining by their sides because they both knew that was as much as Kaz could handle. Maybe that was the reason he always kept on trying, just to see the little spark light up in her eyes.

(For her, always for her.)

(Y/N) remained with her back towards him, not leaning back on his torso as she would’ve done had it been anyone else. She waited for him to initiate contact, she always had and always would. Whenever he was the one to reach out to touch someone else, he gained a feeling of control over the situation and she knew that helped ease the uneasiness he felt as he wandered into unknown territory.

Eventually he reached forward, fingertips running through her right arm and immediately raising goosebumps. She felt the smile on her face widen. It had been a long road to get to where they were, with him being able to touch her skin without being pulled back into nightmares. They’d had their ups and downs (he’d snapped at her more than once and she’d cried a single time) but at the end she had been patient and he had been willing to work on his traumas and here they were; together, bare, sharing intimacy as they hadn’t done with anyone else.

He rested his hand on her shoulder and she slightly turned around, pressing a gentle kiss to the back of his hand. It was a small gesture but it made Kaz’s stomach flutter. She was always soft and her skin warm to the touch, that helped push the fear far away into the back of his mind. She was his and she was very much alive. (Sometimes he wondered if she’d been touched by the sun as she always seemed to be emanating heat. Maybe she had, maybe that was the reason she always stood out, shinning brighter than anyone else ever could, always looking angelic under the golden rays. Perhaps that was why he was so captivated by her soul; he was darkness and she was everything but. It was mesmerizing being close to someone so who burned so bright and healed everything she touched. Maybe, just maybe, if the Saints existed, they had created her just for him.)

“I can wash your hair if you’re up for it,” she offered after a moment of silence in which all that had been heard were their soft breaths.

She’d done that before once and he’d found out that her fingers threading on his hair didn’t necessarily cause any discomfort.

“Yes,” he replied, tone once again callous but not as uncaring as it seemed to be with everyone else. He seemed to soften around the edges whenever she was around and even more so whenever they were alone. There was no need of being ruthless with her around, his hard exterior seemed to melt with her smile.

She turned around to meet him, giving him a wink and a cheeky smile when she saw the way his eyes traveled down to her body before meeting her gaze once more. He rolled his eyes but his features softened instantly when her smile shifted from bold and teasing to a soft-hearted one. And then she got to work, cupping water with her hands and wetting his black hair. She moved closer but made sure their legs wouldn’t touch, she couldn’t quite read him at the moment and under the uncertainty of how much touch he could handle she decided to give him space.

As she placed shampoo on her hands, she whispered, “You know what to do if it gets too much.”

And he did. Two taps was the signal they had established. If he ever did that she would immediately back away, allowing him to regain his composure.

Kaz nodded curtly and she took that as a signal of approval. She reached towards his hair, hands massaging gently. Everything she ever did seemed to be tender and unassuming, he liked that. He observed her as she worked, enthralled by the way the candle light illuminated her features, shoulder relaxing as the scent of lavender filled the room.

(Y/N) mumbled softly under her breath, something between a poem and a song, blissfully unaware of the way he was looking at her. His eyes trailed from her cheekbones to her eyes and down to her lips, which were pressed together. She always did that when she was focusing hard on a task. It was cute, he thought to himself, that she concentrated hard on something as mundane as washing his hair. It was possibly what Kaz loved most about her, she was ever so careful and so attentive to him. No one had ever been that way before.

Love. A concept so complex and ever changing, something he thought he would never experience again after Jordie’s death. Love was something he had long deprived himself of, it made you weak and vulnerable and he had sworn to himself to never be naïve again. But here he was, experiencing it firsthand and allowing himself to do so.

She loved him, that much he knew. She had told him so on a cold winter night when the lights had been low and he’d been too focused on his latest scheme to notice the look of adoration on her face.

“I love you, Kaz Brekker,” she’d said, loud and clear and completely out of nowhere.

It had taken him by surprise, making him freeze right on spot, hands clenching the map he’d been holding a few seconds prior.

There weren’t many things that could render him speechless but as he had looked up to find her already looking at him, unbothered as if they were simply talking about the weather and not feelings, Kaz hadn’t been able find any words to say.

She had been amused by his reaction, breathing out a laugh.

“I thought it was obvious but you can be quite dense,” even in that moment she had teased him, “so I wanted to make sure you knew.”

He had opened his mouth, closing it immediately after. His brain was going at a hundred miles an hour and his heart seemed to be melting on the spot at the sight of fondness in her gaze. His face remained blank but she could read his eyes better than anyone, she knew just how much impact her words had had.

“I don’t expect you to say it back,” she’d assured him with a kind smile because she knew better than to push him into talking feelings, “I just need you to know that you are loved,” and she’d meant it wholeheartedly.

(Y/N) didn’t need to hear those three words tumble out of his mouth because, in his own way, Kaz had already showed her that he loved her. It was in the way he’d lent her his gloves when her hands had been bloody and damaged and she wouldn’t have had been able to climb without them, in the way he’d made the man that had cause her so much pain simply disappear and in how she always found a cup of her favorite tea by the side of her bed in the mornings. Kaz wasn’t the best at expressing his feelings but he showed her just how much he appreciated her and that was enough, it was all she needed.

Kaz hadn’t said the words back, he couldn’t physically bring himself to, but in that precise moment he swore to himself to treasure and protect (Y/N) for as long as his heart was beating and blood was pumping through his veins. She was too pure and good for the world she’d been sent to. He’d make sure she never lost her spark.

And now, as she watched her caress his scalp with a soft touch, Kaz realized that he wouldn’t have had been able to stop himself from falling in love with (Y/N) even if he’d tried. The realization scared him for she unknowingly held too much power in her hands— she could bring him down to his knees with a single look, he would tear the world down to give her anything she needed, everything she desired —but, for the first time, he didn’t find any sort of panic in discovering this vulnerability. Yes, she made him fragile but she also made him incredibly powerful.

“I love you.”

The words were mumbled but they cut through the silence of the night.

They both became suddenly motionless. Kaz hadn’t meant the words to fall out of his mouth and (Y/N) hadn’t been expecting to ever hear them.

She was the first to react, backing away slightly to be able to look at him in the eye. It seemed as if she was in a daze, like she couldn’t quite believe the words she’d just listened to.

“What?” she whispered, wanting to make sure she’d heard correctly.

He remained quiet for a second, battling a turmoil of inner feelings, before speaking up again, much more secure and loud this time.

“I love you.”

And the way her face had lightened up made the slight terror in his chest disappear.

He would whisper those words over and over again, he found himself realizing, if that meant he would get to see her look so alive and radiant. Because he truly did love her with every single fiber of his being.

Her hands made their way to her mouth, she still couldn’t believe what she was hearing. (Y/N) fought the desire to throw her arms around him and ended up settling for tentatively reaching for his hand.

Kaz intertwined their knuckles without a single thought.

“I just never thought-”

She never thought she would hear those words and finally doing so made tears gather in her eyes.

She’d known he loved her but hearing him say it was unlike anything she’d ever experienced. She could physically feel her heart fill up with love, almost at the edge of bursting.

(All for him, only for him.)

“No tears, my love,” he found himself saying, unconsciously moving his finger to wipe the single tear that fell from one of her eyes. The pet name he seldom ever called her made her feel like she was floating.

She choked out a laugh, shaking her head, “They’re happy tears.”

“I know,” he trailed a finger down her face before finally moving his hands away from her skin.

“Can I kiss you?” she asked, hoping she wasn’t asking for too much.

He tilted his face upwards as a response and she moved down, pressing her lips to his. It was a peck, soft and pretty and quick but filled with love.

“I love you, Kaz Brekker. You have my heart.”

And he would cherish it forever.

———

i got the inspiration for this as i was sitting in the shower after almost passing out. life huh.

#kaz brekker x reader #kaz brekker #six of crows #shadow and bone #kaz brekker imagine #kaz brekker x you #kaz brekker x y/n #kaz brekker x fem!reader #grishaverse #kaz brekker fanfic #six of crows imagine #happyyyandcrazyyy writing

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tytytheshynarrator · 2 years

Text

A Zaunite in a Piltover World

Chapter 11

-Pairing: M/F

-Rating: Teens, maybe

There he stood, Viktor. Your body craved several things all at once. Seeing him there marked your return to the surface. Your brain flooded with relief, no more fighting to survive. You could go back to your place on the couch and read the night away.

Anxiety filled the pit of your stomach, you had so much work to catch up on. That would have to wait, you desired a hug from Viktor. Also, a shower, as you were still covered in the blood of the men you had killed.

Concern for your appearance washed over you. In the Undercity you cared little of what people saw you in. You were Silco’s “attack dog” after all. However, up on the surface you were the councils toy. Trying your very best to hide your outfit and remove any traces of your night was all for nothing. Viktor limped his way over to you without another thought. You had returned to him.

Tossing his cane to the wayside, he wrapped his arms tightly around your back. Burying his face into the crook of your neck, he let out an audible sigh. You now understood your absence was felt by at least one person. Honestly, the only one you cared for. This moment was a dream come true.

You nuzzled your face into his chest, inhaling his scent. The smell and touch of Viktor crashed through your senses. You wrapped your bruised and battered arms around his thin waste. He clearly had lost weight since your departure. So had you, life without each other seemed detrimental, you never wanted to leave his side again. If his hug was any indication he never wanted you to leave him again.

The two of you stood there in the middle of the bridge, holding each other tightly. “Dear?” Your moms small, soft voice broke your hug apart. Embarrassment tinted your features. Bright red blush charted its way across your face. It had not been only your face, but Viktor's ears now burned bright.

You parted like awkward teenagers, who had just been caught. “Are you going to introduce me?” She chortled. Sputtering out, you replied, “Mom this is Viktor, Heimerdinger’s assistant.”

Viktor reached down, grabbing his cane before limping over to your mother. He extended his hand and greeted her. “It is a pleasure to finally meet you Ma’am.” Viktor may have been addressing your mom, but his glowing amber orbs never left your thinned face. He did not care what you looked like in this moment. All he could process was the overwhelming happiness he had to finally have you back. Viktor did, however, enjoy seeing you in something other than your issued uniform, this outfit looked more like something you belonged in.

As much as you wished you could stay with your two favorite people and live happily ever after. The peace never lasts forever, a sheet of fog passed across the end of the bridge. As it cleared, a line of Enforcers emerged and stood blocking the path to Piltover. They caught your attention first, then Viktor's as he saw your demeanor change.

Placing your hand on the sword that was housed on your back, you lowered your stance preparing for a fight. You would protect these two with your life. Your instincts of the Undercity took over, placing yourself between the Enforcers and your mom. You barked out nearing a feral tone, “What do you want Marcus?” The lead Enforcer was surprised you knew of him, let alone his name. He spoke carefully, unsure what else you knew about him. “The Council has issued a warrant for your arrest. If you come quietly we can get this over quick and easy.” You placed your fathers sword into your mothers hands, before turning around and raising your hands in surrender. “This has to be a huge mistake! She is a part of the academy staff!” Viktor shouted at the advancing Enforcers.

Before being dragged away forcefully, you flashed a reassuring smile to Viktor. “I’ll be okay.” It was too much for your mothers heart to take, watching her remaining child be taken from her as well. Her body fell to the ground, Enforcers rushed to her side. A particularly large and brutish Enforcer scooped her up from the ground, as he rushed her down the street to the local Hospital.

A gag was placed over your mouth, so no one would be able to understand your ramblings and pleas of innocents. You were tired and confused. Your mind wandered as you were thrown into the back of an enforcers cab. What had you done wrong? Had the council known about your small massacre in the Undercity? Or was it because of your relationship to Silco. You had so many questions and you were unable to ask anything with your mouth the way it was.

The ground and your body connected; with a soft thud you were thrown into a cell. The handling of you could have been better, it was not exactly like you were fighting them. You had been fighting the whole day prior your stamina was drained along with your energy.

As the sun set on the first day of your return you curled up on the floor of your cell, too tired and sore to move. They had not even taken the cuffs off your hands or the gag over your mouth. You were from the Undercity unlike Jayce so of course you be treated worse. You just did not know how much worse they would treat you.

A splash of ice-cold water hit your sleeping form, “What the hell!” You yelled from behind the gag. Trying your best to readjust your sleepy eyes, you looked up to see Marcus standing above you. He really was a vile person, some of the worst types of people. If the mortal sin of pride could embody a human it would have been him, Jayce was a close second you chuckled to yourself.

Swiftly a boot connected with the side of your face. Causing you to fall back to the ground, you spit blood from your mouth. The gag began to change to a crimson red, as your cheek stung out in pain. Was Marcus going to be your executioner you thought. Continuing your train of thought since you could not vocalize it. You wondered if there was a worse way to die.

Marcus placed another kick to your stomach this time. You retched bile from your throat, followed by a death glare directly at Marcus. You had had enough, standing up you dodged his next few kicks and swings. At this point he was panting in the doorway to your cell, you on the other hand stood calm and collected. No more free shots.

Narrowing your eyes, you glared at him with murderous intent, if you ever found him on the streets of the Undercity you would have killed him by now. Marcus finally spoke to you, “Come on traitor, the council wants to speak with you.” Those words were rich coming from him, you knew he was on Silco’s payroll.

Nearly dragging you down every hallway, Marcus threw you into the doors of the council room. Colliding with the doors, you stumbled through them. Trying your best not to fall heels over ass, you toddled into the room. Marcus smirked at your clumsy walking. ‘He really is a vile human being’ your mind screamed.

Marcus dragged you by your cuffs, which linked your hands behind your back. Your wrists were sore from being forcefully dragged places like a dog. His final toss of your body caused you to kneel before the council. Locks of your hair hung down your face, parting over your glowing orbs. Your eyes were filled with hatred, you had done everything the Council wanted you to do. Glaring Mel down like a rabid dog, you knew this was her doing. Always wanted to look like the ‘good guy’ while pulling everyone’s strings.

Her face softened at your treatment from Marcus. You were a person of high intelligence not an animal, you should have been treated as such, yet here you were. Beaten and abused on the floor before the Council like some frenzied deranged mut. Heimerdinger’s voice demanded the whole rooms attention. “MARCUS! You free that young lady this instant.” Marcus shot him a look before opening his mouth to retort. “She is a very dangerous traitor!”

“You heard the councilman, free her!” Mel’s tone was stern. Marcus’s face looked defeated as he released your bruised wrists. You pulled the gag down from your mouth before examining the rings of bruises the cuffs had left behind. “What is the meaning for her treatment?” Heimerdinger demanded.

Marcus stammered out some lame excuse, before trying to take his leave. Mel eventually gave into his desires allowing him to leave the room. There you stood surrounded by the most powerful people of Piltover, oddly the Chem Barons and Silco had been more intimidating. “Why am I here?” your hoarse voice rang out in the silence.

“I never intended to have you arrested, just transported to us.” Mel’s fake apology almost caused you to roll your eyes. Reminding yourself to remain respectful to these people was hammering away at your mind. They were the only reason you desired to remain in the Undercity. “Seems there was a bit of a disconnect in orders.” You snipped back at her. You were far too tired to deal with them. All you wanted was to go be with your mom and maybe a proper shower. Not another ice bucket.

“Seems so, do you know why we summoned you here?” Cassandra’s voice was next, you were grateful to her for moving this meeting along. “I have no idea and I am far too tired to play a guessing game.” You really had spent too much time in the Undercity with the way your sarcasm was the first response. She was slightly taken aback before she replied, “We have sources that tell us you killed your way into the Last Drop.” You sighed out before she continued, “They also tell us you worked for a very powerful man while you were there.” She really was drawing this out, acting like you did not already know what you had done in the Undercity. “Yes, that is correct. I assisted him to further gain my families freedom from the Undercity. I had to do what I had to do.” That last bit you threw in there knowing full well they would never understand the fight or die mentality of Zaun.

“With that mentality, it is why we have you summoned here and not rotting in a jail cell.” Mel chimed in, as if you were supposed to be grateful for that. Clearly your face had said what you were thinking. Heimerdinger finally spoke, “It was after much debate we have decided to offer you an ultimatum” His tone was a sad one. Almost unwilling. You perked your eyebrows waiting for the next person to speak. “We want to offer you a position as a spy for Piltover, due to your relationship and knowledge of the Undercity.” Your mind put together the other side of the ultimatum before they spoke of it. “Or we can return you to the cell and Marcus.”

Your tired brain was getting irritated with this meeting. They may rule over all of Piltover, but they truly knew nothing of Zaun. This really was the best outcome for you anyway. You could still keep your promise to help with Zaun and keep your life on the surface. “I’ll do it.” Your stoic voice answered. The council looked pleased with the outcome of the meeting, all except for Heimerdinger. What did he expect you to do in this situation? You would have to ask him later.

“Your title and position are still yours, along with the home.” Cassandra reminded you. “Along with the home, please feel free to finally rest there tonight.” Mel added. Ah yes. You pulled out your house keys, you had an actual home to return to.

“You are dismissed, I think this goes without saying. What we have discussed in this room stays between you and the council.” The robotic looking man threaten as you walked away from them. Rolling your eyes as you exited the large meeting room. Graced with the sight of Marcus waiting for you. You had to extinguish your anger; this was not the Undercity. Striding pass the man you flipped him the bird, as you smirked knowing he could no longer abuse his power over you.

“Finally,” you exhaled while pushing the doors to the outside open. Your eyes noticed a metallic cane resting against a wall, along with its owner. His darkened eyes were closed, you wondered when the last time he had a proper nights rest. Jokingly you uttered it was probably when you left. Viktor was waiting for you in the same place you had just a few months ago during Jayce’s trial.

Your mind wondered, maybe sneaking a hug from him was okay in this moment. Shuffling over to his resting posed form you slid in between his legs wrapping your arms around his waist. Viktor shifted his place with you, pinning you against the wall. His eyes searched your face for any hint of fear, as his mind awoke from its fog. He had instinctually trapped you under his large frame before his mind could catch up.

Emerging from his fog, his eyes softened seeing your face covered in a few large gashes and dark purple bruising. Viktor slowly brought his cold fingers up to your cut lip, softly stroking it. “We should get you seen by a doctor.” He voiced his concerns. Closing your eyes and resting your forehead on his firm chest you replied softly, “Can that wait ‘til the morning? I really need a proper shower and a good night’s sleep.”

Viktor held you against him until a voice caused both of you to jump. Shoving the taller man away from you, you directed your attention to the female voice. “(Y/N)?” Sky’s unsure tone called to you. You offered her a small smile, “Hey Sky.” You did not know what to say. Here you were holding onto the man she loved, again.

Sky ignored her jealousy and darted to you, wrapping you in a tight hug. Your eyes filled with tears, had she forgiven you, you wondered. “I am so happy you’re okay.” Her voice was muffled from burying her head into your shoulder. You weakly hugged her back; your strength was leaving you. It had been a few days since you had properly slept or eaten.

Pulling away from you Sky looked you over like a worried mother hen. She saw you had been beaten and bruised. “Who did this to you?” She demanded as if she was going to hunt them down. You chuckled at her anger on your behalf, this was your old friend you had missed so much. Separating from her hold you jingled your keys. “Should we head home?” as your two friends stared at you.

Sky spoke up, “I am actually on my way to the library, I have a test in the morning. I’ll have to see you around.” She waved at you and Viktor before leaving you for the library. You could still tell she was head over heels for Viktor, even knowing his affection towards you. You let out an awkward sigh, knowing you would have to deal with those issues at some point.

“We should get you home, before it gets too late.” Viktor said placing his hand on your shoulder. If you were not so worn out you would feel some form of nervousness, but that took too much effort and energy. The two of you turned in the direction of your new home. Apart of you was excited to see your first home.

Viktor tried his best to keep the small talk and questions to a minimum, in hopes to not further your exhaustion. He did have a million questions and topics to talk with you about, although he knew there was a place and time for that. That time was not now.

You arrived at a decent sized cottage style home. The outside of the home was covered in half brick and half white stucco. The dark wood trim around the features of the house was pleasing. It fit your idea of a perfect meadow cottage; however, it was near the heart of the Academy grounds. Another negative about the placement of your new home was the distance from Viktor's apartment. Maybe he would agree to staying the night with you. It was getting late.

You walked up to the elegant front door, placing the golden key in the lock. It turned with ease, causing the door to spring open. The inside of the home was a drastic contrast to the outside. Where the outside was homey and welcoming, the interior was cold and minimalistic. You rolled your eyes, understanding that two people were probably in charge of the projects. You stepped inside turning the bright white lights on, exposing the thin layer of dust over everything. This reminded you, that you had been gone for over 2 months.

Turning around you expected to see Viktor behind you, he was not there. Tracing your steps back to the front door you saw he was waiting for you outside. Awkwardly he shuffled his feet avoiding your gaze. “I should probably go home now.” Your face shifted to hurt and fear. “Right.” Your tone gave away your true feelings. Viktor looked up to meet your saddened eyes. He offered you a small smile unsure of how to respond. He opened his mouth to wish you a good night, in spite of how he desired to stay with you. Before he had the chance to utter his goodbyes you cut him off. “Please stay.” You blurted out as your face turned a dark shade of red.

“Are you sure?” He said scouring your face for any hint of jest. You were being serious, Viktor entered your home, shutting the door behind him. The two of you were finally alone. He finally had you all to himself. He could not be any more pleased with how tonight was turning out.

#arcane #viktor #viktorxreader #silco x reader #silco #league of legends #archive of our own

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marsbutterfly · 3 years

Note

Hey ! How are you ? Can I request an imagine for Hanji x f!reader where they both get reincarnated in modern time ? They both died side by side during the rubbling and when they get reincarnated they both have memories of their past life (they were already lovers). Reader thought she was never going to see her girlfriend again but one day she finds her by chance.

Take care and have a nice day !

Note: Thank you so much for requesting this. I had fun writing it and the prompt was *chefs kiss* so I really hope you like it.

In Another Life

Summary: Reincarnation is the doctrine or belief that the soul reappears after death in another and different bodily form.

Wattpad Version! | AO3 Version! |◁ II ▷|

Cold sweat drips down your face as you bolt awake, digging your nails into the bedsheets. The same nightmare has been waking you up in the middle of the night since you were a child.

In your dream, you are a soldier who battles to save humanity in the fight against titans. Somehow, you always manage to kill the gigantic beings and return safely to the world inside the walls.

Always by your side is a brown-haired woman with glasses, her left eye is missing in most of the dreams. In all honesty, you have never seen anyone so beautiful before and, somehow, you remember her name.

Hanji Zoe.

One day, you stood by her side as the world you’ve once known was being left behind, turned into dust. She held your face in her hands as tears streamed down her cheeks, the feeling of her lips against yours is vivid and you can even smell the apple she had earlier.

The scream of your comrades echoes through the plane and into your brain but all you can focus on is the image of Hanji’s body catching on fire as the same flames burn down your back.

She hits the ground seconds before you do and somehow you manage to land by her side, hand touching hand as her lifeless body begins to cool down. You don’t have much time to think before a titan’s massive foot squishes your bodies at the exact same time.

That’s usually when you wake up, when your lungs and heart explode inside your chest due to the pressure of the step. When every blood vessel in your body gives in to the pressure and bursts inside you.

You grab your phone, only to realize your alarm was about to go off anyway. So instead of trying to go back to sleep, you simply push the covers aside and begin to drag yourself to the bathroom in hopes of getting your day started.

Not every dream you have is a nightmare. Some of them are about a life you don’t remember living: The combination of joy and fear after joining the Survey Corps, the warmth of Hanji’s naked body against yours, the delicious smell of freshly made apple pie coming from the kitchen in the middle of the night.

At nights where you don’t dream about that life, you miss it. You miss being around your friends, being able to move around the trees as if you were flying, you miss her. Her deep, brown eyes are all you can think about and time slips away from you.

Once your morning routine is completed, you decide to go for a run in the park behind your house. Since the sun has been out for less than an hour, it shouldn’t be too busy and you’ll be able to enjoy some quiet time.

As the armband slides up your skin, a chilling sensation travels down your spine and nearly every particle of hair in your body rises, even though you can’t understand why. So you simply shake your head and push the feeling down.

Carefully, you select your favorite playlist and check to make sure your laces are tied but before you can actually look, your phone rings loudly in your ear nearly giving you a heart attack.

Without a second thought, you decline the call without even checking to see who it is and you make your way outside.

The cold breeze welcomes you and the sweet smell of the food cart in front of your house hits your nose. Usually after a run, you reward yourself with one of their delicious crepes and that is enough motivation for you to finish your jog.

At this time, the park is the most peaceful place in the city. No crying babies in their strollers or loud business men walking around on their phone, there is only you and maybe three more people.

Your favorite song comes on and you feel the energy pumping through your veins with every beat. It’s the perfect weather for a run and you silently enjoy the calm that washes over your body.

Your mind wanders back to your nightmares and you start to remember the better part of it. The times Hanji would take you to a secret picnic after she became commander or the makeout sessions in the janitors closet.

In some ways, you could even feel her warm skin against yours, her kiss-swollen lips attached to you by a string of saliva. It nearly feels as if you had lived throughout all of it, but it couldn’t be possible.

You’re so deep into your thoughts that you don’t notice the stick on the floor and, when you do, it’s too late and you’re already halfway towards the ground so all you can do is protect your face from the concrete.

The impact itself isn’t too painful but the humiliation is what stings the most. If only you hadn’t gotten that call before leaving your house, you would’ve remembered to tie your shoelaces and therefore they wouldn’t have gotten stuck on the stick on the floor.

This isn’t the first time the woman in your dreams has caused you trouble. In a few of your memories, she would make too much noise when you sneak out and the Commander would eventually catch you.

Ever since you were young and these dreams first started, you’ve been going to a therapist after the other in hopes of understanding what all of this means and why is it happening to you but all came to the same result: inconclusive.

No matter how many doctors you see, no one can understand why you have such vivid dreams about a war nobody has ever heard anything about or creatures that have never once been proven to exist.

With your ass on the ground, you notice you used the word “memories” instead of dreams and for a second you feel as if all air has been sucked out of your lungs by a massive vacuum.

You shake your head, pushing those feelings deep down inside of you and getting on your knee, preparing to tie your laces when a familiar perfume rushes by you.

It’s faint and quick, probably carried by the wind but enough for you to snap your head backwards. A comforting feeling settles in your chest, warm and fuzzy if you could describe it. That’s exactly how the woman from your dreams smelled like.

You notice a brunette in a bright yellow sports bra turning around a bush not too far away, but you can’t see if she’s wearing glasses or if she only has one eye, like Hanji did.

“Y/N don’t be ridiculous!” You say to yourself, standing up and brushing away the dirt from your clothes, “Hanji is not a real person, she’s like an imaginary friend.”

Forgetting all about your fall, you decide to resume your run. The pain in your foot forces you to go a bit slower than you are used to but nothing too serious.

Once you are done running your laps around the park and begin to make your way back home, a few drops of rain begin to fall on your skin, forcing you to rush home.

As you are eagerly awaiting for the crepe you’ve been dreaming about for hours, the owner of the small cart has a sad expression on his face.

“I’m fresh out of batter. My husband just went to grab some more, it should take a little longer than 45 minutes, I am so sorry Y/N.” He says and you sigh, a compassionate smile on your lips and you nod.

“You will save me the first one you make when he’s back right?” You ask and the man eagerly nods.

“Of course. With banana, strawberry and chocolate, right?”

And you laugh, knowing that the only reason why he knows your order so well is because his crepes have been your breakfast each morning since you first moved into this apartment.

Once you are done with the conversation, you rush up the stairs and immediately into the shower. With a washcloth you gently brush the dirt out of your bruised knee, quietly hissing as the burning sensation takes over.

Even though you know you aren’t supposed to do so, you pour hydrogen peroxide on top of the wound and a scream leaves your throat at every step of the way.

“Today really isn’t my day.” You say to yourself as you begin to wash your hair. A few specs of dirt fall to the ground and a prolonged sigh escapes your lips. Everything just seems to be going wrong: rain, no crepe, fell during a run, what’s next? Waiting in line at the coffee shop for over an hour?

As you stand in line, you realize you should have kept your mouth shut. Even though you ordered online, the amount of people surrounding the pick up area was beyond ridiculous and you were definitely getting late for work.

Once your turn finally comes, you thank silently in hopes that you will be able to actually make it in time. So with your chest out and happiness on your face, you loudly say over the many other voices, “Order for Y/N!”

The guy behind the counter looks confused as he checks every cup individually and you watch over him as he does so. He shoots you a sadden and a little annoyed look and you realize that the “Order” button never got pushed.

Your eyes fill with tears of frustration but you brush them away and take your phone out, repeating your online order to the barista on the register and they write it down perfectly.

Your eyes are glued to your phone’s screen while you wait for a message from your boss but the same comforting sensation you felt this morning is back again. Maybe it’s the smell of coffee that reminded you of the trips to Marley or the crowds of different people around, much like eldians and marleyans.

“I have to get this shit out of my brain.” You say, shaking your head and focusing on typing out a message to your friend, complaining and hoping that you won’t get fired today. You worked too hard to get this job and if they let you go over some 20 minute wait, you’ll raise hell on Earth.

“Order for Y/N?” A familiar voice says but you can’t identify from where.

So you walk to the counter, finally putting your phone away and counting the coffees. Your eyes land on the barista’s hand, who carries your regular order. You reach for it and in a split of a second, your hands touch.

The world around you seems to stop and so does your breathing. When you look at her, you realize she is the part of you that has been missing all along. She’s a real person and not a dream. You look at her nametag, just making sure you aren’t going insane and there it is. “Hanji Zoe”

In that minimal touch, you are bombarded by the emotions of a lifetime ago. The first day you met, the first titan experiment you had done together, the first kiss, the first time you’ve had to kill a titan because she would always get too damn close to being eaten alive.

But you are also reminded of the last meal you both ate, the last nose rub, the last time her lips touched yours, the last hand holding, the last breath you both took before you woke up where you are now.

And just like that, feelings you didn’t know were possible for you to have emerged from deep within your chest as if a box that has been sitting deep inside the closet has now just been opened. It even seems like the world has just gotten a bit more colorful.

Tears shine in your eyes as the coffee you just waited so long for hits the ground. With a smile on your face, you wrap your arms around her neck and pull her over the counter. It doesn’t take her more than a second to seal your lips together.

Her breath tastes like the hot chocolate she had earlier that day but it still manages to awaken butterflies that laid dormant in your stomach throughout your entire life. It’s not until your phone rings in your pocket that you are brought back to reality.

“I’m so late for work!” You smile at her and rush out of the store, the container with the other cups in your left hand.

“Wait!!” A voice screams from just outside the coffee shop and you immediately turn around to see Hanji, her hat in her hand as she comes closer to you. “I knew something was missing my entire life and….”

“And now I realize it was you.” You two say in perfect unison and she nods.

“Why don’t we start over? This time, without any titans around.” She asks and you smile.

“Hey, I’m Y/N.” You say, extending your hand.

“I’m Hanji Zoe and I would love to take you on a date sometime.” Hanji meets you in the middle, shaking your hand.

“I really have to go.” You say and a frown appears on her face, you have to fight the will to quit your job and start a nice, little life in the woods with her. Something you’ve always talked about but sadly never got to have.

“I’ll wait for you right here then.” She says, letting go of your hand slowly and you immediately touch the back of her head and bring her in for a long kiss while still managing to keep the cups in your hand still.

This time it was not a goodbye kiss. It was simply the second first kiss you’ve ever had with Hanji and hopefully, it will not be the last.

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dialux · 3 years

Text

It is not a dream, whatever they say afterwards.

...

She is born at the stroke of midnight, on the hottest day of the year. Anaire sweats and curses through the last week of her pregnancy. Fingolfin claims to have hauled blocks of ice down the Calacirya for his wife’s comfort, balanced on his broad shoulders.

But none of it matters, because the moment that little Aredhel, blood-slicked and howling, slips from her mother’s body, lightning flashes, thunder claps, and the heavens open up around her.

...

She is born in rain. She is born into a tempest that shatters trees and warps stone. She is born into the kind of elemental fury that cannot be taught, only experienced.

...

“There is not only joy to be had in life,” says her mother, once, tending to cuts on Aredhel’s back that were carved by a bear that Aredhel had attacked, armed with nothing more than a knife and her own courage. “There is duty as well, my little girl. Duty and kindness and love.”

Aredhel laughs instead of screaming. “The day I find love shall be the day of my death.”

“Do not say that!”

“I have seen it.”

“Aredhel!”

“Wish freedom for me, if you must offer me something,” says Aredhel, and rises, ignoring the blood staining her gown and the pain. “But not love, and certainly not duty!”

...

The gown had been white before it was ruined. Aredhel washes it in her own bathroom, scrubs and scrubs until her blood and the bear’s blood finally fade, until the sun has bleached the stains to nothingness.

Then she wears it again, braids her hair out of the way, and stalks into the forest.

She doesn’t return until she has tamed the bear into friendship.

...

Forever after, she wears white.

...

It is a reminder: life is a stain. It might begin clean, but it shall never end that way. The only thing to do is to wash it out, and to scrub until one’s arms ache, and to let the cloth dry out before being stained once more.

Aredhel learns many, many tricks to removing the stains.

...

I will have vengeance, or I shall have death, Feanor had snarled in the courtyard of Tirion.

Anaire does not ask any of her sons to remain. She does not even speak to Fingolfin. But she is in Aredhel’s rooms when she returns, sitting in the silent darkness.

“Do not go,” she whispers.

Aredhel remembers bears and blood and bitterness on her tongue. Her life in Aman has been a cage, glittering and golden, and if the world outside it shall be dangerous- well, she has a knife, and her own rage, and the knowledge to scrub out stains.

“Do not try to stop me.”

“Have you no love for a mother?”

“I will have freedom,” says Aredhel levelly, and watches her mother’s face crumple, and refuses to feel guilty for it. “I will have freedom, or I shall have death.”

...

(She does not tell that story to her father. The one time he asks- they all know where Anaire was, that last night in Tirion- Aredhel looks at him, steadily, until he turns away.)

...

There are unforgivable things. Those boats- well, Aredhel has never been a forgiving person, and she does not wish to become one now.

...

There are immense storms on the Helcaraxe. Aredhel hears, sometimes, Lalwen laughing so loud it sounds like a scream. She does not weep: she has not wept for many, many years. Even as her people- those she trusted, those who trusted her- fall like flies, Aredhel does not falter.

The tears would freeze on her face, and she has no time to brush it off.

...

When Elenwe dies, Aredhel allows her brother one night to mourn. She holds little Idril in her arms, soothing the shudders away, and doesn’t release her to anyone else. Her brothers are with Turgon; her father is tending to their people. What Idril needs is someone who remembers her.

The next morning, Aredhel wakes Idril, and she brushes the little girl’s hair out until it shines, casting more wood than strictly necessary to ensure it doesn’t freeze. Aredhel’s fingers are not nimble enough for the proper braids, but she manages a reasonable enough facsimile for her niece.

Then she takes her to Turgon’s tent.

“Get up,” she says coldly.

Argon is curled around Turgon, trying to keep him from fading through sheer force of will. He sits up when he sees Aredhel, eyes wide, and she bares her teeth.

“Get him up,” she says flatly.

“I don’t think that’s...”

“Get out, then,” says Aredhel, and doesn’t watch him scuttle out. Argon will bring someone- either Fingon, or her father- and all that means is that she doesn’t have too much time. She glances down at Idril. “Watch.”

It is four steps from the entrance of the tent to the bed. Aredhel takes the steel knife she once used to attack a bear with- the knife she’d left deliberately exposed to the elements- and places the flat very cleanly against Turgon’s throat.

Turgon jerks at the chill. Aredhel goes with him, fluid as water, so she doesn’t cut his throat but keeps the knife against his skin.

He is stronger than her. Aredhel lets him finally throw her off- though it takes longer than she’d expected- and waits, because Turgon’s thrashing has finally led him to catch sight of his daughter, his little daughter with her braids done in the Vanya style, looking like the miniature of her mother. The grief in his eyes is simply awful.

Aredhel waits.

And when he finally draws himself around Idril, sobbing but not the terrible, bone-chilling silence of an elf on the verge of fading, Aredhel leaves.

...

“You cannot save anyone,” Aredhel tells Idril, when Turgon finally allows her out of his sight. “But you can offer them a path back. Whether they take it or not is their choice.”

“The Burners,” says Idril, then- that’s what she calls the Feanorians, precocious child that she is- “will you give them a path back, then?”

Aredhel had loved Celegorm, and Curufin, and the twins, too. But she is not a forgiving person.

“If someone burns their bridges,” she says finally, “you do not owe them more tinder.”

...

(That is a lie.)

...

It is not that she is unforgiving.

It is that she does not wish to be forgiving.

...

When Fingon saves Maedhros, Aredhel visits the healer’s tent in the dead of night. She watches the agony of her cousin’s hroa, etched into his skin, and she does not feel triumph.

If she sees Celegorm again, she will fall into his arms, and she will forgive him everything.

But Argon is dead, and so is Elenwe, and so had they all come through the ice, embittered and betrayed. It is not that Aredhel does not want to forgive her cousins; it is that she fears what will happen if she does. She cannot spend her life waiting for a knife in the back.

Turgon wants nothing to do with them.

Fingon will not leave them behind.

And Aredhel does not wish to see another brother dead. She kisses Fingon, and she kisses Fingolfin, and she kisses Finrod and all his siblings, and then she disappears into the night with Turgon, having not spoken to any of her Feanorian cousins since before the Helcaraxe.

...

“Freedom is not a dream,” she tells her mother, once. “I don’t want it. I need it.”

“If what you wish for is total freedom,” Anaire had replied, “you will never have it.”

Aredhel thinks about her mother, who had loved to dance but been forbidden from it by her grandfather; she thinks about how beautifully Anaire dances in the privacy of their home. She thinks about the way Anaire has chained herself down to the thunder and fury of the House of Finwe, and she laughs.

“You would say that,” Aredhel tells her.

...

She builds Gondolin and she leaves Gondolin and she returns to Gondolin.

The day she finds love- the day she knows she finds love- is when she takes a spear meant for her son. It all cracks open and bleeds away, all the rage seething beneath her breastbone, all the fury she’s spent centuries tending to, all the anger that she’s never known the beginning or ending of, and Aredhel is burning with it, blazing, bright as the father who would soon ride to his death and the brother who would collapse under betrayal and the gods she’d once rejected.

She dies from it, of course, but Aredhel has never feared flame.

...

She is set free upon the river, her corpse dressed in the hands of the niece that she’d once cradled so tightly, her hair braided by the brother she chose to follow. To her son she has given her hairclasps; to Idril she has given the knife that once saved Turgon from fading.

(They say steam rose from her body, so great it enveloped all of Gondolin in a great fog for weeks to come.)

...

That knife- that trusty, small little knife- saves Idril and Earendil from Maeglin, atop the wind-battered tower of Gondolin, when Morgoth finally attacks.

...

Later- years later- Ages later- Aredhel falls into her mother’s arms once more. She is a mother now herself, and she has watched and walked beside and touched and loved dark things, and she is not the girl who’d walked into a forest to conquer her fear with not even a knife to defend herself. She was born in rain and died in a river, a High Lady of the Noldor. She was not felled by Morgoth. Poison took her at the end; not hatred, and not blood, and not flame.

She is the first of her family to be reborn.

“Was it worth it?” asks Anaire, once and only once. “Your dreams of freedom- was any of it worth it?”

Aredhel tosses her hair, bares her teeth.

Smiles.

“It was,” she says, “necessary.”

#my writing #silmarillion #tolkien ladies #anaire #aredhel #ig what i'm trying to explore here is how to live with the tragedy of never getting your heart's deepest desire #aredhel spends her entire life wanting freedom and never getting it #not in valinor and not in hithlum and not in gondolin and not in nan dungortheb #eol says in his speech to turgon 'let the bird go back to the cage where she will soon sicken again'#and that is just one of the saddest lines that i've read in the silmarillion #so instead of that i've made aredhel this gal who's absolutely furious abt everything all the time #we can deal w the sadness later

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emerysaks · 2 years

Note

PLEASE WEITE A ONE SHOT THAT PEGGY COMES BACK FROM A MISSION AND KISSING ANGIE AND FORGETING SHES WERING HER LIPSTICK (102 ) AND ANGIE FAINTS THANK YOU I LOVE YOUR WRITING

So... this is a little longer than I planned. Hope you enjoy it!

Sweet Dreams, Darling

Agent Peggy Carter closed the door behind her and toed off her shoes. The penthouse was dark. That came as no surprise; it was well past midnight. Angie would have gone to bed long ago. Besides, she hadn’t told her she was returning tonight. Peggy hadn’t even known. A lucky break allowed her to close the case she was working and take the first flight back to Manhattan. She ran a thumb along the corner of her mouth and smirked. Well, a lucky break and her trusty 102 Sweet Dreams. She’d been so eager to leave the dusty plains of Kansas that she hadn’t even cleaned up after planting an unsuspecting kiss on the crooked mobster. It’d been a long flight, and she was eager to take a long shower, wash her face free of makeup and grime, and sleep for the next two days.

She had been gone for three weeks, and the undercover sting precluded her from any outside contact. A year ago, that wouldn’t have bothered her. But now, she found herself missing Angie’s animated conversation, dramatic re-enactments of her shifts, and most of all, warm hugs after a long day.

Peggy crept up the stairs, taking care to skip the two steps that always creaked. Angie most likely had an early shift tomorrow, and she didn’t want to rouse her - no matter how much she wanted to see her lovely smile.

Peggy frowned. Lovely smile? When had she started thinking of Angie’s smile as lovely? A traitorous voice whispered that it was probably around the same time she started noticing how Angie’s dresses always seemed to accent her lithe frame when she bent over the kitchen sink. She paused in midstep.

Oh, dear.

That was inconvenient.

Wasn’t it?

She considered the question.

While she had never shied from pursuing romantic liaisons - regardless of the person’s gender - Peggy hadn’t seen anyone since Steve’s passing. Initially, the heartache of losing him had been too much. But over the past two years, the pain had lessened. She attributed some of that to the passage of time, but a great deal of credit went to Angie. Her friend was constant in her affection, care, and determination that Peggy not separate herself from friends. Somehow, through it all, Angie became a source of stability for Peggy. She looked forward to seeing her roommate every evening, sharing conversation over dinner, and laughing at whatever had happened that day.

Peggy relied on Angie when she came home from a mission, battered and bleeding. She could count on a steaming cup of tea when work kept her up through the night. She treasured Angie’s spontaneous hugs when she was excited, and, although Peggy would never admit it aloud, she adored the way Angie gently stroked her brow when she was exhausted beyond measure.

The realization dawned on Peggy that she had never had a friend like Angie. This all seemed to much for that. Peggy and Angie were essentially lovers; they’d just skipped the physical part of it.

Peggy’s stomach tightened, and a warm flush crawled across the back of her neck as she considered becoming intimate with Angie.

“Most inconvenient,” she muttered as she reached the top of the staircase. But it wasn’t. Unless she’d seriously misread the signals, Angie was more than ready to reciprocate. She opened the door to her bedroom and turned on the light… to find Angie fast asleep in her bed.

Laughter caught at the back of Peggy’s throat, and she placed a hand over her mouth to contain her delight. If ever there was a sign from the universe, this was it. She crept to where Angie lay and gently sat down beside her, reaching out a hand to brush away a wayward curl.

“Darling,” she murmured.

A smile appeared on Angie’s face, but she didn’t wake.

Peggy tried again. “Darling, I’m home.”

This time, Angie’s eyes slightly opened. “English?” she mumbled.

Peggy laughed and placed her palm against Angie’s cheek. “Yes.”

“You’re back?” Angie whispered, sleep slowly fading from her eyes. She sat up and looked at Peggy in surprise. “Peggy!” Angie threw her arms around her, affording Peggy a rather generous flash of bare skin when the blanket moved lower. When Angie finally let go, she peered at Peggy and scrunched her nose.

“You smell like cigarette smoke and dust.”

“If that’s all I smell like, I count myself fortunate.”

Angie looked her over for cuts and bruises as her hands traveled along Peggy’s arms and face. “Are you okay? No injuries this time?” she asked, concern lacing her voice.

“Four stitches on my left knee. Other than that, I’m fine.”

Angie frowned and reached down to lift Peggy’s skirt but stopped halfway when she realized what she was doing. Embarrassment flooded her features, and she moved to let go, but Peggy covered her hand and regarded her with curious eyes.

Angie blushed and looked away.

“Don’t stop on my account,” Peggy murmured.

Angie whipped her head around and stared at Peggy. “What?”

Peggy removed Angie’s hand and deliberately placed it against her own bare thigh. She watched with satisfaction when Angie’s eyes fluttered closed. She might have only recently realized what this woman meant to her, but Peggy was a decisive woman, and now that she knew what she wanted, she saw no point in delaying the inevitable.

“I said,” she whispered, drawing her hand higher, “Don’t stop.”

Angie opened her eyes to peer at Peggy. “Am I dreaming?” she asked, even as her hand resumed its quest beneath Peggy’s skirt.

Peggy leaned in closer. “You are not dreaming.” Her warm breath danced across Angie’s cheek.

“You sure?” Angie stuttered. “Because I sure don’t remember us being this friendly before you left.” She took in a shuddering breath. “Not that I’m complaining.”

Peggy chuckled and placed her lips against Angie’s neck. Angie sighed and tilted her head back. “No marks,” she cautioned even as her breathing grew faster.

“No marks,” Peggy promised.

“Wh…what changed?” Angie managed to get out between shaky breaths.

“I had an epiphany,” Peggy breathed.

“Mmmm. Sounds nice.”

Peggy smiled and leaned back. “I realized how lovely your smile was, which led me to evaluate a few other things.”

Angie stilled. “You think my smile is lovely?”

“I do.”

“What other things did you evaluate?”

Peggy reached down and laced her fingers through Angie’s. “How much I’ve come to rely on you. What you mean to me. This.” She pointed between them. “I concluded that we’ve been operating as a couple for quite some time now.”

Angie nodded.

“And,” Peggy continued, “I realized that I want to be a couple with all the good and bad that comes with it. Especially the good.” She dropped another kiss against Angie’s neck. “Are you amenable to that?”

Angie moaned when Peggy’s tongue traced an aimless pattern across her skin.

“Is that a yes?” she teased.

“I’ll agree to whatever you want,” Angie sighed. “Just keep doing that with your tongue.”

Peggy laughed. “Oh?”

“Uh-huh.”

“What if I want to do other things?”

Angie reached down and clasped Peggy’s face between her hands. “I’m open to suggestions,” she breathed.

“Let me wash up.”

Angie shook her head. “Don’t care.”

Peggy chuckled. “Well, at least let me scrub my face. I need to take off this lipstick.”

“I love your lipstick,” Angie said. “You’ve been driving me crazy with that shade for a few years.”

Peggy shook her head. “That’s unfortunate. Although,” she pondered, “perhaps I could get Howard to make me one without the potency.”

Angie drew Peggy closer. “The last person I want to think about right now is Howard Stark.”

“You can’t kiss me, darling. Not with this-”

But Angie paid her no mind. Peggy felt Angie’s soft lips cover hers, and then she was lost, moving her mouth against Angie’s and tightening her fingers around her bare thigh. It only lasted a few seconds, but Peggy was in heaven… until she remembered why Angie wasn’t supposed to kiss her.

She watched as Angie pulled away and then swayed, eyes fluttering as she struggled to keep them open.

“Wow, Peggy,” she murmured, words slurring. “Your kisses knock me out.”

Peggy winced. “You have no idea.”

Angie swayed again, and Peggy reached out to catch her and gently lowered her to bed. “You coming,” Angie asked, eyes slowly closing.

Peggy shook her head and lowered herself beside Angie. “Oh, darling. So reckless, sometimes. I had plans for us, you know.”

Angie’s gentle breathing next to her was the only response.

Peggy sighed and brushed a lock of hair behind Angie’s hair. Her plans would have to wait. She leaned over and pressed a chaste kiss to Angie’s cheek.

“Sweet dreams, darling.”

#peggy carter #angie martinelli #cartinelli #agent carter #one shot #prompt #fanfic #fanfiction #wlw

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kayecorral · 3 years

Text

Freight Car

Chapter One of the Brown Book Series

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Mentions of violence, PTSD (!), swearing

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Summary: Nine years ago, The Winter Soldier murdered your friend in front of you. Nine years later, Bucky Barnes shows up at your door with the hope of making amends.

⭑⭑⭑

⭑⭑

⭑

You wake up on the floor again.

In the crossfade between dreaming to waking, the hardwood is concrete against your cheek. The sweat in your hair is the slick of blood. You fade in and out, and awareness comes back slowly. A siren descends, moving closer and closer, then recedes into the quiet. You don’t know if you imagined it.

You do know that your alarm isn’t blaring. Your ringtone isn’t sounding. The birds chattering and chirping at your window are real. The steady knocking of your heart against your ribs is real. Maybe that’s enough.

You open your eyes. A sliver of light from the parted curtains cuts across the floor. Above it, dust dances in the still air. All is calm. If you had woken up in your bed, this would be a good morning.

But you didn’t wake up in your bed. So, you peel yourself off the floor and half-walk, half-limp to the bathroom. As you cross the threshold and flick on the light, a face flashes before you. Before your mind can work to discern its features, you slam the door shut and flip the switch. You cry in the dark.

⭑⭑⭑

You call into work again.

You’re tempted to stay where you are—curled in on yourself under the covers—but Dr. Kaplan’s gentle voice prods from inside your skull. “Trauma changes over time,” it says. “You have to face it as it comes. You’ll feel worse if you put off dealing with it.”

She picks up on the second ring. Judging by the sound of clinking silverware, she’s on her lunch break. You promise to keep this impromptu session short.

“I haven’t had a nightmare like that in a long time. That’s why it hit me so hard, I think.” You begin. Your eyes fill with tears. You don’t know why. The nightmare is so distant now — just bits of feeling. Your brain is scrubbing away the memory like a mounted defense.

You’re quiet for what feels like minutes, and Dr. Kaplan just waits. She doesn’t pose a question or make a suggestion: in other words, she doesn’t offer an out. She never does. At first, her silence and seemingly unending patience unnerved you. You would later understand the value of having the space to organize your thoughts before speaking them.

“I thought I was doing better,” you eventually say. “But now, it’s like I’m back where I started.”

“You are not back where you started,” she says. “We haven’t talked about your night terrors in months when we used to talk about them every session. That’s incredible progress. You should be proud of how far you’ve come.”

You hold the phone away so she can’t hear the tears in your voice. “But what does it mean? ”

“Well,” she pauses. “Have you been thinking about Jean lately?”

“Kind of,” you start to say, then remember Dr. Kaplan’s rule about specifics. “I’ve probably thought about her… twice in the past week. Marie, she, uh, she sent me a Facebook request.”

“Did you accept it?” She asks, with just a hint of amusement.

“I haven’t. I don’t know if I should.”

“Why not?” Dr. Kaplan asks. She knows the answer, of course. You haven’t spoken to Marie since the funeral nearly a decade ago. You know she resents you. You saw it in the tightness of her smiles and the way her eyes turned to stone as you stood before Jean’s casket. You’re alive and her sister isn’t. You understand that. What you don’t understand is why she would reach out to you after so many years.

“I’m afraid of what she’ll say,” you admit.

“It wasn’t your fault.” Dr. Kaplan says. You shift on the couch. “She knows that. Maybe she’s been thinking about Jean, too.”

“Yeah,” you respond simply. Your head is light from dehydration, and you should probably take a nap at some point.

“I’d recommend you take easy today…”

“But?”

“But next week, I’d like to hear about your Facebook convo.”

You smile. The tears have dried on your face.

⭑⭑⭑

Snippets of dialogue filter through your thoughts. A woman is talking about a missing child, and a detective is asking the “who, what, where”s. It’s an episode you’ve already seen, but it makes for good background noise: the dramatic stings, the fast-talking, the screech of tires as the driver peels off. You don’t know why you gravitate towards crime shows. It might be a bit morbid, but until now, you’ve never thought to mention it to Dr. Kaplan.

You’re almost done with the cake batter. It’s looking a little watery, though. You really should have followed the recipe instead of improvising.

You reach for the flour bag on the counter, and just as you raise it to the mixing bowl, someone knocks at your door. You jolt and the bag slips from your hands. You narrowly dodge as it plummets to the ground. It lands with a thump and now, your feet and pants and floor are covered in a film of white powder.

“Fuck,” you breathe.

There’s another knock, a bit louder this time.

“Give me — give me just a minute!” You call out, voice frayed.

You step over your mess and towards the door. You notice how slick your hand is on the doorknob, so you wipe your hands on your pants and try again. You forget your ritual of checking and re-checking the peephole. You unlock the door, already anxious at the idea of keeping anyone waiting.

When you finally swing the door open, a tall, dark-haired white guy is staring at the carpeted hallway floor. He’s not looking at you, but you feel exposed in your flimsy tank top and flour-splattered pajama pants.

Meanwhile, his look is carefully nondescript: a leather jacket, a dark shirt, and jeans. His hands are stuffed into his pockets and his shoulders are slightly hunched. He looks like someone who doesn’t want to be seen, but here he is, standing at your door.

Maybe he’s just a neighbor on a reluctant mission to convince you to turn your volume down. Maybe he’s a dealer at the wrong address. Maybe he —

Your stomach drops. The shadows had been obscuring his face, but now that he’s tilting his chin up to look at you… the broadness of his forehead, the color of his hair, his height, all these things pull together. They pull tighter and tighter around your heart, and you realize that you’ve seen this man before. You’ve seen him a thousand times.

Your hand flies up to your neck. Fear hits like a punch to your gut. He looks normal — so normal that you could convince yourself that it’s not him. It’s not him.

But now, his eyes — a startling shade of blue— meet yours. Cold washes over you as every sensation in your body amplifies. You feel small and weak. Your vision starts trembling at the edges. You can’t move — not even to release your breath.

“I’m not here to hurt you,” he says. His voice sounds so different from the one in your memories. It’s not as coarse and low, it’s gentler and higher-pitched. “I just wanna talk.”

“Talk.” The word escapes you, but you hadn’t meant to speak. Hearing your own voice makes this real.

He clears his throat. “My name is James Barnes, and I’m no longer The Winter Soldier.”

The Winter Soldier. You suppose it doesn’t matter now what that means. If these are your last moments, you’re not going to spend them deciphering code. Instead, you think of your life and all the things you’ve done and all that you haven’t done. In the span of moments, you try to make peace with your death.

“If you’re going to kill me...” you can’t keep your voice from shaking, “do it.”

His eyes widen. “I’m not here to kill you. I’m — ”

“Hydra wants to know what I know. Is that it?” Your mind reels with the new theory.

His eyebrows tick up. “Hydra doesn’t exist anymore,” he says with a measured tone. “Not really.”

You don’t know how to respond to that divulgence. You don’t even know if you can trust it.

“I’m here because you,” he adds your name — your real name, “are part of my efforts to make amends.”

Your thoughts catch on how he knows your name. It’s a small thing, really. He knows where you live, after all.

“I know you’re confused, and I know you have questions.” He reaches up to scratch his neck. “And if you’re not, ah...” he glances from your face to your body, as if he were just now noticing your state of dress, “comfortable talking here, we can talk somewhere public. I guess what I’m asking is: can I buy you lunch or, uh, dinner? ”

You consider, seriously, that this man may be clinically insane. You have no other rational explanation for his showing up at your door on a Thursday afternoon, let alone his proposition. But you allow yourself to imagine it: you and him, sitting across a table with Jean’s ghost between and behind you. Your stomach turns at the thought.

“You murdered my friend,” you say slowly, “right in front of me.”

He nods. A pained look crosses his face, and that expression spurs your anger. It hadn’t occurred to you earlier that you should call the police. This man is a murderer, and he’s walking free.

“You shouldn’t even be here — you should be in a prison somewhere!” You choke out as your throat tightens with impending tears.

“I didn’t have a choice. I didn’t want to kill her!” He says forcefully. “I didn’t want to kill anyone. I — ”

“But you did kill her!” You can’t hold them back anymore, and now, you’re crying in front of the man who killed Jean. Humiliation heats your cheeks.

“You did kill her,” you repeat quietly. You turn your watery gaze away.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” He says.

In your peripheral, you watch him step closer. When you flinch, he bobs back.

You should step back, shut the door, and call the police. Not that a slab of wood could stop him if he wanted to get to you. You’ve seen his silver arm. You’ve felt the grip of its fingers at the base of your neck. But, maybe you could manage a dial ‘9-1-1’ before —

“Look, I’m not asking for your forgiveness,” he interrupts your line of thought and, against your will, you look at him again, “I know I don’t deserve it, but I do want to offer you answers. Maybe it can…” He waves his hand as he searches for what he thinks are the right words. “Maybe it can give you some closure. And then, you’ll never see me again.”

You consider the furrow of his eyebrows. Over the years, you’ve tried reconstructing his face from its missing half. Now that you have the full picture, it makes perfect sense: the upper edges of the mask aligned with the cut of his cheekbones, the thin bridge really did conform to his nose, and the wideness of his jaw was merely accentuated. But his features are such a striking contrast to the severity of that mask and that metal arm. He looks so much leaner than you remember. He looks like a man, not a machine.

“Stay here,” you say. “I’ll be out in a minute.”

He nods and his brow softens. You shut the door and press your forehead against it.

After a few beats, you rest your hand on the base of your neck and suck in a few deep breaths. It’s a calming technique Dr. Kaplan taught you. But without meaning to, you flex your fingers. Just as your heart was beginning to slow, you’re pulled into the memory of him raising you by the throat. You gasp for air.

That man is behind this door. That man is behind this door.

You race around the couch to snatch your phone off the coffee table. You unlock it with shaking hands and now, your thumb hovers over the number pad.

“Fuck,” you whisper as you press ‘9’.

It’s true. You do want answers. You want to know why he killed her. You want to know about Hydra and his role in it. You want to know why he left you alive.

So you’ll get your answers, then call the cops.

You pull on some real pants and cover up with a sweatshirt. But at the door, you hesitate to step out again. If you’ve imagined that whole encounter, if it was some vivid manifestation of your survivor’s guilt, then you wouldn’t have to go.

You press your ear against the door, and, as if your doubts had broadcasted through the wood, he coughs. You sigh and grab the doorknob. Your hand isn’t sweaty this time.

At the sound of the hinges creaking, his gaze snaps to you. You meet his eyes without meaning to. There’s no recognizable emotion in them. The creases in his forehead and the furrow in his brow are gone. Now, his face gives nothing away.

“There’s a place about two blocks from here,” you say simply.

He nods and looks to you as if for direction. If he were anyone else, you would start heading for the elevator without further ado, but the thought of Jean’s killer trailing behind you makes your stomach flip.

“I’d prefer you walk ahead,” you utter. His eyebrows raise slightly, but he gives no other visible reaction.

“Alright,” he says.

He moves down the hallway, and you follow. Your eyes stay trained on his back. Aside from your occasional direction, it’s a silent walk.

⭑⭑⭑

Sully’s is a dive, but it’s always busy, and this evening is no exception. The people who frequent this place are the kind of people who get loud after a few drinks and don’t give two shits about you unless you’re bleeding out on the floor. That’s perfect. God forbid anyone overhears your questions about murder and secret organizations.

“You want anything?” He asks after you choose a corner booth and tuck in. His casual tone bothers you, but he keeps his distance, at the very least.

“No,” you deadpan.

He nods and starts for the bar. A few people graze him as he passes, and it’s so crowded that you’ve already lost sight of him.

You place your phone face-up on the sticky, varnished wood table. Absentmindedly, you nudge the pedal base with your foot. You try to hone in on any particular voice, but all you hear is a buzz of conversation. It’s a comfort. It means that you’re not alone and he can’t hurt you here.

“I know you didn’t ask for anything, but…” Fuck. Your knee knocks on the bottom of the table. His voice is so sudden at your side.

He places a water glass in front of you, and you stop yourself before you can say “thanks”. He drops into the chair in front of you, a beer bottle tucked between his gloved palms. Gloves. He’s wearing gloves. You hadn’t noticed until now.

There’s an awkward pause. He watches you intently. Your stomach is churning, but you steadily meet his gaze. You have so many questions. Some of the things he’s said don’t make sense. One thing, in particular, though, is nagging at you.

“Back there, you said you didn’t have a choice,” you say dubiously, “what did you mean?”

He takes a drag of beer and sets the bottle down carefully before he speaks. “They brainwashed me.” He replies bluntly. “Hydra, I mean.”

Brainwashing? It’s not entirely outside the realm of possibility. Aliens exist, as do superheroes and Norse gods and Mad Titans. What was once science-fiction is now very real and devastating.

He gives you a few beats to process, then continues. “For seventy years, I operated as The Winter Soldier.”

“Wait. Seventy years?”

“I just turned 106 in March,” he says with a sardonic smile.

“How is that possible?”

“I was on ice.” He sighs. “They only took me out when they needed me.”

“And Hydra… what happened to them?”

His jaw tightens. It’s the most reaction you’ve gotten so far. “They used to have this saying: cut off one head, two more take its place… Maybe they’ll come back, but right now, they’re gone.”

“So they aren’t after me,” you say softly, more to yourself than him.

“If Hydra wanted you out of the way, they wouldn’t’ve sent me.” He grimaces, even as his voice mocks a shrug.

You get it now: you’re not a threat, and you never were.

“But I was a loose end, wasn’t I? Why didn’t you kill me?”

He shakes his head and says, “I don’t know.”

He doesn’t elaborate further. Instead, he finishes off his bottle and shifts his gaze to the table.

After a minute or two, you consider moving on, but something about his expression, both vacant and pensive, implores you to wait. In the interim, you glance from the people knocking shoulders at the bar to the couple in front of you.

“It was that look on your face,” he says, and you find his gaze is fixed on you again. “It was rage. And grief. And that-that grief almost overtook everything else, but I saw it.” He leans towards you, his eyebrows knitting close. “That part of you that… that part of you that wanted me to kill you, too.”

He glances at his hand on the table and releases a shaky breath. “I understood that,” he says. “I know what it’s like.”

Like a clenched fist releasing, the tightness in your chest eases. You understand something else, now, too. This is meant to be an exchange. He wants answers as much as you do, no matter how much pain they carry.

“Do you wanna know what I saw? On your face?” You ask after a few beats. He hesitantly nods. “Nothing. There was nothing,” you say. “You didn’t even look human. It was like you were an animal. And you were looking at me like I was prey.”

You look away. The intensity of his eyes threatens to pull you into that memory. “I’ve never been more terrified in my entire life.”

“I’m so sorry,” you hear him say.

“I’m not the one you should be apologizing to,” you say quietly, chancing a glance up.

His face twists into something like shame. If he were a different person, you might try to comfort him. But he’s not a different person. He’s a stranger wearing the face that’s haunted you for nine years.

“So why now?”

“Well, I was…” He mimics a snap with his right hand. “And after that, I… started going to therapy.”

He pulls a small, brown book from his jacket pocket. “My, uh, shrink told me to make a list of people I’ve wronged,” he says as he flips it open to a page in the middle and places it in front of you. “You’re one of the last.”

You find your name third-to-bottom. The ones above are crossed through. He glances from your face to your fingers as they trace his careful scrawl.

“You don’t let people look at this, do you?” You ask.

He half-smiles and shakes his head.

“So why are you letting me?”

“I, uh,” he flexes his hand. “I don’t know. I just… thought I owed it to you.”

You briefly consider asking about the other names, but he doesn’t owe you those. He owes you answers about the life he can’t return. Just as another question bubbles up your throat, a ringtone sounds. You glance at your phone’s black screen, then back to his furrowed brow. He reaches into his back pocket to fish out a flip phone. A flip phone. You haven’t seen one in years.

“Shit,” he mutters under his breath. He looks up from the screen.

“Sorry, I have to take this,” he says as he squeezes out of the booth. He disappears as quickly as before.

⭑⭑⭑

You finally take a sip of water. The sweat of the glass bleeds onto your fingertips, so you wipe your hand off on your pant leg before touching your phone. 6:15, it says, which means you've been sitting on this hard, plastic seat for over forty minutes. He's been gone for about ten of them.

Before you can seriously consider just leaving, his form comes into view.

"I've gotta go, but..." He says as he pulls the brown book out of his pocket again. When he opens it, he tears a small piece from the page corner, then scribbles something with a pen.

He places the piece of paper next to the perspiration ring on the table. Stealing one last glance at you, he turns and leaves for the third and final time.

On it is a phone number and a name:

Bucky

#tfatws spoilers #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes #the falcon and the winter soldier #the birdman and the winter warrior #brown book

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ellitx · 3 years

Text

Twig | Albedo x Reader

the final act of TWMA part 1 part 2

can be stand-alone

disclaimer: this is written before v1.2 so my interpretation of albedo’s story and lore is not accurate. these are just my assumptions and understanding that i based on each characters’ voicelines about him

word count: 3.4k

Something felt odd. What in the world happened…?

The male awoke from an unfamiliar scent that drifted through his nose. Likewise, he has woken up from a restless sleep due to the rough waves, to glimpse at the glowing and radiant sun peaking above the horizon out of the window. It extended its vivid light across the deep blue sky.

Its dazzling and inviting rays flowed through the window providing warmth to his body. Slowly the fatigue of the endless dreams was seeped out of him as the warm light trickled into replacing his unrest— it eased his body.

His mind meandered aimlessly into nothingness, continuously staring at the beige wall painted around the room.

He is aware when he is forgetting when there is something close yet hidden, yet he cannot at that moment fathom what it could be. It’s as if he was following a bread crumb trail and it ends, so he stopped.

It gives him ideas as to what is missing from his brain because if one always got stopped when traveling, you would know that there are blocks in your way preventing you from continuing any further— even if he has no clue to as what they are.

A peal of melodic laughter that is mirthful and playful then reached his ears, stopping him from his dreaming. Albedo turned his head to the source of the voice and saw a girl— that was around his age— chuckling as she held a tray in her hands.

“You’re finally awake.” She brought down the platter on the table next to him and poured a cup of tea. His visage frowned and tightly gripped the blanket that was tucked to him.

Why did he felt that she was mocking him? He doesn’t know why but for some reason it did irk him. He forgot about his memories. He doesn’t have the slightest clue as to where he was and why he was here.

“Here.” She gave him the cup and patiently waited for him to take it. So this is where the foreign scent was coming from. He thought to himself.

The smell was fragrant but had a tinge of spiciness in it. It made his nose crinkled but accepted it nonetheless— quite hesitant, as the girl observed. Taking a small sip of the tea, it surprised him that it tasted sweet. It was quite unexpected because of the tangy fragrance it gave off.

“You look so lost.”

The laugh came from her like a newly sprung leak— sheepish at first, stopping and starting. She wasn’t done yet though, he could tell from the way she turned her head and half-bit her lip. From deep inside her chest came a great shaking motion and her muscle face grew tight.

His eyebrows arched as he put down the cup on the tray, waiting. In moments this female’s laugh was more like a burst water main arching into the brilliant summer sky, soaking everyone around her with unrestrained gales that deliberated her to nonstop giggles and picked face picture of glee.

Albedo wanted to stay straight-faced and walk out the room— she was, after all, laughing “at him”, not “with him”. But before he could stop himself, his poker mouth twitched upwards, and was smiling despite himself.

Nevertheless, he didn’t hate it.

—

On the next day, she was already bombarding him with questions.

“Hey, hey, what was that thing you just did? That was my sister’s research she’s been working hard for and you’ve already solved it?!” [Eye color] optics sparkled in awe and admiration as [Name] gazed at him from her side.

He peered into her eyes and nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders, continuing to read the texts of the book she gave him. “It was a minor mistake she had done. I’ve read some pieces of information about that topic and was not expecting I would stumble upon it.”

She puckered her lips and pouted as she snatched the codex from his hands. His answer was so vague! It didn’t really satisfy her curiosity about this outlander. “Hey!”

The female raised her arms, preventing him from reaching it. “I won’t give this back to you until you tell me the whole story!” Albedo’s brows folded in confusion and struggled to grab it. “That is the whole story.”

Her cheeks puffed and watched him yanked the book from her. It was disappointing, to say the least how he easily took it.

Sighing countless times already made him question himself why this girl still insists on staying by his side. It’s not like he didn’t like it nor does he like it, it just raised him so many questions about what happened yesterday.

Why would the Knights took him in considering how [Name] just effortlessly helped him out of nowhere. Not to mention how he barely knows a single thing about Mondstadt. It made him indignant how he can’t remember even the slightest thing.

He doesn’t blame anyone for it. It’s no one’s fault that he lost his memories.

Just thinking about this bizarre occurrence that just magically appeared out of nowhere made his head ached. Though the tug on his arm caught his attention and looked at the young teen in puzzlement as they started to march off to archon knows where.

“Maybe I should tell Grandmaster Varka about this…” She softly muttered to herself. He caught her words perfectly and so further press a question to pique his interest. “Tell about what?”

Both of them slowed down and paused in their tracks, stopping midway near the fountain area. [Name] chuckled and winked at him playfully.

“You’ll see.”

Albedo hummed and looked fixedly on the back of her head as they continued to walk silently.

There was a delicious moment where his face washed blank with confusion, like his brain cogs couldn’t turn fast enough to take in the information from his wide eyes. It made [Name] stifle a laugh at the expression he was currently showing to all the members of Ordo Favonius.

Every muscle of the male’s body just froze before he looked away from them to the girl who stood beside him. A grin crept up onto her face, it soon stretched out from one side to the other showing every single tooth.

Surprise isn’t an emotion he’d ever taken well. He could tell himself he was at loss for words. He guessed he found himself dumb, in a sense that made his lexeme stopped flowing. Stopped because she has shown him a new direction he never anticipated for a moment.

Every member knows she had saved him— saved him from what though? That he did not know, he never asked her about it nor did she even tell him what happened to him. He just let it be.

Receiving the news that he’ll be a member of the Knights, to have the position as the Chief Alchemist, really made him bewildered and surprised.

“Isn’t this happening too fast?” He questioned whilst quirking a brow.

“Hm? What do you mean?” [Name] tipped her head as her eyes stared at his own turquoise ones.

“Why is everyone easily agreeing to it? I’ve only been here for a day and just assisted your sister in translating. I appreciate the thought that the Grandmaster here is giving me the position of Chief Alchemist but I can't help but question why.”

She glanced at him, her mouth pursed but slightly open and loose. Her eyes are fixed as if she’s looking at something a yard behind his head. He called her name to garner her attention.

She blinks, refocused. “Albedo, it’s actually been five days. Lisa talked to everyone about how genius you are.”

Now it was his turn to owlishly blink. Five days? Does time really move that fast?

Well, he did hear the saying that time flies fast when you’re having fun. He never noticed about it and now that the idea battered him, it continued to linger inside his head.

What happened yesterday, what happened today, everything still feels the same. Even if the fragment of memories within him seemed to etiolate. His hands clawed his chest, feeling the unusual warmth from it and throughout his body.

Everything has been important to him and will be important to him.

He knows that these distant memories seem so far and vague but are significant to him.

He doesn’t understand the reason why, but he shouldn’t forget.

At least that’s how he thinks things should be.

—

The sound of the ticking grandfather clock echoed throughout the silent room. It sounded so monotonous and lifeless inside. The tall and antiquated object stood there as the gateway for old-man time, the golden pendulum making its steady way back and forth.

The silence was so eerie, though none minded at all as two teenagers were fast asleep, still remaining inside their dreams.

An aroma Albedo has gotten used to woke him up. It’s the smell of the herbs and various flowers that have mixed together giving off a sweet and minty scent. He opened his eyes and stayed like that for a few minutes.

The alchemist tiredly glanced down to see the papers are now messed and scattered all over the table. Heaving a sigh as he raked his fingers through his hair, his aqua optics went on to the female’s sleeping body that rested on his lab’s bed.

She still hasn't woken up.

He stood up from his seat and quietly approached her unconscious form to check on her condition. [Name]’s features were much softer in sleep, the lines that usually creased her brow replaced by youthful appearance giving off a child-like look.

She looked peaceful, he thought to himself.

He pulled up the blanket over her shoulders and turned around to continue making remedies for her once she’s awake.

The Knights of Favonius were worried sick about her, especially her sister, Lisa. They were hoping and praying to the Seven she’ll wake up from her coma. They all miss her presence, days of not seeing her wandering around also worried the townsfolk of Mond.

She has been cooped up inside his room while Sucrose and Noelle assisted him in taking care of her.

The morning dusk is about to arrive and Albedo has to continue doing his research nonstop. He does so wished to see her [eye color] orbs finally open after the incident. It hurt him to know [Name] has been like this that he did not even realize until the Acting Grandmaster and her sister told him about it.

He stared at the small plant that was placed on the windowsill. Its leaves started to fall off from its branches as it slowly started to wilt in the darkness. He grabbed the small twig and observed the faintest of light it gives off.

Would it hurt to say that it reminded him of her?

[Name] is someone that has to be taken care of carefully. After all, when she saw what he had written about her condition, she didn’t want to believe it. He wanted to say that her “friend” was just a fragment of her imagination without affecting her mental state.

He hovered his hand over the small branch, watching it bloom before his eyes with ease. He placed it back in the vase and returned to the table. If only he could easily return her back just like how he did with the plant.

Return her from his arms again instead of that bard.

He let out a bitter laugh at that thought. This was his fault. Why would she come back running to him if he did not even once give her his time? When they’ve finally met again for so long, she was avoiding his eyes.

It hurt him, he won’t lie about that. Her welcome to him was just a simple nod and that’s it. No hugs, no welcomes, not even a small smile was given to him.

If he did stop his research and at least spend time with her, will everything change?

Albedo shook his head as the answer to himself. Even if it is, why would he still continue hoping and thinking about these things? Sometimes his formulation of the rationale of real-life situations irked him.

This isn’t alchemy, genius.

His self-feud stopped when he saw her fingers moved the slightest from his peripheral vision. His heart fluttered and gave him a bit of hope if the archons had finally heard their wishes.

When her eyelids flickered open, the sight was not what he was expecting.

A lone tear trickled down her cheek. Her lips quivered and continued to look at the distance. Out of complete silence, her soft cries arose. He’d never seen [Name] sat like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders shook, her hands hanging low, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe her own tears.

All of these emotions coming to him at once hurt him.

His head throbbed and let the feeling of guilt crush him.

—

The giggle rolled around the room like a child’s spinning top, vibrant and heartwarming as it moved around the people in its chaotic ways. It came in its fits and bursts— loud to soft to nothing at all and back to loud again.

It was as if there was an invisible feather at [Name]’s nape brushing softly; she squirmed and raised her shoulders to block Barbara from tickling her neck. The laughter built up inside her like so much water behind a dam, making her shoulders and her belly hurt.

She cried when Klee jumped onto her body and joined in with the deaconess. Their carefree and playful tittering reached Albedo’s ears when he entered the room. Their eyes darted towards him as their laughs died down.

The Spark Knight ran towards him and hugged his legs, overjoyed in seeing the alchemist here. He knelt down to her height and patted her head as a smile slowly crept up to his face.

[Name]’s laugh caught his attention again, though he did not dare to look at the two females. As much as he tried to focus on listening to Klee’s words, he cannot help but listen to the former’s gentle hilarity.

For some reason, it made his chest wrenched every time he listens to it. He wondered why that is when it’s something he remembers all the time.

He recalled the day he got his Vision. It appeared out of thin air on his desk and she was the first one to point it out. It surprised [Name] why he had gotten Geo instead of Dendro. She watched him fiddle the trinket in his hands as he continued to analyze it.

He didn’t really mind whichever Vision he got. As long as he can continue doing his research then it’s fine with him.

He didn’t know why he found himself laughing so hard, but all of a sudden, he couldn’t stop. His breath came in quick gasps between his unstoppable tittering. Tears gathered in the corner of his eyes, threatening to spill over.

She was confused about why he was laughing all of a sudden worrying her. He waved his hand dismissively and pointed out the expression that was currently painted on her face. Her face reddened and slapped his back jokingly.

After their short playful bickering, the Chief Alchemist plucked a small branch from a plant and hand it over to her.

“Visions are gifts given to us by the Gods. Think of it like this sprig, there are many possibilities which among the elements they’ll receive yet no one knows what they’ll end up with until they’ve received it.”

She furrowed her brows as her brain cogs continue to process what he meant. It finally dawned on her what he meant and hummed. “But not everyone can receive Visions, though.” She remarked.

“Exactly. They may not bear fruits or maybe yet, one day it’ll come to them.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what is it?”

[Name] sighed and rested her chin on her palm. “Not everyone is blessed by the Seven.” The male was still and quiet.

“Well, I’m no god. I may not know how they give out Visions but it sure is something remarkable, isn’t it?” Her eyes lightened up and nodded vigorously.

“Right?! Wouldn’t it be better if they just give it to everyone?” Albedo laughed and admired her own exclamation.

“Perhaps.”

It surprised the female teen that he just suddenly grabbed her hand unnoticed. He observed how small her hands are compared to his. He placed the twig on her palm and with a simple motion of his wrist, the branches started to grow as small leaves then sprouted from it.

It occurred to her just how amazing Albedo is. She raised the small branch in the air and examine the faintest glow of the leaves it emitted. She gasped and stared with wide eyes as isotoma flowers started to bloom from the ends.

“W-was that suppose to happen?” She turned her head to him and pushed her arms forward to show the herb to him.

He bobbed his head and took out a pot filled with soil. He used his elemental skill on it and a cecilia shaped flower appeared. Instead of the usual vibrant white, it almost looked too rigid and rocky.

[Name] poked it and it really was sturdy. He asked her if she can use her own elemental skill, to which she responded with a yes. She twirled her hand and he can feel the air starting to get cold.

Small snowflakes started to form and dropped down on the pot. Once the snow made contact with the rocky flower, it formed into a crystal and bloomed into a refreshing and spirited cecilia.

It felt like a real flower instead of the stony one they just saw. The alchemist plucked it and carefully tucked it to her ear, adoring how well it donned her appearance and perfectly captured her delicacy.

Cecilias really does suit her.

That day, the day he only showed it to her. It’s the memoir he cherished the most. It’s the only special memory he couldn’t forget.

He understood why. He keeps thinking of her.

All these mnemonics with [Name] are important to him and are everything to him.

And on that day, he believed she wouldn’t leave.

—

A smell of a nostalgic sweet breeze wafted in him. The winds kissed his skin making him wish to go back to sleep, yet the sound of familiar laughter was what made him want to open his eyes.

He recognized those sweet mirths. It’s so close to him that he can feel the figure’s shakiness. The tree’s shadow helped him not to be blinded by the rays of the sun and the gales that caressed his skin were so calming, but his focus was purely glued to a smile.

Her smile.

He still waited for the day when he can show the small beauties of life to someone, but there are no fools like him in this vast world. Perhaps they exist, yet they must be distant, enjoying the same sky with other eyes yet the same thought.

The whistling of the birds that awaken their sleep in the trees, letting his perception be painted with white, yellow, and blue. It battered him that he was currently laying on her lap.

So shall it stay put, a smile eternally stained upon her lips. Her joy, her love, her laughter, her cheer. All will reach the ears of those who have forgotten the warmth of such harmonies.

Emotions came to his mind like the waves meeting the land. They come to him, soaking his entire being and helped him to understand his entire self better. He felt wet hot tears filled up his eyes.

But this was no tears of grief.

It was tears of joy that he has finally heard her laugh once again. Much closer than before. The distance with them has now shortened. Is this the archons saying they’ll give him another chance?

If it is, he’s very thankful to the Celestia and to the Seven. He was so happy that all he can do is cry and let the tears continuously fall down his cheeks. The tears stained his face but he didn’t care if it did.

Albedo was just so ecstatic he finally got to reunite with her. He can finally hold her in his arms and apologize for the mistake he has done to her. He missed her so much that he can’t bear the pain anymore of how distant they are.

And so he promised himself he won’t ever forget her.

this oneshot is based on this song

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scribbledquillz · 3 years

Text

Stay

~~~One~~~

It is in his best interest to win her favor. The Warden is not a fickle woman, so far as Zevran is aware. Neither is he an imbicile. And only an imbecile would content themselves with the protection of something so brittle as another's mercy.

Charm and flattery will not be enough. She has not despised his attentions, much as she tries to hide her flustered stammering and the lovely bloom of color at her cheeks behind a scowl. But she has also proven herself a modest sort, and temptation will not be enough for her to welcome him into her bed. He must find another way to make himself of worth, lest she turn her blade back to his throat to grant him the end he once courted.

An opportunity comes soon enough, dressed in darkness and the scent of cheap liquor. He does not know what has shaken her so thoroughly, and truth be told he does not feel compelled to care. But the night is young, the fire is warm, and the giving of his company while sleep remains unconquered is no great sacrifice to make. He beckons her to his side with the promise of as much or as little shared between them as she wishes.

Please, he offers her.

Stay.

~~~Two~~~

The Deep Roads were meant to be his end. Had Revka not proven herself in desperate need of sense, he has no doubt they would have swallowed him whole.

She coughs and sputters from her slab of broken stone. A small, battered thing cast down among the debris of the bridge they had stood on mere moments before. He damns her as he drops to her side, and again when fingers he cannot keep from trembling fall against the arrows buried in her body. Fool, he calls her with no care for the venom it carries. Because it is the truth.

It had been his footing which faltered, his life which clung to the crumbling masonry as the darkspawn bore down upon them. The choice had been so simple. What was one wretched, ruined life to the furthering of their goal, to the promise of her own survival? Everything, she murmurs through bloodstained teeth, and it isn’t fear or anger which sees the air turned to knives in his lungs. There is no time to dwell on it now. His hands are already troublingly slick and warm as her eyes begin to flutter, the grip she keeps at his arm steady, but not strong. Words pour from his mouth as he throws himself to work, an accidental litany laid bare at her feet as he cuts away the ruined leather.

Please, he urges her.

Stay.

~~~Three~~~

His world has narrowed to this moment, existence outside of their bed of moss forgotten to heady satisfaction. For one blessed moment there is no Blight, nor demons or blackened hearts to carry on bowed shoulders. Here there is only the minute; sweat on cooling skin, the kiss of Revka’s breath at the hollow of his throat, the weight of her body against his chest. He drinks it all down with shameless greed, made a man doomed to a thirst too exquisite to ever see sated.

It will destroy him, in time. There are no gentle endings for heroes, and fewer still for the likes of such vile creatures as him. They have already tempted fate’s grace, the knotted scars beneath his palms a testament to what could - what should - have been. Soon enough this will end by her will or another’s, and he will watch as another piece of himself is carved away. Lost to the Void and leaving him with only ashen memories. Yet he knows he will not regret what he has paid.

The sublime was never meant for permanence, and Revka is no exception. He will content himself with what he is given, and offer nothing less than the gratitude she and the Maker are due for the privilege. Because to squander these moments and their fleeting divinity would be a crime even he could not bring himself to see through.

So when she finally stirs to speak of obligation, he feels no guilt in how tight his grip turns about her waist. Their work is done here, the Bracillian at peace, and their companions no worse for their absence. She sighs as he traces a thumb over reddened lips, yielding to his kiss as he speaks.

Please, he whispers to her.

Stay.

~~~Four~~~

He will never wash this blood from his hands.

Taliesen is dead. His partner, his friend, his lover, his past. Dead, along with the last shattered piece of the man he once knew himself to be. And he feels nothing. No regret. No guilt. Nothing, save the numb, aching certainty that he has done what was needed.

He does not know how long they have sat here on this bed, or where, precisely, Revka has taken him. Away, which is all that is of consequence. Hidden someplace far from leering eyes, that does not reek of death and wicked trechery. That alone is a kindness more than he deserves.

She has not moved from his side, the weight and warmth of her presence, of her fingers woven between his staving off the worst of the ice building in his chest. Ever his silent, watchful Warden - his light within the shadows, his harbor in the storm. Without her here he knows he would fall, and this time there would be no return from that looming, frigid darkness.

Please, he begs her as salt and loss tear at his throat.

Stay.

~~~Five~~~

He cannot lie to himself any longer. Can no longer pretend every moment spent in the comfort of her company does not come with the pain of an end he does not yet see. And that is the trouble of it, isn’t it? The thought that each night spent beside her, every kiss or glancing touch might very well be their last. He has tried - sweet Andraste, he has tried - to keep his hold of these pleasures slacked. Reminded himself countless nights of the unspoken promises he made to her, to himself, to the Maker, to take only what was given freely and dare not dream of something more.

But his heart has never been a loyal beast, its refusal to cease its beating all those months ago born of the same stubbornness which rails against him now. It makes traitors of his hands. Turns them to talons and sinks them deeper into the want of her with every effort made to draw himself away.

He does not wish to fight this any longer. What he feels… there are no words for what he feels. Not yet, when there is still so much of himself he had thought long dead struggling to take back its breath. So he does not offer them.

The earring gleams within his outstretched palm, flickered candlelight glinting against gold to match the unsteady beating of the heart which drove him here. He gives both to Revka freely, and knows no matter her answer they will always belong to her. As they already do.

Please, he asks her in silence, once more left bare to her mercy.

Stay.

~~~Six~~~

The golden ring at Revka’s ear sparks with the light of a hundred fires as she turns back to him across the battlement. Around them the world is ending, filled with the stench of blood and taint and smoke. The Archdemon shrieks in its agony and rage, felled but no less deadly as it snaps a wicked maw and flails claw and tail and body against the poor souls within its reach.

In an instant he has forgotten their talk of miracles. What spell cast by mortal hands - no matter their talent, no matter their conviction - could hold against the sheer brutality of such corruption? He reaches out to her unthinking, as though his will alone would close the distance in time, the same heart he has only just given turned to a stone fist within his chest. And she smiles. A brittle, sorrowful thing broken under the weight of what has been left to the whims of the Maker and his fates. Her lips tremble, mouth stumbling over words he never thought to see spoken, and the same stone heart crashes against his ribs.

I love you.

And she is gone. A blur of Warden silver and blue, the flash of brilliant steel. He cannot move, cannot tear his eyes from what will surely be the end he has feared for so long. The Archdemon rears its monstrous head, hate and death burning in black eyes as she throws herself between the world and an unending Void.

Please.

Her blades strike true, the monster screaming as a brilliant beam of light swallows the both of them whole.

Please.

He is on his knees, thrown back by the force of the light or the fear burning through every inch of his flesh, scalding his soul.

Please, he prays as he drowns in the agonizing unknown, as he crawls toward the faint shape of her form upon the stone.

Stay.

#dragon age #dragon age origins #dragon age: origins #zevran arainai #zevwarden #revka tabris #zevka #your fire burns in my veins #dragon age fanfiction #lilou writes #soooo this was supposed to be a 'short drabble thing'#lol

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strawwritesfic · 2 years

Text

Kyo Sohma x Female!Original Character: Once Upon a Dream

Summary: It’s a long road to walk, but Maki Yoshiwara intends to see it through to end.

Rating/Warnings/Tags: All (not anti-Tohru)

Winner July 2020: vee/saucegei on Quotev.

Notes: Not many notes here. Just tried to write the story I was asked to write. Maki’s two school friends are just random characters I made up for the purpose of conversation.

Tag List: @imaginesfire

Once Upon a Dream

Maki Yoshiwara knew the streets of her prefecture like the back of her hand. She knew the people that lived along her work routes: their habits, their schedules, their orders. A few of her more frequent customers also knew hers. Several of them should have been outside to see the brown-eyed brunette bike past them on her way to another assignment. As the workday drew to a close, usually at least a handful of people waved at her as they headed inside for the evening. No one did that day. Now that she thought about it, not a single person had appeared along her journey—no people, no cars, not even a single bird. The city was empty.

Her bike pedals squeaked beneath her feet with every move she made to get herself up a particularly steep hill. The noise cut through the suffocating silence like a knife. Above her head swirled great black-green clouds. Leaves, twigs, and garbage battered Maki’s face. Wind threatened to loose her ponytail from her head. Soon the gale grew so violent that she had no choice but to abandon her bike entirely. She pulled it to a vacant curb, snatched up the boxes held in the back compartment, and a made a run for cover.

…Cover that she realized she could not find. Pulling to a stop with the boxes still held as carefully as she could manage, she found herself on an unfamiliar corner with nothing but flashing streetlights for company.

“Hello?” she called up at the inscrutable windows lined up and down and across the apartments nearby. “Hello! Did anybody order a pizza?”

No one replied.

Maki shuddered just as enormous drops of water, hard enough to sting, began to pelt the top of her head and her exposed skin. No longer caring how pretty the food was when it arrived at its destination—if it was ever to arrive at its destination—she sprinted for the doors of a squat building set just beyond a browning ornamental garden. She did not know where either had come from; certainly a residential area had been there only moments ago. Never before had she seen such a place on any delivery she had taken.

Or had she? Once she yanked the paper doors shut behind her, Maki turned to find a dojo plunged into darkness. It, too, was deserted at a time when children should have been hard at work practicing. The storm outside rattled the walls. She squeaked as she edged away from them, only to trip on the uniform that pooled around her suddenly tiny feet.

“Help!” Maki cried, struggling to get to her feet with small, clumsy hands that seemed unable to obey her.

A flash of movement caught her tear-filled eyes. She looked up to see something in the middle of the room: Some huge, dark shape that would loom above her if it drew at all nearer. The instructor? Maki could only hope.

“Hello? Can you help me?” she asked.

The shape didn’t move. Maki opened her mouth to ask again, but then the doors blasted open. A mighty gust struck her and sent her flying straight at the black mountain. She screamed. This caught the attention of whatever it was. Two yellow eyes with slit pupils gleamed in her direction. A pair of massive clawed hands lifted into the air…

Sixteen-year-old Maki was, in fact, perfectly fine as she sat at her desk at Kaibara Municipal High School. The bright June sunlight that washed across her left her feeling groggy and warm, but nothing worse than that. Her teacher continued on in the same vein she had been when Maki decided to mull over her dream: Test scores were important and those of the class requiring summer instruction or a second chance at exams ought to spend the upcoming holiday in serious thought. It was nothing for Maki to worry about; she had passed all her exams with only a few names above hers in scores. Besides, her dream was far more interesting than any guilt trip could hope to be.

She had experienced the whole thing again the night before. This was no surprise. At least once a week since Maki was very young, she had the almost the exact same dream—or had, up until the year before. Now she found subtle changes nearly every time she slept. No longer was the monster that attacked her some indistinguishable, writhing mass of shadows. Instead it was tall, humanoid, even, and she felt that when it lifted its arms, it wanted to catch her rather than cut her to ribbons.

As Maki pondered this shift, her eyes fell on the back of one of her classmates. It seemed that the redhead was suffering even worse from the sweltering heat outside than she was. His head dipped lower and lower toward the arms crossed on top of his desk with every second that ticked off on the clock hanging at the front of the room.

You, Maki thought, not for the first time. It has to be you.

“Well, now I’ve said my piece. The rest of it is up to you. Class dismissed,” the teacher said.

Just like that, the classroom filled with all the artifacts of summer. Inner tubes, volleyballs, bug nets, and all the like seemed to pop into existence with those last two magic words. Students clamored for their friends; desks were shoved against the walls; and everyone seemed eager to either flee the school or make plans for the afternoon before many of their fellows could get away.

A much more sedate Maki gathered her things and attempted to push her way out of the room, but she didn’t make it to the door before she heard her name called from somewhere behind her. She paused to allow her two friends to catch up.

“Didn’t think you were going to escape us that easily, did you?” Umeko Watanbe asked, hands on her hips.

“We saw you, you know,” Natsu Ito added.

Maki did her best to look bemused, but she knew what was coming. She didn’t get the chance to spend much time with her school friends outside of class—and yet they still seemed to delight in teasing her whenever they got any sliver of an opportunity to do so.

“You were staring at Kyo Sohma again,” Natsu went on.

“I’m amazed you haven’t burned a hole through the back of his head.” Umeko snorted. “Maybe you should try. His brain could probably use the oxygen.”

“He’s not dumb. And I don’t stare at him that much,” Maki protested weakly.

The two girls laughed.

“I don’t! I had that dream again last night, you know? That’s all.”

“Oh, we’re back to that excuse, are we?” asked Umeko.

Natsu nodded seriously. “He’s a Sohma. There’s no shame in admitting you like him. Something like 87% of the girls here like him, too, and about 6% of the boys. I ran the numbers.”

“I bet you did. That’s our Natsu!”

“It’s not that! I just know he has something to do with how my dream changed,” Maki said as Umeko attempted to wrestle Natsu into a headlock.

“Is this like the time in middle school when you knew you were the reincarnation of an evil sorceress?” Umeko asked, reaching to pull Maki into their scuffle.

Maki took a small step away, sighing as she did. Once anyone brought up the sorceress thing, she knew that her current argument was a lost cause. “I just wish he would talk to me. That’s all.”

“Well, good luck with that,” Natsu said. “Kyo doesn’t talk to anybody. Unless you’re Tohru, he just yells.”

“Trust me, I know,” Maki muttered.

Her friends exchanged knowing looks before finally parting.

“You know what you need? I mean, really need?” Umeko said.

“A life? A real boyfriend? A better apartment?”

“All three,” said Natsu, “but we were thinking we could start the summer off with a bang together. My parents are good for a slumber party tonight if you are.”

“And we promise not to bring up Kyo too much if you don’t want to hear about it,” Umeko put in.

Maki offered them each an apologetic smile. “I can’t tonight.”

“What? Come on, Maki. You need a break. We all know you haven’t had a moment’s rest since we got our exam schedules!”

“That’s exactly why I can’t take a break now. I just don’t have the time. Tomoya covered all my shifts so I could study, and I promised him I’d take on all his this week to make up for it.”

“Have I ever told you that you work too much?” Umeko asked, looking pained.

“Almost every day,” said Natsu. “Want to hear the numbers on that?”

“Not particularly.”

“Sorry guys. Maybe later this holiday I can swing it,” Maki offered.

“Statistically, probably not,” Natsu said.

Umeko made a sweeping motion with her hand. “Go on, then. Before you’re late, Miss Workaholic.”

Maki made her way with some relief toward the door to the hallway. She turned her head just as she reached it to call out, “Enjoy your summer!” but she doubted either of her friends heard. One of the boys in class was speaking to a crowd about bowling, and Umeko and Natsu had already joined the growing throng.

The spaces outside her classroom were just as congested. Maki moved as quickly as she could, but there was just no getting through some of the clots of students hanging around. Once she finally squeezed her way past a squealing cluster of Yuki Fan Club members, she felt fresh air on her face at last—and realized with a jolt that the same group of giggling girls seemed to have kept Kyo Sohma and his stalwart companion from getting out of the building as well.

“Ah, Miss Yoshiwara!”

Tohru Honda had caught Maki in the act of openly ogling Kyo. Cheeks burning, Maki felt she could not pretend as though she hadn’t heard the summons—though Kyo’s careful avoiding of her gaze as she walked over to them indicated he would have preferred if Maki kept on her way himself. Well, she was already there, she figured. Might as well take advantage of the situation.

“Hi, Tohru. Ready for summer break?” she asked.

“Yes!” she chirped. “Although I’ll just be working. I suppose you have something exciting planned?”

“Not at all. I’m going to pick up as many extra shifts as I can. Exams really put a dent in my savings.”

“I know what you mean! It’s so hard to balance work and school, isn’t it?”

“You’re telling m—”

“Yo, Tohru!”

Uotani’s unmistakable voice smashed through their conversation like the speckled pipe she occasionally brought to school. Tohru, Maki, and Kyo all looked over to see her and Tohru’s other friend, Hanajima, standing at the opposite end of the hallway. The first girl jerked her head in the direction of the nearby door.

“We need to leave now if we wanna beat the lines,” she shouted.

Tohru did not hesitate to obey. “C-Coming!” she cried as she lurched forward. Then she stopped, turned clumsily on her heel, and bowed her head once each to both Maki and Kyo. To the latter she said, “Please tell Shigure dinner is in the freezer. And—and that I should be back before nine!”

“Yeah, sure. Whatever,” said Kyo.

“Goodbye, Miss Yoshiwara. I hope you have a wonderful summer!”

She was gone in the blink of an eye. Maki didn’t even get a chance to wish her the same before all three girls vanished from the halll entirely. Before Maki had any chance to recover, she heard something rustle beside her: Kyo making a hasty retreat toward the school gate. Tohru had given Maki the opportunity of a lifetime. Not once had she ever managed to get Kyo alone, but if she didn’t hurry, he was going to disappear, too.

“W-Wait!” Maki said as she tore after him.

Kyo didn’t stop. Then again, neither did she. He might have been remarkably fast—second only to Yuki in the school—but she was determined. Maki caught up to him before the end of the block; her appearance at his elbow finally forced him to look directly at her. The obvious anger in his unusual orange eyes nearly made her flinch.

“Don’t you have work to get to?” he demanded.

Maki swallowed but kept up eye contact as she answered, “It’s in the same direction.”

“Oh.”

She could not believe her luck. After so many months of staring at him in class, Maki finally had a chance to talk to Kyo by herself. No Tohru to stand a buffer between them; no Uotani to get him riled up; no Umeko to mortify her into silence. Any subject might be available for discussion…

…and now, after all those months, Maki could think of no way to broach the subject she so desperately wanted to talk to him about.

“Do you have any plans for the holiday, Kyo?” she asked, more to break the icy quiet than anything else.

His reply was a short, abrupt, “No.”

“I see. Um…Do you spend much time with Tohru outside of school?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“All right. Er…”

Kyo stopped so suddenly that Maki went several paces ahead of him before noticing he was no longer beside her. She looked wildly around, expecting that he had raced off in the opposite direction, but she soon found him just a few squares of sidewalk away.

“Look,” he said, scowling. “Whatever you’re doing, I’m sick of it. Trying to get in good with Tohru—just get it over with, all right? I don’t want you following me around and watching my every move anymore. So spit it out: What do you want with me?”

A less determined girl might have clammed up and hurried on her way after Kyo Sohma used that tone of voice of her. Maki was not a less determined girl. Something about him snapping at her like that gave her the last little push she needed to try something drastic. Instead of running off, she planted her feet firmly on the sidewalk, looked him right in the eye, and said:

“I want you to go out with me.”

Whatever Kyo had expected to come from all her watching, it wasn’t that. He puffed up like an angry cat, shoulders hunched, teeth bared. “What?”

Maki was a little surprised herself. If her friends had not planted the idea, she probably never would have blurted out something like that. Once said, however, it didn’t sound like a bad plan. She plunged on:

“Yeah. I want us to go out together. Preferably somewhere we can hear each other talk. I’ve got a lot of questions for you.”

“Are you crazy?”

“That depends on who you ask.” Her attempt at a joke had no effect whatsoever on Kyo’s posture. Cocking her head to one side, she said, “You do know what a date is, right?”

“Of course I know what a date is! I just—Why the hell are you asking me out on a date?”

“Is this the first time anyone has? You seem flustered.”

“Because I thought I made it clear that I’m not interested in dating!”

“Me specifically? Or the other girls who have asked?”

“Either. Both. It’s not like I’ve been encouraging you since you started following me around at school!”

“Oh.” Maki couldn’t entirely hide the note of disappointment in her voice as they started walking again. So he had noticed. Kyo wasn’t oblivious to how interesting she found him; he actively disliked that she did.

Her slow deflation seemed to calm him a little. He relaxed his shoulders and allowed his frown to fade—until she had to go and say:

“May I ask why you have no interest in going out with anyone?”

He bristled up again at once. “No!”

“I’m just curious. Is it because you’re seeing Tohru romantically?”

“No, I am not seeing Tohru romantically! Even if I was, it’s none of your damn business. What the hell is the matter with you?”

“That’s what I’d like to find out.”

“Huh?”

Maki adjusted the strap on her bag to buy herself a few seconds of time to think. Why shouldn’t she tell him the truth? It was obvious he wasn’t going to give her another chance to do so, and she had to know.

“Ever since I was a little girl, I’ve had this dream,” she began. “Well, it used to be a nightmare. They all start differently, but every single one ends in the same place: an empty dojo with this huge—shadow or something in the middle of it. A while back, the shadow was a monster that attacked me. Now it’s…different. I think it’s reaching out to me. I think it needs me.”

Oddly, Kyo did not react to her recitation. His eyes remained glued to the pavement. He didn’t say a word. He didn’t even blink. Maki would have known if he had; she kept her own gaze riveted to the side of his face. It was only because she had walked this same path a hundred times before that she knew only one intersection sat between them and the pizza place.

“So?” he asked when they were nearly upon the building.

She jumped at the chance to explain. “So I think the change is because of you! I started to connect with the shadow after you came to Kaibara. If you would just talk to me for a few minutes, maybe I could figure out what I��m supposed to do next in my dream.”

“That is,” Kyo looked down at her, “the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. And I live with Yuki! And Shigure!”

Maki swallowed.

“You think that’s me in your dreams?” he demanded.

“I never said that.”

“Good! ‘Cause it’s not! Whatever is going on in that screwed up head of yours has nothing to do with me, all right?”

Her heart lurched inside her chest. Just why that was, she could not say. Umeko, Natsu, and even Maki’s little sister, Kasumi, had all teased her relentlessly about her conviction that Kyo had something to do with her recurring nightmare. She could endure being laughed at by them. Maybe she had been a little overeager to share with him; maybe she should have waited until she could get him to go somewhere with her. But did he really have to ridicule her like that? He didn’t know what it was like. He didn’t see the pain in her shadow’s eyes every week for years on end. What was worse was that he didn’t care about it, or about Maki as a person.

“H-Hey.” His voice broke into her thoughts. “Quit looking at me like that!”

“Like what?” Maki asked dully.

“Like…like…I don’t know! But it’s not my fault I can’t help you. Why don’t you try a therapist or something?”

She gave her head a slow shake, trying to pull herself together in the face of Kyo’s obvious discomposure at her behavior. “It’s not a therapy issue. Anyway, it’s not just my dream. I really thought we might have fun together. I like you, Kyo.”

His eyes went wide for a split second. Then he looked away again. “That really is going too far,” he muttered.

“I thought I wasn’t the first girl to ask you out.”

“Who said you were?”

“Never mind,” Maki said. What more was there to say to a guy that made no secret of how much he disliked her attention? “Have a nice summer, Kyo. I won’t bother you anymore.”

Before she could dig herself a deeper hole, Maki gave him the same quick bow that Tohru had, and headed for her place of work. Her fingers had hardly wrapped around the handle on the door when she heard Kyo behind her again:

“One date.”

She couldn’t believe her ears. Could she really be as crazy as Kyo thought? If she was hearing him when he wasn’t there, she had to be. Turning around, however, revealed him to be standing only a few feet away, solid, but with his gaze still averted pointedly from her face.

“What was that?” Maki asked.

“One date. And we aren’t going to talk about your idiotic dreams.”

“Really?”

“Only one, you hear? Just so you’ll figure out I’m not some magic key to the inside of your head.”

“Okay!”

He did not seem to have thought she would acquiesce so easily. His eyes darted up to her wide smile and away again. Kyo was moody; that was something Maki knew from her observations. She quickly dug through her bag for a pencil and her sketchpad, found an empty corner in the latter, and scribbled out her phone number. No way was he ducking out of this if she could help it.

His resolve to not look her was in full effect as she bounded up to him. Only her saying, “It’s a deal,” seemed to break whatever spell the ground had on him.

“I—”

“No take backs,” she said, thrusting the paper scrap at him. “Unless you have a good enough time that you decide to ask me out on a second date.”

“Don’t hold your breath,” Kyo grumbled, but he took her number and shoved it into his pants’ pocket.

“See you later?”

“Yeah, yeah. Later. You’re worse than Kagura…”

This was, apparently, his farewell. As Maki watched, he walked back to the street corner they had just passed and up the way they’d come from. Had he missed his turn to keep talking to her? Surely not. She didn’t get any time to consider the possibility. No sooner had it occurred to her than did the phone in her bag let out a loud beep. If she didn’t hurry, she was going to be late to work even if she was standing directly in front of it.

A few of Maki’s coworkers murmured to one another as she ran to change into her work uniform. Whether that was because she never left clocking in to the last minute or because of the enormous grin on her face, she didn’t know. Her thoughts were already on her evening plans. Thankfully, her shift would run so late that she would have nothing to do when she got home but sleep. She couldn’t wait. One step closer to Kyo surely meant one step closer to the next motion of her dream, and there was the promise of even more steps to come in the near future.

#fan fic #straw writes #request #one shot #fruits basket #fruba #kyo sohma #fruits basket oc #fruits basket original character #fruba oc #fruba original character #kyo sohma x oc #kyo sohma x original character #kyo sohma x female!oc #kyo sohma x female!original character

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queenoftheworldisdead · 3 years

Text

Blood of the King

Chapter 2 Warning: 18 + only, character death, slow dark burn, character death, dark theme abortion is talked about in previous and future chapters Note: this is another self indulgence piece for me. this is so boring because i cant do a quick transition. tried hard to whittle it down. Any critiques are WELCOME. Summery: Loki has a plan to be King. Dark Loki x Black Reader, Royal AU

👑

After you depart from the Prince, his man took you below deck. The large cold compartment containing no windows. The little light it did offer came from various cracks in the ceiling.

When he left you alone you crumple to your knees, crying as the shock of all the events wash over you.

Your mother dead, your kingdom gone and you were sure the Prince was bringing you before the High Church. Your stomach turns and knots as you fret, while the ships rocking added to your growing nausea. What you had in your stomach found its way on the floor as you try to steady yourself against a pillar.

👑

You had never been to sea and if you lived you would never step foot on such a vessel again. The days and nights melt together as there was no way to tell between the two. While the silence left you with only your running thoughts as company. Your mouth grew dry and your body weak, the longer you stay kept in the darkened room.

When the door opened you had little energy to move, only meekly shying behind the pillar as the prince's man steps inside.

He said nothing only placing a bowl down with a leather sack, your stomach ached for whatever the contents. Along side it he also placed a ball of bunched up fabric before standing. "Drink and eat then change." Was all that he spoke before leaving you alone again. Weakly you hobble to what he left you.

The gruel filled you, but did not stay down. While the water quenched the desert in you throat. Wiping your hands and mouth as clean as you could you gently shake the fabric. You lay out a dress and apron carefully, setting it far from the sick you expelled.

You undress as fast as you can manage. The letter tumbling out and you ponder its contents as you stare at it on the floor.

The new garments more conservative than your kingdoms and fairly loose. King Stark preferred more skin on his slave's garments, so you wonder if the High church had a hand in the design.

The head dress covers your hair, and without mirror you configure it the best you can. The neckline of the dress came high, the sleeves touch your wrists, the hem sweeps the floor, and the new apron cinched in your baggy sides.

👑

Thankfully when he returned you were decent. "Follow me." Motioning you to come forth, your legs felt weak as you follow behind him. Your hands clasp together and your heart pounds as you ready yourself for what is to come.

After days of darkness your eyes ache at the first burst of light. Ascending into the blinding sun behind the man, you shield your eyes and try to keep pace. Once your vision clears you quietly gawked at the scenery. Thickets of trees and mountains stood tall in the far distance with a massive castle nestled between. The vast greenery was unlike your homes, and much too cold. The freezing air bled through your clothes, making you more thankful for the conservative dress.

Your heart sank once you reach the plank. The sight of the small fleet of armored men on horses had brought your mind back to the church. Though the two carts behind them seemed too fancy for a prisoners exhibition.

As you descended the plank the distinct voice of the prince caught your ear, along with a chorus of foot steps. You fought the urge to look back continuing on with the nameless man as he opened the door to the first carriage, urging you wordlessly to go inside.

You sat anxious as strangers crowded inside and to your relief the prince didn’t follow them. A signal was called, starting the journey beyond. Your eyes shifted between the strangers all dressed in dark colors with hints of deep green. You looked at your own garb, and noticed yours was starkly different.

They stayed silent, not even chatting amongst them, a reoccurring them as of late. The prince commanded silents and order to a frightening degree. Exhaustion bled through your bones as their silence mixed with the sway of the bumpy terrain. The days spent on the boat you found little sleep as you mourned for your mother and despaired about your fate.

You fought fruitlessly to keep your eyes open, but slowly slipped into a heavy slumber. It was the deepest sleep you found in days, but the piece did not last as a thunderous bashing jolted you awake. Frantically you look around to find yourself alone.

Where was everyone? Were you dreaming all along? Had you slept walked into the stables? The door opened to the cart revealing yet another stranger, tolling away at his task of inspecting and cleaning the carriage.

He spied you. "Don't be sneaking about napping in our carriages." His accent thick as he spat at you. "Get on before we both are forced to suffer."

Cautiously you do as your told, exiting the carriage. More men busied themselves with the horse while others scrubbed the outer carriage, keeping it pristine. You were indeed in a stable, but not that of your countries. You felt lost in a new world, wondering listless as people move to and fro unconcerned or bothered by your presence. All acting as if their countrymen had not burned your kingdom to the ground.

👑

"Hey" a high pitch shout catches your attention, you froze as the source ran toward you. Your heart beat sped up the closer she came.

"Healer please hurry! We need all hands" the healthy woman with rose rounded cheeks pants at you. She matched Loki's description, you look around as if someone else would give you confirmation, but there was none. Unsure you dig in your apron, palming the letter. If you were wrong what would happen ? Swallowing thickly before shoving it at her.

She eyes it curiously then took it, opening it. You wait slightly surprised that she understood the scribbles upon the page. Her cheeks turn pale before she balls up the letter, stashing it in her own apron. "Right then. As I said all hands" She sounded shaken and it did not help set you at ease. What had the prince placed in such a small letter? You stiffen when she hooks your arm, leading you through the massive area. You bristle when shouting, cheers and rowdiness grow louder as a crowd appear in the distance.

She didn't stop once nearing them, only shoving past with you in toe. You flinch as a chorus of boos and projectiles flew through the air. Following their trajectory you find more armored soldiers with a man in chains.

It was as if the world fell quiet once your eyes recognize their prisoner. Your king, draped in chains, battered and bruised. The soldiers force him along, ascending the stairs to a stage, while your guide pulls you off to a tent built next to it.

As they pelt him, he takes it in stride. Barking and cursing back defiantly on the stage. By the luck of the gods King Stark's eyes found you amongst the chaos. Your heart and stomach sink to the floor as he follows your movements and you his. Soldiers surround him forcing him down before a stump set in the middle of the stage. He fought furiously as they forced him on his knees, kicking and punching until he fell. King Stark's face was painted red with blood and visibly dazed from the assault.

"All right I will leave you to it. I must find the others" she explains before leaving you at the entrance of the tent.

👑

The sight inside of the tent was maddening. Dried blood stained the rags they wore, expose flesh, and bone had your stomach tightening. Some parts you were sure needed to be removed due to their rancidness and discoloration. The prince greatly overestimated your medical expertise.

You felt light headed while others dress like you move without hesitation. You do your best to mimic their movements without acting suspicious. Did he only want you as a healer? Were you kidnapped just to be a slave for a different king?

You fill your arms with wrappings, a grinding bowl and herbs you were the most familiar with. Gravitating toward the mouth of the tent to a man sat closest to the opening. Thankfully it looked like he only needed cleaning and redoing of his bindings.

Cleaning him, he sat silently watching the stage, unbothered by you. Slyly you watch along with him as you work slowly, hoping he didn't find it strange.

The tent sat close to the stage allowing for a side view. The crowd burst into joyful cheers as a mountain of a man with golden hair steps up on to the stage. His smile was bright even from here, raising his hands in the air the people quiet themselves.

"We have conquered!" The crowd erupt again. You yelped when the men in the tent cheer along with the crowd. "Their kingdom now ours." He kicked Stark in the ribs as he stayed positioned hunched over.

"A payment for a sour bargain" He laughed as your king spit blood, barley able to move. The tall blonde commanded the crowd, they adored him. He reminded you of King Stark in a way.

The golden mane man lifted his steel from it sheathed to the delight of the crowd. Their Kings sword came down swiftly and stuck in the stump. Resting at an odd angle, while your kings body slipped to the ground.

Stark's head rolled and bounced upon the stage, before he grabbed it by its hair. Showing it to the crowd as Stark's blood trickled from it.

"Do you think you have wrapped me enough healer?" The soldier brought you back to your surroundings.

"Sorry" you whispered as your hands tremble while you knot it.

Moving from him you search for another with similar wounds, until another healer asked for your assistance. You nearly vomit at the task of picking magnets from a wound, while she prepared an ointment.

When you finished you realized the crowd had gone and the tent had thinned. "Good work ladies" the woman who brought you here announced loudly in the tent. "Our king is proud of you all. Finish up and come to the hall for the feast."

👑

#dark Loki x Black reader #dark loki x black!reader #dark!loki x black!reader #dark!loki x reader #dark loki x reader #black writer #dark thor x blackreader #Dark Thor x Black!Reader

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wannabemobwife · 3 years

Text

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas - Chapter 15

Chapter 15: Sacrifice

Dad!Mob!Tom x Mom!Mob!Reader

Pairings: Tom Holland x Reader, Rosie Holland x Henry Osterfield

Warnings: Blood, Language, Kidnapping, Typos

Words: 5.5K

Chapter 15: Sacrifice

Words: 5.5K You and Tom didn’t know how to react. You wanted to scream and cry but inside you knew that wouldn’t solve anything. Causing a fit would only give Carter the satisfaction he was looking for. To break the Holland family. Your only daughter had just been taken from you and being held for ransom by some miscreant.

Every time you got a call about Parker and Rosie hurt or missing, you wonder what would’ve happened if you left the mob and took them with you a long time ago. Leading you down a long path of misery and regret.

You didn’t want to take Tom away from his kids but, you never wanted this life for them. You had an image of your idyllic family when you were young, dreaming of your husband coming home everyday after work to your kids, two boys and one girl. Sometimes life doesn’t plan how you wanted it to but, the love you had found is irreplaceable.

Not marrying Tom would have had it’s advantages of not constantly looking over your shoulder. Or scared to death he will come home bruised and beaten or worse, not come home at all. A lifetime without pain but one without your best friend. Tom was the person you wanted to share everything with. He was the one who would let you vent about the stupidest little things. Usually something annoying the kids did, you were the main person with them from ages 0-14. Dealing with everything from runny noses to school projects.

You and Tom knew you could survive anything as long as you continued to love each other but everything that was happening at that moment was new feat. There weren’t guarantees that you would get Rosie back. Praying she wouldn’t come home in a body bag. Thoughts like these always plagued your mind. Especially when Parker was in the hospital after being almost beaten to death.

Losing Rosie was too much, too much you didn’t even want to think about it. If she didn’t come home, you didn’t know where you could go from there. Everything will have lost its meaning. The things you once adored, would offer no importance, including Tom. Your future together seemed bleak if he couldn’t do the one thing he always said he would, protect his family.

You were another story. Sure you didn’t appreciate waking up in a hospital bed. Being blinded by the white lights after some horrific accident but it was you. You knew you were strong and could take care of yourself. But when it came to your kids, all bets were off.

The main focus of everyone was finding Rosie safe. Parker and Haz came back home with an unconscious Henry in Haz’s arms. But no sign of Rosie. Tom was adamant to find out why Carter was targeting Parker.

“Parker what did you do? Carter Wilson is the one who took Rosie,” Tom asked Parker as he walked in along with Haz.

“Who’s Carter Wilson?” Parker questioned.

“Angus Wilson’s son. I ask again, what did you do?” badgered Tom.

“The night of the heist.—“ Parker started but was cut off.

“What heist? My heist? The one on at my casino? That was you?”

“Yeah, we are off topic. We can talk about it later…. So that night I went to tell Wilson I was quitting and then he started running his mouth about how he was the one who killed Charlotte and caused your and mom’s helicopter crash. I couldn’t take it anymore and I snapped,” Parker explained.

“Don’t tell me you killed him,” Tom announced as he shot daggers at Parker.

“I did. You don’t understand. I couldn’t let him get away with everything,” Parker mumbled, Tom’s disappoint washed over him like a wave.

“Holy fuck. Parker how could you be so stupid? Now this guy is out for your head. And he has Rosie.”

“I know dad. I KNOW. I have to fix this,” Parker vocalized.

“No, Parker. You’ve done enough. I can’t lose both my kids. Your mother won’t be able to handle it either. All we can do is treat her kidnapping with money and offer a ransom,” Tom bellowed.

“Dad I’m going,” Parker barked.

“No you are not,” Tom snapped back.

“Why not? A few days ago you couldn’t even look at me. I doubt you’d miss me if I was gone….We can’t just let her die. This is my fault. I caused this. Let me fix it. Let me save Rosie,” Parker pleaded.

“We won’t. She’s not going to die,” Tom asserted.

“If you show up, to wherever she is, without me, he’ll kill her on the spot.” Parker barked. Tom noticed how you turned white as sheet at the mention of ‘death’ and Rosie’s name in the same sentence. Tom begged to comfort you, but he knew it wouldn’t do any good if Tom couldn’t bring Rosie home.

“Y/N, why don’t you go lie down. I promise I’ll get her back, darling,” Tom mentioned as he saw you look broken hearted. Just staring into an imaginary abyss.

“Tom, don’t make promises you can’t keep. Parker, please listen to you dad for once. He’s right, we, I can’t lose both you and Rosie,” you sniffled. Your eyes stained red from crying yourself dry.

“What choice do we have? How are you going to get her back? He made it very clear he only wants one thing, me,” Parker shouted, tried of Tom not trying hard enough.

“END OF DISCUSSION!!! Now go to your room,” Tom growled.

“But dad!” Parker shouted

“No buts. I won’t hear anymore of this,” Tom concluded. “Let the grown ups handle it. I’m sorry Parker but, I won’t lose anyone else.” Tom finished, pushing Parker out of his office and closing the door. Maybe Parker inadvertently kidnapped Rosie, by going after Wilson but Tom had to finish. He needed to prove to himself and you that he could protect his family.

Rosie had no recollection of how she got there. She was sitting tied to chair, wrists and ankles bound, in a huge room with cold crisp air prickling her skin, giving her goosebumps. Her head pounded in her ears, throbbing too much to let her close her eyes.

“Rosie, darling. Wake up. I have big plans for you my dear,” Carter said, gliding over to Rosie tied in a chair, tearing the burlap sack off of her head.

He put two fingers on her chin, to force her to make eye contact. Rosie had been beaten and battered. Her skin stained red from tight ropes around her wrists and ankles. Tears had stopped coming, having cried all of them.

Rosie had given up hope that anyone was coming. She didn’t know if Henry was alive, last seeing him lying an alley.

“Please let me go. I don’t have what you want,” Rosie said, refusing to open her eyes and come face to face with her assailant. “Oh, I know that. But you will help me get him,” spoke Carter, revealing his face.

“If you’re talking about my dad. You’ll never take him alive. He’ll kill you before you even get the chance to load your gun,” Rosie asserted.

“No, I mean the Holland you share a birthday with,” Carter laughed off.

“What do you want with Parker?” Rosie questioned.

“You’ll see soon enough,” Carter finished, covering her face once more with a bag.

Back at the mansion, night had fallen and Tom and Harrison along with several other soldiers were held up in Tom’s office developing a rescue plan. Tom had been doing everything in his power, mostly throwing vast amounts of money to Carter as ransom.

Tom was frustrated that he couldn’t do anything. Not knowing Rosie’s location or Carter’s demands, besides giving up his son, Tom’s hands were tied. More like amputated with a machete, Tom felt helpless.

“Tom, another video from Carter just came through,” Haz informed Tom, playing the video on his computer.

“I don’t even want to look at it. Just tell me if she’s dead or not,” Tom whispered, rubbing his eyes. It was a video of Carter torturing Rosie. Tom wished he could trade places with her. If he could he would in heartbreak.

“I don’t know what more persuasion I can give you. I already have you daughter, now hand him over. Or poor, pretty Rosie over here is going to have a hard time breathing,” Carter reckoned.

“Ohhh, Rosie,” Carter motioned. “Your daddy’s watching. Why don’t you smile pretty for him.”

“Dad, please. Please save me.” Rosie pleaded before her head was plunged in a bucket of frigid water. Carter held her down long enough to where her lungs started to fill up with water but she didn’t stop breathing.

Her pulled her head out forcibly. Rosie came up, gasping for air. She coughed up all the inhaled water. Carter repeated this process three times, each time broke Tom’s heart even more.

Carter needed to show him he meant business.“You have until midnight to bring me Parker. This is your finally warning. Rosie we will learn how much you family truly loves you,” Carter concluded shutting off the video.

“Haz, I have a plan. It involves everyone. I need you to stay here and take care of Y/N. Even if I don’t come back, make sure she is okay. Don’t let her cry over me too much and tell her I love her one more time,” Tom pleaded, he didn’t want to leave you. But sometimes people don’t have a choice.

“Tom, tell her yourself. You’ll be here to take care of her. I’m sure of it. Along with everyone else, okay? But while you are gone I promise to keep her safe.”

“Always looking on the bright side, huh?” Tom quipped.

“I think I got it from Henry. Takes a lot to bring that kid down. Even in this life,” Haz chuckled.

He knew not having Rosie anymore would break him though. Harrison remembers how mopey Henry was when he and Rosie broke up. Refusing to do his chores and waking up late on purpose for school so he wouldn’t have to go.

Haz had never a found a love like that. One where you would put yourself in harms way just so the other wouldn’t even feel and inch of pain. The kind of love, he knew Tom and you had and only hoped Rosie and Henry had.

He couldn’t imagine if Henry had to experience the same type of pain Parker did. Losing Charlotte broke Parker, he was never the same after.

Parker made his way to the guest room, where Henry was recuperating after his concussion. Henry was the only person he could talk to. Everyone would just brush him off and not even give him the chance to make amends. Parker knew Rosie was tangled up in this because of him.

“Henry, I need to talk to you. You awake?” Parker whispered through the door.

“Come in,” Henry responded, Parker surprised he heard him.

“Hey, mate. How ya feeling?” Parker asked, walking into the room very stealthily.

“Shitty physically, shitty emotionally. I let them take her. I should’ve protected her,” Henry lamented, trying to not let the tears that pricked at his eyes fall.

“It’s in the past now. All we can do is try and get her back,” Parker assured. There isn’t really time to dwell on past events. Especially zeros time for what ifs.

“How? You’re being watched like a hawk. We all are.” Henry questioned, but if he knew his best friend at all. Nothing ever stopped him.

“I have a plan,” Parker concluded, explaining everything.

You had been resting in your room, ever since Tom banished you from his office. You understood he was just trying to protect you but it only drove you more insane. Not knowing everything, all the uncertainty was eating you alive.

You sat up in bed trying to fall asleep or at least let your mind stray away from everything long enough to close your eyes. You perked up as Tom walked into the closet, not giving you so much as a glance.

“Tom, are you coming to bed?” You asked as Tom came in your room for a change of clothes.

“I’m afraid not, love. I’ll say good night here. Night sweetheart. I’ll bring her home, please don’t worry,” Tom explained, kissing your forehead.

“If you say so. Good night.” Tom noticed how broken you seemed.

He desperately wanted to hold you and comfort you but he knew it wouldn’t do any good until he brought Rosie home. If he didn’t, he was uncertain of where that left you and him. But he couldn’t let these grim thoughts plague his mind.

Not even 20 minutes later, Parker walked through your door. Right as you were about to shut your eyes. “Mom, I just want to apologize for how I was acting earlier. I’m just scared we won’t get her back.”

“Baby, it’s ok. I am too. But you have to understand, I can’t lose you too.… Wait? Why are you dressed? No. Honey, I know what you are going to do but you can’t,” you cautioned, noticing Parker’s outfit.

“Mom, I can’t let Rosie die knowing I could’ve done something to stop it. I can’t let you stop me.” He said, backing up towards the door to your room.

“Parker, don’t do this. No. No, no no.” you barked as he shut the doors and locked them from the outside.

“I’m sorry mom, I really am. I’ll miss you.” Parker emitted through the shut doors.

“Open these doors, now! Parker get back here! PARKERRRR!!! TOMMMMM!!!” You screamed. They really locked you in your fucking room. Those bastards.

“This is fucking ridiculous. Someone let me out.” You shouted, banging on the door from the inside.

Parker and Henry made their way downstairs, first stopping in the gun room to load up on ammo. Henry had never shot a gun before, well not as much as Parker. Henry was more of the getaway driver. Parker grabbed the keys of the Rolls Royce, even if it was a rescue mission, it will be done in style.

In the garage they were greeted with Tom, loading up the trunk.

“Dad what are you doing here?” Parker asked, hoping he won’t be berated for sneaking out for the hundredth time.

“The same thing you are, going to get Rosie. Thanks for the distraction by the way, would’ve never been able to get passed your mother. How did you convince her?” Tom question, a little surprised that he was able to get passed you.

“I locked her in her room,” Parker mumbled, knowing it shouldn’t have done it but what choice did he have.

“Pfft, oh god. That’s one way to do it,” Tom chuckled at the thought of you locked in your room, like you were in a time out.

“Alright, boys. We have one mission, get Rosie and get out. I won’t be coming with bad news okay?”

“Understood. The Wilsons have taken too much from me. I won’t let them take my sister too.”

“Well said, makes me feel like we are in a movie.” Henry mocked, Parker’s statement.

“Everyone in the car. Seatbelts.” Tom announced as everyone hoped in.

Both Parker and Henry looked at him with an expression of ‘Are you kidding me?’

“What? I’m still concerned for your safety,” Tom concluded pulling out of the estate and embarking to the address Rosie was at.

All the while everyone was risking their lives, you were trapped in your god damm room. The nerve Parker had. You knew it had an influence from Tom.

“I know someone is out there. You can at least answer.” You whispered, voice hoarse from yelling. Yet no one answered, making you believe you were utterly alone.

After a few minutes a voice spoke, “Hi Y/N/N.” It was the voice of Haz.

Over the years you had grown very close to Haz. You would even call him your best friend. He was there for all the big moments. The birth of the twins, someone had to drive you to the hospital and when Tom proposed to you. And of course he was here now. When you needed someone the most.

All you could think about were worst case scenarios. Concerning Rosie, Parker, Tom, even Henry. Everyone had left you alone, you couldn’t even make them stay. The fear of losing them was too much.

“Haz, how could you let them do this to me?” You cried as tears streamed down your face.

“I’m sorry. I had to respect Tom’s wishes,” Haz murmured.

“You didn’t even go, but you let your son. Tom and Parker left with Henry to risk their lives and need to be there…I have to be there. I can’t lose all of them…Haz, I can’t…. I can’t breathe,” you exasperated. The air in then room growing more thin as you hyperventilated.

“Oh my god, I’m coming in. Are you okay?… What the—?” Harrison immediately unlocked the door to come to your aide. Worried he’d find you passed out or something.

Quite the opposite, you were standing there dressed in all black, with a pistol in your hands pointing at the only person standing in your way.

“I need to know where they went,” you said, cocking the gun, directly pointed at his chest.

“Y/N, don’t.” Haz whispered, throwing his hands up in surrender.

“I’m sorry Haz. I really am. But I can’t let Parker do this. Where’d they go?” You asked with an unchanging expression.

“Some warehouse on Adams Ave and 3rd Street. That’s all I know.” Haz said, closing his eyes, knowing Tom will have his head for letting you trick him.

“That’ll do. Thank you. I really don’t want you to follow me,” You mumbled, realizing what you had to do.

“Just get it over with.” Haz commented, holding his hands out to be bounded.

“I’m sorry but this is going to hurt me more than it hurts you,” you apologized as you tied his ankles to chair legs.

“I seriously doubt that. Please make sure Henry gets home safe. Wait, where’d you get these handcuffs,” Haz said as he was bounded to the chair. He soon realized what he was bound with. The hot pink fluffy handcuffs around his wrists were meant to only be used by you and Tom.

“Umm, you don’t want to know and I promise I will.”

“Gross, Y/N. Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Harrison made a face of pure disgust.

“I could say the same to you. Wait, Tom probably hid all the keys. Can I?” You said as you shoved a clean sock as a gag. So he couldn’t scream.

“Take them and go,” he concluded as you pulled the gag out and told you where his car keys were.

“Thank you. I’ll be back with everyone. I promise,” You said, pressing you lips to his cheek before you placed the gag between his teeth.

You quickly hopped into Haz’s jeep and jetted off. Trying to get there, soon enough to stop Tom, Parker and Henry.

At the Carter’s warehouse, Rosie couldn’t shake the taste of blood on her tongue. Carter had gotten a few licks in. A harsh slap to her right cheek, leaving a faint imprint. She couldn’t even soothe it, still restrained rather harshly. The ropes digging into her skin.

“You better hope they get here. And love you as much as they claim they do. Are you sure they didn’t forget about you. For your safe return, I’m asking big. Your brother needs to turn himself over to me,” Carter exclaimed. Rosie tensed at Carter’s ask. She can’t and wouldn’t let Parker die for her. Her face said it all. An expression of pure worry washed over her.

“Ah, there it is. That look. Deep down you know he isn’t coming. You’re more expendable than the golden boy of the Hollands and you’ve known it for years. Save your breath sweetheart. You are an afterthought, just like me,” Carter grinned.

“You’re wrong. I know they are looking for me. Once they find me, there will be no place on earth you can hide,” Rosie spat. Carter continued spewing lies about her and her family.

“I know what it’s like to be the forgotten child. Believe it or not but I had an older brother, Jacob. My father’s pride and joy and when he died, the mob could only be passed to me. My father resented me for taking Jacob’s place, I wasn’t my dad’s first choice neither his second or third or fourth for fucks sake. Hated that daft man. Kind of mad your brother beat me to kill, didn’t get the satisfaction of seeing the life slowly drain from his eyes,” Carter lamented, spilling his darkest thoughts to Rosie.

“You’re psychotic. You shouldn’t have been treated that way but it’s not too late. If you hated your dad so much, why are you after my brother for killing him. Seems like he did you a favor,” Rosie quipped.

“What kind of son would I be if I didn’t avenge his death? I stepped up and the moment Angus died, I became the leader. The same will happen to you,” Carter questioned.

“I have no idea what you are talking about. I’m just the daughter, maybe the forgotten child but not a killer.”

“I’ll wait and see. We are the same Rosie. Sooner or later, once I kill your brother you will be the new Holland to take on the mantle. Don’t you get it, we are the same.”

“You’re wrong. I don’t need validation from my family, I’m glad I don’t have the burden of living like this,” Rosie responded. Not letting him see that his words were piercing her heart.

“Maybe you don’t need it, but you’d appreciate it. All those times of living in the shadows of everyone else. Never being the first choice. ALWAYS BEING SECOND!!! Aren’t you fucking tired? I sure as hell am and there is hell to be paid from all this.” Carter shouted, causing Rosie to thrash in her restraints

“What are you suggesting?”

“Join me. You talk about not wanting this life, but deep down you are mad at the world you weren’t picked first. Like if we were still in grade school lined up against the gym wall waiting to be picked for dodgeball. You have anger, I can feel it. Use it. Let it fuel your vendetta, Rosie you’ll never get a better offer. Don’t let this be another regret,” Carter requested.

“I’d rather die than join you,” Rosie spat at him.

“If your brother doesn’t show up that can be arranged. You see, I’m a man of my word. Hopefully your brother is too,” Carter concluded, leaving the room.

Rosie couldn’t let him see it, but she was crawling her skin. Begging to get away from that heinous man and back in Henry arms.

‘Oh, Henry’ she thought to herself. The last she of him was when she was abducted. Knocked out alongside her. For all she knew he could be dead, cadaverous lying lifeless somewhere. A few tears slipped out as she let those grim thoughts plague her mind.

Rosie owed everything to Henry. Life without him meant nothing at all. He was there when she needed him most but not right at that moment.

Little did she know, Tom, Parker and Henry were all outside of planning how to bring her home safely. “Ok. We don’t know how many people are in there. But since it’s a warehouse Rosie is probably being held in the main garage. Nobody splits up. Henry you have to stay out here. If Rosie comes out, drive off,” Tom explained.

“What? No. I’m going in there.” Henry questioned, a little annoyed they didn’t want them in there. Sure he had never held a gun before or had to deal with a hostage situation, but he wanted to be in there.

“Henry, your dad needs you and Rosie needs you. She needs you if we both don’t make it. She needs you always. Just promise me, you will treat my daughter well,” Tom uttered.

“I will, sir. Parker, when you're giving that bastard hell, don’t give him a shitty threat. I’ll be waiting for all of you. Now go get our girl.” Henry said, realizing that staying outside was for the best.

Tom and Parker slowly, make their way in the warehouse. Quietly to not alert any lurking guards.

“Parker, I don’t know what we’re walking into. I don’t say it enough but, I love you son. Take care of your mother for me if anything happens?” Tom pleaded.

“I love you too, dad. I will, I promise. But nothing is going to happen,” Parker assured Tom.

“I’ll lead the way. Make sure you stay behind me.” Tom whispered, holding two fingers up.

“Psst, dad,” Parker faltered as Tom was throwing him hand signals.

“Parker, I know you haven’t really been in a shoot out, but shut up.”

“I don’t know what that means…Dad stop, I don’t know.”

“Seriously. It means, I go right, you go left and also shut up.”

“Shut up, two fingers means—“ Parker mocked, becoming oblivious to his position. He was standing right in front of an open hallway.

“Parker, shh…. Get back.” Tom whisper-screamed.

“Oh shit.” Tom mentally face palmed as Parker walking right into open sight giving away their position.

Carter’s men immediately pulled out their guns after noticing Parker jump back behind the corner. Tom and Parker both start firing, covering each other. Bullets strike the two assailants, killing them.

“Like I said, I’m leading—“ Tom said, before being disarmed.

“DAD!!” Parker screams as Tom’s gun is knocked out of his hand and one of Carter’s men wrap his hands around Tom’s neck.

“Shoot him.” Tom managed to croak out as his voice grew more hoarse, by his wind pipe being crushed.

“What?” Parker questioned.

“I said shoot him. SHOOT HIM!” Tom’s voice coming out more as a whisper scream.

Parker aimed his gun at the henchman, closing his eyes. He didn’t want to hit Tom. One shot fired, flooring the thug. The hands around Tom’s neck became limp and Tom coughed to catch his breath.

“You closed your eyes!” Tom wheezed, allowing air to once fill his lungs again.

“What? No, I didn’t.”

“Yes, you did. You could’ve killed me.”

“I didn’t want to hit you,” Parker explained.

“And closing your eyes, impeding your eyesight would prevent that?” Tom thundered sarcastically.

“Ok, if I’m right, they are keeping Rosie past they corridor and there are about three guards right there. I need to save my bullets. But we can take these guys right?” Tom mentioned.

“I guess so,” Parker hesitated.

“Here I’ll make it a fair fight.” Tom said, holding his gun up from around the corner. He fired blind and all you heard was a thud.

Parker was beyond impressed, his jaw slacked open. “How? Hooowww?”

“Parker, close your mouth. Fists up,” Tom replied, throwing the first punch. Barely making a dent in the man’s chiseled face. More punches were thrown by both Parker and Tom. Tom managed to get one of the assailants in a head lock and with the twist of his wrist, snapped his neck.

Parker tried the same but failed epically, “Damm they make that look so easy in the movies.”

“Alright. I’ll stay here to cover you. Go get your sister,” Tom chuckled. Parker just nodded and went through the corridor, finding Rosie centered in a great room tied to a chair. He approached her slowly, trying to stay quiet.

“No, please. No more torture. Just kill me already,” Rosie pleaded with her eyes shut, trying to stop tears from coming.

“Rosie it’s me,” Parker whispered, placing a hand on her cheek.

“Parker,” Rosie exclaimed. All the hope that had dissipated coming back. She was saved.

“Yeah, its okay. We got you now. You’re safe,” Parker assured her. All her bruises and cuts made his heart clench. She wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for him.

“Oh, look who finally showed up. Glad you’re somewhat honorable, giving yourself to save your dear sister. The deal was you for her,” Carter jeered coming out of the shadows.

“He’s right. I have to do this,” Parker asserted, going to walk toward him but Rosie grabbed his wrist.

“No you don’t,” Tom yelled, running up to protect Rosie.

“Parker come on,” Rosie begged.

“Are you a man of your word or a sad pathetic little boy?” Carter snickered.

“I’m sorry guys,” Parker pleaded. What choice did he have? Give himself up or have his family be constantly hunted.

“You aren’t taking him.” Tom shouted about to pull out his gun but Carter beat him to it. Shooting him in the left shoulder.

“Daaadddd!” Rosie yelled, dropping to Tom’s level.

“I’m okay, Rosie. I’m okay,” Tom explained, hissing from the pain. His shirt becoming bloodied.

“Come on, I could see you coming from a mile away,” Carter smirked.

“Well did you see this?” Parker said, sending a bullet through his abdomen. Blooded seeped all through his white shirt, the blood loss made him stumble as he fled.

“Rosie, there’s a car outside. Take dad,” Parker disclosed.

“Parker, no. You have to come with is.” Rosie pleaded, tears threatening to fall.

“I’m right behind you. I have to know he is dead. And you have to get dad home.”

“I won’t leave without you. I promise.”

“I’ll be out soon. Go,” Parker motioned. Rosie held Tom close to her body, holding him up as she made her way to the exit.

“Carter, you’re not getting away that easy.” Parker called out, running to the back of the warehouse in search of Carter.

“Come to finish the job? Missing that clean, one shot kill. What was it, execution style?” Carter joshed, coughing as blood filled his mouth.

“Exactly what I’m doing. This bullet was never meant for you but you came after me and my family,” Parker lamented.

“Parker, they’ll never be safe…. The blood you have spilled has marked them for life. They will always be leverage for the man who killed half of London’s mob scene…. Always a pretty penny for your head.” Carter said with labored breaths.

“Shut up, I can protect them,” Parker barked, soon realizing Carter was right.

“They only way you can protect them… is by leaving them.” And with that all life and breath had left Carter. Parker’s thoughts kept coming one after the other. They wouldn’t stop. All the knew was that Rosie was now safe and so was Tom.

Rosie opened the doors to be greeted with her loving boyfriend, Henry. They exchanged a few words, before he attended to Tom.

“Henry,” Rosie whispered, a smile streaked across her face.

“Rosie,” Henry returned, the same smile appeared as he stared at her with pure adoration.

“Tom. Are you okay?” Henry asked, noticing Rosie was carrying him.

“I’m fine. Can we save this love fest for later?” Tom mocked as he clutched his arm.

Not even a minute later, you came running up to the warehouse. You heart stop as you saw a bloodied Tom, “TOM! Oh my god Tom.”

“Y/N?... Baby I’m okay its just a graze.” Tom was surprised to see you here, because he specially left Haz in charge of watching you.

“Owww. What was that for?” He questioned as you punched him in the arm.

“That’s for locking me in my fucking room,” you remarked.

Next what you did, surprised all of them. Who knew anger and adoration were such close emotions. You pressed your lips to his chapped ones. He was surprised by act of love, but relished in your kiss.

“And that’s because I’m so happy to see you,” you whispered, breaking away from a gentle kiss.

“I promise I’ll never leave again. I’m sorry.” Tom whispered against your forehead as the pressed a gentle kiss.

“Rosie, where’s Parker?” you questioned, realizing your family wasn’t whole. You felt your heart sink to your stomach.

“I d-d -don’t know. He was right behind us.” Rosie stammered.

“Henry, I’m going back in. To get him.” Rosie asserted.

“Rosie, please don’t leave me again,” Henry begged.

“He came to save me. Someone has to do the same for him,” Rosie assured.

“I’m going with you,” Henry agreed.

BOOM

As they were running back to the big metal doors, a loud explosion rang through the streets. The building before their eyes burst into flames, before they had the chance to enter. It was engulfed in flames, along with everyone else.

You felt as though your heart stopped and you began to fall to your knees. Buckling under the grief. Tom caught you in his arms as you fell. No one could survive an explosion like that. Not even Parker.

A/n: I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Two chapters left, then the sequel series.

Guns, Glamour and Goodfellas Masterlist

Taglist: @thenoddingbunny-blog @adriannauni @dummiesshort @bi-lmg @allthisfortommy @quaksonhehe

#tom holland #tom holland imagines #tom holland series #tom holland fanfic #tom holland mob au #tom holland au #tom holland x reader #tom #mob!tom #mob tom #mob!tom holland #mob!tom holland x reader #mob!tom x mob!reader #mob!tom x reader #dad!mob!tom holland #tom holland fan fiction smut #tom holland fanfiction #tom holland fic

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wlw-lovestruck-fiction · 3 years

Note

Ok as always i need angst 😂 what would have happened if when Myrine paralyzes Xenia and attacks MC, she managed to hurt mc 😶 the angst of Xenia seeing MC injured while trying to defend herself with the knife, until they end up in the situation of MC at the mercy of Myrine with the knife to the throat (battered and cut by the fight) and well... Myrine fulfilled his threat and cut MC throat. Xenia's reaction to it all while she is paralyzed and after. Thank you so much and sorry 😅 Send love 💕❤

First of all, anon. Thank you for giving me writing motivation with this.

Second of all, you are fucking cruel.

- Mod JD

Warnings for: Blood; Death; Attempted Murder; Grief; Trauma; Flashbacks; Angst; Tons Of Angst; Pain Xenia Doesn’t Fucking Deserve; Ruelle Hugging Someone Of Her Own Free Will; Did I Mention Blood?

Read at your own risk.

(These are Xenia’s thoughts)

“What did you do to her?”

“A simple paralysis poison.”

Myrine’s smile was nothing short of wicked as she waggles her fingers. Xenia could barely hear what she said next over her own thoughts - she should’ve been prepared for that, she’s such a fool - Iris jumping at her momentarily ripped her away from those, and when he got kicked away, part of her mind spat out some humor - she could see the anger on her love’s face, increasing with every insult that flew from Myrine’s rotten mouth.

(HOW DARE SHE.)

Xenia desperately tried to move to help MC in the following battle, but she couldn’t, helpless to only watch, helplessly lying there, her mind screaming out with pain and an endless stream of insults at herself, what an idiot she was, a failure, unable to -

Myrine took MC into her grasp, holding her in plain view for Xenia to see. Helpless like her, unable to move. This couldn’t - she had to DO SOMETHING, she needed to save her, get to her, to tackle Myrine down at whatever slushing cost there was, and if it would be her own life -

“You see, Xenia? This is what happens when you get sloppy. When you get soft.”

(I will end her.)

“You have so much potential. If only you could see past these nonsensical feelings of yours and stop letting them hinder your ambitions. This girl is holding you back.”

(This queen is making me stronger than I ever could’ve been on my own.)

“You could have achieved your greatest dreams by now, could have obtained everything you ever wanted... All you had to do was marry her and kill her, and you’d be the Queen of Lysende right now.”

(I have everything I wanted.)

She wants to scream it, wants to shout it over the paralysis, but she can’t. She can’t do anything at all.

“You could’ve done it any time - it would have been so easy. And instead you’ve wasted your time and energy looking after her, playing house with her.”

Her scoff hurts more than she cared to show. It reminded her too much of the way her old mentor had sounded when she’d accidentally added too much of a herb into her potions. Just now it was twisted. Ruined. Wrong.

“Take now, for example. Had you not been so concerned with protecting her, you might have been able to fight me now.Instead, you made a stupid, rash decision. And now you’re helpless to stop me.”

She’d protected MC because Myrine might have killed her if she hadn’t. But… could MC have slipped away? Could she have retaliated? Could she… Had she done something wrong? Was her protectiveness finally demanding it’s price? MC had told her to not always - was this what came of it now?

“Have fun knowing she bleeds out.”

With that, Myrine moved the knife over MC’’s throat. The queen drops to the ground with a gurgle as Myrine laughs silently and calmly vanishes in thin air while Xenia’s eyes fill with tears.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t speak, couldn’t even see her - she had to - she couldn’t - she could only blink the tears away, tears of rage and worry and pain and sorrow.

(NO!)

(MC!)

(Ruelle, please… please, anybody must’ve…)

“...Xenia…”

(She lives. She lives. She’s…)

“... I love you.”

(CALL FOR HELP, YOU FOOL! DON’T WASTE YOUR ENERGY ON ME!)

“I’ve... “

Her voice is so weak, so gurgling, wheezing - Myrine must’ve only lightly cut her, to make sure to prolong her suffering, to make sure she’d die as slowly as possible.

“I’m so happy I met you… I… I just… I need you to know how much you mean to me… before I…”

(Shutupshutupshutupdon’tplease)

“You’re slushing incredible… you’ve made my life so much better… you’ve helped me so much, and I could…”

(Please stop using past tense, please-)

Xenia’s fingertips and toes moved. Not enough. Not nearly enough.

“I always wanted… hoped… to marry you. One day.”

MC’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but Xenia felt the words deep in her heart.

“I would’ve understood if you didn’t- I’m… you never would’ve had to, and-”

(One day. One day, I would have.)

“I want you to know… none of this… is your fault. You did everything you could, and that’s more than I ever would’ve asked.”

(And it wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough.)

“I love you. And hey… if… afterlife turns out to be a thing… you can… live with Val there.”

(Don’t speak of that. Please. Please no.)

Xenia heard and felt herself sob.

“I’ll say hi to him from you.”

(He’d love to meet you. But please… please don’t say this as if…)

“...please…”

“Xenia!”

“..I… love… you…”

Every word was torture with her still weird-feeling lips and tongue, but at least the poison seemed to wear off a little faster now.

“Save… your… energy… or...call...help…”

“I can’t… It feels as if when I scream, this is going to rip open further…”

(No… NO!)

Xenia sobbed again.

“Please… don’t cry… I…”, MC sniffled, “I don’t want to spend my last moments hearing you cry…”

That made Xenia sob again. Just while she tried to wrangle herself back for MC’s sake, she felt how her lower arms could move up to her elbow.

(Enough.)

She moved. Forced her hands to pull the dead weight of her body and push it with her feet, forced herself to turn around and fall off the bed, landing with a slam and a muffled noise of pain.

But that was worth it when she saw MC’s eyes on her. She didn’t mind the puddle of blood as she dragged herself over, didn’t mind how it stained her hands and arms and chest. She knew she wouldn’t be able to reach her herb bag, and she didn’t have the strength to shout yet… but she could cup MC’s face, she could lean their foreheads together and force a smile for her sake, could feel how MC took one of her limp arms and wrap it around her.

“Don’t… move… for my sake.”

MC kissed her. It tasted of blood and love and despair, relief to be with her, grief to leave her.

“For your sake… I’d do anything.”

Xenia kissed her again.

“Sweet... little... fool.”

Her voice dripped with affection, her eyes dripped with sadness, her heart bled at the smile that ghosted over MC’s beautiful features.

“I love you.”

“I would’ve married you.”

Xenia whispered, closing her eyes and holding her forehead to MC’s.

“One day, I would’ve asked you to marry me. I would’ve let you take off my veil as we sealed our love. I would’ve held your hand in public every single day, would’ve kissed you good night and good morning, would’ve…”

She felt a new rush of tears and pressed her lips to the smiling ones of MC, sobbing - and when she pulled back, she didn’t feel her love’s breath any longer.

“MC?”

No answer.

“MC?!”

“Xenia…?”

Silent.

And in that moment, Xenia found the strength to scream. Incoherent, wordless, full of pain and grief and rage and hatred, sorrow, despair, a love that was taken away, again, and left her heart ripped out entirely.

She held MC against her and sobbed, not caring to hide her emotions as usual, not caring that she knelt in a puddle of blood and had it smeared all over her, not caring that she begged MC to come back and cried for help at the same time - and that was how Ruelle found her as she slammed open the door, taking in the scene before her with utter shock and having half a mind to shoo the guards away with word to fetch a bucket of boiled water.

“She… Myrine… I… paralyzed... I couldn’t....”

Xenia looked at her niece with such pain that Ruelle took half a step back before rushing to her side, assessing the situation in full and then rushing over to Xenia’s bag, taking out the antidote for the poison and some bandages and other salves. She swallowed and crouched down next to Xenia - thanks to her aunt’s impeccable training, she was able to stay calm for now.

“Rub yourself down. I’m…”

Ruelle swallowed, handing Xenia the antidote, slightly uncomfortable. Xenia nodded in shock and pulled back, eyes on MC as Ruelle bent over her, checking her pulse.

“She lives. Barely.”

Xenia sobbed. Ruelle swallowed and cleared her throat - and she saw Piama, Lyris and Galen in the door a moment before the Spring Princess let out a blood-curling scream. Galen almost dropped the water they carried as Lyris pulled Piama close to him and shielded her from the view.

Only Galen stepped inside, dropping the bucket at Ruelle’s side before rushing to toss her Xenia’s bag entirely, then sat down at the Spy Mistress’s side and carefully touched her arm.

“She’s in good hands. You taught her well. You’re not alone.”

Ruelle quickly washed out the wound before practically drenching it in a healing potion, fumbling around in the bag and taking out a needle and yarn.

“Let me-”

“Xenia. You’re shaking.”

With quick, methodic stitches, Ruelle sewed the wound shut tightly, happy to see that the inner layers were already slowly starting to mend thanks to the potion - after she was done, she smeared another salve around the outer layer before wrapping it up in a bandage.

Only the slight shaking in Ruelle’s voice spoke of her fear and worry, and how soft it was in comparison to usual.

Lyris and Piama carefully walked over to the bed and sat down next to Xenia - even Piama got over her usual discomfort with the Spy Mistress enough to offer one of her hands. Xenia held it.

“Piama?”

“Yes?”

“Get a thick layer of sheets. Lyris, Galen, please take the blanket and help me get MC off the floor.”

Piama rushed off - one of Ruelle’s hands reaching up and brushing her thigh as if subconsciously, and Galen and Lyris carefully, slowly moved MC in a sitting position to slow the blood flowing up, then cleaned her up best they could. By the time they were done, Piama had returned with the sheets and spread them on the bed - the old ones were rolled to prop MC’s body up diagonally, the others so she wouldn’t utterly ruin the mattress with the amount of blood still on her.

Xenia hadn’t done much over that time, just sat there like in a trance, reliving past and current trauma in a loop, seeing Val and MC melting together - Val slashed by MC, she herself letting a painless poison flow between MC’s lips, Val dying from the apple, MC passing away to an illness she couldn’t cure, blood, poison, sickness, murder, death, death, death over and over and over again.

“She lives. She will live.”

That was, until Ruelle carefully took her hand and pressed it onto MC’s chest.

A faint beating. Not strong, but unstoppable.

Ruelle leaned in and… hugged her, whispering so softly only she could hear.

“You won’t lose her.”

Those words broke through her stupor, and Xenia sobbed dryly, wrapping all arms around an increasingly alarmed Ruelle, spending moments just there before she pulled back, wiping at her eyes and wrapping all four arms around herself.

“...thank you.”

She said weakly, breath shaking as she slipped onto the bed further and leaned in to kiss MC’s forehead.

“Should we… stay?”

Piama asked softly, earning a shake of Xenia’s head.

“I’ll… wash her myself.”

(So I at least did something.)

“Tell us when she wakes up again, yes?”

“I will.”

Ruelle said, clearing her throat.

“I’ll stay here in case… she returns.”

When she woke up, the queen hadn’t moved a bit, unsurprisingly. Xenia sighed and got out of bed, stretching as she walked to the washroom and washed the traces of last night from her face, looking at her still slightly swollen, exhausted eyes.

Xenia nodded. The rest left slowly, and the Autumn princess went invisible, giving Xenia enough privacy to take a washcloth and rub the rest of the blood off silently, only stopping to kiss MC’s forehead again and again, changing the bandage slowly when she was done with it - the wound already looked a lot better.

She asked Ruelle to get some broth and she did, Xenia working in some herbs that were supposed to help her body regenerate.

After that was done, she could do nothing but wait and track Myrine on her map, figuring out the pattern eventually. She didn’t allow herself any sleep, but she couldn’t help it, the emotional and physical drain overwhelming her with exhaustion. She fell asleep at MC’s side, two arms draped around her.

“... Xen… ia…”

Her head flew around. She rushed out of the bath and sobbed as her eyes met green ones looking right up at her, a weak smile on lips that she feared would never move again.

She wiped a tear away and moved over, taking a seat next to MC and stroking her thumb over MC’s lower lip.

“Hush. Don’t strain your throat..”

MC kissed Xenia’s thumb and closed her eyes, wincing a little as she tried to lean into her palm.

“Don’t move, my love.”

The look in MC’s eyes after that made Xenia’s heart melt. MC didn’t speak, but she slowly moved her hand and placed it on her own heart first, then on Xenia’s. Xenia took it and kissed it, then did the same.

*Sorry I worried you.*

MC mouthed slowly, and Xenia just leaned in and kissed her forehead, happy she’d invested time to learn reading lips.

“You’re alive. That’s all that matters.”

She whispered softly, then pulled back to find MC smirking ever so slightly.

*It takes more than that to keep me away from you.*

*I’m sorry I couldn’t do more.*

Xenia mouthed back, and MC glared.

*Don’t you slushing dare.*

Xenia swallowed and nodded. MC stroked her cheek and then tried to pull her in. Xenia let her, and allowed MC to kiss her, softly, gently, feeling two tears slip from her eyes that MC kissed off of her cheeks before letting her pull back, softly smiling up at her.

*I’m here.*

Xenia smiled back and pressed another kiss to MC’s forehead… which was when Ruelle cleared her throat and slipped from the shadows.

“If you’re done being all sappy… can I tell the others now?”

MC mouthed a ‘yes’ and Ruelle left, leaving Xenia and her alone for a moment.

“She saved you. Stitched your wound closed. The others… helped best they could.”

MC smiled.

*And you never left.*

“I just sat there and did nothing.”

*Which no one would think to blame you for.*

“I-”

“You... stayed. You... let others... help... when you couldn’t... yourself. You… let them… comfort… you.”

“Didn’t I tell you to not strain your throat?”

“I’m… happy… you accepted… help.”

“MC…”

“I… love… you… always.”

Xenia kissed her if only to shut her up. MC kissed back softly, cupping Xenia’s cheek and deepening the kiss a little.

“And I love you.”

And for that one moment, MC’s smile blew all of her worries away.

#I'm sorry #I'm so sorry #anon I love and hate you both #xenia of the autumn #xenia x mc #reigning passions xenia #reigning passions #lovestruck #woeful wednesday

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softcallofdutyimagines · 3 years

Text

How Do I Love Thee? | Knight!Weaver x Princess!Reader | Medieval AU | Chpt. 1

Summary:

The day has finally come. Your bodyguard, the man you've trusted with your life since the day you were born, has reached the age of retirement. Being the only child of your royal parents, the King and Queen are quite keen on keeping you safe, so naturally a new one must be selected. When the dust of the tournament settles, a champion is chosen, one far younger and stronger then the last...

In an age full of tales of handsome men in shining armor and chivalrous heroes of great courage and honor, could you be in for a forbiden love story of your own?

Tags: Slow burn

Warnings: None, except for a small fight scene involving mentions of blood

“Goodnight my Lady”, your lady in waiting bows her head politely as she exits your chambers, closing the heavy wooden doors behind her with a soft thump. Her footsteps recede off into the night down through the thick stone corridors as you lay awake in your downy bed. Two sconces glow faintly in the night, providing just enough light for you to navigate the large, dark room.

Once you’re sure you’re alone, you grab your small candle and pad across the cool stone floor to steal some light. It catches quickly and you’re off once more to your desk. You pull out your poetry books and studies to retrieve a small leather bound notebook. It contains all sorts of things like sketches and sonnets that you've penned, but most of all it’s filled with your musings of the day.

You tap your quill on the edge of the inkwell and set its point to the parchment.

Today has been a rather sad one indeed. Your old guardsman has retired from your father’s service, the very same man who’s protected you and your person since you were but a little girl. He’s much like a grandfather to you in a way, and it pains you very deeply to see him leave you. Your father has tried to comfort you with the promise that a tournament will be held the very next day to get you a new guard as soon as possible, but the absence of a knight isn’t what troubles you.

You sniffle, a tear threatening fall from your eyes as you pause, recalling a lifetime of memories and yet being forced to let them go. Gathering your strength with a deep breath, you write the final words you old guard left you with:

“Be brave, my little Princess. I know you can”

At last you write that you are not looking forward to tomorrow and that you expect to be quite beside yourself. It’s all you can write before the despondency overcomes you again.

Being the Lady that you are, you retrieve one of your ever present nearby handkerchiefs and dry your eyes. You set your journal back into it’s hidden home and restore your books to keep it safe. With the desk returned just as it was, you tiptoe back to bed and blow out your candle. Moving aside the velvet drape, you think one last time on your faithful old guard, remembering all the memories of your childhood you shared as you climb back under the sheets.

Tomorrow is a new chapter for the both of you, you suppose. You hope his story ends sweetly.

---

The tournament begins with much fanfare and ado as the festivities kick things off. You’re sitting pretty in a lovely silk gown between your mother and father, both equally dressed up. There’s games and feasting and music and dancing… All the things something of this magnitude should include.

And, as you predicted, you’re quite bored indeed.

As yet another jaunty reel plays from the minstrels, you can’t help but roll your eyes and look onwards. Past the castle grounds, past the village, past the fields and farm lands… Way, way out in the distance to the forest and mountains.

That’s where your soul lies.

Being the Princess is all well and good, but in truth, your heart yearns for nothing more than to simply be free. Even if all that’s out there is more grass and trees, just as there is all around you, oh what you’d give for the chance to see it. To touch the grass and leaves you’ve never seen before. To feel and smell the wind in it’s wild, untamed stomping grounds. Some days you dream of just running away, but…

Well, your guard would never allow it. And, here you are, getting assigned yet another figure to keep an eye on you in the name of your father.

A blast of trumpets shatters your daydream as your attention is called back to present. The royal scribe stands on a podium, announcing the main attraction at last. He reads off a long, tiresome list of names “Sir this and that”, “Lord ho hum”, ugh… At least the fighting should be entertaining, you suppose.

There are several rounds and three main competitions: Jousting, Dueling, and Archery. Score will be kept and knights slowly eliminated until a final two are left, at which point, the two will engage in a duel and may the best man win.

Admittedly, you tune out for the first several rounds until the riff raff and washed up old timers are sorted out. Not as though you have any say in the matter, but you pick a few favorites and follow their progress through the competition. Although in all honesty, you pick said favorites by their horses and the colors and patterns of their coat of arms.

However… One knight in particular has caught your eye both in skill and trappings.

His coat of arms features a fierce looking tiger and swords, the style of which tells you his family hails from somewhere out east, and his horse is a lovely dusty grey. Even you must admit, his skills so far aren’t bad either. He’s coasting through the competition with little difficulty and, even with the few close calls here and there, by the time he’s made it up to the final rounds you would almost dare to say you have your heart set on him.

Silently you root him on as he tiredly batters through opponent after opponent, somehow maintaining strength and endurance up until the very last man. A few breaks have been called in between rounds up until this point, but now the last two will be taking a long recession before the final fight.

Food and drink and dance is had once more for peasants and nobility alike while each knight gathers their strength, but you can’t keep your mind off the excitement of the final duel...

When at last, the time has come, you’re on the edge of your seat.

Once more the scribe’s voice rings out over the silent crowd as the two men ready themselves in opposing corners of the muddy sparring ring, “Fighting for the honor of being named the new protectorate of the Princess, Sir Weaver and Lord Fletcher will face each other in armed combat! The rules are as follows-”

The scribe's voice fades away, and immediatly your mind begins to wander.

Sir Weaver…

The name rolls off your tongue as you watch him pace and stretch in his corner of the ring. He’s armed with a sword and shield, classic weapons of the heroes of old, just like in your books and sonnets… His shield is tall and rectangular, with that very same tiger proudly emblazoned on its front. He gives his sword a few test swings and even from here you can hear the ringing of razor sharp steel.

His opponent wields a smaller shield and a rather nasty looking mace, a classic for smashing heads and armor alike. Thankfully you won’t have to bear witness to such violence should Sir Weaver lose, but you don’t much fancy the idea of such a savage weapon anyway. It may have its place in battle, but it doesn’t seem very… Heroic.

After far too much more courtly addresses, a trumpet sounds to begin the fight.

The Lord charges the Knight, mace raised to strike, as Sir Weaver stands his ground like a tower of strength. He deflects the blow easily, as well as the few more that come after it. A smart tactic, you observe, letting the opponent come to him and tire himself out. Lord Fletcher seems to believe that he can smash right through the great steel shield as that’s where most of his strikes end up landing. Sir Weaver’s tiger is quite battered, but holds out well.

All the overhead motions of the mace swings prove to be a disservice soon enough though, as the knight stabs his way through chinks in the armor here and there as the Lord slowly grows more and more weary. His movements become sluggish and desperate, a lethal combo, and before long the mud is mixed red with the wounds of the mace wielding Lord.

To his credit, he fights to the bitter end, but the duel is called before too much blood is shed.

A roar of approval goes up from the crowd. Amidst the cheering and the fanfare, Sir Weaver bows politely before the royal family and makes to exit the arena. You cock an eyebrow. Curious, you would’ve expected more of a show given the grand odds he just overcame.

Regardless, you clap politely and watch the two men exit the ring. It’s nearly night by now and there’s still more to do. Tomorrow your new knight will be sworn in and given his orders and hours and so forth… But for now, you have many things to tell your journal tonight.

---

The next day begins as it always does. You wake up at sunrise. Your chamber maid helps you dress, pick out your outfit for the day, and style your hair. Finally, you’re ready to join your family and the court for breakfast. A few questions come your way asking about whether or not you’re excited to meet your new knight and what you thought of the tourney yesterday, but otherwise you’re ignored as usual.

When breakfast passes, the court moves on to the throne room. It’s easily the most illustrious room in the palace, save for perhaps a few that suit your particular tastes. Small windows sit high above near the vaulted ceiling, raining in sunlight and fresh air from far above. Giant chandeliers hang proudly, holding a dizzying host of candles. The walls are blanketed in gorgeous tapestries, some of which you’ve had the honor of assisting in the weaving of. They’re laced with threads of gold and silk, and when they catch the light just right, they give off an ethereal glow, bringing the stagnant scenes to life.

The typical court proceedings will begin shortly, but first the matter of your new bodyguard is to be addressed. Soon enough, Sir Grigori Weaver of, so on and so forth… is announced to the court. Finally, something interesting for the day. You sit up properly in your throne and take in the sight.

He’s dressed in an appropriately fancy set of gambeson and hose, clearly his armor is off to be under repairs. His one arm hangs freely, the other rests on the pommel of his sword, and he takes a brief look at his surroundings. He carries himself with purpose and a serious air which could almost take a turn for intimidating given a closer look. His face is rough with prickly stubble contrasted by a long, smooth mustache and hair combo. Between the two lies no feature of note aside from a grizzly scar running across a cloudy white, useless eye.

Sir Weaver nods towards you and your mother, then offers your father a proper bow, “My liege”

Your father smiles, and you can already tell you’re about to be stuck with this man whether you like it or not. He tells the knight to rise and after a brief exchange of greeting, Sir Weaver is sworn into your service complete with the whole ceremonial nonsense.

You rise and come forward, standing just a few steps above him on the throne platform. He hands you his sword and kneels before you. Without the help of any prompting, you lead him through the oath phrase by phrase and at last you tap either of his shoulders with the flat of the blade. To seal it all, you extend your hand with your signet ring.

“Thank you, my lady”, he takes your hand softly and kisses your knuckle, “I am yours”

He rises and accepts back his blade while you return to your throne. Your father makes arrangements for a whole new suit of armor to be commissioned for your knight, after all, his safety is your safety, and so forth. But for once, you don’t mind the droning on of court business.

It gives you some time to hide your blush.

#call of duty #black ops cold war #grigori weaver x reader

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