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#clap in eternal flame
avenging-fandoms · 1 year
Note
slow makeouts with pedro after a big event🫣winding down after all that socializing maybe the reader and pedro just had a movie coming out with the two of them and people are loosing their minds about it asking if they’re together
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Pedro Pascal Masterlist 1
Pedro Pascal Masterlist 2
You stood on the red carpet for your new movie and posed for the cameras. You moved down the carpet and saw an interviewer, greeting her hello and making small talk.
"So, I don't know how often you look on Twitter, but everyone seems to think that you and Pedro are a thing after watching this movie"
"Really? I guess that means we're just really good actors, right?" You wink and you both laugh. "I just play his girlfriend, Pedro and I get along very well. I think that's why people think we're together"
Thankfully the interviewer didn't ask anymore questions like that and you soon left, hearing a faint whistle. You turn around and smile, Pedro speed walking over to you and squeezing you tightly.
"You look gorgeous, mí amor. I wish we could go home now" He whispered and you laugh, rubbing his back and you two took pictures on the carpet together.
Pedro wasn't one for flaunting his relationship. He liked to keep it to himself so no one's opinions were coming at him or his partner. He got asked many questions about you and he just gushed about you, which added more fire to the flame of dating speculations.
You made it off the carpet, heading inside and beelining for the bar. You order a drink and wave hello to a few people. "You made it off the carpet, heading inside and beelining for the bar. You order a drink and wave hello to a few people. "I just cannot keep my eyes off of you. I find you in every single crowded room" Pedro's hand held your waist and you smile, giving him a proper hug.
"You look so wonderful in pink, honey" You eye him up and down and rub his bicep with your straw between your lips. "Would probably look better on our bedroom floor"
"Cool it, princesa. We're in public" you smile and Pedro returns one, rubbing your back. "Although it's very hard to not just take a bite of you right now" his voice was low, and his eyes were melting you away.
"Figuratively or literally?" You smirk and he laughs, biting your arm. "Ouch, Pey" you pout and rub over the area, Pedro laughing at the faint teeth marks. Pedro's love language was physical touch - and biting.
You two head into the theatre and everyone claps as the cast stood on the stage, a microphone being passed to everyone. "I would just like to start off, if that's okay" Pedro spoke and you look at him, nothing but love in your eyes. "I just wanted to say I am eternally grateful to have worked with such amazing people who became.. so special to me" His eyes met yours.
Suddenly it was just him in the room, and your eyes never left his face. He finished his speech and you clap with everyone else, letting other people get a chance to speak. It got to your turn and you took a deep breath. Even as an actor who had to speak in front of cameras, you still got very nervous on a microphone.
Pedro noticed you holding your stomach and placed a hand on your back, rubbing his thumb over your exposed skin and you smiled. "This cast.. this crew. You all have become my family, people who want love me no matter my faults or blooper reels" the room laughed and Pedro dropped his hand, standing a bit closer to you. "I'm grateful to be here, and I'm so thankful for everyone who helped bring this film to life"
You pass the microphone to the host and everyone claps and stands up, Pedro taking your hand and holding it up, the both of you looking at each other. You take his other hand and you both pretend to scream, making each other double over in laughter.
-
You were exhausted. Interviewers and even other actors asking about you and Pedro. Dancing with everyone, drinking and screaming in celebration. Now, you wanted to go home and lay in bed.
You got into the car first, closing the door and the driver did a circle around the building and you scooted to the far side of the car, the door opening again and in came Pedro. He waved and shut the door quickly, giggling at you hiding in the corner and the driver rolled up the partition.
"Windows are tinted, hermosa. Get over here" You smile and crawl over to Pedro, hand on his thigh with his finger under your chin as you kiss him slowly. "I've been wanting this all night, I've missed you"
"Yeah but don't forget you sneakily putting your hand on my thigh during that whole movie" Your fingers played with the curls on the back of his head.
"Can't help touching you" he shrugged and smiled, kissing you again with his fingers wrapping around the back of your neck and drinking in every bit of you.
-
Pedro held your hand as you two walked inside your condo, a small number of cardboard boxes still scattered around the place as you and Pedro had just moved in almost 2 months ago. You both were crazy busy for weeks, but your cat, Cheese, didn't seem to mind all the boxes.
"Oh, look at this baby" Pedro laid softly next to the tabby cat and he chirped, pushing his head against Pedro's nose as he scratched behind his ear.
You laid on the other side of Cheese, running a hand down his back and kissing his head. "Don't worry, mommy and daddy aren't busy for another month so we're gonna make it up to you" You pitched your voice up and Pedro stared, taking a picture as you kissed your cat.
You followed the 2 year old to his dish, Pedro's eyes heavy as he sat up. You gave Cheese some food and squatted next to him, petting his back while he purred and chomped away.
You head back into the room where Pedro took off his belt and your hazy eyes watch every move of his fingers.
"Can you unzip me, Pedro?" He hums and you turn around. He pushes your hair over your shoulder, unzipping slowly until he reaches the bottom. His lips drag against your shoulder blades, making you stand up straight and lean into him.
Your dress falls as you both sway softly, his arm over your chest with your eyes closed. He kissed your jaw and you stood up, hanging up your dress and taking off your bra and underwear. You slid on Pedro's Purple Rain t-shirt and a pair of pajama shorts, looking at Pedro who stood in front of the mirror with his shirt unbuttoned and tie loose around his shoulders.
If you weren't so tired, you would jump him right then and there. You head to the bathroom and took out all your clips and bobby pins, putting your hair up. You wash your face of your makeup and grab your toothbrush, Pedro tapping your butt as he walked passed you in his pajamas.
He also grabbed his toothbrush, giving you and himself some toothpaste. You both brush your teeth in silence and you lean against him, closing your eyes. He rubs your back as you spit out your toothpaste, then he does as well. You rinse out your mouths and head into bed.
Pedro turns off the light and you turn on your lamp. Pedro lays on his side with his back towards you and you gasp softly. You bite his shoulder and he yelps, turning over and tapping your forehead. "That hurt!"
"Payback" You giggle and he sighs, rubbing his hand over your cheeks a few times before resting it and rubbing his thumb over your cheekbone. He pulls you in and kisses you softly, pulling away and pushing his nose up against yours.
"How many questions about us did you get?" You whisper and he rolls his eyes. "Every interviewer I met with asked about you and I for almost the whole interview"
"As much as I love to talk about you, I wish they would stop asking. This is why we don't want to go public for a while. Could you imagine if we confirmed it?" He mumbled, kissing you between words. "They would be up our asses even more"
"I like being your secret" you wink and his hand smooths over your hips, pulling you in as he kissed your neck. He hums as his hand falls underneath your shirt, rubbing your back slowly as your leg traps his hip.
Your fingers grip his hair as you kiss him slowly, his bicep flexing against your rib cage. He hums softly as he breathes out when you adjust your hips.
“You are a dream” he whispers and pushes his fingers into your back and dragging down your spine, making you arch your back. Pedro kissed your chest as you tilted your head back.
Your hand falls down his chest, over his ribs while pushing your foot to his. You place your head on his bicep and closed your eyes as he kissed your face softly.
“I love you, sweetheart” he mumbles into your hair and you smile, planting a kiss to his chest.
“I love you, Pedrito”
Pedro huffed as Cheese jumped on his side and you laugh, but not too hard so you scared Cheese.
You all settled into bed, your back against Pedro’s front with his arm underneath the pillow you laid on. Cheese laid against your stomach as your arm draped over him and rested your hand in Pedro’s palm.
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cowyolks · 1 year
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FORBIDDEN FRUIT
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Chapter Four. A Council
Prev. Chapter Three Masterlist
Pairing: God! Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley x Female Reader
Prompt: A prophecy written long ago stated of a human that would become the God’s wife and live in his domain for the rest of eternity.
A/n: A long ass chapter for my patient readers! It’s about to get good y’all! There are some plans for the raunchiest smut I can think of. All of you please thank @soapyghost for being my personal therapist for the shit that is about to go down in this series.
She was there waiting, her face calm but seething in a creeping anger as the grass wilted under her heels. The dress she wore that was accented in gold blew in the breeze. A breeze that was already growing colder.
“Where is she?”
It was unlike the God of War to quiver under a command, but here, in front of her… he felt sweat prickle upon his neck.
“Gone. She left with Hades.”
“He kidnapped my daughter?” Her rage creeped, like silent vines waiting to strangle any available prey. Shepherd shifted, his armor still sat elegantly on his shoulders, not a scratch out of place, it made him more anxious against her stare.
“Not particularly. She left with him willingly. He wouldn’t have been allowed to take her if it wasn’t for her own consent.”
“Pathetic. I give her everything and she repays me by running away with that bag of bones?”
Thunder clapped overhead, bringing their attention towards the sky. The clouds darkened, swirling in despair.
“Zeus must be angry. Quick, call a council. We must go to Olympus and bring her back.” Demeter growled, before simmering in the air and disappearing completely.
Shepherd didn’t hang back, already gone in his own cloak of red.
Olympus in its own was magnificent, a place meant to house powerful deities in order to council and rule. Yet, the palace was anything but orderly as the God of War stepped inside the throne room.
“I feel great disturbance, it’s made itself known on the solstice, when we are strongest!” A female voice shouted against the bickering of Gods, her voice silver.
“Oh, finally he shows!” A booming voice made Shepherd’s face twist with disgust. Always the loud one— Poseidon. Acting as if he ruled the world simply because he could make the waves roll.
“Calm yourself. I had other matters to tend too.” Shepherd spoke slickly, his eyes flaming in annoyance.
“Silence!” The loud and demeaning growl of the King made the other Gods silence their tongues. Even Shepherd took to sitting upon his throne, his mouth shut with bitterness.
“Who called us here?” Zeus demanded of the Gods, his mustache quivering as he curled his lip. By no means was the King the tallest, surely that title went to Hephaestus, and he wasn’t the smartest, that of course, was Athena.
Yet, he was the most powerful, the winds weeping around his throne in lethal chill.
“I did.” Demeter spoke from her chair of structured wheat.
“What is it this time, Demeter? Too much rain for your crops? Perhaps not enough wine for the mortals that call you chieftess?” Dionysus joked with a chuckle, allowing laughter to fall from a select few.
“No you buffoon! My daughter has been kidnapped, Hades has took her to the Underworld and claimed her as his own.” She screeched, as silence once again fell upon the council.
“Impossible!” Soap proclaimed from his seat of coral and limestone.
“It’s true, he has taken my betrothed right in front of my eyes.” Shepherd stood, just as the council zeroed in on him.
“I’ve made no such agreement of any proposal!” Aphrodite spoke up, a hint of irritation in her tone. Her hair flickered into a short bob, her dark eyes glaring, still she was something of great beauty.
“It was my idea, to escape the prophecy.” Demeter wailed.
“No one escapes my prophecies, not even Gods. It was destined she’d go to the underworld, the rest lies in her fate.” Apollo added, his dark complexion glowing against his bright teeth.
“This is an outrage! I want my daughter back! She’s weak now that she’s mortal.”
Price stood, smacking his staff loudly upon the ground in warning, sparks of lightening falling upon the marble floors.
“If what you say is true, I shall discover Ghost’s intentions and make peace. König, do you have eyes on the girl?”
The tallest in the room spanned his arms out, producing a hologram the size of a door in front of the council. “Show me the girl.” He ordered, watching as the machine produced an image of the you sleeping upon sheets of silk.
“She’s not in any immediate danger, Demeter.” Zeus called, watching as Demeter deflated in relief, but only by a millimeter.
König brushed his arm through the image, letting the hologram fizzle out and retract back into his arm guards.
“I want her sent back home.” Demeter demanded again.
“I’ll see what I can do.” Price reassured before turning himself to Poseidon, who was effortlessly flipping a sand dollar between his fingers. “Come, Soap. About time we visited an old friend.”
Poseidon stood, brushing back his grown out hair with a satisfied smirk.
“Right then, let’s go down under.”
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It was strange, you felt the alertness of being awake, yet you couldn’t possibly move your limbs. The aftertaste of fresh pomegranate was still against your tongue, sweet yet bitter at the same time.
It made you anxious.
Why had you eaten the seed?
“You know why.” A feminine voice spoke with amusement. The tone was rich like honey, a sweet spring of water for a parched throat.
With a loud crack, your mind twisted into a beautiful image of a meadow, split between a brook that babbled with cool water.
“Where am I?” You asked, spinning in a circle to take in the warm and bright environment.
“A little figment of your imagination. You always loved this place when you were a kid. Often times Hades would grow daffodils here for you to pick, though you didn’t know it was him.”
Your eyes fell to the white and yellow petals of Narcissus, ever beautiful and blooming.
“How long has he been watching me?” You found yourself asking, though you were worrisome about the answer.
“I’ll answer some questions. But first, sit with me.”
As if the atoms collided, a woman appeared in front of your metaphorical body. A blanket of woven yarn sat snuggly against the grass, just as you hesitantly sat next to her.
“I suppose a lot has happened since you arrived to the Underworld.” Her voice was airy as she turned to face you.
She was gorgeous, her features were sharp and intelligent looking, her lips full and skin a nice caramel color. Her dark hair was silky and cut short by her ears.
“Yes. A lot has happened.” You mumbled, just as the woman held out a steaming cup of tea towards you. “Raspberry tea, I know it’s your favorite.”
You took the cup delicately, letting it warm your fingers.
“I am Aphrodite, Goddess of Love, beauty, and… pleasure. But you may call me Valeria.” She reached forward tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.
“Goddess?” You gulped, trying to ease the heat rising to your cheeks.
“Yes, yes! You’ve already met some of us. Ares and Hades. I’m sure you’ll be seeing more of us.”
“Hades is a God?”
She rolled her eyes playfully at the question. “Of course he is! And you’ve ate part of his pomegranate, how exciting!”
“I don’t know why, he’s just…” you found yourself stopping, your lip pulled between your teeth as you bit down on the soft flesh.
“He’s a mystery. It’s okay, all of us secretly enjoy the feeling of the unknown. He’s dark and brooding, tall. Not to mention he’s a sight under his helm.” Valeria added, her own hand cradling a cup of golden liquid.
“You’ve seen him?” You perked up, the mystery of Simon’s mask made your heart thrum, Aphrodite let out a little chuckle and a nod.
“I can hear how fast your heart beats. I haven’t been able to catch up on your story, but I heard he took you away from Ares, hmm?”
“Oh, yes…” you grimaced at the mention of Shepherd, which made Valeria look on in amusement. “I understand, mortals think him and I had an affair, they go off any rumor they hear. Anyways, you must be excited that the proposal is off.”
“My mother thought it was a smart match.” You deadpanned, running your fingers through the soft grass ever so slightly.
“I’m the only one that knows of smart matches, darling. And I’ve got a whole odyssey for you to endure… starting with your betrothal!”
Your eyebrows pursed in confusion. You’ve escaped from Shepherd, so what was this about a betrothal?
“What do you mean?”
“I mean to Hades. You think he took you down here just for his good health? No… he’s lonesome. Eons of being in this underworld. I’ve seen him rule, always involved in work and never play.” She sipped on her liquid, a small smirk over her lips.
“I don’t understand what that has to do with me. I’m just some mortal.”
“Oh no, darling. Songs will be sung. Apollo’s oracle has spoke of a prophecy involving you.” She spoke so brightly that it made your head hurt. Suddenly the warm sunny meadow didn’t feel so inviting.
“He never said anything.” You weakly replied with a frown on your face.
“He will. Now I must go. But remember, if you ever need help, I am one dream away.”
Your eyes snapped open and you gasped out a breath of air.
First, you oriented yourself, taking in the unknown room you were currently in. It was dark, only lit by a singular candle that flickered lazily. Your head was perched on a mattress, soft and comforting as it sunk with your weight. Sheets of silk enveloped your body, and as you glanced down you saw you were no longer in your Midsummer’s dress.
Had he undressed you? Had he taken you against your will?
Instead a simple nightdress of black silk clung to your hips and breasts like a shroud.
“She’s awake.” A whispered voice spoke from the hallway, how they knew you were awake was beyond you.
The door creaked open after a couple knocks, only to reveal three women in the doorway. One, a tall and gorgeous woman with both milky and dark skin, made to look like a patchwork upon her complexion. Another had curly hair that was dark like the night sky, she was shorter than the rest. The other was tall as well, her hair tied into a delicate plait and red lipstick painting her lips.
“Who are you?”
The women allowed themselves in, snapping their fingers as more candles flickered to life in the illuminated room.
“We are the Furies, we work among Hades in the underworld. We have also taken up the position of your handmaidens.” The tallest spoke, a thin smile upon her lips.
Before you could speak, a loud rumble escaped you, making you squirm in quiet embarrassment.
“You must be hungry, follow us and we can get you something to eat.”
Your stomach flipped at the thought of food, you didn’t eat at Midsummer’s for fear of your mother catching you splurging. Now, you regretted it.
With quiet steps you exited the room with the girls, falling into step with them as they all introduced themselves.
The woman with vitiligo was named Nova, the curly haired woman was Kleo. Leaving the last Fury to introduce herself as Calisto.
They were much nicer than the handmaidens you had before.
“The kitchens are through the east wing, that’s where we stay the night.” Kleo spoke up, her kitten heels clicking against the sparkling floor.
“Where’s Simon?” You found yourself asking, knowing you should have bit your tongue. But you were curious, the last you saw of him was before you bit down on the seed.
The women all eyed each other, small smiles threatening to break through from their lips. “He’s in the throne room, he had to entertain some unexpected guests. He’s through that door.” Nova pointed to the wide doors of cypress, they were pressed closed, but still you found your hand latching onto the golden handle.
You needed to ask him what Aphrodite had spoken of. If he had known this whole time.
If he had taken advantage of you.
“I’ll just be a second.” You whispered, before pulling open the door and peaking your head through the crack.
“This is serious, Ghost.” An older man growled, all the while glaring up at Simon, who had his arms crossed upon his broad chest, almost as if he was bored.
“You do know Mother Dearest has put a bounty on your head. And for what? A mortal girl?” The other man spoke, his arms flailing in exaggeration.
You leant further against the door, cursing internally as it creaked slightly against the hinge. The two unknown men didn’t notice, but Simon had. His dark eyes immediately softened upon your face, which made your mind swim in anticipation.
“She’s not just a mortal girl, Poseidon.” He growled, uncrossing his arms as he bowed his head slightly to you.
You gulped, suddenly aware of how stupid it was to come and find him.
“Come here, sponsa mea.” He spoke gently, as if he would scare you away like a deer fleeing from a wolf. With timid steps you did as you were told, shrinking away from the stares of the two unknown men. You supposed they were also Gods.
“Did you sleep well?” He mumbled as you came to a stop a few feet away from him, suddenly concerned about the nightdress that did little to conceal yourself. Yet his eyes didn’t stray from your face.
“Yes.” You squeaked, before turning to the men.
“Meet my brothers, of sorts. Zeus and Poseidon.”
Zeus dipped his head, his broad structure tall and unbreaking as he studied your features. Poseidon was quick with a cheesy smile, however. Stepping forward and reaching for your hand, which you hesitantly gave to him.
He kissed your knuckles with rough lips. “Wonderful to meet you, Milady. I see my brother has taken an interest to you, now I know why. You’re beauty is more than the finest waters.”
“Thank you.” You mumbled, finding reassurance as Simon stepped beside you.
“Your mother is quite worried about you, dear.” Zeus spoke up from his stance a couple of meters away, his hand brushing through his beard absentmindedly.
“I doubt that,” you found bitterness upon your tongue.
“She wants you to come home.” Poseidon pushed gently, just as you shook your head slightly.
“I don’t want to go home. Even if I did I can’t.” You spoke softly, not noticing the way Simon tensed from beside you.
“What do you mean?” Zeus questioned, his eyes suddenly stormy.
“She’s promised to me.” Simon spoke up, his gloved hand falling gently upon your shoulder, his fingers brushing away your hair to reveal a dark patch upon your neck, something that made the two other Gods flinch back.
“The symbol of binding! You’ve tied her to you through pomegranate seeds?!” Poseidon bellowed, finally a serious look upon his face.
Simon’s gloved hand rubbed circles against the sensitive area of your neck, involuntarily a shiver ran down your spine.
“You fool! Now she’ll never be fit to be with anyone else!” Zeus stepped closer, his posture thick with anger.
Simon pushed you closer to him, the unmistakable feeling of dark wings encircling you in a protective barrier. His wings.
“Good.” Ghost growled, “Now run back to Demeter and tell her what has happened to her daughter.”
Next Chapter
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mundoperla · 1 year
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hi! can i request frank meeting his soulmate in a trial for the first time? ofc survivor soulmate. female preferably! i love your frank sm
fuck you *writes an entire fic of this idea because frank morrison supremacy AND AAAAAA CUTE*
❝ 𝑺𝒖𝒅𝒅𝒆𝒏 𝑬𝒏𝒄𝒐𝒖𝒏𝒕𝒆𝒓. ❞
Frank Morrison x Fem! Survivor Reader.
— The concept of soulmates never interested Frank, but now that he’s found you under these circumstances you’ve got his full attention.
‼️tws;; brief mentions of violence (srry ur friends get clapped), meg. ‼️
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The fire at the center of the camp crackled softly with the only other source of sound coming from the other two lively killers interacting with one another. The Legion keeping to themselves sitting farther from the banter from across the flames.
Everyone was tired, but nobody could sleep. The other three kept themselves on their toes in case it was time for one of their trials, Frank still tried to settle despite the rough conditions the group had been tossed in.
Another killer had left since it was time for their trial, leaving the antsy few to sit down until they came back.
Joey had sat down next to Frank, leaving Julie and Susie to themselves since he had so real interest in the girls’ conversations.
With the masks on Frank could tell the other man had something on his mind, it wasn’t hard to tell.
❝ You’re in pretty deep thought over there man. Barely said a word in like what.. Maybe a day in this realm’s terms? Talk about it. ”
The rest of the Legion was fond of Frank’s bluntness, he didn’t want secrets being held unless they shouldn’t be discussed to begin with.
“ You ever think about what your soulmate is doing ? We don’t know how long we’ve been her or how much longer we’ll still be here. What if we’ve missed out on meeting them already ? Kinda sad when you really think about it..”
Frank didn’t believe in soulmates, nor did he care for the idea. He didn’t need another person, he could be happy on his own.
“ So ? Who cares what a so-called ‘soulmate’ is potentially doing. ”
“ I care! I coulda’ been with em’ long ago, maybe– “
“ HAH! I bet’cha yours is probably a survivor you’ve killed before. ”
“ Man.. “
——————————————————————————————
Frank is running through the corn field trying to catch up to Meg, his legs feel like gelatin and his vision begins to become even more blurred than before.
He’s irritated that his frenzy had to be halted so suddenly, but he physically cannot move a second longer.
Hesitantly he sits between two of the lockers that stood side by side within the shack panting heavily, removing his mask and placing it to his left.
Most of the survivors were horribly injured with one of them already being sacrificed. He could let the last remaining three get a generator done before he gets back up, he wouldn’t take long to get back up again anyways.
“ Hey! You okay over here? ”
He hasn’t heard this voice before, yet there was an odd sense of familiarity in it’s tone.
You were peaking from the front doorway that exposed the fields, not a single scratch on your body. Frank’s eyes scanned you for a moment, discreetly hiding his mask behind him to ensure he didn’t alert you that he was what you needed to avoid.
He’s never even seen you before, however he wants to keep you here for as long as he can. He wants to hear you talk, to watch your look of worry fade into joy when he says something funny, he doesn’t even know your name yet he wishes to stay in your company for an eternity.
“ Oh, M’Fine. What about you ? ”
“ Trying to find everyone else.. I don’t know who’s still standing and who isn’t. Probably not safe to stay in here though, the killer could get us if we stay too long. Can you stand ? ”
You’re considerate. You’ve never met him a day in your life but you look into his eyes with sincerity — your hand reached out to grab his. Frank kicked the mask under a small gathering of hay from where he was sat. He could go undercover just this once.
The way you spoke gave him goosebumps and left and unfamiliar fluttering feeling in his core. Still in such a horrifying situation you were still cracking a joke or two that followed with care whenever he’d so much as stumble on a pebble whilst walking over to where a generator was located.
It felt.. creepy watching you work on generators with his excuse being that he’d ‘keep watch’ in case the killer came so he wouldn’t blow up your progress. Naturally he would’ve killed someone on the spot if he found them repairing like you were doing, but he didn’t want to harm you. Instead you are left unharmed.
Felix limped into the rustic home that sat next to the both of you, Frank had noticed before you.
“ Sit tight for a minute, I think someone’s inside the house. I’ll go in and see if they need any help. ”
You give a nod of understanding and Frank runs inside. He had full intentions of getting rid of your teammate, but he had to do so in a manner that wouldn’t incriminate him.
You could hear the two men screaming from the inside of the home, frozen with fear you didn’t know how to respond. Frank bolted out from the back door and in your direction, grabbing your hand and rushing you over to the tree where the animals were strung.
“ The killer was in there. I got away but he killed the other guy that was in there that I tried to help.. Needed to get you away from there. ”
God lying to you this way made his stomach churn, but he wants to try and remain as close as he can until this all ends. Your brief expression of fear makes his heart ache, would you look at him that way if you found out what what really happening?
All potential what-ifs that had began to plague Frank’s mind were cut off by the sudden sensation of your arms wrapped around his torso.
“ Even though you couldn’t save whoever was there, you still went back for me so that I could be safe.. That’s really cool of you to do. ”
Your words of praise rang through his mind like the sweetest melody, your embrace felt like what could only be described as heavenly. Shyly wrapping his arm around your waist with the other reaching up to place his hand on the back of your head.
A moment of silence had passed, the two of your still standing engulfed in the warmth of one another — this feeling of familiarity that you felt around this unknown man became stronger, hopefully he wouldn’t notice the way your cheeks warmed when he placed the hand that was on your waist onto your face.
You were incredibly stunning, even with your hair disheveled from the running, beads of sweat rolling down your temples because of the heat, your [e/c] eyes still looking deeply into his dark brown ones.
“ Should’ve told you this earlier but my name’s Frank by the way. ”
The two of you let out soft giggles from the late introduction,
“ [y/n]. My name’s [y/n]. ”
“ Pretty name for a pretty girl. ”
You swat at his shoulder causing him to let out a deeper chuckle, your moment of bliss interrupted by the gate beeping next to the both of you.
Frank’s heart sunk, he can’t leave with you. This is where everything crumbles and you’re never going to interact with him again after this.
All he can do is silently watch you pull down on the lever until the exit fully opens, he’s afraid, what does he do? run away? try and follow you out? what does he—
“ [Y/N]! GET AWAY FROM HIM! ”
Fuck. He should have kept chasing Meg at the beginning.
“ What ? Why ? Frank’s with us. ”
“ [y/n] please! He was going to kill me, he already got Felix and Vittorio you need to get away from him! ”
Frank doesn’t say a word nor does he make eye contact with you. His back is still facing Meg, he’s fighting every urge to snap back and kill her right where she is. But instead lets her bolt past him to grab your arm to lead you out the gate you had just opened.
You struggle with her for a moment whilst screaming at her to leave without you to which she hesitantly does. Leaving you with Frank once again.
The brunette still refuses to make eye contact with you, he silently waits for you so shout some kind of obscenity at him out of anger but instead,
“ Y’know if I can come see you after I walk out this gate ? ”
“ Wh- What ? ”
“ Well? ”
“ I- Well um- There’s a path from where the uh.. killers are that leads to where you guys are? We can’t kill ya’ but— “
“ I don’t know that path so swing by, I’ll keep an eye out for you. ”
You give him a smile and a little wave of your pinky and run out through the gate, Frank’s eyes never leaving you until that same familiar fog clouds his vision and disperses to have him back at the campfire.
“ Oh hey— “
“ What do you think about the possibility of your.. ‘soulmate’ being here. In this realm or whatever it is. ”
“ What’s with this sudden interest with soulmates now ? What happened in that trial man? ”
“ Just answer the damn question Joey. ”
Frank can hardly take his friend’s prodding to hear what sparked his sudden interest, bolting up to make his way to where your camp is located so he can see you again.
His mask is on this time, but he’ll take it off just so you can tell it’s him.
He can already see you from the small clearing in the trees looking around for him, to which you spot immediately.
That same beautiful smile on your face as you hop up from your seat to walk to where he was posted.
How much time can he be given now to waste with just you and nobody else.
••• ••• •••
FRANK HAS MESSY BROWN HAIR IDC IM RIGHT RAGHHHHHHH
it’s literally 3am & i got class in the morning but anything for my bbgs who also love frank🤭
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annasghosts · 6 months
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A @jilymicrofics for @jilytoberfest!!! Day one: stars
The Champions
The promise of eternal glory makes James’ heart race as he stares at the Triwizard Cup, innocently placed in front of his eyes. He isn’t so vain as to assume he’ll be the Hogwarts Champion, Sirius is an option and there are always the Head Students to consider, but if he were to be chosen then.. he sneaks a glance at the strangers sitting amongst them. They don’t look threatening and he bets none of them had the guts to become an illegal Animagus. No, he isn’t scared of them.
“I can’t wait, Padfoot.” He says, not bothering to lower his voice. “The Cup is ours.”
“A bit presumptuous, are you?”
He looks up, surprised, and catches the glare of one of the girls who came to sit at their table. He hasn’t noticed her before, but now that he observes her, he can’t help but think she is really pretty. Perhaps she guesses his thoughts, or his eyes lingered on her face a touch too much, but she grows even more irritated and he raises his hands, grinning at her. “Just confident. I’m James Potter.”
He waits for her to say her name, but she just wrinkles her nose and diverts her attention towards Dumbledore, who is trying to gather their attention because it’s time, it’s finally time to choose the Champions.
A first, slightly tattered piece of paper shoots out of the flames and James knows it isn’t time for the name of the Hogwarts Champion yet, but he still burns with curiosity, with excitement.
“The Beauxbatons Champion is Lily Evans!”
James starts clapping with the others, freezing when that girl raises from her seat, eyes nervously darting towards the Headmaster before she seems to gather herself, tucking an errand strand of hair behind her ear, and walking towards the professors’ table.
Lily Evans. So that’s one of Hogwarts’ rivals for the Cup, maybe one of his rivals. He follows her with his eyes until professor McGonagall ushers her behind a door, not even listening to the proclamation of the Durmstrang’s Champion.
“Oi!”
“What?” He whispers, irritated, frowning when Sirius elbows him.
“It’s time.”
He turns around so fast he strains his neck and raises his hand to massage it as Dumbledore grips that final, fundamental piece of paper. The games are done already, but he can’t help but scream me, me, me, please let it be me, until the Headmaster clears his throat and his mind goes blank, stomach clenching as anticipation grips him.
“The Hogwarts champion is James Potter!”
Cheers explode around him, the table shaking as the Gryffindors celebrate him, his friends excited grins the last thing he sees before Sirius pulls his up and towards professor McGonagall, who’s waiting for him and looks both worried and extremely proud. He stumbles a bit, before reaching out to ruffle his hair, a bit of trepidation making him slow his steps as the stars shine upon him, accompanying him in his solitary walk.
“Very well, Potter.” The professor says, gripping his shoulder and directing him towards a closed door. “We will join you in a moment.”
He nods, mechanically opening and closing the door behind him, his mind clearing as silence falls around him. There’s a tall, blonde boy hiding in the shadows, probably Durmstrang champion, but his stare is attracted by the other occupant of the room, who’s assessing him, brilliant green eyes sparkling with intelligence as she takes him in. His rival: Lily Evans.
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tooquirkytolose · 1 year
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You pull out the crystal candle from your pocket, and find it alit with a multi colored flame. You close your eyes, make a wish, and blow out the flame. The King of Fancies claps his hands in delight "See?? SEE?? I told you all hiding the candle in the vase was a good idea, I wanted someone who was equal parts mischief and a lover of fanciful things!" The rest of the the marital contenders grumble their congratulations as he continues, "Come, come, there is a grand wedding feast awaiting us, and I hear tell of a wonderful cake!" And so begins your eternal life as the spouse of the King of Fancies, demon wish-granter and lover of trinkets
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Thank you for playing! :)
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sxriusblxck · 2 years
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HI OKAY YES I HAVE REQUEST—
poly!wolfstar, but they sort of have that casual dom/dom/sub relationship with gender neutral reader and after a super long day, reader is just exhausted and sirius turns into padfoot and remus is just smiling like an idiot as reader is just petting him n stuff!!! ive never requested something before so thank you!!! xx -jaylen
love this request :)
(not proof read, sorry!!!)
warnings: reader having a shitty day?? idk
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You mentally curse yourself as you drop your bag, books, snacks, and crumpled papers clattering to the ground as students turn to look at the commotion.
Your cheeks flame as you hurriedly collect your things, stuffing the items into your bag before rushing off in the direction of the Gryffindor dormitories with tears welling in your eyes.
It seems luck wasn't on your side, your professor stopping you to lecture you on your poor exam grade. It only lasted five minutes, but it felt like eternity to you. You had to hold back tears the entire time, willing yourself not to have a breakdown in the middle of the hallway.
Finally, he lets you go with a clap on your shoulder with a good luck kid, and you're off. You're nearly tripping over your own feet as you jog down the hall, materials clanking in your bag at your fast pace.
You don't bother knocking, inviting yourself into your boyfriend's dorm before you could remember your manners.
Remus and Sirius are laid on the bed, the former reading a book while the latter rests on his shoulder, close to dozing off when the slam of the door snaps him to consciousness.
"Hey, darling." Sirius drawls tiredly.
"Hey." You mumble, kicking your shoes off while your bag falls to the floor when your shoulders slump.
"What's wrong, pet?" Remus questions, ever so observant.
"Not feelin' too good." You sigh, trudging over to take a seat on the edge of the bed, eyes trained on the splintering hardwood flooring.
"What's wrong?" He pries further, gently nudging Sirius off to scoot closer to you. His hand comes up to rest on your shoulder, thumb drawing circles on the clothed limb.
"Had a bad day." Your voice wobbles, the tears you had been holding back all day deciding to show themselves at the worst moment.
Sirius who had been quietly watching this entire time moves so he's to your left side, turning your head and pulling you into his chest.
You let yourself go, all the pent-up emotions and exhaustion manifesting in the hot tears rolling down your cheeks. Their hands on your skin feel like anchors holding you to reality, your mind and body overstimulated with stress.
"You know what they need?" Remus directs his question toward Sirius.
You pull your head from your boyfriends chest, looking between the two who are now grinning like idiots.
"What?" You respond.
"Padfoot." They answer in unison.
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"This is nice." You murmur, hand brushing over Padfoot's thick coat.
"Always know how to make ya' feel better." Remus smiles, patting your leg affectionately.
You hum, letting your eyes fall shut as you relax into your boyfriends dog-form. He's soft, and warm, and you feel an overwhelming sense of comfort surrounding you. Listening to his slow heartbeat encourages you to let the stress from the day melt away, thoughts of only Sirius and Remus filling your mind.
You're snapped out of your thoughts when a big, wet tongue laps your cheek.
"Siri!" You squeal, pushing his face away as you burst into a fit of giggles.
He pants, almost looking like he's smiling as his black eyes meet yours.
His eyes are screaming I love you, and you hear it. Every inch of your being feels it, and you let yourself drift off with the reminder that at the end of the day, you will always have them to come home to.
And nothing is more comforting than that.
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bitterkarella · 1 year
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Midnight Pals: Mr Electric
Ray Bradbury: Submitted for the approval of the midnight Society, I call this the tale of the eternal summer, the last vestiges of muggy august giving way to the bluster of autumn, the twinkling lights of town below in the humid night, young lovers stealing kisses in the dark, old men on the porch, jawin and chewin and chuckling at remembrances of romances long past Barker: you’re literally just describing a Thomas Kinkade painting Poe: clive
Stephen King: wow ray you really come up with some evocative imagery! King: whatever inspired you to become a writer anyway? Bradbury: well, it all started when I went to the county fair and met a wizard Koontz: whoa! A real wizard! King: no dean he’s talking about a magician Bradbury: [chuckling] am I? Bradbury: mr electrico was no mere magician! Bradbury: he had the REAL power!!! Bradbury: the power Bradbury: to fire a young boy’s IMAGINATION! Neil Gaiman: [clapping] right, right! Good show! Right on!
Ray Bradbury: and Mr Electrico pointed a flaming electrical sword at me and said Bradbury: “LIVE FOREVER!!” Bradbury: now I cannot be killed Gretchen Felker-Martin: oh yeah, big mood
Bradbury: Mr Electrico said “Live Forever!” Bradbury: Now I cannot be killed Bradbury: and it’s true Bradbury: c’mon try it out Stephen King: no no I couldn’t Bradbury: c’mon Bradbury: c’mon!!! Bradbury: come at me bro!!! Bradbury: I can take it!!
Bradbury: [slapping chest] c’mon, take a swing at me! Stephen King: I really don’t want to fight you Ray Bradbury: do it! Do it! Barker: I’ll do it Poe: clive Barker: I’m just giving him what he wants! Poe: clive Poe: clive he’s like 100 years old
Mary Shelley: sup fuckers Bradbury: mary!!! Come at me! Mary Shelley: okie dokie [immediately shivs Bradbury, blade snaps] Mary Shelley: what the fuck Bradbury: ha! this isn’t even a tenth of my power!!! Bradbury: what did I tell you?! Bradbury: not a single one of you could defeat you!! Mary Shelley: oh yeah? Mary Shelley: guess we’ll have to gang up on you!! Get ‘im boys! [Ann Radcliffe and Monk Lewis approach with chain and billy club respectively] [Bradbury effortlessly blocks roundhouse kick by Wrath James White] Bradbury: ha! Laughable! [Bradbury effortlessly sidesteps kung fu chop by Alan Baxter] Bradbury: ha! Pathetic!
Bradbury: come on! Come at me! Robert E Howard: you sure about this pardna? Howard: this ain’t no pea shooter hombre Bradbury: [slapping chest] what’s the matter, ya pussy? Bradbury: Fuckin do it!! Howard: hold on thar pardna Howard: I think ya might wanna calm down Bradbury: [grabbing gun and pulling Robert E Howard closer] Bradbury: DO Bradbury: IT Howard: [aiming gun] okay pilgrim you asked fer it Poe: bob Poe: bob this is getting ridiculous Poe: bob don’t Howard: [cocking gun] sorry pardna Howard: I gotta Howard: it’s the law of the west
Ray Bradbury: [flexing] Behold!!! The power of Mr. Electrico!!! The electric man!!! Barker: so ray Barker: I hear this magician’s fake Poe: clive Bradbury: he’s a real magician Barker: is he now Barker: then why hasn’t anyone ever heard of him Bradbury: he Bradbury: he lives in Canada
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anika-ann · 2 years
Text
In the Name of the King (S.R.)
Type: medieval/fantasy AU
Pairing: knight Steve Rogers x reader   Word Count: 13,000 * 
Summary:  Sir Steven Rogers, having risen from common people, now one of the most trusted knights to prince Anthony. You, nothing but a servant, albeit to Princess Maria herself. 
Love blooms in any place and it cares little for the rules of the court – much like your Steven. Then again, war cares just as little for any feelings you and your knight might harbour for each other...
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Warnings: 18+ for NSFW thoughts, talk and sexy times in making, inexperienced and rather reader, probably desperately era-inaccurate, blood and mention of violence, death, religious ambiguity, tooth-rotting fluff, angst, language, (reader has hair long enough to be braided)
A/N: This is sort-of a song fic for it is based on a Czech song. You can find it here. I took the liberty to loosely translate the lyrics for you throughout the fic.
* A/N: If you prefer reading it in two parts, the best part for a split is after 5,5k words – you will find a gif there. Divider’s mine, btw. Enjoy 🥰
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Another bolt of lightning illuminated the room. You rolled around in your small bed, squinting against the violent light leaving you blind when the darkness of the night took over again. Your heart, already racing for it was filled with worry, jumped at the clap of thunder – as did you.
A bad sign.
A warning from the Gods.
They should not be out there, settled in a camp and preparing for battle. Storms like these were meant to make mankind bow in front of higher power and yet the cavalry had left in the morning, several troops heading to the West to protect the borders of the kingdom against Hydra, against the self-proclaimed king Pierce.
Gods, how you wished he would get struck by lightning for all the misery he caused to so many people, his own and others alike.
As if the Gods heard your thought, another clap of thunder seemed to shake the castle walls – a scolding for your blasphemy. You should not wish harm to another human being.
Then again, you should not pray to the old gods in the first place, but to the Lord, who shall save your soul from eternal flames of hell. Such were the ways of new religion; yet, it was impossible to let go of the ties to the dogmata you had been raised in.
And so you prayed to both. As fresh light exploded behind your closed eyelids, you prayed not for another man’s harm, but for one’s safety.
You shuffled on your bed, kneeling up, clasping your hands together, whispering under your breath as not to wake the two women sleeping beside you.
Please, bring him home. Protect him. Please, please, please. Should any harm come to him, the world would cease to make sense. Keep Steven safe.
Your Steven.
Your knight.
Your sun, your moon, your stars; with his smile shining as bright as all these combined, surrounding you with gentle warmth from the very first moment he had set his cerulean eyes on you and kneeled by your side to help you collect what your clumsy hands had spilled.
It was early morning, the sun barely peeking out from behind the horizon, colouring the East walls of the castle in orange and pink, the warm sunrays pleasant on your skin as you carried Princess Maria’s breakfast tray. You could not but smile at the gorgeous play of colours; and yet, your gaze wandered as you heard the grunts of effort mingling with light-hearted laughter from the grassy training areas.
A maid could never think herself anywhere near equal with the knights, therefore it was considered unthinkable to harbour feelings for any of them – the laws of the court would frown upon such union. And yet, you were only human of flesh and blood and the warm liquid rushing in your veins always felt hotter whenever you set your gaze on the well-built men.
Their physique easily made for a woman’s heart to race, the heroic tales of their bravery only strengthening the sentiment, as did the tales of their gentlemanly ways. You had witnessed differently, many of them acting overgrown children, but it would be foolish to deny that they were a sight to behold, every single one of them.
One in particular, however, stood out; for he was not only a handsome man, but an extraordinary one. The story of his heroics was spoken of long after it took place, long after his ascension to knighthood.
Of common origin, Steven was the only son of the town’s most valued blacksmith; Steven himself was adept at forging a sword, armour or a shield of the highest quality, but apparently also at wielding it – alert and bright.
Attentive to his surroundings, he had been fast and strong enough to prevent fatal consequences of the attack on Prince Anthony during his visit of the town where he was ambushed by two slayers of the Hydra kingdom. He stopped a deadly strike when dashing between a slayer and the prince, strong arm wielding the shield he had finished earlier that day.
Of all knights, Steven was most loved by the common people for while the rules for knighthood had not changed with his actions and he remained the only one graced with the honour to date, he had proven that a man, no matter of how humble origin, was capable of great things.
A knight from the people. A humble hero.
His features were sharp, but his eyes spoke of softness; he did not seem to lack determination, on contrary, his lineage forged his desire to fight for a better world. Of tall build, he held his head high – an aristocratic face lined with sandy chin-length hair – but for he never forgot where he had come from, he did not look down at people.
You had never spoken to him, but you had heard his voice before; deep, pleasant, respectful. Falling for him despite the distance between you had been as easy as dangerous for your heart. You were but a maid; had you been in love before he was knighted, then perhaps the circumstance would be different, but you had not met him before then. And so you were destined to long him in silence, busying yourself with serving to Her Grace Princess Maria.
Such was your goal at the moment; you were carrying breakfast, you reminded yourself, vainly, of course. The sight offered to you was too distracting to ignore.
As your gaze lingered on the expanse of Steve’s arm swaying the unsharpened training sword with ease, you lost your step – and sent the tray and its content flying, the metal clinking loudly as it hit the stony path.
All the knights’ heads snapped to you in an instant, alert, causing your face to be set aflame under their scrutiny; and as you swiftly kneeled to gather the utensils and food with a silent curse and prayer that most of it was salvageable with another wash, booming laughter hit your ears, causing your cheeks to burn in shame.
“Well done, my friends, our training must truly be aesthetically pleasing!” Prince Anthony’s voice called out, followed by another roar of laughter that chased tears of humiliation into your eyes you barely kept at bay.
Your shaky hands frantically started gathering the fruit – grapes, apple, pear, hopefully not too bruised – as you made to ignore the quickly approaching footsteps. You refused to look up, shame settled deep in your stomach as you assessed the damage, the smallest relief when you found the slices of bread still wrapped in cloth, albeit considerably less white now.
You felt the large man kneel by your side before you registered the hand, clad in fingerless leather glove, appearing in your field of vision. Only when the man begun to gather the scattered grape berries, you dared to look up; and the time must have stopped.
Your heart certainly did as your gaze was met with a pair of the most beautiful kind eyes without a trace of laughter. You lost the reigns of your body – it froze, your mind occupied fully by seeing such grace from such short distance. You had never noticed how plush and alluring his lips were, framed by a short beard; how handsome his face was when one corner of his lips curled up almost uncertainly.
It was the unusual emotion in his smile which pulled you back from your reverie. A knight was kneeling by you, the kingdom’s hero, helping you clean up the outcome of your clumsiness.
How kind of him – how below him  
“Oh, Sir Rogers, you must not bother-“
“But I must,” he opposed before you could even finish your sentence, sincerity lacing his voice and by gods, his voice was like velvet lined with silk. His gaze flickered back to the group of knights whose eyes you could feel at you still, intent. “Do not mind the blockheads that are laughing instead of helping a lady.”
A giggle of surprise escaped you, your hand quickly covering your mouth so no one could see; but Sir Rogers could and a smile broke out on his face, a boyish grin sprinkling his eyes with laughter and pride, warm and inviting.
By Lord, he must have been the most handsome man to ever walk the world, more so when he smiled like this. And he called you a lady – you, but a maid.
“I am hardly a lady, Sir Rogers,” you whispered bashfully, your lacking status bringing you grief like you had never experienced – a reminder.
But a mere smile from the man, and you lost the ground under your feet, your heart on your sleeve for him to take, no matter how unthinkable your romance would be.
His fingers took a gentle hold of your wrist, eliciting a gasp from your lips at the tender touch; he spilled several berries into your hand, thumb brushing your sensitive skin, sending the sweetest tingle up your arm.
A blissful smile fought its way to your face despite all reason.
“Well. Your beauty rivals one of a lady. … especially when you bless the castle with a smile like that.”
Oh, your heart fluttered like butterfly wings, your gaze instinctively searching his for the faintest trace of a jest; yet, you found nothing but sincerity.
“S-sir Rogers…”
He released your wrist, already having you mourn the loss; instead, his nimble fingers found one of the loose cornflower blossoms which had broken away from the small bouquet you had gathered to bring with the breakfast. He twirled it in his fingers for a moment, almost absent-mindedly, before his smile softened.
“This one might be broken, but perhaps it could serve its purpose in your hair at least?” he suggested, beckoning lightly to your braid.
Before you could as much as realize he meant it, he reached out, careful fingers – surprisingly so, for such a strong man – stuck the stem to the base of the braid behind you ear, sending your heart into frenzy when the pads of his fingers accidentally brushed your cheekbone.
“Lovely.”
A thank you never spilled from your lips for another voice rudely interrupted your intimate conversation.
“Steven! We fighting or picking flowers?  Get your pert arse in here!” Sir Clinton howled, causing you to wince – and the dream world Steven had created for you, one where he could harbour affections for you, started to disperse like a morning fog.
“He’s charming a girl for once in his life, give him a moment!” Sir Barnes, prince’s most entrusted Knight, cried out.
His exclaim was followed by a wave of suggestive boo noise at which Sir Rogers finally tore his gaze from yours, staring at his friends.
“Well if you acted more like knights and less like barbarians, making fun of a lady like that, perhaps I would have taken more haste to come back to you!”
All he earned by his chivalrous defence of your long-lost honour was a chorus of “oooooh” and perhaps later, he would be laughed at just as much as you had been when you had tripped. Yet, he seemed to be bothered little by that fact.
He shook his head, expression speaking of an apology not needed.
“I’m afraid I have been summoned, as rudely as it was.”
You gathered the last items, carefully laying them on the tray, a sad reflexion of how it had looked before you lost your balance and practically fell to Sir Rogers’s feet. As if it was not too late for that.
“Thank you for your assistance, Sir Rogers,” you thanked him sincerely, astonished to find him swiftly rising to his feet – and offering a helping hand you could not dare to refuse even if you wished. His strength made itself known as he pulled you to your feet with little effort on your part, causing your head to spin, the brief curtsy you gifted him at last feeling like a daydream. “You- you are most kind.”
The breath-taking smile shone the force of thousand suns, yet caressed you as gently as a summer breeze. “It was an honour, my lady.”
“I am not a-“
“I hope to see you again soon,” he spoke before you could protest fully, laying his arm over his middle, gracing you with the tinniest of bows you were not worthy of, “smiling just as beautifully.”
With those words, he turned back to the prince and his knights, leisurely running back to the group.
As you walked away, you could not but waver at the corner, casting a last glance at the man; Sir Barnes mimicked a curtsy and proceeded to punch Sir Rogers in his shoulder with laughter. Sir Rogers pushed him away with a playful scowl, gaze wandering you to.
You rushed away, smiling to yourself for the rest of the day, embarrassment long forgotten.  
Smiling you were not tonight; fear had seized your heart, consuming you by every moment as you silently stepped out of the princess’ maids’ room, leaving Wanda and Carol sleeping peacefully despite the rumble outside – and in your heavy heart.
You missed your Steven greatly whenever he went, but you understood his duty. Tonight, however, something hovered in the air, an aura of something ominous which had you losing sleep. With a candleholder burning in your hand, you wandered the corridors, nodding to the guards on patrol.
“The seamstress is awake,” Pietro, Wanda’s brother, uttered knowingly, beckoning the direction of Natasha’s chambers.
Perhaps it should have not surprised you that Sir Barnes’ beloved, too, could not find peace on this trying night; and as much joy as it brought you to find yourself not alone, a suffocating feeling squeezed your chest tightly for it meant she might sense the same unease surrounding tomorrow’s battle.
Yet, you headed for her chambers, nodding at Pietro in thank you.
 That night, we were all losing sleep it was as if God sent the storm to warn us; oh foolish men, there is no peace in a war I, too, laid down my life in the name of the king.
 The warm light of the candle was casting long shadows as you walked, reminding you of how the light and darkness played on Steven’s handsome face last night. The princess had been laid to sleep, providing you with a few moments to spent in your beloved’s presence before he would leave to fight for his country, yet again, and you were not one to waste the chance.
Goodbyes were never easy. Whether it had been just a chance meeting after the fateful breakfast incident, meetings when Steven would insist you called him his name, offered you a flower of a compliment in exchange for your smile or whether your encounter had been planned when he revealed his intention to court you, rules of society damned. Whether you were to tell him goodbye for several days due to an upcoming quest or just for the night. Whether the goodbye consisted of words, a touch, a kiss on a cheek or lips… never easy.
Yet his absence left larger ache in your heart the deeper you were falling in love. Every goodbye seemed harder than the previous one; last night parting made for no exception.
“I will think of you every moment I am away,” he promised sweetly as he sneaked his arm around your waist, sitting on the bench by the dying fire in the kitchens, long abandoned by the cooks.
Your body, pliant to his touch, melted into his strong form, arm laying over his torso, temple resting against his chest as you sighed, feeling your worry heavy in your stomach.
“As much I appreciate the sentiment, please do not, Steven.”
You could almost hear his frown as he nuzzled your hair, his lips brushing your forehead lovingly.
“Why not, my sweet?  Will you not think of me as well?” he questioned, voice wavering despite his teasing tone.
You swatted his hip gently, soothing the attack with a caress then.
“You must know that is not true. I—you must focus. Be careful. So you can come back to me,” you whispered, doing your best not to let the depth of your anxiety show.
Steven carried enough burdens for the time being, he needed not your fears to add to them.
“Oh my sweet…”
His fingers slipped under your chin, leading you to meet his gaze, a smile playing in the corners of his lips; not even his beard could hide his amusement. You pursed your lips in slight offence – his safety was no laughing matter.
“Please, Steven. I could not bear any harm coming to you. Be careful.”
His thumb brushed over your lower lip, his smile only growing, wandering gaze warmer than the remnants of fire.
“You know I will, my sweet. I have a duty to my king and I have a duty here, to you,” he muttered, gaze flickering to your lips, following the motions of his thumb as he felt the softness of your flesh.
You had not enough time to process the words before he leaned closer, capturing your lips with his in a kiss, hand moving to cradle the back of your head, parting your lips to engage in a dance of love which could have consumed all your thoughts, all your worry – and yet, the anxious feeling only dug its claws deeper, chasing tears into your eyes.
Steven released you to breathe the moment he felt the salt of your tears, sighing as he tucked a lose strand of hair behind your ear. Still, a smile adorned his now kiss-swollen lips, condescending and kind at once.
“Promise me?” you demanded, the prickle of his beard leaving your skin tingling, your heart racing.
“I promise, then. Do not cry, my lady…”
Oh, the traitor… the corners of your mouth twitched, the difference in your status having turned more of a teasing matter than anything else.
“Steven, you must stop this. I am not a lady.”
“Oh, but you are?” he opposed with a twinkle in his eyes before his lips went to catch the tears from your cheeks, drinking them as if they were nothing less than ambrosia gifted by the gods.
The warmth of his lips and the burn of his beard combined with his jesting drew a giggle from your lips, turning into a breathless moan when his strong arms winded around your waist, pulling you into his lap just like several nights ago.
Dirty, dirty cheater.
His lips found yours again, playful nips causing more giggles spill right into his mouth.
“Am I, truly?” you asked doubtfully. “What are my possessions? What lands do I own and command, Sir Rogers?”
“My heart.”
The jesting and games left as swiftly as they arrived, silence filling the room, your heart stumbling in your chest as you felt your expression morph into something much softer.
How had you ever stood a chance of not falling for this man? For his strength, for his beautiful brave spirit and his gentle, gentle heart? A heart he claimed was yours to own and command?
You let your fingers map out his handsome features, running tenderly over his forehead, brows, the nose of a true aristocrat, his pushy lips; a careful touch which had him flutter his eyes shut, eyelashes casting shadows on his cheekbones, the fire as if accenting his beauty, revealing his soul to entice yours to entangle with it forever.
“It shall be my most prized possession, then,” you whispered, barely audible, his hand blindly reaching for yours to kiss your fingertips, one by one, the tender gesture tugging at your heartstrings.
He looked at you then, with overwhelming affection that would choke you once he left in the morning – but you could not think of such things now. He was here still. And he was yours, as you were his.
“Good,” he hummed. “Should you trust me with yours-“
“I do-“
“I shall ask for it in front of the Lord and the gods themselves.”
Your lips parted in surprise, your heart suddenly so loud you could almost hear it, breath catching in your throat. Surely, he did not mean-
“Once I return, I shall ask for your hand, should you agree, my sweetness,” he promised, eyes wide and sincere, stunning you into silence lasting long enough to have him hesitate. “Do you not-“
Oh, how could he even question your wish to marry him!
“I do! I--- but Steven, you are a knight. I would spend thousand lifetimes with you if I could, surely you must know-“ you babbled, his index finger covering your mouth before you could explain.
You would love him always, day and night, from summer solstice to winter and back, and you cherished every moment--- yet the void between you was immense.
“I will settle for one lifetime. You know Anthony cares little for rules and I am but of a common origin myself. What kind of a monster would stand in the way of our love?”
It was not until morning when you realized the answer to his question; when you watched him from above as he stood in the courtyard by his horse, fastening the scabbard to the saddle and tugging at the leather, checking it would hold as they would ride.
You hated seeing him leave more than ever – you dreaded the moments his horse would canter out of the castle’s gates, rushing so willingly to face dangers the other kingdoms posed; to serve his king, your king, to protect what he held dear.
His gaze travelled up the castle’s walls, lingering at the windows of the princess’ chambers – the very windows you were watching him from, stealing last glances as your heart wept and trembled in fear for his life, longing for him to keep the promises he had given you last night.
With the prince’s command, the knights and soldiers left but ache and dust behind, along with an answer.
War.
The biggest and only true monster standing in the way of love was war.
The word resonated with you, leaving you weary and in frenzy at once, as you reached Natasha’s chamber, not needing to knock for her door was ajar – as if she knew you would be coming; as if she did not want to be alone either.
You slipped into her chamber, welcomed by a humourless but gentle smile.
“A pleasant night, is it not?” she hummed noncommittally, “leave the door open, please. Just in case…”
Just in case there would be any commotion in the castle. Perhaps the knights and soldiers would come back, accepting the warning from the Gods. Perhaps, perhaps…
Natasha’s room was relatively spacious for it equalled her craft-space. Besides a small bed with a solid wooden frame, several tables stood covered in pieces of fabric from simplest to the rarest ones, embroideries, bobbin lace, silk. Dresses in various state of completion laid over them or hung on improvised metal frames imitating princess’ lean figure. Silver and golden threads shone in the warm lights provided by a few candles by the stony walls, flickering to life as another lightning erupted behind the window, followed by a distant clap of thunder.
The storm was leaving. Could that be because the danger was not as great or that the gods had given up on the king’s army since they were not heard out?
“Personally, I would say a long night. An ominous one,” you whispered, earning a sigh.
Natasha ceased her work on a lovely silvery embroidery, laying the tambour frame on the nearest flat surface and rose to her feet, a silent offer you accepted with gratitude for the arms you longed to find yourself in were miles away.
She reciprocated the embrace firmly and you felt an ounce of your fear fall from your shoulders for now you shared the weight of it – yours and hers alike. Her goosebumps matched yours as she slipped hr arms under the flimsy shawl you had taken to cover yourself form gazes of the guards. Both of you wore but in simple nightgowns besides it, yet you sensed cold was not to blame for the prickle of her skin either.
Losing sleep with anxiety and intrusive thoughts were at work instead.  
“The weight of fears is lessened when one’s hands are occupied,” she informed you as she let go, brows furrowed with worry still, sighing. “But what of mind…”
Oh, you wished…
“I must try to busy my hands too then, at least.”
At your words, Natasha’s lips curled up in a smile yet again as she handed you your very own tambour frame which you kept in her chambers for such occasion, for sleepless or nightmare-filled nights such as this one.
You found your seat by hers, not fully across, not fully by her side, assessing the floral pattern you had started almost a month ago.
Natasha had been kind enough to sneak some of the royal threads for your work, expensive ones; threads no one would miss nevertheless for Nat was likely the most trusted woman in the castle besides the cook and the princess herself.
She jested you only deserved the very best for your wedding gown once Steven would lay his heart to your feet and you had been working on it since with the deepest care. Tonight, however, tears burned in your eyes as you observed it, the pattern as if mocking you with Steven’s entirely serious promise.
“He shall come back,” Natasha spoke, your expression not escaping her sharp attention. This of all her qualities was what made for her unparalleled ability as a seamstress – her attention to detail. “They all will, Steven and Bucky included.”
Bucky. Sir Barnes. Natasha’s beloved. He too was likely to be pestered about courting a seamstress, but Natasha was well-loved among the noble – the court would never bat an eye and passed no judgement, yet Sir Barnes had not yet asked Natasha’s hand in marriage. She rested unbothered by such; for all you knew of your friend, she would have asked his hand in marriage should she decided she was in a rush.
The thought made you smile for you were aware of the fact Sir Barnes would have said yes and thanked her, worshipped her more than ever. Their love was strong… and word had it that they shared a deep bond beyond pure love, crossing the lines of physical and perhaps the lines of proper. Natasha had hinted at such herself before.
Should you marry Steven as you wished, you were willing to cross as many lines as necessary yourself. You were willing to do just about anything to ensure he would not change his mind, that he would not be plagued with as much as a seed of doubt.
You believed your most trusted friend could be of assistance… without passing judgement.
“Natasha?” you spoke without looking up as you focused on continuing the cornflower with your needle. “I heard rumours.”
“Oh? Of what? Do tell, my dear. I am always happy to learn of the whispers laugh over them at times.”
You felt the blush creeping up your neck, your stomach twisting in embarrassment. Perhaps what you had heard was nonsense – something to laugh over as Natasha just said, nothing but a foolery you had believed in your naivety and inexperience.
“I must say now I am truly curious for your silence lasts too long. And you seem ashamed… just tell me,” she prompted you gently.
You noticed from the corner of your eye she had stopped working, only adding to your nerves.
Your felt the tips of your ears burn as you attempted to keep your tone and expression nonchalant nevertheless, clearing your throat.
“I heard rumours of… making men happy.”
“That does sound promising. Gold, glory or a woman can do that do them.”
You chuckled despite yourself as she deadpanned, some of your embarrassment melting away.
“I overheard a servant talking of ways a woman can please a man without… without sinning? As in truly sinning in the eyes of the Lord? Have you ever, uhm, heard of such thing?”
Silence settled over the room, hanging heavy above your heads.
The storm had left far enough so that no claps of thunder reached you anymore, no bolts of lightning interrupted the intimate atmosphere.  
Nearly pricking yourself with a needle in anticipation, you opted for ceasing your work, hesitantly looking up, meeting Natasha’s curious eyes with a sparkle of mischief that had you lower your gaze again.
“I have. And they are true,” she said simply at last, sending your heart racing.
Oh. So it was the truth then. There was an experience more pleasurable for men than you knew, places where Steven might appreciate your lips more than on his cheek, in his hair, on his mouth or even his neck. Your temples pulsed with the intensity of each beat of your heart at the revelation.
“Do you… do you know of it, Natasha?” you asked, fingers toying with the fabric in your lap.
“I do.”
Your head snapped to her; she was smiling playfully, head tilted to side – a cat that got all the cream and was bragging to her less sneaky friends.
You huffed and pursed your lips, not liking one bit to be made fun of; yet, you needed to know. And so you eased your offence, looking at the redhead pleadingly, baring your heart to her; for you knew that despite her smirk, she would never truly laughed at you.
“Would you please, please, tell me? I… he promised me yesterday. That he would come back and ask-“
“To marry you? Good Lord! Steven promised to marry you at last?!” she gasped, her eyes truly sparkling now, all teasing gone.
You nodded, unable to prevent your lips from forming a smile at the thought, and continued.
“I want to be a good wife to him one day…. but I would like to show him I will be able to make him feel good. What if he wonders if I can please him? He promised me everything and I-- I want to give him the same. Gods know marrying someone of my status will come with burdens and judgement… I don’t… I don’t want to disappoint him, to make him question his decision.”
Natasha’s booming laugh was a reward for your honesty, startling you.
Was this the first time you appeared utterly stupid to her? Silly? It was such a painful feeling… But once her laughter died down, she observed you with kindness, grinning wide and shaking her head.
“I cannot imagine a world in which Sir Steven Rogers could ever be disappointed in you. That man would build a ladder tall enough to reach the stars should you ask him to bring you one.”
Oh.
The shame dispersed in a blink of an eye, warmth enveloping your heart instead. Was that how Steven appeared to others in regard of his feelings for you?
“But very well. I shall tell you – he is only a man, after all. He will appreciate it, of that I am certain. But know, he can please you in a very similar way. And he should – sin or not.”
“…does Sir Barnes please you in such way?” you asked on a whim, taken by surprise at her revelation.
“Oh, but a lady does not kiss and tell!” she mocked offence, her coy smile answering your question. “Perhaps he shares the secrets of his mastery with Steven and you shall be very surprised when you succumb to him.”
The mere idea – so strange and yet incomprehensibly arousing since you had no experience with it nor you could imagine drawing pleasure from such activity – chased blood to your cheeks, having them burn hotter than fire.
The longing for Steve’s presence hit you sharper than the edge of his shield and sword combined, leaving your head swimming and your chest aching.
“He must return home safe first,” you murmured, exchanging a gaze of understanding with your friend, followed by her smile when you asked an innocent question. “Would you pray with me later?”
“I will. And they will. But now… I shall share the wonders of driving a man mad in ways he will thank you for.”
And by gods and Lord, she did.
 Strange cavalrymen are racing from the forest in our eyes, but droplets of fear – here, to kill is no sin. The very first shot has silenced my heart I shall not return home; my time has come.
(In the name of the king!)
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Little did you know that in the darkness of the night, cut by bolts of lightning, howl of the wind, distant claps of thunder and the aroma of rain in the air as if warning them not to go into the battle, Steve laid awake, his thoughts were with you as well.
The tent shared with the rest of the knights protected him from the disgrace of a weather raging outside, light snores a strange lullaby Steve had grown almost fond of during the years of comradeship. He could recognize every single one of his friends by that sound alone, distinct to each; and despite that fact only strengthening the sense of belonging and his gratitude to be given the opportunity to become a knight, he longed for nights to spend with you at last.
The idea brought a smile to his lips; you would lie beside him, facing him, wide eyes watching him with affection, drunk on the pleasure he would have given you but moments before, warm palm gently laid on his cheek as if begging him to kiss your wrist. He would oblige – he would always give in to whatever you asked – but in the end, he would wrap his arm around your waist and roll you over to pull you to his front, align his body to yours, inch by inch. He would drop a goodnight kiss to your bare shoulder, causing you to shiver and snuggle ever closer and let the sleep take you both.  
And in the morning, he would wake only to make love to you again, because he would be allowed; because you would be married at last.
He had promised you as much last night and it was a promise he intended to keep. Just like he had promised himself he would bring all the pleasure he ever dared to think of, clinging to his mind ever since the night you had treated his wound from training, giving him but a taste of bliss.
The way you lowered your gaze when he called you beautiful still, the shape of your lips when you smiled, your tender hands scratching at his scalp when he kissed you.
The warmth of your body seeping into his skin.
He could only imagine how much warmer and inviting your heat would be once he was allowed. Oh Lord, how he had wished to have been allowed that night…
The way the torches illuminated your face made him yearn to pick up a piece of charcoal and a scroll of parchment meant for significant documents to capture the alluring image of you – an image which to him felt just as important as a treaty between kingdoms.
It was rather unusual for him to see you from his angle for normally he towered several inches above you, having you have to tip your head back to reach his lips. You had seated him there, however, and your expression left no space for protests once you learned he had been injured in the evening training, grazed by a little too sharpened sword which cut through his armour, made for a bruise and broke through his skin as well.
You were no physician, you had said, but you could clean and dress a wound like this.
A frown to your brow clouded your soft features with disapproval as you placed the bowl of warm water on the only table in the room, careful not to tip over the small vial of alcohol you had obtained for him. You pulled at the white cloth thrown over your shoulder, dipping one of the edged in the water before glancing at him and halting in your movements as if seeing him for the first time that night.
“What weighs your mind, my sweetness?” he asked silently.
“You not being careful enough,” you retorted as if on instinct; and then your teeth pulled lightly at your lower lip, indignation melting into bashfulness. “Uhm, I believe you will have to- to take off your shirt.”
A smile tugged at the corner of Steve’s lips. That did sound reasonable, yet he felt a slight pull at his nerves as you did at the realization.
You had never seen him bared of his garments, never seen his upper body exposed – or his lower half for that matter. He feared not your judgement for that would be ridiculous. But perhaps he did feel a bit anxious to fulfil your expectations.
A baseless worry, truly; the moment he slipped his shirt off, gritting his teeth at the pull at his cut, you were left staring at him, suddenly mute, lips parted with a soft sigh that spoke of everything but disappointment.
Steve would have been a liar should he say he did not feel pleased, his ego stroked gently. He had worked for the strength in his upper body his whole life and he worked hard for he had been born a weakling. Now muscles adorned his torso, a prove of power he had when wielding a sword and a shield. And by Lord, by would wield it for your eyes only had you always watched him with this silent wonder.
“Did cat get your tongue, my dear?” he teased lightly, unable to hide the smugness when you tore your gaze away from the newly exposed skin, caught staring. “I would never use my strength to hurt you.”
“I know,” you squealed before clearing your throat and composing yourself. “I was merely… assessing the damage.”
He was sure you were.
“Of course. Do you need me to strip anything else-“
“No--! This… this will certainly suffice. Thank you,” you smiled at him shakily, feeding his ego further with your embarrassment. “Just sit back for now, Steven, and let me clean the wound-- oh.”
You tilted your head to side curiously, gaze zeroed above his left hip.
Steve knew instantly what caught your eye.
The black lines were thick despite the size no bigger than his own palm, a small work of art many still frowned upon. You did not seem offended nor, Lord forbid, horrified. Merely curious – perhaps even fascinated.
“May I?” you asked in a whisper, already moving forward and reaching out your hand.
Steve gulped.
Yes, you may, by all means, he longed to say. Touch it, trace every line with your fingers, with your lips, your tongue even-
“Of course,” he rasped instead, scolding himself for his dirty thoughts.
Yet, as if you heard what was on his mind, the pads of your fingers brushed over the tattoo, a featherlight touch in a place where your skin had never met his before and set it on fire.
“A wolf?”
“Yes.”
You pursed your lips lightly in a sign of disapproval and so Steve rushed to explain.
“Bucky often jested we were a pack of wolfs rather than a group of knights and so we all chose a wolf. Do you… not like it? “
You met his gaze briefly, shaking your head with a shy smile, taking your touch away; and he already carved it again.
“No, it’s beautiful, just… a little aggressive.”
“Well, wolves are fierce warriors. Strong, loyal,” he pointed out, hoping you would not miss the weight behind his next words. ”Protective of their own.”
Their own. His own. You might not be a fellow knight nor family nor his wife yet, but he would lay his life to protect you should it be necessary.
And you could bet the royal jewels he would fight aggressively had anyone tried to harm you.
“Then you could have not chosen better,” you whispered, laying a kiss to your fingertips before pressing them to the artwork again, having Steve’s breath catch.
He wished you would kiss it with your lips directly – but then you would have to kneel in front of him, giving him a completely different idea as to where your lips could be and the imagery alone would be permanently etched into his mind.
So perhaps it was for the best that you had not, for he felt his arousal growing at the thought alone; instead, you moved to take care of his cut.
Your dominant hand dutifully wiped around the wound first, tender but thorough, your focus as sharp as one of an archer aiming to hit the middle of the clout. Your other hand rested against his shoulder for balance as you stood between his legs crouched and a little twisted, your position slightly awkward and no doubt uncomfortable.
“Sit, my sweetling.”
You gazed up at him, eyebrow raised questioningly, as surprised by his suggestion and he was for a moment.
Needless to say that at the moment, he was eternally grateful that Bucky and Clint had left for the town’s tavern, celebrating news of Clint’s wife Laura finding herself with her first child – leaving you and him alone.
“I must not block the light and have to be able to reach the bowl. I cannot very well sit, Steven,” you explained softly, blinking when he grasped at your hand and tugged at it lightly.
“You will not block the light,” he opposed, closing the gap between his thighs and leading you closer to stand by his legs and pulling at your skirt a fraction, “if you are sitting, straddling me. Come, my love. It shall be much easier for you.”
Your eyes grew adorably wide at his suggestion, softening at the endearment. Reluctantly, you obeyed, climbing over him and lowering your weight on his thighs, leaning onto his shoulder as not to fall. Steve welcomed the weight you brought with you, your breaths fanning his face as you shifted in attempt to find a comfortable position.
You met his gaze with an apologetic smile as if you had not just gifted him with your intimate proximity.
“Am I not too heavy like this?”
Oh even if you were, Steve would never dare to tell you in order to keep you so close to him for the rest of his days; let alone when you moved a few inches and brushed his most sensitive spot.
Oh Lord, he was going to hell, but it mattered not if he had his time with an angel before he would go.
“Like a feather, sweet. Comfortable? Stable?”
He placed his hands on your waist to ensure better balance and you smiled at him, gaze flickering to his naked chest, a gorgeous flush rising to your face.
Yes, he could go to hell for at the moment, he was having a taste of heaven.
“Yes. I shall work now.”
Steven wanted not to show he felt the sting as you continued cleaning the wound; but he found out letting you see him vulnerable was not the worst thing possible to happen.
When a hiss escaped his lips at the burn of alcohol, your eyes snapped to his with an unspoken apology; and his pain was soothed by the softest of kisses.
He stole several more from your lips, squeezing your waist, toying with the hem of your bodice before he let you continue, demanding such compensation every time you made his jaw tick with pain; and with each kiss, his hunger grew, each encounter of lips longer than the previous.  
The moment you were to take a fresh cloth to finish cleaning with water once again, Steve knew he could not let you. Not yet; he drew too much pleasure from this, having you, his dutiful carer, seated in his lap, soft and tender and unwittingly seductive.
Your lips had grown swollen from the kisses, calling for him to taste you again – and Steve was not one to ignore a call like that.
With a small noise of surprise on your part, he claimed your mouth again, hand reaching to cradle your face, gentle thumb stroking your cheek and coaxing you into giving in. Your body melted into his, pliant, lips succumbing to his advances and he felt something in him roar, a proud primal thing boasting at your trustful submission.
His arm wound around your waist firmly, pulling you chest to chest, your gasp of surprise swallowed by his mouth, your hands catching on his arm and in his hair, making him groan at the sensation which sent an impulse straight into groin.
It made his pants too tight all of sudden; he had no doubt it did not escaped your attention.
Yet you did not protest, your breathing turning heavy, your heart hammering against his chest and under his palm laid on your neck. You seemed to force your grip on him to ease, grasping at remnants of sanity in the whirlwind of need – and so he followed your example and released your lips for a moment.
“My love, my sweetling…” he whispered, drunk on the assault of sensations, drunk on everything that made you you.
How sweet you were, so effortlessly, unconsciously alluring to all his senses. The scent of your skin, the taste of your lips, the tender heat of your touch as you mimicked all little acts of affection he had ever shown you, your lips, hesitant and shy, wandering to his neck or the hollow of his throat to treat him.  
The most beautiful sight, eyes unknowingly blown with lust and wide with surprise at once as you felt his arousal he simply could not help, not with a temptress like you in his lap. Innocent but quickly learning from him, from others too no doubt – for you recovered from your shock, your trembling hands settling on his shoulder for support, grinding against him and by Lord, Lord, he wished to take you right there.
He had women in the tavern touch him before for money, he had eased the pressure in his loin thinking of how sweet your heat would be, but he would never – he could never. Not before he married you, not before he promised his love to you in front of the whole world.  
Yet, the way your eyelids fluttered shut at the foreign feeling, your lips parting with a shaky exhale at the first taste of pleasure, had his hands travel up your waist, teasing the underside of your breasts. He craved to taste you there too, almost as much as he longed for the ambrosia awaiting him between your legs, a cure which would make all the pain above his collarbone disappear completely.
“Oh Steven-“ you whispered as your thighs trembled when his hips buckled up, his name on your lips like an oil to the fire and a gush of wind strong enough to put the fire out at once.
He could feel the pressure in him building, his hands twitching to untie your bodice, ruck up your skirts and pull his pants down to remove all barriers between you, just him, you and absolute bliss--- but he could not, fuck, he must not do that to you.
He seized your mouth with his to swallow your sigh of pleasure; a desperate claim with a smidge of teeth for he felt his control slipping and he needed to take reigns of his desires at once, before he’d do things that could grant him instant gratification but would make for regrets later on.
He grabbed your hips, forcing his own to cease the instinctive motions, preventing your own as well.
A small pitiful sound which almost broke his resolve for it had his blood boiling escaped your kiss-swollen lips, leading him to stray from your mouth to your neck, heavy breaths expanding his chest as much as they did yours, every inhale of yours causing your breasts to brush against his naked chest.
You shall not give into temptation, you shall not give into temptation—
“Lord--- my sweet, my sweetling, how you tempt me,” he panted into your skin, unable to resist a small taste of it, one last time, causing your breath to catch in your throat.
“I must not dishonour you in such way, but…” He dared to look up to your flushed face, instantly regretting it for the acute need in his groin grew tenfold at the sight of your own desire written all over your features. “Lord knows it is the most difficult and yet the sweetest trial I have ever faced. You are beautiful, so beautiful…”
He ran his fingers over your cheek, over the slightly irritated skin where his beard scratched when his lips had sought to drink from yours, the corners of your lips now lifted in a shy smile.
“As you are handsome… how hard it is not to give in to a sin. I have never known until I met you, Steven,” you admitted, somehow appearing abashed and pleased at once.
His beautiful kind bashful minx of a woman. How could he not fall in love with you?
“I feel the same, my sweet. I love you. I thank the Lord for you every day.”
Your eyes shone with affection as you cupped his face and planted a soft kiss on his forehead.
“I thank the gods and the Lord for you and your love every day as well. I love you. You must be more careful, Steven,” you whispered, gaze flickering to the wound you had not finished cleaning, worry clouding your features.
Oh should you always react in such way, curing him with loving kisses and the same passion you had shown him a moment ago, Steven thought that he should be, as matter of fact, much more careless.
But he could not tell you that – and he would not. He would soon put a plan in motion to spend the rest of his life with you. What kind of a fool would he be should he not try his hardest to make that life as long as possible?
“I will, my sweet. I will.”
Momentarily soothed, you kissed his lips softly and returned to your original task.
Should he keep his promise, Steve needed to catch a shut-eye at last – and chase those sinful memories away.
An early morning awaited them, the last training and a battle to be won to earn his reward; to no longer think of you, but to be graced with your presence… and to be granted your hand in marriage as well.
To reach victory, however, every single man, every knight and soldier, had to be in their best shape, in their sharpest minds, for Hydra could be cunning and unpredictable.
Defeat was not an option for Steve; he had too much to fight for.
For his king.
For his kingdom and the people.
For you.
Oh you.
How you would cry upon learning how desperately outnumbered the Starkerbürg army was. How you would weep, precious tears running down your face once you were to be informed of the victory coming with too high of a price.
Your tears would make for an ocean when you would see only a handful of men coming back, Natasha’s beloved a picture of blood and grief as he had witnessed Steve being one of the first men to get hit.
You would have drowned in your own tears if you only knew Steven’s last thoughts belonged to no one but you. The last thing he had seen looking up into the morning sun as he lied on his back, body too heavy to rise once more and fight, was your loving smile.
Steve could not bear to see you crying; so he was grateful for leaving this world with your smile in his thoughts instead.
 Do not weep for me, my beautiful Marian, when the tower bell rings to honour soldiers, proud My heart is silent, but in you there shall remain all the words that flare up like fire.
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The storm did not return the following night – yet the uneasiness in your heart found you in Natasha’s chambers again, frantically working on your embroidery for busy hands were meant to settle an unsettled mind.
You retreated back to your simple bed earlier than the previous night however, your body feeling the consequences of missing sleep the night prior, exhaustion wearing you down and sweeping you to dreamland as soon as your head touched the sheets.
Yet, you were woken up with the first chirps of birds, the castle still wrapped in dark shadows – but lively with a haste that could only mean one and one thing only.
The troops were coming back.
You threw away your flimsy cover, searching for your shawl in a haste, your heart threatening to jump out of your chest with anticipation.
They were back. Steven was back!
Wasn’t it too early for them to return? Had something gone wrong? Was he injured during the battle? Had he lost a dear friend?
You caught Wanda’s sleepy eye as you stumbled out of the room, noticing Carol’s bed already empty – she always had been a light sleeper so the commotion in the castle must have intrude her rest before it did yours.
The corridors were brimming with servants and guards, all taking haste to gather in the courtyard by the gate, heavy footsteps and the rattle of armour ominous as you were still wiping sleep from your eyes and hurried along.
Gods please, I am begging you, Lord – let him be alright. It is but all I ask. Perhaps a cut for me to clean with care and love, a bruise for me to kiss tenderly---  grant me the sight of him, standing tall and healthy, smiling with relief to be home.
Breath had nearly left you by the last stairs, every beat of your heart almost painful against your ribcage, but you cared little for it, willing your feet to hurry still.
They had returned! Only a few more steps and you would be able to see them, dealing with neglecting the princess later on after your soul would meet its other half, chasing all worries away and wrapping you in his love instead. A few more steps only, to find peace-
You gasped as you found yourself in the courtyard at last, your soul nearly leaving your body in fright at the sight of several men looking a miserable excuse for knights – clothing torn, bloodied, articles of armour missing, two horses barely limping by their side.
Prince Anthony in the centre, supported by Sir Barnes and Sir Barton. Sir Drax leading the horses. Your eyes skimmed over what you believed was Mr. Thorn, Mr. Vaughn and Mr. Richards and a few men you did not recognize for their beaten faces or for having never met them before.
Cold seeped into your bones upon seeing that there were not more than thirty – and they appeared to carry themselves with the last remnants of strength, attempting to support one another.
There was no doubting whether there were others on their tail – they were not.
A pained cry erupted from your throat at the sharp pain piercing your chest, hand grasping at your sternum as to sooth it as the realization dawned to you.
No more men were coming. The pitiful remnants of an army stood before you by their prince, their future king, whom they protected with their lives--- and many loyal soldiers and knights were left behind, having kept their promise and laying their lives in the name of the king.
Steven was one of them.
Another sob escaped your lips as you rubbed at your breastbone, scratching that terrible itch that seemed to be spreading through your veins, burning and so devastatingly cold against the tears springing from your eyes, rolling down your cheeks.
Your lungs ached as you took a hungry gasp for air, violent tremble seizing your body, your head shaking of its own volition, stubbornly rejecting the plain facts laid in front of you. You understood – you understood in an instant, but your mind, and more so, your heart refused to acknowledge the gut-wrenching truth.
He was gone.
How could he---how could he be gone? He had promised! He had promised to come back and to be careful and to love you and to ask your hand in marriage for he cared not for who you were and who was him, only who you were together, he-
Steven was an epitome of strength and bravery and loyalty and trust and all the virtues known to man. How could he… how could he simply cease to exist? That must have been gods’ mistake for certain, for it made not an ounce of sense.
Steve was a knight, a fierce warrior, protective of his own as his comrades were supposed to be and yet they were standing there and he was not--- how could that be?
Surely this must have been but a nightmare. A nightmare your tired, fear-clouded mind had invented to make for an encounter all the sweeter, sweeter than Steven’s lips… sweeter than his promises.
Then why were you still dreaming? How had the terrible ache not tugged at your hand and pushed you back to reality?
Was your fear truly so paralyzing it had trapped you in your nightmare?
A flash of red hair caught your eye, Natasha’s hasty embrace nearly causing Sir Barnes topple over and the truth of the terrible scene in front of you twisted the knife in your chest.
There was no denying anymore; there was no waking up from this.
This was the price you paid for war: love. Your love was no more.
“What is it like?” you whispered shyly, teeth worrying over your lips as you wondered whether you had the right to ask.
You toyed with the soft ends his hair, a little too long perhaps, but only adding to the air of a nobleman he might be not, but certainly resembled. Steve was simply too handsome of a man to be a commoner, you would think people believed; and despite his heart of gold, his gentle hands brushing over your cheek as you laid on the grass only a few moments from the castle’s gate, you had to agree.
His beauty rivalled the sun itself; and his love bested the one of the sun as well.
“How-- I mean… on the battlefield. What is it like to fight?”
He tilted his head to side, frowning at you as he appeared to contemplate your inquiry – perhaps an inappropriate one. Yet you could not seem to help it for you wanted to know him more, you wanted to know everything… you wanted to be close to your love even at times when you were not for he had rushed to defend the crown and the kingdom.
“I apologize, I-“ you hurried, only to be interrupted with a shake of his head, sending his golden locks flying adorably.
“It is… loud. Chaotic. Cruel sometimes,” he tried to explain, cerulean eyes filling with an absent look, pulling him away from your happy moment.
And yet, his embrace was as tender as ever as you laid your heavy head on his chest.
His fingers slipped under your chin, insistent to see you instead of the horror which was no doubt etched in his mind. You were certain a single look at the terror would haunt you – left you terrified for your every breath. How could Steven simply lie here with you, heart on his sleeve, kind and inviting?
“And do you not… do you get scared?”
It must have been written in your eyes. Or perhaps Steven was such talented observer, reading between the lines, reading in your deepest thoughts; for he saw a plea and not another question.
Your plea of please, say yes. Tell me that for all your bravery, you do feel fear. Tell me that for all your heroism, you are only a human made of flesh and blood and strength and weakness and dreams, as am I.
“Sometimes, yes,” he admitted with a self-deprecating smile. He grasped your wrist in his long fingers tenderly, ran them over your palm and then fingers, only to bring them to his mouth, kissing every single fingertip. “But then I think of you.”
“You do?” you queried, doubtful and confused.
“Yes. And it gives me strength. I think of you, my sweet,” he whispered sincerely, “and my father and the kids playing pebble toss and five stones and… I recall in the midst of chaos what is it we fight for.”
Touched, you strained your neck to steal a kiss from the lips spilling the tender words, words speaking of Steven’s good heart; words helping you remember just how good of a man your Steven was.
And how your heart, whenever in his orbit, belonged to him more than to yourself.
He pecked your lips, smiling wider then, honest, and dropped a kiss on your nose.
“And I am not alone. Tony, Bucky, Clint, Drax, even Peter or Scott and others. They might all be dollop heads…” You failed to stiff a giggle at his choice of words, knowing he was not mistaken. “But they are skilled fighters. I shall not trust them with saving me lunch, but I trust them with my life.”
Skilled fighters they were, such you had had the chance to witness before. It stood to reason to believe Steven then. The knights could protect each other, having each other’s back, fighting all for one and one for all.
And so as difficult as it seemed whenever Steven had gone, you knew he trusted his friends – and you shall try to do the same.
The words Steven had spoken to you that day echoed in your head, bouncing around like little goblins, mocking you for your and Steve’s naivety.
I trust them with my life.
How foolish a man of his wits could be? How could you have allowed his empty promises to lull you into peace of heart?
I trust them with my life.
There was no denying Steven put his faith in those who were not worthy of it.
And for his foolery he had paid the highest of prices. His life. Your love.
Through the mist of your tears, you noticed the valets letting flags down the balconies; already signalling kingdom’s grief for the fallen men. Black as night and yet not black enough to capture the true nature of sorrow.
You blinked away the salty droplets burning in your eyes as people passed you, leading the survivors to the doctor’s chambers. Cries could be heard from several houses as the news spread like wildfire, burning everything in its wake, leaving unhealable scars.
Sobs shook you, but no one acknowledged you; each of you were overtaken by your own sorrow.
Sorrow was a lonely work after all, for everyone was destined to mourn in different manner, grieving different things… and different people. Sons, brothers, fathers. Husbands and lovers.
Lovers.
Your love. Your Steven.
A caress of a wind carrying his name ruffled your hair.
The night had just barely begun tuning into a day, the lower castle wrapped in shadows and darkness when the commotion disturbed your sleep and but upon learning the appalling reports of the army’s pitiful victory, the night seemed to cling to its reign.
Yet now, the wind made to disperse the heavy clouds which had surrounded the castle in sympathy. Sharp cold light of the sun broke through, a dawn of a new day; a beginning of an end. You let the violent intrusion of light fall on your face, eyes fluttering against the assault.
So bright… too bright in comparison to what your world had become.
Perhaps this was your punishment for praying to Lord and the old gods still at once; perhaps you displeased one or the other by not worshipping them and them alone.
Or perhaps the power of all of them together was not enough to protect your beloved Steve; perhaps the gods were just as powerless and helpless as any mere mortal like you.
Who even knew if there were gods and how mighty they were; what you did know with certainty was that they were not enough to protect Steve in life.
And so you fell to your knees, with no regard of getting in the way, clasped your hands together and prayed for Steve’s soul in death.
May the Gods protect him from ghouls and evil spirits. May the Lord grant him entry to the gardens of Eden, for his soul deserved peace and eternal love.
One day… one day you would hope to join him in afterlife; until then, you shall stay in the purgatory of living in the senseless world without him.
In the world where pointless wars slaughtered the mattes of love and tore soulmates apart.
 With the last shot fired, the once lively meadow burst into quiet tears and embraced the bodies of the fallen and the winners – whom there are none for a war is not won when lives are the price to pay. And all the beautiful Marians, who received the report of our death just as night melted into day, lifted their inquiring gaze to the skies and in that moment, the sun rose.
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Despite the truth settling in, despite every passing day screaming the loss the whole kingdom had suffered, your life, suddenly dull, resembled the strangest of fever dreams.
Your mind received the message of reality clearly and undeniably; yet there remained an immense rift between the thought and your heart. In your heart, you could not yet accept that Steven was no more; where your thoughts kept humming with grief, your heart awaited Steven’s return, welcoming smile and pretty words to wrap you in affection.
It was simply such an ungraspable idea, a world without him. Incomprehensible. Impossible.
And yet your mind accepted it, perhaps for Steven loving once seemed just as imaginable.
But before your heart could be ripped apart by harsh facts, you tucked them into an imaginary drawer in your head along with your grief to hide it from sight – for a mere glimpse of it hurt too much.
You busied your hands during your days and attempted to engage your mind as well; yet every night, images of horror awaited you, haunting.
Steven’s motionless body swimming in a sea of blood, vultures circling above him to swoop down in order to feed on his flesh. The tattoo of a wolf adorning his torso coming to life, climbing out of his skin only to tear away a limb to present it proudly to the pack and begin a feast with a growl.
You were waking up with tears drenching your face, screams on your lips which you profusely apologized for to your friends in the morning, earning their forgiveness and endless pity.
Steve’s absence was ever-present; while no longer amongst the living, you saw him everywhere.
You had always thought his eyes were the colour of the sky; yet these days, the skies were the colour of his eyes. The golden threads Natasha laced Princess Maria’s wedding gown with were the colour of his hair when the sun shone bright and painted a halo around his handsome face.
The apples you brought to the princess for breakfast were the colour of Steven’s kiss-swollen lips. You took a bite of the ones you carried back, untouched, but it did not taste nearly as sweet, prompting you to burst into inconsolable sobs, infecting the cooks who had lost their loved ones as well with your tears. You longed for Steven’s lips to kiss your tears away, for his tickly beard to sooth their burn on your skin.
Your only fortune, should you choose to find joy in the smallest of things, was sudden haste to marry king Howard’s children for the kingdom needed swiftly strengthen its alliances; prince Anthony was to marry princess Virginia of Pottenberg, whereas princess Maria was to be wed to prince Steven of Strangerlands.
The preparations for a royal wedding which was to take place in the castle, along with packing and readying the princess for her journey, left only little space for your grief to overwhelm you.
And since you were one of the princess’ maids, you were to prepare yourself for a journey as well.
While you might have not possessed much, there were items you laid into your pitiful excuse of a luggage with great care; you set the hand-made embroidery for a wedding dress you shall never wear, for you no longer had your groom, on the very top of your bag. You ran your fingers lovingly over the pattern of meadow flowers you had chosen to for it reminded you of your first interaction with your beloved and swallowed your tears.
Foreign lands with foreign customs would have scared you only a few days ago, yet now they were a promise of easing your pain. In the walls of the new castle, you would see the ghost of your Steven less frequently for he had never walked its halls.
Leaving, as intimidating as it might seem, would bring you relief.
The loud crash of the chamber’s door against a wall startled you, having you swiftly cover your embroidery with the nearest cloth, your head snapping to the source of the noise.
Met with the flushed face of your closest friend, you blinked in surprise at her wide-eyed gaze, swiftly drying your cheeks with the back of your hand.
“Why would you make such noise, Wanda? What is the matter?” you asked silently, clearing your throat when the swallowed tears made your voice hoarse.
“The--- the- I,” she panted, clutching at her chest as she tried to catch her breath, shaking her head wildly, causing you to feel worry instead of sorrow for the first time in days. “You are needed outside right away!”
To say such order struck you as odd would be a gross understatement.
As it was, you could not imagine a single thing you could do for the princess outside for you were certain she was having tea with her father and her brother before they would be forced to part. And if any help was needed at a request of anyone else, then surely your presence specifically was not a necessity? Wanda herself had just run up all the flights of stairs – she could have done the work in your place, could she not?
Why would she come for you instead? You possessed no special skills to make you any more desirable than Wanda – on anyone, truly.
“Me? Now? What for?”
In lieu of an answer, your friend simply gestured with her hands vaguely, the movement incomprehensible for you.
“Just take haste, for Gods’ sake!” she cried out exasperatedly, the smallest of smiles passing her lips at your gaze widening as well.
Wanda even more than yourself, was raised within the old religion – to call upon the gods felt not in character for her for she knew better.
You willed your feet to move despite how heavy they seemed for the past few days; haste would then be too strong of a word and yet, you tried.
The corridors were lined with royal colours of red and gold, the servants tasked with decoration for the royal visit and upcoming wedding dutiful as always. The preparations and anticipation had made the castle buzzing at last despite the tragedy striking barely a week ago – yet, now it seemed fresh excitement hovered in the air.
Had the party on the behalf of Pottenberg arrived without your notice? You had been so lost in your own thoughts lately it would not be too surprising should you be honest with yourself.
If that was true, you certainly did have to take haste.
Running your hands through your hair, quickly pulling it into an improvised half-braid, you hoped to look presentable enough not to be ejected by the royals. You attempted to straightened your skirt a bit as you descended the stairs, quickening your steps.
Taking a deep breath to stand tall despite feeling yourself anything but small, you stepped outside with your head held high so you could lower it in a curtsy when the situation asked for such display of submission and servitude.
Confusion had your head spin slightly instead as no horses, no carriages and no gleam of luxury which came with royalty appeared in sight.
Instead, you were met with a crowd of servants and townsmen, surrounding a group of people who looked as if they crawled out of hell itself. Dirty, bruised and bloodied, too pale to appear anything but sick and yet, tired smiles seemed to adorn---
Your heart gave out, a painful skip of a beat that made you truly dizzy.
You recognized them.
Your eyes searched every face frantically, some of them swelled with brutal bruises beyond recognition, yet you were certain these were Sir Lang and Sir Quill, then Ethan from the stables-
Oh gods.
Your palm was over your mouth, muffling the sob before you realized it erupted from your throat.
He was a horrifying sight; smudges of dirt he had clearly attempted to clean, hair on his left side stuck in a dark lump due to dried blood, as was part of his entirely unkept beard, the thick crimson seeping into once white under armour shirt where the blood trickled down his neck and shoulder.
Exhausted red-rimmed eyes, limp posture with his arm hazardously fastened to his chest by torn fabric, several shallow cuts peppering his arms, dirt cloaking the remnants of his trousers and shirt where the terrifying amount of blood – his or his enemies’ – hadn’t already stained it. Normally standing tall, his figure sagged at the moment, shoulders slumped as he barely remained on his feet.
And yet, by lord, by gods, he was the most beautiful you had ever seen him, his injured arm clinging to his chest which was rising and falling with only slight irregularity of his breaths.
He was still breathing, his heart was still beating – and yours thundered in your ribcage painfully as you choked on air and sobs.
Steven looked marvellous in his misery, because despite the weariness in features, his eyes lit up upon seeing you, his lips curling up regardless of the split--- he lived, he lived, he lived.
Your feet, having taken roots in the ground, moved of their own accord at last, carrying you to him swiftly as the soldiers hopped away, clearing your path with weary attempt at a smile. Your hands tore away from your chest and your face as you came to a halt in front of your beloved, eager to touch, aimlessly searching for a place to feel him without causing him pain.
Solving your dilemma for you, Steve was kind enough to reach out with his uninjured hand, cradling your wet cheek gently. You minded not the tremble in his fingers, covering his hand with yours, eyes fluttering shut to fully revel in the sensation you had believed you would never experience again; a sensation you had only had the fortune to savour in your dreams.
The sudden surge of panic had your eyes snap open, afraid you were still in the dreamland.
But you did not have to fear; Steve’s warm eyes observed you with endless affection still, melting into your touch as your hand found its way to his own cheek. His lips brushed your palm lovingly before he gently pulled you closer, resting his forehead against yours with a breathy hiss of pain.
It was the display of agony he must have been in with every breath and the smallest of movements which finally untied your tongue, a waterfall of words falling from your lips.
“Steve---Steven, Steve, my love, what—how-“
Your fingers slipped to his nape, his pulse racing under your palm, the most precious thing you ever felt, only causing him to lean closer, nose brushing yours in a tender act of affection bringing fresh tears to your eyes.
Thump-thump-thump went his heart, a chant of love and life.
He was alive. Your beloved was alive.
“Druids. Luck. Divine intervention. I do not know, but it matters not. I am here,” he whispered, voice no less firm than within a battle cry.
I am here.
A promise. A declaration of love.
You found yourself yet again at loss for words, another sob escaping you instead. There were no words you were familiar with to do justice to your joy at this reunion. After countless of days, endless days of grief, he was standing there, holding your face in his hand and your whole heart as well.
Steve was alive.
“I made you a promise,” he continued in husky voice, “I told you I’d call upon your hand. It was all I could think of in the face of… of what I thought was the end.”
You squeezed his hand as to stop him, for it mattered not, not at this very moment, not ever, you would give him anything, everything, regardless of whether you were courting, married, or sneaking around and being the subjects of slander at the lower castle and the court alike.
As long as you should keep him, as long as he kept breathing, it mattered not if you could chant his name as you were now; falling from your lips like a prayer to whatever ancient force that brought him back to you.
And yet, you should have known better. Your Steven was a force of nature himself, stubborn and determined and proper. Time waited for no man and Steve could no longer wait for when fate would try to separate you again. He had to act in this very moment.
“Will you marry me, my sweet?”
You laughed, the joyful sound absurd in the circumstance; but your heart could burst as the reality of Steve holding you and asking you to marry him sank in at last, feeling as if the sun itself settled in your chest.
What choice did you have? What else could you possibly say when the gods were so merciful to give you a chance at bliss of spending your life side by side with a man you loved?
“Yes. Yes, I will.”
Cheers erupted around you, words of how sappy your future husband was, yet you could not care less, whatever the meaning the word possessed.
You had your Steven back; you had your heart sown together at once, waterfalls of grief turning into tears of undiluted happiness. Long path lied in front of you and it was not to be an easy one; Steven proposed, yes – in shaggy clothes, bloodied and dirty and with no ring to give you.
His proposal was far from flawless indeed; however, it was a promise. Not a promise of perfection, but a promise nevertheless. A promise of a beautiful life, for it would be with him.
And as you had learned upon daring to doubt him… your knight would always keep his promises to you. For that, he was a man far more noble than those who were born with nobility in their blood.
And he was yours. Always and to the end of the days – yours.
As much as you always would be his.
 Do not weep for me, my beautiful Marian, when the tower bell rings to honour soldiers, proud, My heart is silent, but in you there shall remain all the words that flare up like fire.
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S.R. masterlist
Sequel - In the Name of All That’s Holy
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Thank you for reading 💗 Feedback to this 13k beast is appreciated!
As you can see/hear, the song does NOT have a happy ending, but I just couldn’t… 😭 I couldn’t break her heart like that (AND MINE). Also, I was sent a cute knife along with a message as not to hurt knight Steve (yes, my beloved, I’m looking at YOU) 🤭
If you felt a bit of himbo energy from the knights in the beginning, know that Merlin is to blame. As he is for “dollop heads”.
(I never found whether the choice of a name ‘Marion’ has any particular meaning. I’ve always imagined her as a loyal woman in love, waiting for her kingdom’s hero to come home – I translated as Marian, for the resemblance with Lady/Maid Marian tied to Robin Hood legends. Up to interpretation.)
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star-girl69 · 1 year
Text
I Loved You Like the Sun
a/n: i’m sorry about this chapter- it’s unfortunately just more of a filler. but next chapter is going to be a spicy and a lot more fun. i hope you all enjoy!!
warnings: swearing, obsessiveness, possessivenesses, brief mentions of violence, incest, tell me if i missed anything!
also very important but i was wondering how you guys would feel if after daemon and rhaenyra and reader work all their stuff out i time skip to when the dance starts and MAYBE JUST MAYBE the reader has a valyrian grandmother or smth and therefore valyrian blood and claims a dragon??? maybe even cannibal??? tell me your thoughts!!
Chapter Eleven- Eternally
—-
Dragonstone filled you with dread.
The weather surrounding the island was always poor, storms came and went quickly the sun rarely shined.
But the fresh air was heavy in your lungs, that good kind of heavy, that anchored you while the rest of you felt weightless.
While it would be faster to travel on Dragonback, the younger children weren’t quite ready and you had never been on a dragon before. The ship you sailed on was huge, and Daemon and Rhaenyra made sure you had the best room- conveniently right next to theirs.
But you never called for them, never visited their bed. Daemon never got tired of suggesting it, though, hands always closer than they needed to be.
And while falling back into them was tantalizing- you were still bitter.
You wanted them to suffer, to hurt like you did. And you would never permanently hurt them, so giving them the cold shoulder felt like the next best thing.
You fell into a steady routine- Rhaenyra would wake you with a hand on your forehead, place a dress on your bed, and leave. You would break your fast with her and the twins, plus Joffrey. Joffrey became insistent on sitting in your lap- and you didn’t fail to notice Rhaenyra’s eyes always falling sweetly on the two of you.
Jace and Luke woke earlier with Daemon, eating earlier and then spending most of the morning training. Rhaena and Baela would usually steal your attention, bringing you to back of the deck so Baela could watch Moondancer fly behind them in a horde of dragons following the ship, and Rhaena could teach you all about needlepoint.
You found yourself to be a lot like Rhaena, and admired Baela for her bravery.
Jace and Luke would usually call everyone to the deck of the ship, conducting in a practice fight that you admit, did capture your attention. Joffrey clapped his little hands, Baela and Rhaena making up little cheers for the boys.
You spent the rest of your days dragged around by the children, Rhaenyra or Daemon never too far behind.
It wasn’t until the morning you arrived that something changed. Rhaenyra woke you up again, hand across your forehead.
“Good morning, pretty. We’ll be at Dragonstone in a few minutes.”
You nodded, sinking further into the sheets.
“When will you stop giving us the cold shoulder?”
You yawned, mumbling “I don’t know” into the sheets.
“I miss you.”
You tore your eyes open at her declaration, seeing hurt on her face.
“‘M sorry. I didn’t want you to get hurt. I just…”
“Wanted us to feel bad?” She sat on the edge of the bed, bringing her red sleeve up to wipe her eyes. “It’s okay. I understand, I- I know where you were coming from. Will you just please come back to us? It’s been to long without you.”
You doubted your Septa from all those years ago would agree with your choices now. But you could not help that Rhaenyra and Daemon made you burn, and you loved the feeling. You loved them as easily as breathing. Your fire with them had burned bright and fast, but it had always burned. Since the beginning of time, since the First Men, the Valyrians, the Rhoynar, the flames that represented the three of you had always burned. You had always belonged together.
Always meant to burn together.
Always meant to be together.
The three of you was a surety, like how the sun would rise in the east and set in the west, how the sun would always return after each dark night.
You were always meant to burn with dragons. You were always meant to be the sun. Their horde, their treasure, that they protected and loved.
You three had always been meant to burn together.
“You don’t have to agree to anything now. Just, please, warm our bed tonight?”
“Okay. I will.”
—-
Dragonstone was just as you had imagined it.
All sharp edges, brooding black rock, the screeches of dragons heard throughout the island.
Your arm looped with Rhaena’s, walking down the ship’s ramp and onto the sand.
“It’s different than the Pentoshi beaches. But I still like it.”
“How is it different?”
“The sand is darker. And it’s cold. The sand on Pentos was almost white, and the sun always shined, so it burned your feet.” She seemed almost morose talking about Pentos, and you moved to bring her into a hug.
“We must visit together.”
Rhaena nodded against your stomach, arms wrapped tight around you.
“Y/N! Rhaena! Come, into the carriage!” You turned at Daemon’s call, taking Rhaena’s hand and teasing him with a slow, purposeful walk. But the time you made it to where the carriage awaited, the two of you had long since erupted into giggles. “Ha, very funny, brats.”
Rhaena feigned shock and gasped, scurrying into the carriage before erupting into more giggles. Daemon turned back to you with a wide smirk, holding a hand out to help you into the carriage.
You had missed the feel of his hands so much…
And when your hand finally clasped with his, you fought the urge to let out a satisfied moan at how right it felt. It was always meant to be like this.
You lifted your dress with your other hand, climbing the small steps and into the carriage quickly.
There was a large empty space next to Rhaenyra, who held a sleeping baby Aegon in her arms, and you wisely sat next to her at the expectant look she shot you.
“Would you like to hold him?” She asked as Daemon sat beside you, reaching out the window to knock on the side of the carriage. You nodded as she placed Aegon into your arms, and he didn’t stir. “He’s usually very fussy, you know. Never let’s anyone hold him, besides for us and his nursemaid. I think he knows.”
“Knows what?” You asked as you slipped your pointer finger into Aegon’s small hand. He grasped on, even in his sleep.
“That you’re ours.” Rhaenyra turned away suddenly, leaning down to settle Joffrey. You blushed, Daemon finishing settling a quarrel between Jace and Baela.
Gods. You were an utter fool for them.
—-
“Much better than the ones in King’s Landing, right?” Rhaenyra hummed as you sat on their bed, fingers splashing out over the red and gold sheets.
You didn’t feel a difference, but the journey had tired you. “Much better.”
She smiled, pleased, as a servant came in with a tray piled high. A handmaiden came forward out of nowhere, helping to untie Rhaenyra’s dress and take her hair down from it’s complicated configuration. Your cheeks burned and you turned away quickly, and she only laughed.
After she changed into a red silk slip, another servant walked in and presented you with a large trunk of clothes. The man bowed and left, and Rhaenyra walked over to place a kiss to your cheek. All awkwardness and ire forgotten.
“We can have more stuff made. Whatever you request, this is just the basics. Just until your other items arrive from Chamber’s Manor.
After you had decided to go to Dragonstone, you told your former good-brother. He had nodded, gave you a hug and wished you to best. If he wondered when you told him your stuff should be sent to Dragonstone he did not ask, only leaving with the answers to his questions in tow.
You had not received a letter from your father yet.
Since you had no children, you no longer had a place at Chamber’s Manor. Most widows in your situation were sent back to their fathers for another marriage match, or to Oldtown to become a Septa.
You doubted Daemon and Rhaenyra would be happy with either of those options.
After thanking Rhaenyra, and asking her where the bathroom was, (you half expected her to refuse to tell you), you changed into a red and golden slip. It was similar to Rhaenyra’s, being the same style, but the color was lighter and the trimmings were gold, while Rhaenyra’s was all red.
When you exited the bathroom, Rhaenyra had already drawn the curtains closed and the covers over herself. You slipped in next to her, reluctantly.
“I thought you wanted me to warm your bed tonight, not as soon as we arrived.”
“The journey tired me. I’m an old woman.” You let out a laugh at her joke, sinking into the sheets.
Your head came to rest on her chest, and her arms wrapped around you. As easy and natural as breathing, you mused to yourself.
Daemon followed in after, giving a report about how all of the children were settled. The babies, (Joffrey and Aegon), were asleep in the nursery with their nannies, Rhaena had retired, and the other children have gone off to greet their dragons up close after the long journey.
It was natural when he climbed in next to you, only loose pants on him and his hair loose. The hard muscles of his chest pressed up against you, and it made you feel the safest you had ever felt.
“My father will learn of this soon, you know.”
“We know,” Daemon muttered bitterly, an arm wrapping around both you and Rhaenyra.
“Nothing’s going to happen. Your father cannot deny us, hm? Don’t worry your sweet little head, my love.” You nodded in response to Rhaenyra’s words, and she pressed a kiss to your head.
You are the sun, and you were always meant to burn with them. Forever, brightly. You sink into the soft sheets, and in this moment, you are eternal.
—-
taglist:
@wondergal2001 @akiraquote @a-lil-bit-nuts @anginoguera @thatkinkylesgirl1 @stitchattacks @honeypillowsblog @kaloafd @blackhoodlea @softtina @wallace02sblog @tetgod @hotd-fanfic
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delicrieux · 2 years
Note
dream of the endless content mom??? pls??? mb something with the reader just appearing on different times in history and dream is like, who is this babe? LMAO
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THE FIRST MEETING  | endless drabble series (sandman edition)    
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summary: a new star is born and coincidentally, you start appearing in dream’s path  pairing: dream of the endless x f!reader a/n: UGH FINE!!!!!!!!! i will write for hot emo man bcs hes hot and emo. warning tho ive only seen the first ep of sandman lolz & i decided to make this a drabble series since i thought this concept could be fun!
masterlist. ☕. next.
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He recalls a set of features that fall into a face – the slant of the nose, pucker of lips, tremble of long lashes and curl of hair that slowly morphs into a vision. It is a vision, a fragment of a dream, and perhaps he had seen the face amidst walking or when drinking from eternity’s fountain, but underneath the night’s sky another star had ignited, a blinking, far off thing that indicated something in the universe had shifted.
Destiny had been tight-lipped about the whole ordeal. The Lord of Dream’s didn’t pry – who is he to make his siblings talk when he so often refuses conversation? So the star was left unnamed, unexplored, unknown, twinkling dimly next to the Earth’s luminous moon.
But it’s an instant recognition when he walks the Earth – so young, so prosperous, with the whole of history not yet unfolded beneath it, no impressive strides yet, only those made from caves and furs into wooden shacks and stone houses. It’s the face he saw among the crowd of humans, lost in a throng of their burgeoning new language, a melody of strings that unfurls into movement. You call it dance. What humanity lacked in kindness they always made up in imagination.
He’s there, a pale shadow in the flickering fires and linen dresses, a ghost, maybe, or something born from pagan rituals that are younger than him, but it’s not like the present crowd knows. It’s a rowdy night, summer solstice, an important day now and perhaps forever, a salute to the Sun and the Rain and the Sky and Nature. You humans think of the most outlandish things, bring the most ostensive offerings – from bread and milk to blood. It spills, all of it, into the fire. Flowers crown heads and fall underneath trampling feet. It’s a celebration that’s coated in mead and honey.
He sees the familiar face in the dance around the fire – sees the person it belongs to, sees you lifting up your skirt to jump through the flames. Claps and laughter echo above the music. There’s something underneath his skin that stirs – much like then, much like the first time he saw your features, when the new star was born and the universe had tried to tell him something, but what he didn’t know yet.
You saw him, too, and your movements halted in a flinch of what? Curiosity? Recognition? Neither, or both, he can’t yet tell, he hasn’t mastered human emotions. But you approach, almost shyly, not daring to look him in the eyes again, and when you’re close enough you smell like lilies and smoke from the pyre, and your eyes reflect the moon.
You extend your hands in an offer – the same hands that had carried bread wrapped in linen to your young wise gods. The Lord of Dreams would think it beneath him to join the fray of delirious festivities. But it’s the star that blinks by the moon, the image of your face in the waters of his visions, dreams, fragments, pieces that slowly fall together and tug on his gut to submit to a feeling that he doesn’t know how to name yet.
Cold hands touch warm ones. A smile blooms on your face and in his mind’s eye he sees all of your dreams: dreams of freedom that manifests into a balmy fragrance in the night; dreams of him, no, a version of him, one born now and of your own imagination, of him joining your future as he joins the dance, a possibility of a happy ending and a vague apparition of a family. Briefly he is fascinated by how simple people are, how quick they are to conjure up a reality.
You’re light on your feet, as young as the night itself. And perhaps, if he allowed himself a moment of mindless indulgence, beautiful, too, but fickle – a beauty that’s doomed to erode like leaves in autumn. Your life is so short. It must be why you’re so happy.
“Have you found it?” You utter in a song-like drawl, palm’s aligned with his as you circle one another. A miniscule shift in his expression – a light knit of his brows and a slant of his head. A wordless question. You continue with a smile, “The blooming fern. Don’t you know? Whoever finds it, all of their dreams will come true.”
“…Have you?” He questions instead. Bashfully, you glance down.
“No, I haven’t,” You admit, “my father doesn’t let me wander that far off into the woods. He fears a witch might eat me.”
There are no blooming ferns or witches. Yet your voice brims with such sincerity that he knows even if he told you of the fact, you wouldn’t believe him. This is all you know, rituals and fantastical creatures and dance. Dreams and nightmares.
The music halts and you pull away – women flock you with clay pots of drink and blossoms, wrapping you in pure white shawls. He catches your gaze one last time – a voiceless prayer, a silent request to find it, whatever it is, the blooming fern in the daunting forest. You take turns emptying the pitchers. The mead runs down your lips, chin, dots your dress. You’re taken away, then, with a smile and a too sober understanding. Led to the fire.
He exits swiftly, without notice. The star in the sky dims, but flickers still.
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hope u liked it xx <3
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ml-nolan · 5 months
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I'll Make You Sorry (9401 words) by The_KickIt_Domain Chapters: 4/5
Fandom: The Sandman (Comics), The Sandman (TV 2022) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence Relationships: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus/Hob Gadling, Dream of the Endless/Hob Gadling, Hob Gadling/Assorted OCs, Hob Gadling/Guenevere | Hob Gadling's Girlfriend Characters: Dream of the Endless | Morpheus, Hob Gadling, Guenevere | Hob Gadling's Girlfriend (The Sandman), Lucien | Lucienne (The Sandman), The Corinthian (Sandman), Gault (The Sandman), William Shakespeare, Jim | Peggy (The Sandman), Assorted OCs, Eleanor | Hob Gadling's Wife (The Sandman) Additional Tags: Post Fishbowl, Canon Universe, Dreams and Nightmares, Dark Comedy, References to Hob's past in the slave trade, Includes details from the comics, That are not flattering, References to events discussed in The Wake, (TKO has not happened), References to Hob's Leviathan, Hob has lots of hookups, Dream is sour about it, Smut, Dream Sex, Getting Together, Emotional Baggage, Communication, The Corinthian Thinks He's Helping, Unresolved Tension, Dream made some choices in 1889, canon-compliant minor character death, description of drowning, Brief depiction of Eleanor's death, Lucienne deserves a raise, Dream gets slut shamey, But just because he's jealous
Summary:
"Wait, so you're running off because you had a dream that I had a dirty beard?"
The man has his trousers on and is buckling his belt with shaking hands. "I'm just—it was so vivid and disgusting and I can never look at you again without seeing it. Sorry, um…"
Ah. The guy's forgotten his name. Fair enough—Hob can't really remember his either. Hell, he's so rattled that he can barely remember which name he's using himself at the moment.
Before he can think of something quippy, the man has yanked his shoes back on and is bolting for the front door. He's already halfway down the back staircase before Hob thinks to yell, "You're welcome for the multiple orgasms!" -- Things from Hob's past are making Hob's hookups run screaming into the night, and it's really freaking him out. Dream is very concerned (both that other people are dreaming Hob's dreams and that Hob takes so many lovers).
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From — Chapter 4: Bounce Like Glass Against a Flame
"Just dreams," Murphy says. The rage that shook him in 1889 seems more than ever like a toddler's hissy fit compared to this. "Without dreams, you would be less than dust. Humanity and all the realms beyond it, dreaming and waking, would implode. Nothing would remain."
Fear trembles in his belly, and yet Hob still bites back glib words. That would all have seemed so terribly cheesy if it weren't coming from the mouth of this eternal being that looks like he's about to supernova all over Hob's duvet. All Hob can do is raise his hands in surrender.
"Fuck, ok, I didn't know! Sorry! You're worse than me! Christ on a bike, are you happy now?"
Every part of Murphy relaxes, as if he's let go of an electric fence. His eyes become glossy and human again. Even his hair loses some of its stiffness and flops over into his eyes. He's gone from existentially horrifying to waifish in a fraction of a second. Hob's seen a lot of weird shit, but fuck if this isn't top three.
"No," Murphy says, and Hob has to clap a hand over the laugh that comes bubbling out his throat. "I am not happy."
"Yeah, me neither," Hob says. 
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kay-lalala · 2 months
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The Ares Fight
It was... fine. That's it. But fine isn't enough. Not after the mess the show was.
The thing is, it was missing the details. Details that make Pjo into what it is.
->
Ares shows the helmet of darkness
Ares explains the backpack
Ares is confused about who gave him the orders and insists he came up with it himself (instead we get the Kronos reveal)
Ares summons a wild boar that attacks Percy, he fights it and summons a wave
"Scared?" "In your adolescent dreams."
Ares' sunglasses melt from the heat of his fire eyes
The banter between Percy and Ares
"Classic or modern?" With Ares and his baseball bat/sword
"Don't do this. He's a god." "He's a coward."
Annabeth gives Percy her necklace. "Athena and Poseidon together." (Ig she gives it to him later)
Grover gives Percy a tin can
"I've been fighting for eternity, kid. My strength is unlimited and I cannot die. What have you got?" "A smaller ego."
Percy using the water to jump over Ares
Police shows up recognizing Percy from TV which leads to the 'Crazy guy kidnapped these poor kids' news story and they think that they have guns (Ares' weapon flickers between shotgun and sword)
Percy's ADHD battle senses are sharpened
Ares sends a wall of flames towards the police cars that explode
When Ares gets injured he roars and the sea blasts back from Ares in a fifteen metre wide circle (instead he slow claps and says yay??)
WE DON'T SEE HIS GOLD BLOOD IN THE SHOW??? ICHOR??? Come on Disney it's not even real blood.
Ares curses in ancient Greek
"Every time you raise your blade in battle, every time you hope for success, you will feel my curse. Beware, Perseus Jackson. Beware."
The true form glow looked kinda goofy in the show ngl
Also seems like the show only had money for one fury and for that one fury to fly away or look like a fury
Something stopped Ares from killing Percy
It was fine, but it was bare bones, minimum effort. Like the entire show.
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feyresdaughter · 11 months
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A Court of Frost and Starlight, chapter 19-21:
My lips curved as I sent him an image. A memory. Of me on the kitchen table just a few feet away. Of him kneeling before me. My legs wrapped around his head. "Cruel, wicked thing." I heard a door slamming somewhere in the house, followed by a distinctly male yelp. Then banging— as if someone was trying to get back inside. Mor’s eyes sparkled. “You got him kicked out, didn’t you?” My answering smile set her roaring.
Feyre, that's naughty I LOVE IT
And so did the others, as Rhys returned with—“You didn’t.”I blurted out the words. He grinned at me over the giant tiered cake in his arms—over the twenty-one sparkling candles lighting up his face. Cassian clapped me on the shoulder. “You thought you could sneak it past us, didn’t you?”I groaned. “You’re all insufferable.”Elain floated to my side. “Happy birthday, Feyre.”My friends—my family—echoed the words as Rhys set the cake on the low-lying table before the fire. I glanced toward my sister. “Did you …?”A nod from Elain. “Nuala did the decorating, though.”It was then that I realized what the three different tiers had been painted to look like. On the top: flowers. In the middle: flames. And on the bottom, widest layer …stars. The same design of the chest of drawers I’d once painted in that dilapidated cottage. One for each of us—each sister. Those stars and moons sent to me, my mind, by my mate, long before we’d ever met. “I asked Nuala to do it in that order,”Elain said as the others gathered round. “Because you’re the foundation, the one who lifts us. You always have been.”
Elain that's adorable 😭 and she's so right
I met Rhys’s stare over the sparkling candles. His smile was enough to make the tightness in my throat turn into burning in my eyes. "What are you going to wish for?" A simple, honest question. And looking at him, at that beautiful face and easy smile, so many of those shadows vanished, our family gathered around us, eternity a road ahead …I knew. I truly knew what I wanted to wish for, as if it were a piece of Amren’s puzzle clicking into place, as if the threads of the weaver’s tapestry finally revealed the design they’d formed to make. I didn’t tell him, though. Not as I gathered my breath and blew.
FEYRE WISHES FOR NYX AND THE STARS LISTEN AND DREAMS GET ANSWERED
I lifted my brows. “Everyone gave you their gifts?” - “He’s the only one who can be trusted not to snoop,” Mor explained. I looked toward Azriel. “Even him,” Amren said. Azriel gave me a guilty cringe. “Spymaster, remember?”
THEY ARE ADORABLE
She grinned at the general. “Thank you, darling.” Cassian smirked. “I know what you like.” Mor held up— I choked. Azriel did, too, whirling on Cassian as he did. Cassian only winked at him as the barely there red negligee swayed between Mor’s hands. Mor hummed to herself and said, “Don’t let him fool you: he couldn’t think of a damn thing to get me, so he gave up and asked me outright . I gave him precise orders. For once in his life, he obeyed them.” - “The perfect warrior , through and through,” Rhys drawled. Cassian leaned back on the couch, stretching his long legs before him. “Don’t worry, Rhysie. I got one for you, too.”
I love this scene sm 😭
For Amren: a specially designed folding carrier for her puzzles. So she didn’t need to leave them at home if she were to visit sunnier, warmer lands. This earned me both an eye roll and a smile of appreciation. The ruby-and-silver brooch, shaped like a pair of feathered wings, earned me a rare peck on the cheek.
AMREN KISSING FEYRE ON THE CHEEK PLS
And for Cassian, Azriel, and Mor …I grunted as I hauled over the three wrapped paintings. Then waited in foot-shifting silence while they opened them. While they beheld what was inside and smiled. I hadn’t any idea what to get them, other than this. The pieces I’d worked on recently—glimpses of their stories. None of them explained what the paintings meant, what they beheld. But each of them kissed me on the cheek in thanks.
This gives such mom honestly. She's their mom here. Best mom
Rhys opened my present carefully, lifting the painting so the others wouldn’t see it. I watched his eyes rove over what was on it. Watched his throat bob. “Tell me that’s not your new pet,” Cassian said, having snuck behind me to peer at it. I shoved him away. “Snoop.” Rhys’s face remained solemn, his eyes star-bright as they met mine. “Thank you. It’s beautiful,” he said, voice still hoarse
Pls he got so emotional 🥺 Feyre really gave over her really authentic self to him, very symbolic I love it
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mrslyncx · 2 months
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A Moment of Eternity
Rating: Explicit Chapter 2: Left and Right Word Count (total): 676,902 Word Count (this chapter): 5,245 Pairing: Cullen Rutherford/Leaena Trevelyan Genres: Alternate Universe, Love at First Sight, Soulmates Art: Gerry Arthur
TWs are listed in AO3 tags so please check those before reading.
--- She remembered too, with some amusement, that the Knight-Commander, or Knight-Captain as he'd been under Meredith's disastrous reign of terror, was supposedly so handsome there was enough dreadful poetry devoted to him from dreamy apprentices and enchanters alike it could have filled half the Circle's library. Even with the horror stories that came regularly out of Kirkwall it didn't seem to put them off. The amount of apprentices and enchanters petitioning First Enchanter Kerverne to visit had led to running bets among senior enchanters as to how many per month he'd have to deny. Lea had decided it was all nonsense and hype. Why would mages throw themselves at a Templar who, by all accounts, hated them?
Fire and cold forced Lea to awaken, the flames coursing through her blood tearing at the fibre of her magic. A throbbing headache accompanied the unnatural twin sensations of heat and ice, not helped by the random green glow which momentarily suffused her vision. Rifling through her memories, frantic for an explanation, she paused at a fleeting thought. For some bizarre reason the sensation of protection lingered, bringing a sense of security to her soul she hadn’t experienced since childhood.
Dismissing such random nonsense, she focused on her surroundings. Anything to quell the nausea rolling in her stomach and orient herself. Wincing at the metal clamping her wrists, Lea's frustration increased. The bindings were unnecessary, as was the Templar presence looming nearby. There was a new quality to her mana, Lea fighting down her fear at the alien intrusion. She braced herself to face well....whatever it was she had to face. The sight that greeted her caused Lea to flinch in horror. Her left hand glowed bright green, pain shooting up her arm. The magical anomoly was certainly the cause of her impending migraine and fluctuating imbalances in her spirit.
‘Maker help me,’ she whispered in shock, staring at the inexplicable addition glowing under her skin as she dragged herself upright.
Three soldiers hidden in the shadows drew their swords upon hearing her speak, Lea about to ask who’d clapped her in chains when the door to her cell creaked open. A woman in the full armour of a Seeker marched in. Scowling. Her brown eyes snapped with rage as she saw her prisoner awake. A second woman, quieter but presumably no less deadly given how perfectly she blended into the shadows, joined her. While a Seeker spelled immediate trouble, Lea reminded herself to watch for the stealthy ones. The grey eyes on the other woman examining her were ruthless and cold, stripping her defences, identifying her weaknesses and plotting how to best exploit them. Both women, underneath the rage, were deep with sorrow and a hint of guilt. A lethal combination, especially when their accusations were turned on her.
‘Tell me why we shouldn’t kill you now,’ the Seeker spat venomously at her. ‘The Conclave is destroyed. Everyone who attended is dead. Except for you.’ Looking at Lea in disgust, the Seeker clearly expected some sort of response or confession.
Her captor was doomed to disappointment as Lea had no intention of confessing some imaginary crime. Gritting her teeth, she braced herself for a confrontation until the words hit home. The nausea was immediately replaced by an unwelcome chill of fear deep in her stomach. ‘The Conclave...wait! Everyone is dead?’
Already regretting her outburst, piquing the interest of her captors, Lea clamped her lips shut. Trystan. Her brother. He was out there somewhere, he had to be. Through her confusion, she struggled for control. Any answer she gave to the Seeker would be wrong. She had no idea who they were or how much of a threat they'd be to her family. Saying nothing was the only safe course of action. Besides, she probably couldn’t have said anything sensible even if she wanted to. The impact of the Seeker's few words left her reeling.
‘Explain this’ the Seeker growled in anger as she suddenly grabbed Lea’s left hand, casting an eerie green glow through the dank cell.
‘Ow!’ Lea moaned, almost passing out from the renewed pain. ‘I can’t!’
Ignoring the hurt she’d just caused, much to Lea’s fury, the Seeker stared at her in disbelief. ‘What do you mean you can’t!’
‘I don’t know what that is, or how it got there!’ It was the truth. She had no idea. The comforting blue of her own mana battled against the iridescent flows of alien magic that had appeared without warning.
‘You’re lying!’ The Seeker shouted in her face, grabbing Lea roughly by her collar only to immediately be pulled off by her companion.
‘We need her Cassandra!'
Saved by the other woman, Lea slumped back, filing the name of one of her captors away. Refusing to show her discomfort, she instead sought answers. ‘So. What now?’ Lea asked, hoping against hope for some news. Anything, to bring some sense to the madness.
‘Do you remember what happened?’ The desperation in the anonymous woman was evident, Lea’s unease growing. ‘How this began?’
‘Not really.' Lea was hesitant to share, given they thought she was a murderous criminal. ‘There was a lot of talking and then a massive noise. I remember running, and then…a woman?’
‘A woman!’ Cassandra and her companion stared at her in consternation. An answer they'd evidently not expected. On that point, Lea couldn't blame them.
‘She reached out to me, a shining light.' It was as unbelievable to her as it would be to them, the whole situation a fantastical nightmare. ‘I don’t remember a thing until now…..’
They fell quiet in silent communication before Cassandra gestured for the other woman to leave. ‘Go to the forward camp, Leliana,’ she said in a heavy voice as they both moved towards the door. ‘I will take her to the Rift.’
Leliana, Leliana.
I know that name. Oh Maker.
That had to be Sister Leliana, the Left Hand of the Divine and her spymaster. Companion to the Hero of Ferelden, a bard and first-rate assassin. The Seeker was Cassandra Pentaghast, Right Hand of the Divine and Nevarran royalty. Right as she figured out their identities, another thought occurred to her. These were two of the most powerful women in Thedas. It was inconceivable they didn’t know her identity. With the addition of her strange new magic they also had no idea what she was capable of. For that matter, neither did she.
While it was impossible to ignore her imprisonment, Lea’s immediate concern wasn’t for herself. Trystan could be caught up in a war she hadn't even realised had begun. Her elder brother, one of her Templar escorts to the Conclave. He had to be alive and she had to save him. They didn't need to know her motivations for now. Trust was, after all, a two-way street.
Cassandra paused in contemplation before reaching down to undo Lea’s shackles. Only the rope still held her wrists together, Lea allowing herself a low hiss of relief at the flow of blood to her fingers. Tentatively, she flexed her fingers on both hands. She still had motion in both hands, thank the Maker. Crossing off one less worry, she rose to her feet with a valiant attempt at not vomiting the empty contents of her stomach onto the Seeker's boots. Pride was the only thing preventing her from pitching face first onto the floor. She'd never cowered in her life before authority and she wasn't about to do so now.
‘What did happen?’ Her voice was loud in the dank cell, Lea unable to hide the quaver of anxiety in her tone.
The Seeker grimaced, dragging Lea towards the door. ‘It will be…easier to show you.'
Even on top of all the horrendous information she couldn't comprehend the enormity of, that proclamation sounded ominous. Lea looked down at her bound hands, biting back a gasp at her stab of fear. Trystan, her beloved big brother, her rock and protector, was missing. The Ostwick Circle wiped out, gone. Despite all their efforts at neutrality. Now some alien magic flowed through her which she’d not asked for or had any idea how to wield. Raising her chin, she fought back the tears, refusing to show any sign of weakness. Instead Lea sent a silent prayer to the Maker to guide Trystan to safety, nurturing the tiny flicker of hope. He hadn't been at the Temple itself. He might still be alive. His voice in her head, reminding her to be brave, kept Lea on her feet. She could mourn the dead later.
With a deep breath, she stepped out from the Chantry. Into madness.‘A moment, please!’ Lea called, pausing in shock at her surroundings. There was the reason for the sickly green colour she kept seeing in her dreams, that enormous pulsating tear in the sky that twisted in rhythm to the mark on her hand. She looked upwards to where the Temple of Sacred Ashes had been, now a smoking ruin, openly mocking the pathway to the heavens. The Fade-touched green was saturated through the landscape, punctuated with yawning rifts spewing forth demons, abominations and Maker knew what else from the Fade. The sheer wrongness hit Lea to her very soul, warping her magic and her contact with the Fade. A new world, but not one she wanted any part of.
‘We call it the Breach,’ Cassandra explained as Lea stared in horrified fascination at the hole in the sky. ���It’s a massive rift into the world of demons that grows larger with each passing hour. It’s not the only such rift, just the largest. All were caused by the explosion at the Conclave.’ ‘
‘An explosion can do that?’ Lea was astounded. In all her studies she had never come across magic so powerful.
‘This one did,’ Cassandra confirmed. ‘Unless we act, the Breach may grow until it swallows the world.’
The Breach contorted in the sky, connecting with the mark on Lea’s hand which sparked to life in response. ‘But...how!’ Lea cried out in terror. The devastation, despair and twisted pain in the fabric of life itself through her Mark, the torrent so overwhelming she was driven to her knees.
Cassandra stopped to help her. ‘Each time the Breach expands, your Mark spreads. And…it is killing you. It may be the key to stopping this, but there isn’t much time.'
‘And yet you still think I did this – to myself!’ The Seeker’s ludicrous accusations warranted nothing but scorn and derision in return.
‘Not intentionally. Something clearly went wrong,’ was the snapped response.
‘And if I’m not responsible?’ Lea shot back, anger replacing her fear at Cassandra's unjust accusation. Perhaps she should be grateful for Cassandra's obstinance. Rage was a far more productive emotion.
‘Someone is, and you are our only suspect,’ Cassandra stated in a tone that brooked no argument. ‘You wish to prove your innocence? This is the only way.’
While there was little point in alienating her captor, and with no choice but to comply, Lea was staggered by the response. That such a senior representative of the Chantry, responsible for rooting out abominations, blood magic and other heresies for the Divine herself, couldn't sense that Lea carried no abomination and couldn't have carried out such an explosion acting on her own, was disconcerting enough. What it truly represented, however, was a terrifying loss of control. During a crisis of such magnitude the entirety of Southern Thedas was at stake, their leaders were rudderless and clueless.
That last point bought Lea crashing back to the present. The Maker-cursed mark was going nowhere and no one had the power to remove it. The world reverberated in agony. To withhold what little aid she could provide would have been beyond selfish in the face of the continued death and destruction around her. Even more importantly, there would be no saving of her family if she didn't at least try.
She indicated her acceptance of Cassandra's terms with a nod of her head. ‘I understand.'
A shimmer of hope appeared in the Seeker’s eyes. ‘Then….’
‘I’ll do whatever I can. Whatever it takes.’ If nothing else, Lea had been raised never to back away from a righteous fight. All that she valued and loved was under threat, and she would battle to the death to save them.
Cassandra helped her rise, leading her through the village. The suspicion and anger directed at Lea was evident in the eyes and stance of the villagers. Even her experiences as a mage had not prepared Lea for the open hostility and hate on display. People were broken and afraid with no hope. They all, Seeker included, needed a scapegoat and right now she was it. She focused forward, resolute, ignoring the vicious accusations. She had no choice if she wanted to maintain any hope of finding Trystan alive. Time would prove her innocence, as would the upcoming battle Cassandra evidently was preparing for.
'They have decided your guilt. They need it.' Cassandra's observations didn't help Lea feel better, although it did explain the hatred. ‘The people of Haven mourn the loss of our most Holy, Divine Justinia, Head of the Chantry. The Conclave was hers. It was a chance for peace between mages and Templars. She bought their leaders together. Now they are dead. We lash out, like the sky. But we must think beyond ourselves. As she did.'
Blaming her for the death of the Divine was the easy option that required no critical thinking. Just as she'd had to cope with as a mage, Lea was again being judged and found wanting before having a chance to prove herself. It was easy to push aside her anger thanks to a lifetime of practice. Lea had bigger fish to fry. She let Cassandra talk as she scanned the crowds, seeking any familiar faces. Reaching the gate which led to the Temple, Lea was forced to abandon her search. She glanced down in surprise as Cassandra took hold of her bonds, wielding a knife in one hand.
‘Until the Breach is sealed.’ Cassandra cut the rope free with a warning. ‘There will be a trial. I can promise no more. Now, come. It is not far.’
She didn't need to be told twice. Without any further discussion they ran up the path ahead. Pure adrenaline and a fear for her life was all that drove Lea forward. Chaos rained from the skies, both her and Cassandra dodging dead bodies and strikes of Fade-green fire. It was hard to ignore the blank terror in the eyes of survivors struggling back towards the village or hold onto the wisps of hope she'd mustered up at Trystan's survival. At the sight of four demons lurching towards them, disgorged from the broken heavens above, she was grateful for the distraction. Hitting something hard was the only way to regain any semblance of control. Shattering two of them on the spot allowed Cassandra to focus on the other pair. Lea grabbed a staff from a dead mage nearby, sending a quick prayer to Andraste for forgiveness, before grinding to a halt at the sight of the Seeker's blade pointed directly at her.
‘Drop your weapon - now!’ Cassandra's shout echoed off the walls of ice in the valley.
Lea's patience snapped. The world might be ending but Lea had never backed down to a Templar before, a courtesy she'd extend to a Seeker. She was bruised, battered, terrified of the alternative universe she'd been thrust into with no warning and furious being labelled as the Chantry's convenient perpetrator.
‘What would have happened just now if I'd not assisted with that fight? I may know very little about this mark I’ve been dubiously blessed with, but I’m pretty sure magic needs to have a living vessel in order to work.' Lea would make no apology, her own anger peaking. 'If I die, you risk losing the ability to close these rifts and the Breach as it dies with me. Besides, I could have killed you any time I wanted in this run-up to the forward camp. Yet here we are, alive! You're reacting out of fear, not reason.'
Conflicting emotions warred across Cassandra's face, primarily disapproval, before she reluctantly withdrew her sword. ‘Very well. You don't need a staff for your magic. But, equally, I can't protect you with the demon hordes increasing in numbers and I can't expect you to be defenceless.’ She walked towards the path and then stopped. ‘I should remember you agreed to come willingly.’ A grudging admission, but progress. Lea wasn’t foolish enough to read anything more into the gesture beyond a need to keep her, and her Mark, alive.
In silence they continued the slog upwards battling demons after demon, to Lea’s increasing alarm. The rift they eventually reached did nothing to quell her fear. It was the first one she'd observed up close, all jagged with Fade protrusions jutting from the centre. Alongside a troop of exhausted soldiers an elf and a dwarf were joined in a desperate and intense fight. Monsters poured out of the rift, pushing their forces back. Lea was stumbling through the snow, as frantic as Cassandra to save them from the ultimate end, yet thwarted by the pulsating waves resonating with her new magic. Disorientation rocked her, Lea clenching her teeth against the agony as she blasted wave after wave of ice, fire and lightening at the carnage.
‘Quickly, before more come through!’ The elf materialising at Lea's shoulder grabbed her hand and pointed it at the rift with no ceremony or warning. A steady, fast stream of green-yellow flame seared directly to the rift’s centre. Lea's body shuddered, the power coursing through her veins both foreign, intoxicating and repulsive.
She staggered as the rift snapped shut with no warning, the improvement in her physical and mental state now she'd expended some of the power noticeable. ‘What did you do?’ Lea groaned as she caught her balance, staring at the unknown elf. Warily, and with increasing respect, she studied the other mage's aura, astonished at his level of power. Another mystery stood before her. In her experience, spirit mages with that level of talent were non-existent. Today was a day where she was continually being proven wrong.
‘I did nothing.' The elf replied with a slight smile, examining her in return with respectful acknowledgement to her own powers. ‘The credit is yours.’
‘You mean this.’ Lea waved her hand, using the respite from battle in an attempt to understand more. 'Not me.'
‘And I thought we’d be ass-deep in demons forever.’ The dwarf joined their group, Lea noting with interest Cassandra’s significant lack of enthusiasm for their new companion.
‘Varric!’ Cassandra ground out in anger. ‘Why are you still here? Your services aren't needed.’
‘Why Seeker, I thought I'd stick around. I’m never one to miss the action.' Varric's retort only served to drive Cassandra's irritation to new heights, a ploy Lea suspected was deliberate. ‘Besides, last time I looked you seemed to be on the losing side. Like it or not, you need me right now.’ His smirk in Cassandra's direction, coupled with his accurate assessment of their dire situation, only needled the Seeker further. Not one able bodied fighter could be spared to fight the threat at the Breach. The soldiers surrounding them were exhausted, many with injuries, fighting for days on end with no respite.
‘Varric Tethras at your service, Lady Trevelyan.' Lea was hard pushed not to gape in surprise. Even given her curtailed life in the Circle, this dwarf's fame was legendary. 'Rogue, storyteller, and occasionally unwelcome tagalong.’
Apprentices fought over who had the right to read Varric's books. What he'd achieved with the Champion of Kirkwall was the stuff of legend. Or nightmares. Furthermore, Marcher society wasn't so extensive. It was no surprise that he'd heard of her family. Of immediate importance to Lea, he confirmed her captors were well aware of her identity, furthered by Cassandra's deepening scowl at Varric's loose tongue. The dwarf's use of her old title was, Lea surmised, on purpose.
‘Varric Tethras,’ She smiled in response to Varric's subtle support. ‘Bosom bow to Kirkwall’s Champion. Slayer of dragons and Arishoks. Where would we be without your masterful penmanship? Your exploits, ser, are legendary. I'm honoured to finally meet you, although I would have preferred more…salubrious surroundings.’
‘Your sister Caya is a force to be reckoned with, as is your father.' Varric's mention of her family sent a pang of sadness through Lea's stomach. 'It's been my privilege to do business with your family on more than one occasion. Albeit sometimes costly.'
The smirk which he gave primarily to annoy Cassandra appeared again at her snort of disgust. ‘While I'd love to sit here and swap gossip, I’m pretty sure our delightfully charming Seeker would prefer we postponed the greetings until that hole in the sky is dealt with. Please, though, Varric is just fine. All this ser business gets me antsy. Like I'm about to be arrested.’
‘Very well.’ It was impossible not to warm to Varric’s friendly greeting, the only person who hadn’t looked at her like some magical freak or murderer since she’d awoken. ‘I’ll only agree if you call me Lea. The title of lady belongs to a life no longer mine to claim.’
‘With the Circles gone who knows? But whatever works for you, Frosty.' Lea blinked before remembering Caya’s acerbic comments about Varric and his insistence on nicknames.
It was irrelevant what she was called, the urgency to close the monstrosity circulating above their heads far more important. Lea was the only one who balanced the odds in their favour. Varric's burst of humour reminded Lea of the odds they'd so far defied. There was a chance, no matter how slim. Varric's mention of home was a reminder of what she fought for. Not that Lea's precious feelings mattered to the Seeker, of course. Cassandra’s disapproval was doubling by the second, radiating from her in waves. Big bristling ones. Dragged back to the present Lea lifted her hand, examining the foreign magic with confusion.
‘So. In the interests of closing these rifts for once and for all, what am I supposed to do?’ She hid a stab of pain shooting down her arm. ‘A quick check in before I go charging into another battle would be appreciated.’
‘What now?’ Cassandra slammed the tip of her sword into the ground, curbing her impatience. 'The Breach is there. You stick your hand to the sky and do what needs to be done.'
'Some finesse is required, Seeker.' Varric spoke up before Lea lost her temper. 'I'm a dwarf and even I know that there's more to it than that. Give the mage a few minutes to figure it out. It's not that fucking hard.'
Lea turned her back to Cassandra and looked at the elf, refusing to give into the overwhelming urge for a blazing row no matter how tempting. ‘I can feel its power next to mine. They run, side by side but contrary to my own innate power.' Lea struggled for words to explain the unfamiliar sensations. 'It burns and I can’t...cool it, for want of a better explanation. There's a more intense connection to the Fade which I guess is what I'm supposed to manipulate?'
‘Correct, Your connection to the Fade has altered, somewhat like an anchor. I believe that you will be able to close the rifts as a result.' Lea drew a sharp breath at the abrupt assessment of her newfound powers, unsure how a stranger had such confidence in their diagnosis. 'Ah...my name is Solas. That might help, if there are to be introductions.’
‘Ma melava halani Solas. Ma serannas.' The universe might be on fire but manners mattered, ingrained into Lea since birth. It was an automatic response on her part, Lea intoning the formal Elven greeting with politeness with a bow towards Solas.
The elf looked baffled, Lea convinced she'd made a monumental faux pas before he returned the gesture with a slight smile. ‘Serannas, Hahren. Apologies, your accent threw me somewhat.'
Lea blushed with pleasure at his honorific. ‘I am not sure I deserve such high praise but I’ll endeavour to try and live up to what we need.’
‘That's all we can do with our lives.’ Solas gestured at the sky. ‘You've been marked for a monumental task no one else in Thedas is capable of. I've seen enough to know you're more than its equal. I'm also pleased to see you still live. A selfish statement, perhaps, but I'm genuinely pleased we had the opportunity to meet.’
‘What Chuckles here means is 'I kept that mark from killing you while you slept.’' Varric's interjection provided Lea with another missing piece to the puzzle of her survival.
‘Then I owe you my thanks. You seem to know a lot about this.' Lea  was curious to understand where Solas gained his knowledge.
‘Unlike you, Solas is an apostate.' That the elf fell outside Cassandra's narrow definition, mages of any value were only those locked up in Circles while the rest were troublemaking heathens.
‘Technically all mages are now apostates Seeker. My journeys through the Fade will come in useful.' Solas' cheerful response left Lea stifling a laugh at Cassandra's grimace of discomfort. 'Let's not debate the finer points of Chantry law while demons fall from the sky. I theorised the mark might be able to close the rifts that have opened in the Breach's wake, and it seems I was correct. I came to offer whatever help I can give to close the Breach. If we can't close it we're all doomed.’
Lea couldn’t help herself. She was fascinated. From the moment she had arrived in the Circle her personal mission had been to find out as much as she could about magic and its properties. The Fade was one of her favourite places to visit, unlike many of her peers. She was comfortable there, able to explore her true identity in a way the constraints of the Circle and Chantry couldn't allow for.
Priorities.
Questions can come later.
Survival was paramount. Her scientific curiousit could wait. ‘If we live through this, Solas, expect me to be beating a path to your door to learn more.'
‘I look forward to it,’ Solas bestowed on Lea an approving glance. ‘But for now, the Mark on your hand is spreading. If we don't do something about it soon, it will kill you. I believe the way we'll stabilise your Mark is by closing the rift. To all intents and purposes it's a permanent part of your magic now.’
This time, she couldn't submerge her anguish. Lea turned away, frightened at how spectacularly out of control the situation was. Violated. Foreign magic had been added to her body without her consent with the only solution being to point her hand at various rifts, in the hope that it stopped destroying both her and the very fabric of Thedas.
‘I'm sorry you find yourself in a situation not of your making. You've had no time to absorb the impact either.' Solas recognised her internal conflict, seeking to reassure her. ' At least now you are awake and we can help you save your life. You are needed, Lea, in a way perhaps that no one in history has ever been needed before.’
‘It’s true.' Cassandra's quiet confirmation was, for once, devoid of antagonism as she recognised the truth. ‘You're our only hope in closing the Breach. We can deal with the aftermath once the Breach is closed, but for now you must try. For everyone. For you.’
Presented in such a manner left Lea with no choice. Not that it mattered. According to her family, wasn't this what her years of training and education were for? In fairness, her mother and father hadn't envisaged huge gaping gashes in the sky weeping demons but they pushed their children to become leaders regardless of the situation. Her new allies continually referred to her as a noble and Lea now understood why. In their own way, Solas, Varric and Cassandra had steered her towards the only outcome, through subtle reminders of her status, her upbringing, the expectations thrust onto her since childhood. If there was ever a time for Lea to embrace her heritage, the end of the world was surely it. It wasn't meant to send her spinning out of control, Lea clutching her fists to her side and her nails digging hard into her palms as she moved up the path.
‘Cassandra, you should know; the magic involved here is unlike any I have seen.' Lea glanced at Solas, surprised and grateful for his support. Finally, someone who understood that one person alone simply couldn't wield the level of power required to cause such destruction. 'Although your prisoner is a mage, I find it difficult to imagine that anyone could have such power.’
‘Understood.' Cassandra's voice was grim, ushering their small party forwards. ‘We must get to the forward camp quickly. Sister Leliana and Commander Cullen await us there. The way is currently clear, save for one or two demons we may encounter.’
‘Commander Cullen?’ A name Lea recognised. If her brain would just stop fighting the torrent of magic flowing through her blood….
Kirkwall.
Recognition crashed through her as she trudged through the snow. What mage in the Free Marches didn't know of the infamous Knight-Commander? Due to the animosity between Kirkwall and Ostwick Circles Lea had never visited. Not that she minded. Kirkwall, stuffed to the brim with crazy Templars, blood mage First Enchanters, Qunari invasions and an apostate who sparked the whole mage rebellion by his literal ignition of the Chantry not being top of her list of places to visit. Yet how the fates laughed. Here she was, about to meet a Templar from the most notorious Circle in Thedas, responsible for some of the worst abuses of trust in Templar history against mages under his watch. Except….he was friends with Trystan. Her brother was notoriously picky about who he chose to spend time with but had mentioned Cullen multiple times as a friend and confidante. Lea decided to withhold her judgement until she had a chance to judge the Commander for herself. What choice did she have? War forced allegiances which were unthinkable in peacetime.
She remembered too, with some amusement, that the Knight-Commander, or Knight-Captain as he'd been under Meredith's disastrous reign of terror, was supposedly so handsome there was enough dreadful poetry devoted to him from dreamy apprentices and enchanters alike it could have filled half the Circle's library. Even with the horror stories that came regularly out of Kirkwall it didn't seem to put them off. The amount of apprentices and enchanters petitioning First Enchanter Kerverne to visit had led to running bets among senior enchanters as to how many per month he'd have to deny. Lea had decided it was all nonsense and hype. Why would mages throw themselves at a Templar who, by all accounts, hated them?
The second of light relief faded, a shiver coursing up Lea's spine. There was no fairy tale ending riding off into the sunset with a dashing Templar to live a glamorous life of an outlaw. It was amazing how many of her peers thought that possible, and not just in the Ostwick Circle. She'd seen too many fall prey to that impossible dream and pay the ultimate price. A scenario which bit too close to the bone for her comfort. Her loud exhale of resignation caught Varric's attention, Lea catching herself on time and allowing a neutral expression to fall over her face. These were memories she had no intention of sharing. As luck would have it, or perhaps not, demons suddenly appeared to interrupt to distract the all too clever dwarf.
Yet even with the Commander's damming history and the devastation about her, as she shot another lance of ice at a Wisp, Lea had to admit to herself the tiniest bit of curiosity to see if rumour would, for once, live up to the truth.
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alastairstom · 6 days
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Butterflies
A Herondaisy drabble based on @hanelizabeth's beautiful art. Also, @angeldaisies, I think you'll like this one too.
You can read it on Ao3!
---
James dimly recalled Cordelia once telling him that she looked better in deep hues rather than pastels. She could not have been more wrong. James knew that his wife would be beautiful in anything she chose to wear, make the wings of his heart beat heavily until it took off inside of his chest. And now, looking upon her in her newest gown, James felt those wings take flight and lodge in his throat.
He was lost for words. Breathless. Angel, Cordelia was a dream beyond anything he had ever imagined.
She spun around, an impish smile on her face. "So, do you like it? I know it is far from my usual attire, but I rather liked all of the butterflies on the skirt." She paused. "There's just so much... so much whimsy-"
James knew that his golden eyes were smoldering as he took her in. "'Whimsy' is perhaps not the word I would assign to what I am currently feeling," he said, his voice deep and rich. He laughed, a low sound in his moth-addled mouth as the butterflies moved low in his belly. "I am thinking more along the lines of 'beauty' and 'excessively hopeless desire.'"
In an attempt at true whimsy, James waggled his eyebrows, and Cordelia laughed. She strolled up to him, lifted a finger, and poked his nose. "Your expression is truly quite amusing," she informed him lightly. "As though I am some sort of angel come to life, though I assure you that I am having far too much fun teasing my husband to truly be angelic."
Up close her opal earrings winked. They were set in gold, bringing out the glint of the globe necklace that James still remembered being fastened around her neck for the first time. The gold complimented the flame of her hair perfectly, and the blue...
Well, that brought out the sky shade of her gown, and the white accents and butterflies and sash offset her rich brown skin. The curve of a smile graced her lips, and James...
He wove a hand around her waist.
He pulled her in close.
And when their lips met, the butterflies in his throat and stomach became too much to bear. He made a small noise of desire as he trailed his hand up the small of her back to rest at the nape of her hair, the thick red chignon brushing the sides of his hands...
Cordelia pushed him away with a giggle. "Do control yourself," she said. "There shall be plenty of time for that tonight, and I will wear the dress if you want."
"I certainly would not complain," James told her in perhaps too agreeable a tone. "But you're right. As much as it pains me to let go, I would not wish to miss our dinner reservation. You know that I can never say no to duck ala orange, tempting though it may be."
-
The duck was good, but Cordelia was better.
She sat across from him devouring her lamb chops and parsnips, talking of a ridiculous dinner that she had recently had with Thomas and Alastair at their home in Cornwall Gardens. "I am telling you, Alastair gave me those lemons to mock me," she said. "You know how I find them too sour!"
"Very rude of him," James agreed, though there was no mirth in it. He liked Alastair. "Next time we have him over, we'll find a way to get him back. Perhaps an extra lump of sugar in his tea?"
"Oh, no. Set out blackberry tarts and pretend that there are not enough for him. He will be horribly overset by the time I reveal that there are, in fact, more in the icebox."
James laughed.
Over dessert, he told Cordelia about the time that he had gone to a market in Alsace with his father, an overcast day when the sun shone over dozens of cards filled to the brim with books. "And that was my first experience with a pop-up stalls," he said. "And now they are an eternal part of my existence."
"Oh!" Cordelia clapped her hands. "I remembered something. Next week in Camden there is to be a book fair. I saw a flyer for it at Comb's Coffee."
"Well, we're going. Mark the date," he told her. "And I will, of course, buy you all the books you want."
Cordelia grinned radiantly, and the opals in her ears sparkled. "Sounds like I'll be requiring a handcart," she said.
"And don't worry," James told her. "I'll select the most insufferable-looking bargain romance that I see so we can read it before the fire and laugh at its nonsense all night."
"My favorite kind of sleepless night," Cordelia agreed.
"You mean second favorite," James argued.
"No, actually, I don't." She smiled. "Though, of course, our other activities are a very close second, I very much just enjoy spending time with you."
She is my best friend, James thought unbidden. Absolutely and completely, I am hers.
And when he finally peeled her butterfly dress off after a night of laughter by the fireplace, he did not forget that.
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sasusakucoded · 8 months
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Sakura: Are you excited, Anata? Nervous?
Sasuke: What's there to be excited or nervous about? *closes his eyes to sleep*
Sakura: Right, Sasuke-sensei. *kisses him on the cheek* So, I'll be there at 1 PM and teach until 2. From there, you can lecture until 4 PM.
Sasuke: Okay.
---
The atmosphere in the classroom was different. Everyone was looking forward to this day, including Sakura. She promised to record the whole session for Sarada, too. All were anticipating for his arrival. It was 5 minutes before 2 PM. Everyone was looking at the door. Sakura was at her desk waiting for him, too.
It wouldn't be an Uchiha Sasuke entrance if it was not iconic enough. He appeared in front of the class using Amenotejikara, swapping places with a piece of chalk. He was there standing in front of everyone.
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Class: Whoa! *claps as if they saw a magic trick* So handsome! So cool!
Sakura: Anata? /thinks/ He said he didn't prepare anything?
Sasuke: This is one of the abilities of my rinnegan. I can switch places with objects and people.
Class: Woooooh!
Sakura: /thinks/ Of course he needed to show off for the intro..
Sasuke: Good afternoon. I'm Uchiha Sasuke and I'll be your substitute teacher for 2 hours. I'll teach you about dojutsu, specifically the sharingan and rinnegan.
Sakura: /thinks/ Sasuke-kun is so.. hot as a teacher??
Sasuke: I think my wife taught you the basics of dojutsu, so today I'll focus more on the actual abilities that they can do.
Class: Yes! Woooh!
Sasuke: I'll show you the jutsu if I can. If not, let me use a genjutsu to show it to you from my memory.. That is if you'll let me use a genjutsu on you.
Class: Yes, sensei!! We all agree!
Sasuke: Good. Let's start with the sharingan's ability to copy movements. It is very useful during battles.. But for a demo, let's do something simpler. Anyone here who knows calligraphy?
Student1: Me, sensei!
Sasuke: My wife can confirm that I don't know how to write callipgraphy.
Sakura: Yes class, he can't.
Sasuke: Please bring paper and a pen and go to the farthest seat. Write anything when I say so. Sharingan! *his eye turned red* Go!
Student1: *scribbles something* Done!
Sasuke: *takes a piece of paper and writes on it* Come in front and show your writing to the class. *shows his paper*
Student1: *shows the exact same copy*
Class: Woooow! *claps*
Sasuke: Sakura, please feel free to add anything at any point.
Sakura: Sure! Class, Sasuke's sharingan is the strongest kind. He can see on a cellular level. He can read hand seals from afar.. He can memorize and copy almost any ninjutsu, taijutsu, or genjutsu.
Class: What? Too cool!
Sasuke: My sharingan can also see and erase a person's memory, which is very useful for my missions. The more advanced sharingan can even control tailed beasts.
Class: Wooow! So powerful!
Sakura: Sasuke has eternal mangekyo sharingan. Mangekyo sharingan causes blindness over time but the eternal one negates that.
Sasuke: Right. Okay, so now let me put all of you under a genjutsu and I'll show you several instances where I used the full potential of my eye.
Class: Yeeees!
After several examples..
Sasuke: How was it?
Class: Wow, it was like watching a movie! You're awesome, Sasuke-sensei!
Student2: My favorite is the susanoo! So cool!
Student3: Mine is Amaterasu! Its color is so caool and can burn other flames!
Sasuke: *smirks* Now, on to Rinnegan. *shows his left eye*
Class: Woooh!
Sasuke: Like how I switched places with the chalk earlier, I can also use my rinnegan to create portals and enter a different dimension.
Class: Whoaaa!
Sasuke: The rinnegan can utilize the 6 paths technique. Later, I'll show you how I used it before. *proceeds to explain the 6 paths and show them his memories*
---
Sakura: My students made a petition that you start doing a special class about dojutsu next semester. *giggles*
Sasuke: No..
Sakura: You did really well, Anata. You're a better teacher than me.
Sasuke: No. You're the best out there.. Sakura, how can you work and teach and not get tired?
Sakura: I do get tired! But I think you're exhausted because you used up much chakra today.
Sasuke: Right.
Sakura: My students were so happy.. Thank you, Anata!
Sasuke: Well, it's a deal..
Sakura: You deserve a back massage tonight.
Sasuke: I deserve more than that.
Sakura: Oh yeah?
Sasuke: Let me sleep for 2 or 3 hours and I'll be good.
Sakura: Then?
Sasuke: I'll teach you some ~advanced~ lessons later.
Sakura: Sasuke-kun! *flustered*
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