#forgetting that i speak rus has more to do with how used i am to using eng. to the point that i mostly think in it

[corfisers]

two weird things that happen to me more often than i'd like and feel like they are on the opposite ends of the same spectrum: forgetting that i do actually speak two languages and forgetting that some people who post here in english speak only english

#the latter is usually when there's some post on linguistics or just like?? a thing with eng being passed as universal??? #don't have any examples off the top of my head unfortunately #but sometimes you read a post and get this “oh you never had to grapple with concepts that are not applicable to your first language” feel #this isn't me trying to shame anyone who speaks one language btw you're fine as long as you're not being an asshole #to people who's eng isn't perfect or have some weirdly strong opinions on translation or languages in general #while not having any actual knowledge you know? #whatever idk how much sense i'm making #forgetting that i speak rus has more to do with how used i am to using eng. to the point that i mostly think in it #kinda sucks if i'm being honest? i'm rereading idiot and went to look up eng translation for a chapter because i wanted to post something #and augh it's not the same! it's not the same. might be just not the best translation fuck if i know but still #but yeah i barely use rus outside of talking to someone irl (rarely happens) or reading a book. it's weird #benvey tag

[astridthevalkyrie]

summer rain: chapter 2

Your days in the Training Corp aren’t too out of the ordinary. You make friends, you train hard, and you eat dinner every day.

Oh, and you’re also hellbent on getting revenge against Humanity’s Strongest Soldier.

Chapter 1, Chapter 3

Okay, okay, so, you’d prided yourself on your plan. Getting the lieutenant himself to train you personally so you could learn his weaknesses and use his own tricks to one day take him down and humiliate him in front of everyone - it’s convoluted, but it’s a good idea. It’ll take a while, but it’ll work if you stay dedicated. Right? Right.

But you hadn’t actually expected him to agree. And so easily at that. He’d given you a quick look over as though he was scanning for some potential scheme, and then he’d readily said he would train you, which not only shocked you, it shocked both Captain Erwin and the woman who you learned was Lieutenant Hange Zoe. If his friends were surprised, then this must be out of character of him. You can’t imagine why he possibly would willingly take you under his wing.

Maybe...maybe the harsh treatment was some twisted way of looking out for you. A small bit of guilt blooms in your chest at the thought, but you quickly squash it down. There are other ways to prepare someone for their future than by publicly embarrassing and physically harassing them. A simple hey, focus up, cadet would have sufficed. Not that you’d have listened, but he doesn’t know that.

Yeah, he’s just a dick. He probably has his own messed up reasons to be doing this. You have to mentally prepare yourself for whatever cruel and unusual punishment he’ll be inflicting upon you.

His instructions ring through your head as you go to bed that night.

“Be at the grounds at 4 AM, sharp. Don’t be late.”

However, that’s absolutely ridiculous. It’s bad enough that you have to adjust your sleep schedule to wake up at 8 AM instead of 11 AM since they don’t allow for beauty sleep at the Training Corp (how are you supposed to maintain your flawless skin?), but now he expects you to be up and out of bed four whole hours than everyone else? No one is expected to be up at that time. Not even him. People are sleeping at 4 AM. No, you’re absolutely not going to be getting up just to train with a grouchy, perverted midget, thanks very much. If he was serious when he gave you those instructions, he’s going to have to deal with someone who values their shut-eye time. Sorry not sorry, Lieutenant. Your dreams are pleasant that night, letting you visit the market on the edge of Stohess which always smelled of fresh fruits and exotic perfume.

You’re content with your decision until a fucking wave crashes on you and brutally brings you back to the world of the living.

With a heaving gasp, you sit up straight in a coughing frenzy, spitting up water. Your hair is soaked, along with your nightgown. Fat droplets run down your face and bite into your cheeks. It’s cold.

“Be quiet,” Lieutenant Levi mutters casually, as though he didn’t just dump a bucket of water on you, “you’ll wake up the others.”

You gape at him incredulously, bringing your hands up to frantically wipe water off your face. For a second, you forget all formalities and you forget he ranks far higher than you, or perhaps you just don’t care, and you splutter out what you’ve been wondering since the moment you met him.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

For someone who seems to enjoy teaching you discipline, he never actually tells you off for these comments. Instead of chiding you for being rude, he says in a snippy tone, “I’ve been waiting for ten minutes. Get up, or I’ll refill the bucket.”

You don’t need any further encouragement. You throw off the thin and wet blanket and stand up, now fully awake. He rolls his eyes when he sees how silky your nightgown is - yeah, he damn well should feel bad for soaking such an expensive piece of fabric, the asshole. It’s worth more than that stupid tacky cravat he’s always sporting, that’s for sure.

Fortunately, no one else has woken up. Thank Maria, you’re not sure you could stomach someone seeing Lieutenant Levi demeaning you yet again. You shakily grab your clothes and uniform, and then turn to him. He raises a brow.

“Some privacy would be appreciated, sir.” You cross your arms over your chest protectively.

He scoffs pointedly, as though to tell you he’d have to be absolutely obtuse to want to see you naked, to which you only take a little offense. He gives you orders to hurry the fuck up and then leaves the barracks. You’re tempted to take your sweet time changing, but you really, really don’t want to risk getting soaked again. You just wish that you had time to dry your hair - the morning air outside is bound to be freezing. Sighing, you tie it up tightly, mourning the days you could let your precious tresses fly freely. Stupid military, stupid titans, stupid lieutenant. You dislike all of them greatly. In that order.

When you join him outside, he’s leaning against a tree, looking at you dully.

“Managed to have a tea party before you got down here, (L/N)? Or have you always walked at the speed of a snail?”

Holy hells help you, this is going to be a long day.

You salute, and he lets out a small tch, walking up to you and sizing you up. You tense up immediately, you wouldn’t put it past him to knock you down again for the heinous crime of making him wait.

“This is how this is going to work, Cadet.” He stands right in front of you and you force yourself not to look in his eyes, choosing to look at the pretty leaves on the birch tree behind him. “Every morning, from 4 AM to 6 AM, you’re here, and you’re doing whatever the hell I tell you to.” Probably allowing him to punch you in the face repeatedly. “Then you go back, get two more hours of sleep so that you don’t look like shit at breakfast.” It’ll take more than the likes of him to get you to look like shit, but sure, he can flatter himself. “If I’m on an expedition or not here for some other reason, you do a basic routine regardless.” Right, like he’ll know if you skip out. Nice try. “I might have you do other bits of training at another part of the day sometimes, but for the most part, we’ll be doing the brunt of it in the morning so it doesn’t interfere with your classes and shit.” Okay, that’s fair, and you can’t find a complaint with it no matter how hard you try. “Questions?”

You open your mouth, but he doesn’t give you a chance to actually ask anything before barking out an order. “Twenty-four laps around the grounds, now.”

Twenty-four? Okay, okay, you can do this, you knew what you were signing up for. He’s going to be harsh. He’s going to wear you out. You’re not going to break. Even if it’s the crack of dawn and he’s certifiably insane.

When you start running, his eyes follow you. You briefly wonder how he’s going to keep himself entertained throughout this, but then you remember that he’s cruel and terrible, and he’ll be entertained plenty watching you suffer. Besides, you have other things to focus on besides how much fun he’s having.

The maximum amount of laps Grumman has had you run so far is twelve, and that was with everyone else, so all the cadets could feed off each other’s energy and boost morale. Right now, there’s no one with you, no one to complain to, no one to hide behind so you can spend a few seconds walking instead of running. Oh, and it’s way too early. Have you mentioned that it’s way too early?

Half way through the fifteenth lap, you drop down on your knees and start panting. You’re tired. You want to go back to sleep. Screw your plan. Screw getting revenge.

“Oi!” The lieutenant calls out from his cozy spot under the birch tree. “I didn’t say you could take a nap!”

Most all all, screw him.

You hear him approaching, but you can’t bring yourself to get up. The grass is damp against your fingers, looking like a nice and cool spot to just lie down and rest your head for a few seconds. Sure, not as nice as a regular feathery pillow, but -

He kicks you on the side. It’s not that hard, but you still hiss in pain.

You hate him, you hate him, you hate him -

“Get up,” he snaps, impatient. “You’ve got nine more to go.”

Everything about him is grating, from his voice to his polished shoes to his gorgeous grey eyes. How you wish you could shut him up.

Clearly not someone who enjoys waiting, he yanks you up by your arm, letting out another tch at your murderous expression. He applies just the slightest pressure against your skin, before speaking in a tone that makes it clear he’s getting fed up.

“You’re the one who wanted to be trained. If you can’t handle a few laps, then forget about getting into the top ten.”

“I don’t want to get into the top ten,” you huff, writhing in an attempt to break free of his grasp to no avail. Why does everyone and their mother assume you’re some tryhard goody two shoes? “And even if I did, running these laps isn’t gonna get me there. So can we just leave it at fifteen?”

Lieutenant Levi pulls you in closer, until you’re nearly nose to nose with him. Your eyes widen as he tightens his hold on you, and you despise that your heart beats faster for whatever godforsaken reason. Unwillingly, you think about what it would actually feel like to be wrapped up in his arms, to have his hands on your waist, to have his lips on your -

Fuck fuck fuck. Wrong and fucked up line of thought. Focus.

“You seem to think we’re collaborating here, (L/N). Let me make it clear,” he drawls lazily, “we’re not. You’ll do what I say, no questions asked.”

“I’m going to ask questions, sir. Blind obedience isn’t good for anyone.”

“I think it’s less to do with blind obedience, and more with you wanting to be a pain in the ass.”

“Very astute of you,” you say without thinking, and his shoulders move in what might have been a laugh, but it happens so quickly you’re not sure if you imagined it or not.

“Finish the laps,” he orders, letting go of you and jerking his head, telling you to hop to it.

You glare petulantly, but start running anyways. What he doesn’t realize is he just let you have a break, no matter how short it might have been, and that’s exactly what you needed. Not so clever, this one. You take the small win and feel triumphant, even though you still have to run nine more laps and your hair is still wet and it’s still a forbidden hour for anyone to be awake at.

Once the laps are done, Lieutenant Levi allows no further time for relaxation before ordering you into thirty push-ups, which is just thirty more than your preferred amount of push-ups. The amount of fucking delight he takes in putting his foot on your back, making it just a bit harder for you to get up each time, is unbelievable. He’s a damn sadist, who thrills in your pain.

After the push-ups are finished, you have to do squats. Once the squats are finished, you move on to crunches. Then around five million side kicks, or at least that’s what it feels like. Then forward lunges. Then tricep extensions against the tree. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat.

How fucking long is an hour anyway?

By the time the lieutenant finally tosses you a flask of water - he throws it so quickly it almost hits your face - you’re winded, out of breath, and dizzy. Nothing hurts per se, but your body is desperately begging for you to stop, to take a break, to just sit down for a single second. You know that any second now, you’ll be back in bed, and the only obstacle to that destination besides the fear that you might collapse halfway there is this asshole of a midget in front of you. You technically can’t leave until he dismisses you, a rule that you despise with all your being.

You think that dismissal is coming when he takes the flask back and then gives you another demand.

“Ten calf raises. Just a test run. I’ll see if I can put it into your routine.”

You look at him disbelievingly for two reasons - one, because he’s actually continuing this torture and two, he’s assuming you know what the hell calf raises are.

He sighs exasperatedly and then demonstrates. It seems simple enough, it’s just standing on your tippy toes, spreading your feet out, repeating the action, spreading them out even more, and then doing it again. Three angles, just a bit of balance for a few seconds.

At this point, you’ll do whatever it takes to go back to bed.

So you start. You do three (there’s three angles, so technically nine, but who’s counting? certainly not you) and everything’s fine.

The fourth set leaves you a bit sore, but whatever.

The fifth set hurts.

The sixth set stings like a bitch.

After the seventh, you cry out in pain. It’s quiet, but mortifying.

Great, just great. The whole point of this was to pick up on his weaknesses, and here you’ve accidentally exposed your own. You freeze completely, eyes on the ground, waiting for the lieutenant to say something about how weak you’re acting.

But he doesn’t say anything, and you’re too nervous to look at him in case he catches the embarrassment playing out on your face.

Eight. Your calves are killing you, but you’re not going to cry out again. Ever.

Nine. Holy shit. Are you on fire? You think you’re on fire.

One more. You can do this. You’ve done all the others.

“Hey,” a sharp voice cuts through the air, but you pay him no mind.

You clench your fists, muster up all your strength, and push yourself up as hard as you can.

And immediately regret it.

Your legs buckle under you, and you stumble with a yelp. You didn’t mean to. It just hurt so bad, but now you’re going to be on your knees again -

Up until now, you’d seen how fast Lieutenant Levi could move because he was constantly throwing you around like a child would throw around its favorite toy. When you feel a breeze against your skin, your mind is thrown into an alarmed state for a fraction of a second. He’s coming at you, to what? Push you? You’re already falling down, so nice try, jerk, but -

It takes you a few seconds to realize he’s caught you.

With his arms hooked under yours, he lets you put your weight on him, ignoring your astonished expression. Even the blunt pain is pushed aside as you take in the fact that he stopped you from falling. Apparently you can only be knocked down when he decides you can. For the life of you, you truly cannot figure out just what this man’s deal is.

“Well, then,” Levi murmurs against your ear, “we’ll leave that one out from now on.”

____________________

Millie informs you that you look like shit over breakfast, and you tell her to kindly fuck off.

____________________

These lovely morning meetings become routine. Since you’re waking up earlier, you try your best to go to sleep earlier too, but you’re a night owl who can’t be caged, so the operation isn’t really successful there.

Instead, you try to rest any second you can during the day. While Millie, Stephen and Ricky are reading over their notes under the same birch tree that you and Lieutenant Levi meet at, you’re lying on the grass with an arm thrown over your eyes. It’s not like you need to study that hard - one doesn’t need whole hours to learn that titans are dangerous.

Besides, your arms are sore from your push-ups this morning. You usually don’t do the same thing twice in a row, apparently the lieutenant likes to switch things up. Which is just fine with you, of course, you’ve never been a fan of the same old thing every day; you joined the military to get away from the feeling that all your days were stationary and felt the same. And the whole dead dad thing, but that’s kinda secondary.

“Try putting ice on it,” Stephen offers helpfully, the only one of the three to take your complaining in stride.

“Try putting a gag in your mouth,” Millie adds.

“Try taking the stick out of your ass,” you tell her pointedly before offering a grateful smile to Stephen.

“Have you considered asking yourself if this is worth it?” Ricky tosses his notes aside and nudges your head with his knee. “Your super duper revenge plan -”

“It’s a mega super duper revenge plan.”

“Yeah, that. Is it worth exhausting yourself like this?”

Surprisingly, Stephen is the one who speaks up. “I don’t think it’s right for a superior to disrespect his subordinate and get away with it without any repercussions.”

“Look, what he did was...sketchy,” Ricky concedes, “but he’s him, y’know? Some people are good enough to act like that and get away with it.”

“No one’s good enough to act like that. Do you know how hard he runs me into the ground every single day? He’s never satisfied, not until I’m fucking collapsing. The only reason he’s stopped dumping water on me is because he says it’s a waste of resources.” You blow out a puff of air, frustrated. Why does no one understand how not okay the lieutenant’s actions are? “And he never does anything himself. I haven’t picked up any weaknesses. I have to keep going until I find one.”

“That’ll take you your entire time here.”

“So be it,” you say dramatically, before finally sitting up.

You’ll stick to it for however long it takes. There are boundaries that should never be crossed, and Lieutenant Levi’s managed to cross every single one of them.

Out of the corner of your eye, you catch a familiar figure. It’s him, of course it’s him. It’s not enough that he disturbs your sleep, no, he has to make his presence known during the day too. Sure, maybe he’s just going about his day and not actively trying to aggravate you, but he’s still in your line of sight and he has such a punchable face.

Maybe Lieutenant Levi senses that he’s being watched, because his head turns and he catches your gaze.

You wave with a sugary smile, acting like you weren’t just fantasizing about punching his face.

Without so much as an acknowledgement, he looks away and keeps walking.

You scoff. Rude fucking midget.

____________________

The best parts of your days are undeniably after hours. Or more specifically, that small period before dinner and bedtime, when there’s nothing required of you, and you can slip away. You like leaving a bit earlier than everyone else, just to enjoy the cool night outside. It’s funny, how there are so many rules and restrictions here at the military, but a girl can still just get up and wander outside at night and no one will look at her strangely. It’s a wonderful feeling, freedom.

You’re just about to begin what’s sure to be a leisurely walk around the grounds when there’s suddenly a vice-like grip on your arm. You gasp, the first instinct to defend yourself. You raise your fist and immediately launch it, only for it to be caught rather easily.

The lieutenant rolls his eyes at your attempt to defend yourself. “I sincerely hope you never get mugged.”

If he followed you out here, that’s frankly quite creepy and he should feel ashamed of himself.

“I hope someone steals your cravat,” you mutter, and the corners of his lips twitch in amusement. “Can you let go? Sir,” you add quickly - it was becoming easier to forget that you had to refer to him properly. “I have a walk to take that doesn’t involve doing push-ups or crunches.”

His eyes are alight with cruel intentions. You hate that you still find them fascinating. “I have a training exercise for you.”

“You’re a few hours early, Lieutenant.” You give him a condescending smile. “See, 4 AM actually isn’t until much much later. It’s okay, I know telling time can be tough.”

His lips purse in displeasure, and you mentally do a small, victorious dance.

“Be that as it may, I recall telling you that your training can take place at any time that I see fit.”

“But,” you protest, stomping your foot childishly, “you also said you didn’t want to interfere with my regular training!”

He makes a point of looking to the right and then to the left and then finally back at you. “I don’t see any drills going on around here. Do you?”

If you say you do, will he let you off? Probably not, he’ll just cart you off to the infirmary and declare you mental.

“Fine,” you mutter with gritted teeth, “what is it now?”

Without answering, he turns and beckons you to follow. Like a good little obedient soldier. You fume silently, walking behind with clenched fists. First he cuts into your rightful nap time, and now into your wonderful walking time. Is there no limit to the amount of serene, private moments he plans to intrude on?

For some reason, the two of you head indoors, towards the rooms and offices. You may just be a dumb cadet, but even you’re pretty certain that none of the exercises are done in here. Is he taking you to his room? Why would he -

Wait.

Your mouth falls open, but your steps don’t falter. This is highly inappropriate. You don’t know what kind of woman Lieutenant Levi takes you to be, but you did not sign up for this. So you ask him to train you and call him sir a few times, and the man thinks you’re all good and willing, does he? That since he’s Humanity’s Strongest, he can have whoever he wants? What an insult to the name of courting. Where he finds the nerve to keep pulling stunts like these, you’ll never know.

Training your ass. This is an indecent night call. And you would never, ever -

Well.

Maybe. In a hot, scandalous kind of way that you would only ever tell Millie about. Not that you’d enjoy it, not with him. It’s more the forbidden aspect that’s attractive. It’s certainly not about the lieutenant, even with his nimble fingers and cold eyes and sharp tongue that you’re sure he could work wonders with - okay so maybe it is about him a little bit.

But it would also be delightful to turn him down. To watch the light leave his eyes (not that it was there in the first place) as you proudly tell him you respect yourself too much to sleep with a man who’s so arrogant and callous. Yeah, that’ll show him.

His fingers, though.

You’re so caught up in your little debate that you almost crash into him when he stops in front of a door. Ah, a private area. The barracks? How many members of his squad does he share a room with? You twitch uncomfortably.

“Here we are.” Even his voice sounds sultry. Or maybe it always sounds like that. Who knows.

“Why are we here, sir?” Your throat feels dry.

He turns and gives you a look that is decidedly not sexy. Rather, it seems like he thinks you’re the most idiotic person he’s ever had the unfortunate pleasure of laying his eyes on.

“You’re going to clean up in here, did you not hear me the first time?”

What?

You’re not sure what feels the most embarrassing. The fact that he’s apparently decided you’re the official Training Corp maid, or that you had actually been so comfortably considering sleeping with him that you tuned out what he was saying.

Shaking your head to clear your thoughts, you frown. “Sir, I mean no offense -” He raises a brow, clearly ready to get offended - “but your, er, sanitary habits are pretty much known to everyone here. I doubt that I’ll be able to make your room sparkle more than it already does.”

Lieutenant Levi scoffs. “Then it’s a good thing this isn’t my room.”

He opens the door and your mouth falls open in horror.

“This is Lieutenant Hange’s lab,” he explains as he steps in, “and before you ask, I’ve already secured her permission for you to clean up.” Producing a broom out of thin air, he shoves it in your waiting hands.

“Lieutenant, I...this is…”

“Disgusting. Yeah. So better not waste any time. You need to get some sleep if you want to survive your morning drills tomorrow.”

“Lieutenant, I’m from Stohess.” Too late do you realize that you’re pleading. “I’ve never even seen a pig’s den that is as messy as this.”

Countless exercises at the crack of dawn, and this is what’s broken you. The room is horrifying. It’s straight out of any neat freak’s nightmares. You don’t know how the lieutenant even stomachs looking at it.

“Never cleaned your own room, huh? Not surprised,” he muses, and you shoot him a dirty look.

This isn’t the spoiled brat in you talking, no, this is the sane human who knows that this room is basically hell incarnate.

“How does this count as training? You just need someone to do the Survey Corps’ dirty work!”

“Is there anything you don’t complain about?” he demands, but oho, you are ready.

“Exercising I can understand. Your random bursts of physical violence - harsh, but whatever.” Not like you’re trying to get vengeance for them, but he doesn’t have to know that. “This is just work, and I want to be paid if you’re making me do work.”

This makes him snort, shaking his head at you like he’s your teacher and you’re not understanding the most basic of concepts. “You’re not a merchant, (L/N), you’re a soldier.”

“A soldier, not a servant!”

“I am ordering you to do this,” he says softly, “are you disobeying an order, Cadet?”

Well, when he puts it like that, you’d rather not get kicked out of the military before you even complete your training. And certainly not before you make the lieutenant pay with everything you have. Oh, revenge will be sweet.

Begrudgingly, you step into the lab, swallowing your nervous inhibitions. This place is a dump, you wonder how Lieutenant Hange even gets any work done in here.

Goddammit, you are never going to clean this place up, no matter how hard you try!

“Like I said, we still need you to sleep,” the he-devil murmurs behind you, “so this better be done in an hour. I’ll come check on you then.”

Oh, fuck him. You wait until he leaves, and then get to work.

____________________

His royal highness comes back an hour later just like he said he would. When he opens the door, he finds you sprawled on the floor against the wall, tired but with your chest puffed up proudly, eyes zeroed in on him to see his reaction.

The room is spotless and distinctly organized. Papers that were strewn everywhere are now in one pile next to a stack of Lieutenant Hange’s many, many journals. Vials and flasks have been placed on top of one another by the sink, where they can be quickly washed and ready for use. The tops of the desks are spotless and dust-free. The floor is not only clean, but shiny.

There’s a brief flash of surprise on Lieutenant Levi’s face as he looks back at you. You allow yourself to smirk. Sure, your arms hurt even worse than they already did and you still feel like a maid because you’ve done more cleaning in the last hour than you have in your entire life (not because you’re spoiled, just because no rooms back home are ever this messy), but it’s worth it to see that he’s impressed by you, no matter how he tries to hide it.

You don’t know why you want him to be impressed in the first place, but you decide not to question it right now.

“Not bad,” he finally relents, walking up to you. “You plan to sleep here, or are you gonna get up?”

You snort. Such a charmer, this one. Well, you’re too lazy to stand on your own, so you hold your hand up expectantly. It’s really the least he can do after being no help at all.

After giving you a long look, he takes your hand and pulls you up to your feet. Your legs feel a little wobbly, and you wryly think about how you’d figured you’d be leaving the base with wobbly legs anyway. What a ridiculous fantasy. You hate him, and he probably hates you too. You would never do anything of any sort with him.

“Go to bed,” he orders quietly, taking note of how tired you look.

“So, 5 AM tomorrow, right?”

Again, he looks dryly amused like he always does when you say things like this, as though you’re just the funniest fucking person he’s ever met. “Nice try, (L/N).”

“When do you even sleep?” you question, brows furrowed in curiosity. You’ve wondered for a while.

Lieutenant Levi shrugs. “Usually from 1 to 3.”

You blink in disbelief, shaking your head. “Sorry, what?”

“Got a problem with that?” He’s clearly not fond of where the conversation’s headed, since he grabs you by the back of your collar and pushes you forward, out of the room. You comply, but you’re not done with this line of questioning. No one can just get two hours of sleep daily and continue to function normally.

“Is this why you’re so grouchy all the time?”

“You have no respect at all,” he quips, still shoving you ahead. The base is for the most part, bare and empty, since nearly everyone’s gone to bed by now. There’s only a few people still around, and they pay the two of you no mind.

“Have you always been an insomniac?”

“Fail to see why it’s any of your business.”

“Are you trying to make me an insomniac?”

The lieutenant sucks in an exasperated breath. “No, then I’d be punishing all insomniacs.”

“Rude.”

“You’re one to talk.”

You don’t know why it’s so easy to engage in banter with him. He never discourages you, as much as he points out how unruly you are. In fact, he seems to enjoy it almost as much as you do.

And you do enjoy it, as much as you don’t want to.

“Lieutenant,” you begin hesitantly, not sure why you’re saying this, “I hear chamomile helps people go to sleep.”

“So it does,” he mutters dryly, “thanks for the observation.”

Fuck him, you were trying to be helpful.

“Are you going to walk me all the way back?” You hum thoughtfully, craftily. “People might get the wrong idea.”

At this, his footsteps stop, and you wince. God, your mouth really just runs a mile ahead of your brain at all times, doesn’t it? It won’t be satisfied until you’ve dug yourself into a hole that you just can’t get out of. Implying to Lieutenant Levi that people would think the two of you had sex is just the icing on top of the snarky cake you’ve been baking him since you got here. When you turn around, he’s looking at you with an appraising expression.

“What wrong idea will they get, Cadet?” he asks softly, grey eyes piercing through you.

Your mouth is dry. Surely he knows, does he need you to say it? Of course he does, he wants to make you uncomfortable. You can’t even blame him, this one’s all on you.

Screw it, you might as well be blunt.

“They might think we slept together.”

If he’s taken aback, he doesn’t show it. “I see. And what would you do if these rumors spread?”

You take a deep breath. “Gouge my eyes out, sir.”

This time, you can’t chalk it up to your imagination or a trick of the light. He scoffs, but he’s laughing, normally cruel lips twisted in a humorous smile. You’re surprised by how pleasant the sight is, like looking at a lily in a field of roses. Out of place, yet so very beautiful, a sight you can’t take your eyes off of. Just how does one man manage to be so fascinating? It takes a lot to make you want to swoon, especially for someone who you harbor such negative feelings for. How does he manage it so easily?

“Can’t have that.” His expression is still lit up in mirth. “You better go the rest of the way yourself.”

You salute, and turn around. Even as you walk, the image of him laughing - laughing at something you said - is burned into your mind, and it makes something in your chest clench in an all too unfamiliar way.

Maybe he watches you go, but you’re too proud to look back and check.

____________________

The air is abuzz with excitement. Everyone’s been waiting for this day. If you didn’t know better, you’d say that everyone joined the military simply so that they could do this.

This being using the ODM gear, of course. Everyone has mastered the basics by now, or they’ve dropped out. The one who stayed have perfected balancing and not falling flat on their faces, they’ve watched senior veterans use the gear, and they’ve gotten a brief example of what it feels like to be shot forward through the air. Utilizing the blades properly will eventually be taught too, but for now, they get to practice flying. Actual flying. How amazing is that?

While people usually pair off on their own, Grumman sees fit to assign pairs himself today, much to everyone’s chagrin. By some shitty luck, you’re not paired with Millie, Ricky, or Stephen. You’re not even paired with Nifa or Jack, who you’re friendly enough with.

No, you’re paired with Petra fucking Ral.

You probably wouldn’t even know or care about who Petra was if not for Millie’s incessant complaining about her. Petra is one of the few people who balanced in the gear belts perfectly on her first try (you were also in that group, but Millie’s not gonna complain about you to you), Petra is all their teachers’ favorite because of how easily she retains information, Petra doesn’t have a hair out of place even when she fights. Petra this, Petra that.

Petra is Millie’s main competition for the number one position.

Frankly, you think your best friend is projecting.

“Do you feel a bit ridiculous too?” she asks after the two of you have put your gear on.

“Just a little.” You face her and strike a pose. “Do you think the titans would appreciate some more flair?”

Petra laughs, nodding. “Some eye candy would go a long way, I’m sure.”

The two of you exchange grins, straightening to attention when the instructor passes in front of you. He looks between you and murmurs something to himself before shouting out loud for just about everybody to hear. “(L/N) and Ral will go first! All the rest of you little shits, pay attention!”

Apparently being paired with golden girl Petra Ral means that you’re supposed to be a role model or something now. You groan inwardly - it seems everyone is convinced you want to be a model cadet. When will they get it through their thick skulls that you’re not that boring?

You and your partner step apart until there’s a safe distance between you two. In front of you is a forest, a forest that is the perfect place to practice with the ODM gear. You grip the handles firmly, knees crouching a little. Excitement bubbles inside you as you tense in anticipation. This is it! This is the first step to you becoming a full-fledged soldier. You’re one step closer to everything you’ve worked for.

“On my mark! Ready, set…”

You toss your shoulders back and push your chest forward and out of the corner of your eye you see Petra do the same.

“Go.”

Whizzing sounds are heard as the two of you fire your cables at the same time. You gasp as you’re shot forward, hurtling through the air at an electrifying speed. The trees rush past you in a blur of green and brown as you go up, up, up into the sky. You let out a breathless laugh as the hooks come free. This feeling, this feeling of your stomach jumping, this nerve-wracking feeling of doing something so dangerous and so thrilling at the same time - you’ve been craving it all your life. And here you are. You’re doing it, you’re actually up in the air and you’re flying. It’s incredible. You could stay up here forever.

So enthralled are you by this experience that you forget to hook to the next target, and with an unceremonious shriek you tumble through the branches and fall on the dirt below. Some gets in your mouth, unfortunately, and you hear loud chortles behind you. You spit out the rancid soil, shooting a glare behind you when you hear another whiz.

Up above you, Petra is still in the air. She’s slowly lowering herself down, though, concern dancing in her eyes as she stumbles to a stop a few feet away from you and rushes to help you up.

“Are you okay?” She looks genuine.

You sigh. Fucking Millie, she couldn’t share your distaste for Lieutenant Levi but she found it in her to hate this girl?

“I’m alright.” You take her hand and stand up, dusting dirt off your clothes. “Just got carried away.”

Petra giggles. “You were saying something about flair, right?”

You smile wryly, beckoning for her to come closer as an idea pops into your head. “We’ve got about two minutes before Grumman sends in the next pair. I bet I can get deeper into the forest than you can.”

Her eyes shine competitively, and she nods.

And without a beat, you two are up in the air again. You’re not a natural like she is, but you sincerely doubt that she or anyone else appreciates the wind whipping through their face quite like you do. You belong up here. You can feel it. For the first time in your life, you know instantly that you’re creating a memory that you will cherish for however little time you might have left.

____________________

Your heart beats with excitement as you bounce on the heels of your feet, looking behind your shoulder nervously. “Hurry up, Ricky!”

“I’m hurrying, now be quiet, someone’s gonna hear you.”

You don’t see how. No one is wandering around the kitchens right now. The cooks who prepare the food left their stations ages ago, and no one else in the base would have any reason to be wandering down here. Normally, you wouldn’t have any reason either, but today is a bit of a special day. Or more accurately, it’s a precursor to a special day. The day after tomorrow will mark the Survey Corps’ next expedition and as always, the cooks are preparing something special for the heroes and fools. An energizer for some, and a last meal for others. While you know that the lowly cadets haven’t done anything heroic - yet - you and Ricky agreed that some pastries would surely make everyone happy. Just a few measly sweet tarts, the Scouts wouldn’t miss them. You didn’t lay a hand on the meat, knowing fully well that most of the people going out in two days would savor it much more than you would.

Ricky is quickly shoving the tarts into a pouch, taking his sweet time counting so that everyone got the same amount. Fucking outer city peasant, concerned with fairness. You sigh impatiently, bouncing on your feet. You’re hungry. The bread at dinner seemed even more stale than usual today.

“Hey, what are you two doing?”

Your eyes widen at the same time as Ricky’s - why in the holy hells is the head chef still here? Does he sleep here? Before you can consider the disturbing implications of that possibility, you’re grabbing Ricky’s arm and running for all you’re worth. You’re counting on the fact that it’s dark in the kitchens, so hopefully he didn’t see your face. Unfortunately, the chef seems intent on finding out who broke into his precious kitchen, because he clambers on out after you.

After running for two minutes, he shows no sign of stopping.

“S-split up,” Ricky pants, wheezing as you two flee.

“Fine,” you huff, a bit proud of the fact that you’ve got more tolerance than he does, “but I want leverage.”

Without waiting for him to respond, you snatch a pastry from the top of the bag and skid to the hallway on the right while Ricky keeps running forward. The chef chooses to chase him, and you cackle maniacally at your friend’s terrible luck. You’re home free, and you have your dessert as a trophy too.

You turn your head to double check, turn back, and then crash face first into someone’s chest.

Rough hands grip your wrists to catch and steady you, and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you want to scream.

Why is he everywhere?

Lieutenant Levi’s gaze goes from the tart in your hand to your panicked expression, and he understands what’s going on without any need for an explanation from you. He takes a step closer to you, tugging you firmly so you can’t move back. You swallow nervously, stuttering out apologies for crashing into him and for being up past curfew. He listens to you ramble, but doesn’t let go. His eyes flicker to the pastry again.

“Those are for the Scouts,” he murmurs lowly. Is it your stupid imagination again or does his voice sound more husky than usual? “Not for fucking brats, (L/N).”

Normally you’d answer with some witty comeback, but you’re feeling a bit dizzy with how close he is and how hungrily his stormy eyes are watching you. The most you can do is open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. You’re in deep shit now, you know that much.

Without removing his piercing gaze from your face, he lowers his head a bit, and takes a bite out of the tart in your hand.

You could swear your heart stops beating for a second. His grip on your wrists suddenly feels like it’s hard enough to make them bruise, even though you can tell he’s not holding on that tight. You watch him chew, swallow, and then lick his lips, all without looking away for even a second. It’s mesmerizing. Before you can tell what you’re doing, you raise the tart a bit, and let him take another bite. As though you’re fucking feeding him, like a good fucking girl. The lieutenant’s lips curl into a small smirk, and you think you’re going to drop on the spot when he takes a third bite, finishing the pastry, the tip of his tongue just brushing against your index finger.

You wonder if he can hear just how erratically your heart is pounding.

Levi’s close, too close. You don’t know what to do, how to break his scrutiny of your face, or if you even want to. He leans in, just a little. Your breath gets caught in your throat. When did you forget how to breathe? It should be easy. Suck in air, let it out, repeat.

He tilts his head a millimeter.

You sigh in anticipation, lean forward, and…

He turns away at the last second, and your lips meet his cheek.

Fuck.

You gasp against his skin, not moving. From his amused expression, he can tell that your face is burning up. Somehow, he’s managed to embarrass you again, even if this instance isn’t public and doesn’t end with you in pain. This feels worse than all the other times, though. Before, you were simply thrown around, his way of calling you weak. Physically weak. Not strong enough, a rookie. But this, this is him telling you that he knows he lords some power over you, something that transcends his rank. Something personal.

“Thanks for the snack,” he says, stepping back only a little (see: not enough) to cup your chin between his thumb and forefinger. “Now hurry to bed before I decide I want more.”

Heat pools from your stomach right down to your core. If possible, your cheeks grow even hotter.

The lieutenant lets go and turns around, leaving you standing there with a wide-eyed expression, feeling strangely empty as you watch him go.

You’re never going to let him catch you breaking curfew again.

If you’ve never done calf raises before, I do not recommend, they genuinely will leave you sore for a bit if you’re not used to them. But otherwise, yay for exercise I guess.

Reader is very cocky but we love her for it.

We don’t have Petra slander here, folks. I adore her. Millie doesn’t, though. Rip.

Let me know what you think!

#aot #attack on titan #aot x reader #levi x reader #snk x reader #levi ackerman #snk

[bittybattybunny]

Good day it’s a new au time cuz BRAIN ROT BRRRRR

Anyhow it’s a “MCU” but not kinda au

big thanks to @doodleimprovement for dealing with my word vomit over this au lol iamsosorry

Ru is a tech company CEO giant with his daughter Harriet (his business partner is his former wife who wants nothing to do with their kid) and adopted the recently orphaned Kaya Solaria after she helped stop a mugger in the alley way (well. Spider King did but her mask got hit off by a bullet and Ru saw it was just a kid and stepped in)

Working on running a company, raising his 6 year old as well as a super powered 15 year old (Kaya actually has Spiderman’s powers, King came after the fact and is tied to how she lost her dad) he ends up getting injured on a business trip after he was taken captive. Upon return he decides to try and ‘be a hero’ as a means to get his eldest to stop sneaking out (she has guilt over her dad dying so tries to be a hero to make up for it despite Ru asking her to wait until she’s 18 at least)  he figures if he can get the world (or at least their city) safer, she can rest at ease (cuz he’s a good dad and just wants her to... be a kid. not try to be more than a kid) he uses the Alias “Thorned Snatcher” (as his last name is Thatcher)

Vanessa however wants his new tech as she thinks its the key to a new weapons future and nearly kills Ru when she rips the reactor from his chest. Thankfully he had his old model still and his secretary (Eclipse) and daughters get home in time to help him. he knows if he doesn’t stop Vanessa things will be even worse for his family.

During their fight, he’s knocked down and nearly stops there to tired, but hears his daughters crying for him, specifically for the first time since he adopted her Kaya calls him “Dad”. He knows he needs to keep to his goal and if Vanessa is left free he failed a father.

He manages to get up with the Help of Eclipse who joined the fight, having stalled Vanessa hand to hand despite Vanessa’s weapon suit (sus eclipse is sus) and he’s able to fight again and put an end to her.

he gives Kaya a stipulation when they are waiting on the cops, he’ll let her fight crime, but only when he’s with her.

and thats the first part of this au eve (second bit deals with miss secretary past. A woman who is able to give Kaya a sore hand with a high five despite kaya can stop some extensive things (likepeterstoppingbucky’sfist) and went toy to toy with Vanessa with just a hub cap. Hrm. Cap. Cap. Captain...?)

I actually wrote up when Ru met Kaya. It’s a lil fast pace but I did it on purpose.

“If ya just hand ova ya wallet and yer valuables, you and yers can get out of here with a scar on your little faces.”

Arulius sighed as he heard the mugger and moved an arm to push his 6 year old behind his back. He gently gestured to his watch with a finger, to which she tapped a button on to call their bodyguard, Florence. 

“I’m afraid I really don’t have time for this. Harriet has a dance recit--” Arulius clicked his tongue when the gun was pressed up into his neck.

“I’m bein generous, man.” he pressed it further, pulling the hammer back.

“That’s not very polite! Did your dad never tell you not to stick your shooter in people’s faces?” Came a laughing voice. The mugger gasped when black webbing stuck to his back and pulled him to the ground. 

Standing perpendicular to the wall was the dark-suited figure, glowing white eyes and jagged smile laughing.

“D-Dad! Dad, it’s Spider King!” Harriet giggled as she hung onto her dad’s leg. He scowled and went to step back.

“YA FREAK!” The mugger tried to fight against the restraints, the primed gun going off in the hero’s direction.

There was a hiss as the masked figure fell off the wall with a solid thud. Arulius scooped Harriet up, only stopping when he saw the vigilante's face, the bullet having knocked her mask off.

“A… A kid?” he grimaced. Why was a CHILD attacking a mugger? Before he could open his mouth to speak there was a hissing.

“N-No King don’t! I’m fine! I’m fine!” the teenager gasped as the black claws she had tore off in slimy chunks, lunging at the mugger. She winced with the crunch as his hands were removed and she paled some, shaking.

Arulius shielded his daughter’s eyes.

“BOSS!” The red head came barreling down the alley, a bit too late when Spider King tried to grab her mask. 

“Stop.” Arulius ordered her. She looked up with frightened gold eyes. The tentacles retracting up her sleeves, “wait a moment.”

“Oh gross!” Florence shuddered as she moved to get the mugger up, the man an incoherent mess, “you do this?” she asked the teenager whose temple was bleeding.

She said nothing and gripped her arms as she tried to process. She blinked when tiny hands went to her cheeks.

“BIG SIS IS SO COOL!” Harriet giggled. Her father was talking on his phone.

“I-I’m.. No…” she looked away ashamed, “Y-You… I’m… I just… wanted to help…” she began to sniffle, “I-I didn’t mean for king to…”

“He hurt Sol. Bite back.” The snake-like creature peeked from the girl’s collar.

“I-I told you no biting h---” she placed her hands over her mouth and scurried to her feet, violently vomiting into a trash can. She panted some. Tensing when a hand rubbed her back gently.

“Yes. yes. He shot his own hands off in his confusion. Must be high.” Arulius was standing near her now as he spoke on the phone, “My guard was able to restrain him. Yes. yes I’m fine as is my daughter and the teen he was attacking. Mmhm.”

She flinched when he scowled and tilted her head up, “scratch that, looks like the teen got a bit hurt, but we’ll treat her. Yes. yes. I’ll leave my guard here.” hanging up he shifted his phone to his pocket before licking his thumb and wiping the blood away. She winced.

“O-Ow don’t! That stings!” she whined as tears pooled in her eyes.

King hissed and went to bite him but stopped when the girl sniffled. He nuzzled her cheek as Arulius let go. 

“Come on.” he pointed towards the black car that pulled around, “let’s go and then I’m calling your parents.”

She gripped her arms and stood firm, “T-Thanks for calling the police b-but you better f-forget you saw me, Mr. Thatcher.” she chuckled nervously, brushing black hair from her face.

“You know who I am?”

“O-Of course I do! Who wouldn’t?! Thatcher tech is my dream job!” she gasped, “I-I was a-at your summer program--” she covered her mouth.

He clicked his tongue, “the one for highschoolers?” he asked. She whined and moved to run but bumped into Florence who huffed.

“Give me your parent’s number.” Arulius sighed.

“I… I don’t…” she chewed her lip. She was quiet.

“Where do you live at least? I’ll drop you off.” he shook his head.

“PARK!” King chirped.

“Hush!” She fretted.

“The park? You live in the park?” Harriet asked as she stood near the teenager’s legs, “That’s not fun!”

“W-well i-I couldn’t stay at m-my apartment…” The teen frowned. She winced when she was pushed towards the car. Whining and trying to deflect she found herself sitting in the back. Harriet crawled in and grinned as Arulius sat in the passenger’s seat.

“No parents. No house. Now I get why a damn kid is running at muggers.” he rubbed his temples with a groan, “name?”

She was quiet.

“I’m not calling you ‘spider king’ name.” he asked a bit firmer.

“S-Solaria…” she mumbled, “K-Kaya Solaria…” she wiped the tears with the back of her gloves, “A-Are you going to turn me in?? I-I don’t mean any harm Mr. Thatcher! I-I promise! I-I normally do fine!!!”

“How old are you?” He opened the window and put a cigarette in his mouth and leaned out as he lit it up. “Under 18 if you were at the company summer program.”

“I… I turned 15 last month…” she admitted ashamed. 

“You’re a few years older than me!” Harriet beamed, “I’m 6!” she grinned.

“I’m more like a decade older…” Kaya chuckled nervously. She looked at the tech company CEO. he had pulled a laptop out and made another annoyed click with his tongue. She winced.

“Your father…. Gabriel Solaria?” he leaned back, “the journalist?”

She nodded.

“Damn shame. He was a decent guy. His stories were interesting.” he flicked through the news reports as Florence got in the driver’s seat.

“Done with the cops?” he asked, “stop by the courthouse.”

“Huh?” she started the engine, “courthouse.”

“P-Please! D-Don’t turn me in! I-I’ll b---”

“I need to grab some adoption papers.” he gave a smirk and looked back at the crying teen, “Since it seems Harriet's getting an older sister. But no more crime fighting.” he shifted to cross his arms and put his feet on the dash. “15… fucking 15. You know what I did at 15??”

“Built a rocket engine that was able to lift a treadmill?” she stated with a small smile.

He blinked and snickered, “okay, yes but I was also just. Going to sch--- do you go to school?”

“I-I’ve been attending school still.” she scratched her cheek, “Um… Subcon Public high…” she sank back in the seat. She jumped when Harriet sat on her and protectively put her arms around the younger girl. She shifted her seat belt around her as well when Florence pulled into traffic.

“Well you’ll have to transfer. Is that an issue?”

She shook her head, “U-Um mr. Thatcher… what… are you planning?” she asked softly.

“Adopting a lost child, and making sure she doesn’t do anything stupid.” he snickered, “Any school you want to attend?”

“I… i you can’t! Y-You just met me!” she gasped in shock, “I-I’m a freak! I’m an accident! I-I have an alien!”

“Meeee” king stated proudly with a cackle.

“Yes but you know what I see? I see a scared kid who’s trying a little too hard.” he scoffed as she stared, “and we’re going to grab adoption papers, then I’m ordering pizza. Any allergies?”

“EAT EVERYTHING,” King laughed.

“Perfect then.” Arulius huffed, “and you can call me Arulius. Since I guess calling me dad off the bat would be weird.” he began to type on his laptop.

She sat there in confusion. She’d simply gone to help someone. And now her idol was adopting her. Her. a mutant spider freak with a parasitic alien.

She reached and pinched her cheek and whined.

Arulius caught this in the rear view and began to cackle loudly.

“Sorry kiddo. You’re awake.”

“B-But why are you just adopting me and not turning me into a lab or something?!” she asked fearfully.

“Dad’s nicer than he looks~!” Harriet giggled, “Can you shoot webs?”

“Mmhm.” Kaya shifted her gloves off and removed the cuff under her sleeve, “its um. An artificial webbing actually, unless King is the one shooting it. He has a gooey webbing.” 

Arulius peeked and reached a hand back. She frowned before handing the cuff to him.

He turned it over in his hands with an impressed whistle, “you construct this?”

She nodded, “I-I like engineering and I figured it’d be useful when king’s tired, i-it’s bio degradable too! But really strong!”

“That's how you swing around right?” Harriet asked with sparkling eyes, “What else can you do?!”

“Well I can walk on walls.” Kaya sighed, “I’m pretty strong too? I can lift a car if I focus. I can move fast?” she frowned, “I’ve never really… tho-- STOP THE CAR!” She gasped.

Florence slammed on the brakes as the truck at the intersection sped by.

“There’s um that. Normally I can semi tell something can happen.” Kaya frowned, “s-sorry for yelling.”

“No, by all means!” Florence laughed, “So. Spider King huh?”

“W-well it’s cuz I’m spider-esque and then King.” she pet the alien who chirped.

“What’s his deal?” Arulius asked but got silence, “alright another day then.” 

Florence parked the car as Arulius got out.

“Wait here,” he stated and Kaya just gave a nod. He threw her web shooter back and she caught it with wide eyes, “You’re grounded from crime fighting until you’re 18, but I won’t take your web shooters.”

“Ah… okay…?” she blinked as he shut the door and headed up. She leaned into the seat and just sat there. Very confused.

“Can I call you big sis? Or kai??” Harriet asked the older girl.

“Oh… um… I guess you can call me whatever….”

“Kaya’s a cute name.” Florence chuckled, “Crime fighting though. What a hobby.”

“I… I just wanted to help people…” she admitted softly, “I have these abilities so I thought I needed to…”

“Can you swing with me when we get home? We have a big tree in the yard!” Harriet giggled, “can you sign my daily bugle of you??”

“I’d rather not…” Kaya chuckled.

“Sleepy.” King huffed.

“Exhausted,” Kaya admitted as she shut her eyes. She barely registered she’d fallen asleep.

After a bit Arulius returned with the needed paperwork. He blinked and smiled as he looked in the back seat. The superhero passed out, his daughter sleeping against her.

Kaya’s arm rested around Harriet, and even King was putting his head on the girl.

“Well, not the oddest thing I’ve ever dealt with.” he spoke softly as Florence started the car once more. He flipped through the papers, “seems people had no idea she was on her own. Thought her uncle had her but turns out he lied and was just taking the financial support.” he grumbled, “there’s some messy hearings but I think I can just. Pay it off.” he looked back and gave a smile, “hey free babysitter.” he snickered.

------

He tapped his foot as he crossed his arms with a huff.

“Kaya.”

She looked away ashamed.

“What did I say?”

“No webbing in the house unless you’re watching.” she mumbled.

“And then why is the house covered in webs?” he asked with a twitch of his eyebrow.

“I-I was just playing with Hattie!” she defended. She huffed and he smirked. She seemed a bit more settled in if she was copping an attitude, “I-I’ll clean it up! I promise Mr. Thatcher!”

“Arulius. I told you, use my first name. You’re my kid now you know.” he sighed and headed inside.

She stepped aside and rubbed her neck, looking at the floor, “I-I can’t just… call you your name… that’s rude…”

“You’re my kid now, it’s weirder if you keep calling me “Mr. Thatcher” I’m not asking you to call me dad but.” he chuckled.

“THOT!” king sang loudly as the teen’s face turned red.

“I-I didn’t teach him that! I swear!”

#sketch #digital #ahit au #crossover #ahit prince #ahit snatcher #ahit hat kid #kai #mcu #this has been my brain rot today #btw i have eclispes half figured out as well #she just didnt really fit much into this post cuz its more focused on the family aspect #did y'all know marvel was my 'first' fandom? #like my first ever oc was a superhero oc based on marvel and dc back when i was a kid #i still have her i just dont use her much

[the-girl-in-the-box]

Not Today XXVIII

A/N: This is actually the first chapter I've had *true* writer's block for, interestingly enough. Hoping Wednesday's update goes better, but I'm pretty sure it will. Skål!

Summary: When Ivar takes the throne of Kattegat, Lagertha flees to Wessex along with Björn, Ubbe, Torvi, and the Bishop Heahmund. There, they seek the aid of King Alfred. This aid comes in the form of his sister, Aethelind, who agrees to travel to Kattegat and try to reason Ivar, who she spent some time with during their youth, when her grandfather King Ecbert hosted Ragnar Lothbrok in their castle. Now, she is the only hope for Lagertha and her supporters to retake Kattegat from Ivar the Boneless.

Masterlist

--

It was the sound of laughter and giggling which woke Asta. She had fallen asleep with Ivar, as always, but a knock at the door had woken them both. The intruder had been Ganbaatar, Oleg’s right hand, coming to tell Ivar Oleg was asking for him. Asta hated those times, when Oleg summoned only Ivar, and left her without him.

Not that Asta couldn’t stand to be away from Ivar, but what she really couldn’t stand was this feeling that Oleg wanted them separated. He was always pulling Ivar away, leaving her out of their talks, even though Ivar filled her in when he returned. And it wasn’t for lack of trying to get her included on Ivar’s part. He told Oleg that he and his ‘wife’ were a team, that they discussed everything together, but that didn’t mean Oleg budged.

The truth was, he knew Asta saw through him. He couldn’t tell to what extent, but he knew he was no true prophet, and he knew there was not enough information he had about her to say she wasn’t. There was too much mystery surrounding her, too many things he was unsure about with her, and he didn’t trust what he couldn’t know. Often, in trying to get Ivar alone, he hoped to learn more about her nature. Not that Ivar budged on information Asta herself had not given. They talked, it was obvious, and he knew what she was comfortable with him sharing.

Thus, he had attempted to loosen Ivar’s lips with alcohol, with talk of their invasion of Scandinavia, and questioning if Asta would be able to assist them through her visions. Unfortunately, Ivar was vague about that. The gods will reveal to her only what they wish to reveal, he had said. She does not ask from them, but accepts what they offer.

Well, that had been no help to Oleg in the slightest. Ivar and Asta were both- though still, her more than him- far from open books. Even as he shared with Ivar that they needed to capture Dir, even as they laughed about his brother’s cowardice, at his weakness, together, he wondered if they were playing some other game, and if he were going to be a piece in it.

Who could say?

In the end, Ivar had returned to his chambers that he shared with Asta a bit drunk, and so his drunken giggles were what woke her, echoing through the halls and coming through the door. She sat up slowly, her eyes blinking as if she were in a daze, as the door opened.

“Asta!” he greeted happily. “Asta, Asta, Asta, Asta…” He said her name again, drawing the vowel sounds out as if they amused him.

“Ivar,” she replied, smiling softly and running a hand through her hair. “Your meeting with Oleg went well?”

He giggled, and tossed his crutch somewhere once he got to the bed, letting himself flop down onto his stomach. “It went horribly,” he said, and then turned his face up toward her. “But also very well.”

“How could it have done both?” Asta asked. She reached down now to let her fingers slide through his hair. With a hum, Ivar scooted closer so he could lay his head on her lap.

“Because he continues to ask about you,” he said. “He wants you to have visions, but you don’t just have visions.” Ivar looked up at her thoughtfully, almost confusedly. “Or perhaps you have. I have often thought you only came with me because you saw you were supposed to.” His hand lifted and tapped the side of her head.

Asta chuckled softly, and took his hand between her hands. “I didn’t follow you because of any visions I may have had. I followed you because I wanted to,” she corrected him. He gave something of a cross between a scoff and a snort.

“Why would you want to do a stupid thing like that?” he questioned. “I would not have followed me.”

“Hmm, well, then it’s a good thing I’m not you,” she answered. He giggled.

“A good thing indeed, because I am happy you’re here.”

Asta smiled softly, and leaned down to kiss your head. “I’m happy I’m here, too,” she told him. “And you are very drunk, and we need to get you to bed. Hm?”

Ivar whined and tried to bury his face in her stomach. “But I enjoy speaking with you,” he said. “If I sleep now, who knows what wonderful conversations I will miss out on?”

“We’ll talk until you fall asleep, how’s that?” she offered, and he looked up at her as if he were in awe.

“You will come to bed with me?” he asked.

“I do every night,” she said, laughing softly herself. “Have since we left Kattegat, almost.”

Ivar seemed to be considering something, and then he finally said, “Then I was not lying when I told Oleg you were my wife, apparently.” He paused, now confused. “How could I have forgotten getting married?”

Asta giggled and shook her head. “You haven’t forgotten anything, sweet Ivar,” she assured him, as he had seemed to be growing a bit distressed at the thought of forgetting his wedding. “We just sleep better together.”

Ivar hummed then, and nodded, starting to slowly relax against her. “That makes sense,” he mumbled. He wasn’t going to stay awake for long, Asta could see, so she quickly moved to get his leg braces off. Once that was done, she got him to crawl up into the bed with her, and pulled him close.

“Now, talk,” she teased him. He mumbled something, and then was lost to sleep, just as she had predicted. Asta smiled, rested her head against his, and allowed herself to succumb as well.

Ivar, understandably, felt nowhere near his best the next morning. But Asta had stayed with him until the afternoon, when he was feeling better, and she’d chosen not to make him aware of the rather embarrassing details of the night before. He hadn’t needed to know exactly how he’d revealed some of his inner thoughts to her. Knowing him, he’d likely only grow irritable in his embarrassment.

That didn’t mean he didn’t recall his conversation with Oleg, however, and so in one of the more quiet moments of the afternoon, he brought it up.

“Oleg wants to capture Dir,” he told her, and she turned to look at him curiously, her hand not stilling in his hand for a moment. “He will not move forward with the invasion until he has done this.”

“No?” Asta questioned, tilting her head slightly. “Why not?”

“He does not believe Dir can be trusted,” Ivar answered.

Asta chuckled softly and said, “We’re counting on it,” which earned a chuckle from Ivar. “Still, he won’t be any good to us captured. Oleg has already killed one of his brothers. What’s to say he won’t kill another?”

Ivar swallowed, and sighed. “One might hope he regrets killing his brother, and would not wish to kill another,” he said. Asta gave a tight-lipped smile.

“I doubt he’s as good a man as you are,” she said. He let out a halfhearted, breathy chuckle.

There were a few moments of silence while Ivar tried to decide how to answer her, but eventually gave up. When it became clear he was no longer intending to answer, she continued, “If Dir’s dead, there’s nothing he can help us with. We need him alive, and preferably, free.”

“If it comes to it,” Ivar said, “we will have a plan to rescue Dir. Until then, we will try to keep Oleg from succeeding in this capture.”

Asta hummed, nodding. “He seems to trust you,” she commented. “If you continue to work with him, you may be able to convince him to leave Dir alone, convince him he isn’t worth the effort. That would leave us in a much better position.”

“It would,” Ivar agreed. “And Igor trusts you. We should work both sides with Prince Dir. We will let Dir in, and Dir will defeat Oleg. Then, we will defeat Dir, and be the heroes who saved the young Prince.”

She chuckled softly. “And Rus will be ours?”

“Mm, it will be Igor’s,” Ivar said. “But I think that is not so different from being ours.”

A small smile lit Asta’s face. After a moment, she teased, “I think you may be a bad influence on me.”

This brought a full laugh from Ivar, who recognized easily how different she was now from the Princess he first met in Wessex. That girl was still in there, he saw her in many moments when the two of them were alone, and yet he also saw a more dangerous, cunning side to her as well. As they sat and plotted against Oleg, it occurred to Ivar just how blessed he was that she was on his side.

Though, he often though about the letter she had received from Björn, the warning that Kattegat was going to be attacked. His brother had cared for her enough to warn her himself. Had Hvitserk sent the warning, he wouldn’t have questioned it, but it had been sent by Björn.

Sometimes, he questioned if she may have been on their side at once, and had turned on them in his favor. If not for whatever it was between them, the thing that existed without acknowledgement between them, he could wonder if she wasn’t still on their side, keeping him busy away from Kattegat.

In truth, there was nothing but his faith in her to say she wasn’t doing this. That, and the fact that he wasn’t sure he could take another betrayal, and not from her, not from another woman he had come to love. Surely, that just would have been cruel. The gods couldn’t have intended that for him in sending her with him. Surely, the woman he was currently watching roll her shoulder back, roll her shoulder forward, testing it after the injury she had sustained defending him, had no intentions of betraying him.

Surely he was able to trust at least one person in this world.

Perhaps, if he could know her mind and her heart, he would be able to relax fully. Because, as the truth would have it, she had never once wavered since that day she gave her loyalty to Ivar. She had given it to him freely, unsure if she had made the right decision then, but now fully certain of her choice.

The death of Freydis had truly broken her heart. But, the Queen’s betrayal had broken her heart all the same. Though she wouldn’t have had it in herself to kill her, it had still devastated her. The entirety of the situation had been tragic. Both sides of the conflict, she understood- the revenge of a broken mother, the twisted mercy of a betrayed husband. Then there was her, caught between the two, devastated by the actions of each.

How could she possibly stand to lose Ivar, after essentially losing everyone else she has ever loved? Yes, Alfred lived, but she couldn’t help but doubt if she would ever see him again. Hvitserk left Ivar, and all the other Vikings she had cared for were with Björn. Ivar was the only person she had left, the only one left that she loved.  Her love for those she had lost hadn’t lessened, but how can one show love to the ones so far away, who they can’t even reach out to? How could she show those she had left in Kattegat, or in Wessex, that she still loved them, even from such a distance?

There was no way, and so she would defend Ivar with her life, or with her death. Her heart was his.

Nothing came of their concerns about Dir for many days, and when something finally did come of it, it was while they were caring for Igor. They’d been teaching him some of Ivar’s language, and in return, Igor had been teaching them some of his own. It wouldn’t be long before they were able to communicate more freely.

Asta giggled a little as she watched Igor drag himself over to one of the Rus puppets he kept, the one of a King, which he held up and called, “Oleg.”

Ivar had also been amused until that point, at which point they shared a look between themselves. They had no way of explaining to Igor just yet that Oleg was not the King, and that Igor himself would one day be. Not that they were given time, as there was a commotion outside, and Igor jumped up to run and see what it was.

They followed him out, down to the market there in Kiev, where they saw that someone had just been put in a cage. Clearly, Igor wanted to see who it was, and so the covering over the cage was pulled back, and someone turned to look at the young Prince.

Even with the bruising on his face, the ring in his lip which was chained to the cage, Asta and Ivar recognized him immediately. They were out of time to talk Oleg out of capturing Prince Dir, as he now sat before them, entirely at Oleg’s mercy.

Time was running out.

When Igor began to bark at Dir, almost mocking him, a deep concern rooted in Asta. Their purpose in coming to Kiev was becoming clear to her, especially as Ivar leaned over to whisper to her, “This is Oleg’s influence. He called him a dog.” The fact Igor was barking, after the comment Oleg had made to Ivar, couldn’t have been a coincidence.

Oleg was going to twist Igor into a cruel boy, and rule Kiev and Rus through him. This was no longer about securing her own place their, along with Ivar’s. This was about saving Rus from the rule of a man who would abuse his people.

There had been a quick decision to get Igor back to his room, to leave him to his studies, and then to return to their own room to make their own plans.

And now, Ivar sat on the bed, his braces already abandoned to the side, as he watched Asta pace back and forth. She was stressed, and rightfully so. Oleg moved far quickly than they had expected him to, they were both realizing.

“I know I said I would prefer Dir be in Kiev, but I meant free,” she said sharply. “He can’t do anything being kept in a cage like a rabid dog! We can’t do anything if he’s being held here!”

Ivar chuckled softly. Clearly, this was the first of any plan she’d been involved with to go wrong. She was going to have to learn to adapt, if she was to continue behaving as though she was a Prophet, or even if she could ever be considered to be a well-prepared Shieldmaiden.

“Asta,” he said. “Our plans from here are easy, they only need to be made. But we need to release Prince Dir. Can you not see that?”

She huffed. “Of course I can see that,” she said. “But then he is gone from Kiev, and it becomes more difficult to work with him. I wanted him here, not in Novgorod. That was the purpose of getting close to Oleg.”

“You once said if Dir was captured, then it would be better because he would be in Kiev, but you realized the problem with that, didn’t you? He cannot be useful in captivity, especially not when he could die there. But, you have overlooked a way that this will be to our benefit, my dear.”

When Asta turned to him with an exasperated, confused expression, Ivar patted the bed to his side, silently asking her to come and sit beside him. She easily did as requested of her. “We will free him, and he will see our goodwill and desire to fight for him, and for Prince Igor,” he finished explaining. “All that is left, is to figure out how to free Prince Dir. We can solidify an alliance with him once that is done.”

Asta nodded slowly, her brows drawing in as she began to think over this new plan. “He isn’t well,” she said. “We need to be sure he can be received as soon as he’s freed, especially since we can’t deliver him to Novgorod ourselves, and he’s in no condition to make the journey alone. His people need to be here to take him as soon as he’s out.”

“I agree,” Ivar said. “But in order to contact them, Oleg will need to be distracted.” She nodded as he paused, waiting for him to continue. “I will do that. I will keep him from noticing that you are corresponding with someone, and you will be in contact with Dir’s family in Novgorod. Our plan should be made with them, as they will be instrumental in its completion. Hm?”

Asta hummed her agreement.

“Good,” he said. “Then we will begin this process as quickly as possible. And with any luck, and with the favor of the gods, Dir will not die before we can release him to his family, and gain powerful allies in Novgorod.”

Not a day had passed before Asta’s first message was being carried to Novgorod, taken by a soldier who had lied, sworn to Oleg that he had given the Prince Regent his loyalty, yet still remained loyal to Prince Dir, and even more importantly, to Prince Igor.

The true heir had more friends than he knew there in Rus, more than just Asta and Ivar, and the two were more than happy to be helping him reclaim his Kingdom. He didn’t know it just yet, but if he had known all that was going on, and could speak to his new Viking companions, he would have been well grateful.

After all, it was just as Ivar and Asta had learned for themselves in Kattegat- once one had a taste of power, it was not something they wanted to give up. Igor himself hadn’t yet had this taste, but Oleg had, and if they weren’t quick, he would become drunk on it, and the Kingdom of Rus would be lost.

Taglist: @youbloodymadgenius, @wilhelmyna, @katfett, @fangirl-nonsense, @zuzus-sun, @heavenly1927, @pomegranates-and-blood, @kingniazx

If you want to be added to the taglist, feel free to reach out either by commenting, reblogging, DMing me, or sending an ask, and I’ll be more than happy to add you

#ivar the boneless #ivar #ivar ragnarsson #alex hogh andersen #ivar's heathen army #ivar x oc #ivar x original female character #ivar x ofc #ivar x christian!oc #vikings #vikings history channel #history channel vikings #not today #chapter twenty-eight

[kozu-chan]

comfort

happy birthday ru-chan!! i love you so much!! thank you for being my first love in this series and for supporting me when i feel sad. i love you so much and i hope you enjoy!! (letter can be found here!) <3

summary: oikawa is having doubts in his abilities as a setter and you comfort him just in time for his birthday.

warnings: fem!reader, self-deprecation, light kissing.

oikawa is one of the most outgoing and friendly people you know. he's bubbly, competitive, gorgeous, confident, loyal, and hardworking. he never fails to make you smile and he loves to show you how much he loves you whether it be random gifts because "it reminded me of you" or through his incredibly sweet words or him showing you off to his many friends and followers on social media. however, you don't forget how he crashes sometimes - how his perfect façade fades away. how he can be petty and childish because he didn't get what he wanted or sees someone he dislikes. how his insecurities get the best of him. how sometimes he doesn't feel good enough - how "i could never set as precisely as tobio-chan can" or "i'm not as quick as chibi-chan" or even more painfully, "i'll never be good as ushiwaka, let alone good enough to defeat him". it hurts you to know that that's how he sees himself, but you always try your best to get his ever-fluctuating self-esteem and perception of himself back to a high. even if some people don't like him like this, you would rather have a happy and cocky tooru rather than a gloomy and self-hating one.

the night right before his birthday you get a call from one of his teammates and you give your phone a look before sighing sadly and picking up, knowing exactly what to expect. "hello? please don't tell me it's what i think it is..." you can already tell his teammate is frowning. "unfortunately, it is. he's practicing his serves again since we're all refusing to spike or set to him. he's been practicing his serves for about thirty minutes right now but i figured you should drag him out of the gym as soon as possible so he doesn't hurt himself..." "i know... i've tried to get him to stop but you know how he is. he can be stubborn when it comes to this and even iwa-chan can't help him right now... okay i'm on my way. don't worry, i'll drag him home. be safe and have a good night, alright?" you hang up and make your way to the gym, obviously not forgetting to bring a package of milk bread.

"tooru?" you enter the gym and see a distraught looking oikawa slam his hand into the ball, the ball slamming down on the other side of the court loudly. you whistle loudly. "wow i don't think anyone could have received that. i brought milk bread, ru-chan." oikawa freezes and looks up at you. "n/n-chan..." he runs to you and hugs you, burying his face into your neck. "what are you doing here?" you can hear his voice crack so you lead him to a bench and gently get him to sit so he can look at you. "i'm here because you've been practicing for too long. you're doing it again, baby. you're over-practicing and straining your body. you need some rest, okay?" you pat his face and neck down gently with a towel and play with his hair. "i'm worried for you. so can we just talk about it? let it all out over some milk bread and taylor swift?" this is usually how you two resolve issues and talk things out. "yeah... sure." he opens up his music and begin again plays. he eats a piece of milk bread that you hand to him and uses his other hand to hold your hand, gently brushing his thumb against your smooth skin. it takes him a minute to speak but it never fails to take you aback. "do you think i'm good? like good at volleyball? good enough to succeed?"

you swear your heart stopped for a second. good enough? he doesn't think he's good enough? you shove a piece of milk bread into your mouth in hopes that he can't see or feel your heart break.

"good enough?" you wince at the crack in your voice. you can feel your eyes watering and your voice becoming raspy. your body is heating up and shaking. you squeeze his hands to reassure him that you'll be fine and that you just need a minute before you continue. oikawa rubs your back softly and kisses the crown of your head - his silent way of telling you to take your time. once you're ready, you let the words flow from your lips like a waterfall. "tooru, you are more than good enough. you're amazing at what you do, bubs. your serves are practically flawless, your receives are amazing, your spikes are powerful, and most importantly, your sets are incredible. stunning even." you let out a little hiccup and he rubs your back, gently wiping your tears and handing you some water as stay stay stay plays. "your teammates love you. they depend in you because you're a reliable player and teammate. you communicate with them so well that you take them far. in my opinion, you're a big part of why seijoh is a powerhouse school. any and every team would be lucky to have you, okay? you are such an amazing player and you are more than enough, okay tooru?" oikawa starts sobbing as you hold him. you're both holding each other and sobbing.

a few minutes later, story of us is playing and you both manage to stop crying. "n/n-chan... i'm sorry for worrying you. i just felt like ushiwaka and tobio-chan are- i mean were so much better than me. i wanted to beat them. to prove to myself that i am good enough at volleyball, that all the work i put in is worth it... thank you for reminding me that i am good enough, and that my hard work makes it worth it. i love you so much." "tooru... of course i would do that for you. i want you to see yourself the way i see you. i want you to see the incredible, handsome, hardworking guy i know who always makes me smile and who stole my heart." you look at the clock to see that it's midnight and you hear mine start playing. "you are so good at what you do and your hard work is definitely worth it. i love you so much and words can't describe how much i love you." you hold both of his hands and lean in closer to him. "it's midnight so that means it's your birthday. happy birthday, bubs. here's your first present of the day..." you close the short distance between the two of you and press your lips against his, relishing in his warmth and the comfort and safety he brings you. you run your hands through his hair and he has his arms wrapped around your waist.

"thank you, baby." he whispers in your ear. "for loving me, for supporting me, for being my comfort, and for being the best thing that's ever been mine."

#happy birthday oikawa!! #happy birthday toru #happy birthday bubs ilysm #haikyuu!! #haikyuu oikawa #oikawa tōru #oikawa angst #oikawa fluff #haikyuu #haikyuu oikawa tooru #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu angst #sobs in oikawa kin #i love this man so much #why can't he be real #oikawa comfort #comfort #happy birthday oikawa

[hysterialevi]

Eitr | Chapter 5

Fanfic summary: In an alternate universe where the Raven Clan is wiped out, Sigurd ends up being rescued by the son of a Saxon ealdorman, and is tasked with being the boy’s new bodyguard. Upon meeting the boy’s father however, Sigurd soon realizes that the ealdorman is responsible for his clan’s destruction, and secretly plans for revenge while hiding behind the guise of a Norse pagan turned Christian.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male OC

This story is also on AO3 | Previous chapter | Next chapter

TWO DAYS LATER

ELMENHAM, EAST ANGLIA

Eivor gripped the weathered bow in his hand and silently gazed towards the bleak horizon, watching as the boat drifted away with the water’s embrace.

She was gone.

She was actually gone.

After what felt like an eternity of suffering, and a heartbeat of saying goodbyes, the gods had finally granted Randvi the peace she deserved, and carried her off into the afterlife.

Apart from Eivor, she had been the only survivor of the attack on Ravensthorpe. Everyone else in the village had either been killed or gone missing, and now, she too joined their brothers and sisters, leaving Eivor all alone in this world.

It felt like a nightmare, he thought, to watch all of this unfold. Within the span of a few short days, his entire life had fallen apart, and everyone he loved had departed from this realm.

Sigurd, Valka, Hytham, Petra, Tarben, Finnr... Randvi. All dead. All ghosts. All nothing more than names that now echoed relentlessly in Eivor’s head, and haunted him in his dreams.

He was the only one left. 

Much like all those winters ago when Kjotve cut his father down in cold blood, he found himself standing among the ashes once again, forsaken by the very same gods who saved his life.

“Randvi...” he whispered, his voice trembling softly, “...forgive me. I thought I could save you. I thought that... perhaps there was still a chance. You were always so strong and vigilant that I just refused to believe you would die. But I was wrong. Just like everyone else in our clan, I’ve failed you. I failed to keep my promises, and I failed to protect you when you needed me most. You may be off to Helheim’s gates for now, but it is me who should be in your stead.”

Eivor slipped an arrow out from his quiver and held it to a nearby torch, setting the tip aflame.

“Goodbye, old friend. May the gods guide you across the Gjallarbrú, and may you find the honor that was robbed of you in death.”

Pulling the arrow away from the torch, Eivor drew it back and steadily took aim, letting it loose as it went soaring through the air.

The arrow pierced the boat with a solid thud, and within the blink of an eye, the entirety of the structure had been set ablaze, embracing Randvi in a bed of fire.

Eivor felt numb at this point, after bidding farewell to so many of his friends. Over the past few days, he had watched pretty much everyone he knew be taken away by the grace of the gods -- and with one more soul going to join their ranks, the lone viking wasn’t sure if he could endure it anymore.

There was just so much pain. So much fear. Even though he was confident that he could find allies who would be willing to lend him aid, he had no idea where he would direct them for now.

After all, Eivor didn’t know who was behind the attack on Ravensthorpe. No one had come forth and taken responsibility for the assault, and considering the fact that he was still recovering from his wounds, he doubted he’d be able to scour the remains of his old village without being killed.

He had been trapped behind a dead end... and there was nothing left for him to turn back to.

“Eivor,” a man suddenly said, breaking the silence. “There you are.”

Eivor turned away from the water, looking to see who had approached him. 

“...Oswald,” he greeted softly. “Forgive me. I did not mean to disappear so abruptly, but... I wished to be alone for this.”

“No need to apologize, my friend,” The Saxon said. “I know things have been immensely difficult for you lately. I only hoped to check up on you.”

Oswald stepped next to Eivor, linking his hands behind his back as he watched Randvi’s boat float away.

“How are your wounds? Are you feeling any better?”

Eivor glanced down at the bandages on his arms. “Physically speaking, yes.”

Oswald raised a brow. “...And otherwise?”

The viking paused, staring blankly into the rippling water. “I... I don’t know, Oswald. I need answers. I need to know who did this. I need to know why they did this. I... I--”

“--You need closure.” The young king replied. 

Eivor nodded slowly, his gaze now lost in the water’s depths. “...Yes. Closure. And justice. For all those who have fallen. The only issue is I’ve no idea where to begin.”

“Well, you can’t go after your enemies without an army. You’ll have to rebuild, regain your strength, prepare yourself to lead. You’ve already forged alliances in Ledecestrescire, Grantebridgescire, Lunden -- and with myself, of course -- but that may not be enough. If you wish to search England for the men who destroyed your clan, you’ll need to pave the way with even more alliances.”

“But how am I supposed to do that when I’m just one man? I no longer have any warriors to fight in my name, nor any resources to spare.”

Oswald remained optimistic. “No... but you do have me.”

Eivor wasn’t so sure about the idea. “But you’re a king now, Oswald. All of England knows your name, and they know of your tolerance for Danes. If you lend your aid to me -- a Norse -- you could risk open war with other kingdoms.”

The young man persisted with his offer. “We’re already at war, Eivor. The moment those people kicked down your door, they became my enemies just as well as they became yours. But... you’re right. I cannot act so blatantly without fear of causing more division. We’ll have to do this discreetly. Away from prying eyes. At least until we know exactly what’s going on.”

“And how do you suggest we do that?”

Oswald rubbed his chin in thought, quickly putting together a solution.

“...Gjuki.”

Eivor shrugged in confusion. “Gjuki? Who’s that?”

“A friend of Valdis,” he explained. “He used to fight for Rued’s clan, but quickly turned rogue after your assault on Burgh Castle. He’s a skilled warrior, and he knows how to be covert. I could send him to Ravensthorpe if you like. I’m confident he’d be able to find something.”

The other man considered the option. “Tell me about Gjuki, first. Do you trust him? How are you so certain he won’t turn on us like he did Rued?”

“Because he hated Rued. I do not know the reason behind his hatred, but Gjuki was never truly loyal to that man. He only fought alongside him because he had nowhere else to go. But when you launched your assault on the castle, you gave him the chance to break free.”

“And you think he’s the best suited for this task?”

Oswald nodded. “I do. Gjuki’s been in England for quite a few years now. He knows his way around the country, and he knows how to avoid attention. I’m sure he’d be able to find out who attacked your clan -- or at least give us an idea on who to investigate.”

Eivor decided to go along with the plan for now. “...Very well, Oswald. I trust you. But if it’s alright, I’d like to speak with Gjuki myself first. I wish to see him face-to-face.”

“Of course. I understand. You should be able to find him in the longhouse. Just tell him I sent you, and he’ll listen to whatever concerns you may have.”

The viking gave the Saxon and appreciative look. “Thank you, my friend. Truly. Your support means the world to me. Were it not for your help, I would’ve died along with Randvi. I owe you everything.

Oswald frowned sympathetically upon hearing her name. “I’m sorry about Randvi, Eivor. I’m afraid I didn’t get the chance to know her that well, but it’s a shame that she had to meet her maker like this. If it’s any consolation, I’m certain she was grateful to have you by her side in the end.”

Eivor let out a sigh, walking away from the shoreline. “I hope so. She was the only one I could escort into the afterlife. Everyone else in my clan just... fell out of this world before I had a chance to say goodbye. Even Sigurd died without my company.”

Oswald placed a hand on Eivor’s shoulder, attempting to comfort the man. “Do not torment yourself with these thoughts, Eivor. You will only end up feeding your grief. What happened at Ravensthorpe was beyond your control, and I’m sure Sigurd knew that just as well as you do. The most you can do for your brother now is to bring justice to those responsible. Learn their names, study their motives, and then strike them where it will cripple them most. Your battle is not finished yet, my friend, and neither are you.”

The Norse took the young man’s words to heart, giving him a firm gaze. “I understand. Thank you, Oswald. I will heed your advice and speak with Gjuki. I only hope he is more fortunate than I was.”

Oswald removed his hand from Eivor’s shoulder, allowing the viking to take his leave.

“Go in peace, my friend. And may God watch over you in the battles to come.”

~~~~~~~~~~

MEANWHILE

FORANGAL CASTLE, THE CHAPEL

“As I’ve explained to you already, bishop,” Edric said impatiently, “Father’s decision is final. Sigurd is to be our personal bodyguard from now on, and if you have an issue with that, you can talk with him about it yourself.”

Hundwerth crossed his arms. “I simply fail to see how we could benefit from having a Dane in our midst, my lord. We know next to nothing about Sigurd’s past, nor where he comes from, and yet, your father has seen fit to grant him a position next to his own children! It’s preposterous! You ask me, the only place Sigurd belongs is in the dungeon.”

“Well, it’s a good thing no one asked you, then. Do not forget, Hundwerth. You are here to offer our people religious guidance. Nothing more, nothing less. If my father wishes to hear you political opinions, he will summon you. Until that happens though, I suggest you stick to your holy books and save the bleating for your priests. I’ve enough of a headache as it is.”

The bishop scoffed. “Such disrespect from a so-called lord. Perhaps you would do well to spend more time here, Edric. I could give you some of my ‘religious guidance’ as you put it.”

The young man’s tone remained firm. “I’ll pass. I fear I have far more important matters to attend to, starting with this bloody war. You want to preach to me during a siege, be my guest.”

“Your insolence is--!”

Pausing mid-sentence, Hundwerth cut himself off when he heard the sound of the chapel’s doors being pushed open with a creak, leading both him and Edric to bring their attention to the entrance.

There, in the distance, he saw a tall redheaded man approaching them from the opposite side as the sunlight draped over his figure, turning him into a silhouette.

He was dressed in what appeared to be Saxon-made armor, and yet, the man himself was clearly of Northern origins. His skin was marked with many outlandish tattoos, and if Hundwerth recalled correctly, he believed this was the same man he saw in Linette’s infirmary the other day.

“Sigurd.” Edric greeted with a hint of relief in his voice. “There you are. And with your head still attached to your shoulders, too. I’ll take that as a sign that Hundwerth has yet to harp you.”

The bishop scowled in annoyance, eyeing the viking with distrust. “...Ah. The very subject of our conversation. I see you’ve made a full recovery, Lone Wolf.”

Sigurd threw a glare at Hundwerth. “Is there a problem, Saxon?”

“Well, if you ignore the fact that there’s a pagan standing in this house of God, no. None at all. I hope you’ve come to do penance, Dane.”

The man’s expression was flat. “I’ve come to do no such thing. I am only here to fulfill my duties to Lord Edric. Besides, listening to you speak is penance enough.”

Edric chuckled at that. “That’s one thing we can agree on.”

Hundwerth let out a huff. “As I was saying before, Edric, your insolence will be the end of you. You may laugh all you want now, but bear in mind, the Lord is watching. And he is not pleased.”

“I don’t blame him, considering who he’s using as his mouthpiece.”

The bishop shook his head in defeat and decided to drop the conversation for now, storming out of the chapel whilst the other two stayed behind. He was already thin on patience due to the recent events that had transpired in Forangal over the past two days, but to face such defiance from one of the lords themselves brought him to a level of irritation he didn’t even know existed.

“Well...” Edric said as he watched Hundwerth take his leave, “that’s one way to end an argument.”

Sigurd took note of the young man’s tone. “You don’t seem to be fond of the bishop.”

“I don’t think anyone is. He is a man of God, mind you, but I fear he can be... forceful in how he spreads his faith sometimes. There’s also the fact that he’s been furious ever since my father decided to spare you. Let’s just say that I’m glad you showed up when you did.”

Sigurd leaned against one of the pillars. “It’s my job, isn’t it? To protect you from troublesome situations?”

Edric grinned. “I suppose it is.”

Falling into a brief silence, the two of them took a moment to enjoy some peace and quiet as life carried on outside the chapel, causing the muffled sounds of distant conversation to seep in through the doors.

It was a calm day, Edric thought, considering all the conflicts that had risen due to Sigurd’s presence. Even though many of the people in Forangal were in disagreement with Aegenwulf’s decision to keep the Norse around, few of them had yet to actually protest against it. Unlike Bishop Hundwerth.

Edric supposed they simply didn’t want to cause more tension. There were enough fires being sparked in Wedenscire with all the hostile clans threatening their walls, and considering how Gareth’s death had affected the ealdorman as of late, it was probably best if no one pushed him over the edge.

Still, Edric understood the concerns that some people had. Sigurd was a stranger to their lands, after all, and he did not think it entirely unreasonable for them to be wary.

Though, he couldn’t help but wonder how the viking himself felt about all this. Despite his compliance, Edric could tell that Sigurd wasn’t happy. He often carried a sense of despondency to his broody temperament, and even now, the man’s gaze seemed to sag with fatigue.

He was probably still trying to process whatever happened to him before he arrived in Wedenscire. Edric had yet to learn the details of how Sigurd ended up in such an injured state, but seeing as how bad his wounds were when they first found him, he assumed it had been a terrible ordeal.

Who knew how much trauma the man was dealing with right now? Within the span of a few days, he had been torn away from his home and thrown into the middle of a Saxon fortress, surrounded by hostile guards. He had next to no friends in a shire such as this, and with all the people calling for his head, it was no wonder that Sigurd seemed to be exhausted.

Perhaps... it was time for Edric to ease up on the man. Sigurd was to be his protector from now on, and he did not wish to be enemies with him.

“Hey, Sigurd,” he said gently. “Are you well? You seem... preoccupied.”

The viking was clearly surprised by Edric’s concern, but kept to himself regardless. “It is nothing to concern yourself with, my lord.”

“I know you’re technically our servant now, but that doesn’t mean you’re not important. Your well-being is just as crucial as ours.”

“Is it? And what brought about this sudden change of heart, may I ask?”

Edric bowed his head in shame, letting out a deep sigh. “...If you must know, our healer Linette had a hand in it. She gave me quite a talking-to when she heard that I dragged you all the way to the armory without giving you a chance to rest. Also when I made you carry your armor to the smithy. Edlynne and Joseph weren’t too happy about it either.”

Sigurd gave the young man a humorous glance. “Careful, my lord. Keep on like this, and you might actually apologize.”

Edric laughed. “Ha! Well, in this case, it would be deserved. You’ve been to Hell and back these past few days, and I... I have not welcomed you as a true Christian should. You were in a time of need, and I was willing to push you away. I’m sorry.”

The viking didn’t seem too bothered. “You were only trying to protect your people. I understand. If I’m being honest, I can’t say I would’ve been entirely different if it was you who washed up on my shore. But regardless, I accept your apology.”

The young lord beamed at him. “It gladdens my heart to hear it.”

An idea popped up in Edric’s head, causing him to give Sigurd a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Hey, what say you to a quick hunt?”

Sigurd tilted his head at him. “You want to go hunting? Now?”

“Why not? The skies are clear, and the day is still young. I’ve some time to spare before returning to my duties. Besides, I must admit, I am curious to see how a Norseman hunts his prey.”

Sigurd pushed himself off the pillar, eager to take on the challenge. “Very well, my lord. Just don’t cry when I steal your glory.”

Edric smiled in amusement. “Confident, are we? Good. Do not be fooled though, Sigurd, I’ve a few tricks of my own.”

The young man began making his way out of the chapel, beckoning Sigurd to follow.

“Come. We’ll stop by my chambers and collect some gear there. I have a spare bow that you can use, and I imagine a dog or two would be useful on the hunt as well. Have you ever hunted boar before?”

Sigurd nodded, recalling all the times he spent hunting with Eivor.

“Yes, actually. My brother and I often went hunting as a way to pass the time when we were children.”

Edric raised a brow. “You have a brother?”

The viking’s heart sank with grief, and his light-hearted mood vanished immediately. “Had. He’s dead now.”

The Saxon’s expression dimmed with empathy. “Ah. I’m sorry to hear that. It is a pain I know all too well myself.”

Sigurd held his head high. “Indeed. I miss my brother every day, but I find solace in knowing that he is now in Valhalla. He died fighting as a warrior, and I have no doubt that the Valkyries have escorted him to the corpse hall.”

Edric placed a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Then may he find peace there.”

He stepped back from Sigurd and turned on his heel, leading him away from the altar. “Come on. This way. Let us put our troubles aside for the moment, and take the day to enjoy some fresh air. This war isn’t going away anytime soon, and neither are we.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

ELMENHAM, THE LONGHOUSE

Strolling past the guards that stood beside the archway, Eivor invited himself into the cozy atmosphere of the longhouse as he scanned the area for Oswald’s friend, eager to speak with him.

At the moment, there were only a few groups of Saxons occupying the space inside and chatting happily amongst themselves, seemingly oblivious to the troubles of the war. They smiled, they drank, they laughed, they flyted -- all of them appeared to be trapped in their own little utopia.  

It was like the world around them didn’t even exist. As far as they were concerned, now was a time for celebration. Their king had just gotten married to a Dane after a long struggle of fighting for power, and now, East Anglia was allied with some of the strongest warriors in the country thanks to the efforts of Oswald himself.

Everything was going well for the kingdom. Their troubles had been lifted for just a moment in this relentless storm, and with a newfound sense of unity settling into the land, it felt like they could finally breathe. Eivor, on the other hand, felt as though the world had stopped turning.

Walking up to the empty throne, the lone viking spotted Valdis leaning against a nearby wall as she casually observed the people in the longhouse, quietly keeping to herself.

She seemed to be doing well, all things considered. Despite the issues they had with Rued’s attacks and Oswald’s supposed “death,” the woman appeared to be happy in her marriage, and carried a certain sense of contentment that certainly wasn’t there before. 

However, in spite of the joy he felt from seeing her again, Eivor couldn’t help but notice that she was alone. This “Gjuki” figure was nowhere to be found, and judging by the absence of any other Danes in the longhouse, the man assumed he probably missed him.

Damn it. He’d have to search elsewhere.

“Eivor!” Valdis greeted happily, smiling at him. “It brings me great relief to see you again. I was worried sick when Randvi first brought you to us. I feared the Valkyries might have taken you already. How do you feel?”

Eivor didn’t share the woman’s enthusiasm. “Well, I’m alive, so I can hardly complain. But I fear Randvi wasn’t quite as fortunate.”

Valdis’ expression instantly sunk. “What do you mean?”

“...She’s dead.” He said plainly. “Randvi succumbed to her wounds yestereve, just as the sun began to fell. I only sent her off to Helheim this morning. Oswald was there too.”

The woman shut her eyes in sorrow, letting out a deep sigh. “...Oh, Eivor. I’m so sorry. The amount of lives that have been lost ever since Ravensthorpe... it’s a tragedy.”

“Indeed. Our völva, Valka, always said that the Nornir weave our lives with a certain plan in mind, but I struggle to understand why they would curse us with such an unforgiving fate. All this death, all this chaos... surely, there must be a reason behind it. It cannot all be in vain.”

“I wish I could say.” Valdis replied. “Unfortunately, the sad truth is that war can be as cruel as it is unnecessary. There will be times when tragedy strikes without reason, and there will be questions that have no answers. However, I do not believe this is the case with your situation.”

Eivor quirked a brow. “Oh? And why is that?”

“Well, look at this way. When everyone else in your clan was killed, you managed to survive. In spite of everything this war has thrown at you, you remain the only man left standing. Surely, the gods must have granted you a second chance for a reason. They see a purpose within you, and perhaps that is why you are here now.”

“...Perhaps. It is all still so confusing, but... your words bring me comfort.”

Eivor decided to change the subject, pushing away his dark thoughts for the moment.

“Anyway, enough about me. I’m looking for somebody. A man named Gjuki. Do you know where I could find him?”

“Gjuki Haldorsson? Yes, he is just outside the longhouse. He shouldn’t be that far away from here, but if you can’t see him, just follow the sound of his lute.”

That caught Eivor’s interest. “Lute? Is he a bard? I was under the impression that he was a warrior.”

Valdis chuckled. “He is, but he is also many other things. You’ll see for yourself once you find him.”

“Fair enough. Thank you, Valdis. I’ll go look for him now.”

“Stay safe, Eivor. And may the gods favor you.”

Taking his leave from the longhouse, Eivor left Valdis to her own devices and stepped back out into the crisp morning breeze, keeping his ears sharp for any music that might’ve been playing.

At first, he didn’t spot anyone of interest -- most of the people outside were Saxons civilians and ordinary guards -- but upon taking a closer look, he suddenly noticed a peculiar man sitting underneath a tree, lute in hand.

He was definitely not what Eivor expected, to put it simply. When Oswald first told him of Gjuki, he had envisioned a large, burly warrior similar to the ones he often saw in Fornburg or other Dane settlements, but this man... was clearly something else.

Gjuki had a rather lean figure that was broadened at the shoulders thanks to the fur cape he adorned, and instead of having a full beard hanging from his chin, he only had a light layer of stubble.

His hair was long, straight, and as black as the void. A multitude of braids had been woven into the thick strands surrounding his face, and poking out from underneath his sleeves, Eivor could see a number of tattoos decorating his arms.

As for the man’s face, he didn’t appear to be that old. He looked to be roughly around the same age as Eivor himself, and had a pair of icy-blue eyes that sat in his skull like two glass orbs. 

Both of his sockets had been smeared with some traditional war paint, and due to the dark color of its pigment, his gaze only seemed to stand out more, creating a stark contrast between his eyes and his skin.

He was a distinct looking man, to say the least. And terrifying, to say the most.

“Gjuki Haldorsson?” Eivor called out.

The man came to a halt upon hearing his name and held his fingers between the lute’s strings, glancing up from the instrument to see who had come to visit him.

“Well, well,” he said in surprise, “look who it is. The Wolf-Kissed. I see you’ve finally returned from your grave. What brings you to me?”

Eivor took a seat across from the other man, studying his mannerisms.

“I come on behalf of our king. He says that you might be able to help me with a problem I have.”

Gjuki rested the lute on one of his knees, casually crossing his legs. “Well, that depends. What sort of problem are you dealing with?”

“Before I get into that,” Eivor paused, “there are some things I’d like to ask you first.”

The other man quickly caught onto his tone. “Ah, a man of caution. I suppose there’s a reason you’ve survived for so long. Very well, if that’s what it takes to earn your trust. Ask away.”

Eivor started with the most obvious question. “Oswalds tells me you once fought for Rued’s clan. Is that true?”

Gjuki scoffed in amusement. “Fought for’ isn’t exactly how I would put it. I was sold to Rued many years ago as a slave after being captured by a Norse known as Kjotve.”

The viking glowered at the name. “Kjotve the Cruel? I’m familiar with him. He caused many issues for me in the past as well -- not excluding trying to sell me into slavery -- but have no fear. He’s nothing more than food for the ravens now. I saw to it myself.”

“He’s dead?” Gjuki asked, unable to hide the smirk that spread across his face. “Oh, how gratifying that must’ve been, to bury your axe in his chest. I would’ve loved to hear the scream that broke free from his lips when the gods swept him away from Midgard. You killed a snake, Eivor, and the world will forever benefit from it.”

“Well, as relieved as I am to have Kjotve out of this world, I fear there are many other snakes I must purge before I can find peace.”

The bard set the lute down by his feet. “And who would they be?”

“That’s the problem. I don’t know. I’m looking for the men who attacked my village, but I am at a loss on where to start.”

Gjuki nodded in understanding. “And you need my help to find them. I see.”

“Do you think you can do it?”

The man thought for a moment. “Perhaps, but I’m going to need a lead. Do you have any idea where I should begin looking? Any particular shires, or names, or kingdoms?”

Eivor shook his head. “I’m afraid not. All I know is that they were Saxons, but they weren’t bandits. They ambushed us in the middle of the night, and fought under no banner.”

Gjuki furrowed his brow in confusion. “No banner? Interesting...”

“Why do you say that?”

“Saxons typically fly their colors proudly on the battlefield. It may surprise you, but they are just as proud of their tenacity as we are. It is odd to me that the Saxons who attacked you would hide their sigil. Unless, of course, they were trying to conceal themselves. Which... in that case, tells me they knew they shouldn’t have been there.”

Eivor was beginning to follow his thoughts. “You’re saying that this was meant to be a secret?”

Gjuki held up an index finger. “Precisely. Whoever ambushed your clan is clearly not in a position where they would be able to attack you out in the open. Not without causing conflict elsewhere, that is. Maybe they are from a shire that supports you, or at odds with one of your allies themselves. Whatever the case may be, they knew this assault would not go over well if other people found out.”

The viking shrugged. “So, what’s your plan?”

The bard stood up from his seat, picking up his lute from the ground. “I will travel to Ravensthorpe and see what other clues I can find. Assuming they haven’t cleaned up the carnage already, I’d like to take a look at the Saxons’ bodies; see if they hold any information. In the meantime, I’ll also start spreading some rumors about the attack. It may not seem like much, but if we pay attention to how other shires react, we may be able to find our target.”

Eivor nodded in approval. “I like that idea. I shall go with you. I know my way around Ravensthorpe. I can aid you in your search.”

Gjuki disagreed. “No. You stay here. You must recover if you are to fight against your enemies, and besides, Oswald would have my head if I let you walk out of Elmenham in this condition.”

The Norse chuckled, holding his hands up in defeat. “Very well. You make a fair point.”

“Is there anything else you’d like me to know before I leave?” Gjuki asked. “I do not know for certain when I’ll return, and I’d rather not risk sending a letter to you. Never know who might grab it along the way.”

Eivor pondered the question for a moment. He did have one other request in mind, but was hesitant to say it aloud.

“Well... y-yes. But it is a lot to ask.”

Gjuki urged him on. “Please, speak your mind, Eivor.”

The viking’s gaze fell to the ground in sorrow. “...If it’s possible, could you find out what happened to my brother, Sigurd? The last time I saw him, he had been shot with an arrow and thrown into the river. I never had the chance to retrieve his body. If he’s still around there somewhere, could you bring him back?”

The bard’s tone softened with empathy. “Of course. I make no promises that I’ll be able to find him, but I give you my word that I will try. If Sigurd remains in Ravensthorpe, we will ensure you have a body to bury.”

Eivor gave him an appreciative look. “Thank you, Gjuki. I realize this is a daunting task, but I honestly don’t know what else I can do.”

“Have no fear,” he reassured. “Your assault on Burgh Castle is the only reason I got the chance to escape from Rued and reclaim my honor. The way I see it, I owe you this.”

Gjuki waved a quick goodbye, sauntering away from the tree’s protective shade.

“I will inform you of my progress as soon as I can. Until then, wait here. It is likely that whoever conducted this assault has learned of your survival, and I have no doubts that they will try to finish what they started.”

#assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #male oc #female oc #sigurd x male oc #ac valhalla fanfic #eitr

[inforapound]

Just One

A couple of weeks ago, I asked everyone to send me their favourite tropes as I wanted to write a fic as a Christmas gift for an incredible writer. The holidays didn’t allow time so I wrote it as a Happy New Year piece and congratulations on your 5,000 followers. This is for you @waiting4inspiration​ . 

Warnings: oral sex, finger play, historically inaccurate vocabulary (F word)

One-shot – 5k words (eye roll)

Characters – Ivar The Boneless, OFC, Oleg 

“Who is there?”

Ivar’s voice called out from where he lay under the heavy fabrics of the soft bed. The room was dimly lit by a stand of candles flickering beside a tall bureau but he could still see the heavy door open and then close without anyone stepping in. Waiting, with his breath held, he listened for the sound of movement beyond in the corridor. Nothing... but the same chiming music that had floated through the city every evening since being dragged to the kingdom of the Kievan Rus.

Pushing his fists into the mattress, he rose to look beyond the foot of the bed. Flinching, he saw a dark form kneeling on the tile floor. His eyes shot wide and the sensation of cold pricked the skin of his cheeks. Instinctively, he flung his arm to the table beside the bed, his hand reaching for an ax that his startled mind forgot would not be there.

With movements like a strutting cat, the dark form slinked toward the bed on hands and knees. The outline of dark hair around a pale face was first to catch the light. Ivar’s thoughts raced, assessing the degree of threat. His eyes scanned the near empty room, searching for a makeshift weapon, quickly realizing strangulation was his only option.

As she crawled into the glow of thrown light, Ivar finally saw her. Scarcely clothed in a dark scant slip, the hanging neckline allowed a glimpse of dark nipples, muted in shadow, on small perfect breasts. She looked stunning, wickedly angelic like a demon might seconds before stealing your last breath. Long brown hair, falling in waves around a face of mostly cheekbones and lips. In the dim room, it was impossible to make out the colour of her almond-shaped eyes but nothing about her put him at ease.

“What do you want?” he demanded, his voiced sounding stressed. “Who are you?” he spoke again in a deeper voice.

“A gift, King Ivar, from the prince.”

Caught off guard for the second time, he frowned, hearing her speak his language with only the slightest accent.

“Go. I do not wish to be disturbed.”

He could tell by her coy smirk, sitting back tall on her knees, that she was unaccustomed to being refused.

“What would I be disturbing you from King Ivar? You hardly require beauty sleep.”

“I said go! I will not be touched by a slave.”

Tutting at him, she subtly shook her head. “Norway must be an opulent country if I am what the slaves of your kingdom look like.” Lifting her arms to either side, she put herself on display. “Do I look like a slave to you?”

Raising his chin, his eyes roamed her body; her breasts, still barely covered by the silk shift. Dropping his gaze lower when she placed her hands flat on the tops of her knees, sliding the hem up to show her parted thighs.

He snapped his eyes back to hers before he could make out the darkness between her legs. “Then who are you?”

“I am Oleg’s.”

“You address him as Oleg?”

“Why would I not?” she replied in a calm voice, eyeing him from under her brow. 

“Who are you then? One of his concubines?”

“Ahna.” Undeterred by his stern face, she offered another crumb. “I am the only woman in his life. He shares me with no one. Men are not permitted to even look so I wonder if he will feel slighted by you turning me away?” Tilting her head, she squinted as if still spinning a thought. “For two months you have been the source of his every conversation.”

“I do not need you to pleasure me?”

“That is fine, you can pleasure me.”

Ivar’s head shot back, cracking into the headboard. Relieved the faint light would not reveal his reddening cheeks, he quietly cleared his throat.

“I will not.”

“Will not…. what?” she tipped her head forward as if straining to hear.

“Lie with you.” Ivar cleared his throat again. Fuck, he hated this. He was a king and now he lay, locked in a strange room, armed with only his spite. Who did these people think they were?

“Are you a virgin Ivar the Boneless?”

Scowling at that, he nearly growled.

“I am a cripple.” He motioned toward his lower half with the flip of his hand.

“But you talk?”

Jerking his head, a piece of his pulled back hair fell loose across his forehead. “And?” he snapped, smoothing his hair back with frustration.  

“Your tongue works,” she smiled, falling forward onto her hands, smoothly crawling toward him.

Ivar’s eyes flashed wide as she made her way, slipping out of sight below the foot of the bed. Darting his head to either side, he tried to track her movements. Popping up on his right, she rose swiftly and turned to sit on the edge of the mattress; eyeing him for the first time without a smile. Still like stone, Ivar lay under her scrutiny. This woman had savvy, he thought, taking in the way, scarcely clothed, she sat on his bed as if it were her throne. She must have influence, he decided, as no simple woman could so easily own a room.

“Oleg will want to know how it felt being touched by a god. He was so..... what is the word… insistent that I thought he might join us.” Raising her brows, her full lips pulled into an easy smile. “I can call him if you would prefer a man.”

“No!” Ivar sat forward, clearing his throat for the third time. “That will not be necessary,” he paused for a split second trying to recall her name. “Ahna, is it?”

Nodding once, her eyes dropped from his face and scanned his covered body.

“I saw you with him. With Oleg. I watched the two of you outside the gates playing like silly boys. It has been a long time since I have seen him so enthused. I think he has grand plans for you.”

Working to keep his mind calm, Ivar listened.

“I think you are an exceptional man,” she simpered. “Well,” her posture softened. “I will retire then and let Oleg know I was not to your... liking.”

“Wait,” he leaned forward grabbing her wrist.

Glancing down at his hand, she looked back up, playfulness returning to her eyes.

“We could talk... for a while, yes?” Ivar asked hating the way his voice cracked.  

“You will have to share your covers, I am sitting here,” she glanced down her front, “barely clothed.”

Slowly nodding, he shifted over, watching her move off the bed and turn to him. He held the blanket up for her to slide in.

The idea of having a conversation with her did not sit right. Feeling unprepared, he hated everything about the situation. Nearly everything; he was still a man who loved coveted things. He was not certain whether it was her confidence or beauty that had him invite her in or the fact that the prince had chosen to share. More likely, if he was honest with himself, he feared both losing face and offending Oleg. He was impulsive and dangerous and without him, Ivar knew he would be in the street no different than any other broken man.

Lying on his back with his hands resting on his chest, the smell of her skin sailed over to him. Without thinking, he inhaled loudly, causing her to smile as he chased her scent of muted spice and lavender. Gods, this world was different from home and he suspected that this woman could somehow sense his thoughts.

This was not his first experience with a woman in his bed. He could never forget his duplicitous wife. She had a sideways smile and had been betraying him all along. Over the year of their marriage, he had not truly been a husband though, never allowing her to lie with him skin to skin. As a young man, he had patched his pride with rage and made the decision avoiding affection was better than failing. Even declining the attractive thralls despite them being far more dispensable than his late queen. The truth was the interest was not there and how much satisfaction could pleasing a woman bring him. Gods this Ahna smelt good, he thought again, deciding her visit may be tolerable.

Sliding further down on his pillow, he chanced a glance noting how intriguing she was to look at. There was an atmosphere of wealth around her even while wearing a simple dress. Looking into her dark eyes, he could see that this woman was comfortable and obviously biding her time. Of course, she was beautiful, stunning in fact, but she must have intelligence to stay alive with the prince.

What is that slippery material she wears, he wondered, glancing back over to her? Remaining casually in place, she seemed to enjoy his curious eyes, sweeping across her chest.

What a fascinating shaped mouth, he thought, as his eyes mapped her face. Her lips were perfectly symmetrical and appeared frightfully soft. Maybe he would have a taste after all. She was already there and far from a worn-out thrall she was spectacular.

The room was beginning to feel hot. Grunting under his breath, he resisted throwing the covers off them.

“Ivar?”

King Ivar to you he wanted to bark, realizing his eyes had drifted back to the swell of her breasts.

“Ivar?”

“Hmm?” he looked up to her as she lay with her head propped on her hand. He wondered if she had to practice looking so captivating.

“If you do not speak, how is it that you have bewitched Oleg?”

Rude, he thought. “I have done nothing like that.”

“Really,” she smiled showing her white teeth.

“Ivar?”

“Stop calling me that?”

Lifting her brows, she was clearly amused by his outburst. This was a bad idea, he worried, sighing softly. These people were infuriating. They feared nothing.

“This is unfair,” she smiled, narrowing her eyes.

He looked over to her confused.

“Even when you are angry, you are pretty.”

“Pretty!” he rushed.

“Perhaps, this is not the right word,” she grinned, batting her eyes. “Handsome, striking, attractive, do I need to go on?”

Narrowing his own eyes at her, his expression simmered. “Yes,” he nodded, still wishing the covers did not feel so confining. “Continue.”

Laughing quietly, she leaned closer. “Alright,” her face now serious. “Powerful, brutal, ravishing.”

“Ravishing?” he asked unable to keep from cracking a smile.

Shifting her body on the bed, she lifted her knee, sliding her leg over his hips. Resting her free hand on his stomach, she appeared undeterred by his sharp intake of breath.

“Shall I go on?” she whispered, glancing down at his mouth.

“No, I am satisfied with what you have said.”

“That is a relief,” she giggled again.

Lifting his arm, he tucked it below her pillow. Shimmying closer, she settled her cheek onto the beige tunic he had worn to bed.

Even her hair smelt good, he noticed, dipping his nose down to the top of her head, his eyes not missing the muted light reflecting from it. These crafty women, he silently remarked, nearly scoffing to himself.  

“Ivar?” her voice tickled his skin.

“Hmm.”

“Oleg is going to use the army to take back your kingdom.”

Hearing this admission, he tensed, thinking of how he might goad her to keep talking.

“I doubt you have the influence over Oleg for him to discuss such secrets.”

Lifting her head, she strained her eyes up to look at him. “It is no secret. He is going to attack your home. By sea and land. He was told that it rests on the bay between three hills and plans on having ships built that travel over the ground.”

Looking down at her skeptically, his brows spiked high.

“Yes,” she smiled, “the wicked man is having wheels placed on ships and will run them down the hills into the walls of the city.” Snickering softly, she shook her head before laying back down on his chest. “God, I wish I could come, I would love to see that. But,” she tipped her eyes back up to him, “what I want to see more is you sitting on your throne. Oleg will make you a king again, Ivar, but he wants control. Take great care that he never feels outdone by you.”

“Why would I need your advice?”

“There is no one in this kingdom, or any other, who knows him like I do.”

“How long have you known him?”

“All my life. We grew up together. I am telling you this because I care about him. He is easily misunderstood. And...,” she paused searching for the words, “I cannot escape the feeling that you will change our lives.”

“Whose?”

“Everyone’s.”

Silence settled over them as they lay with their own thoughts. Ivar pondering the meaning behind her words. The future feeling more unknown to him than before she entered his room.  

“But,” snapping from her daze, she rolled onto her tummy, propping herself up on her elbows. “What do I know? I am a mere slave,” she grinned so wide, her eyes nearly closed. 

Grunting in response, his gaze jumped between each of her eyes and without thinking, he pulled both arms free wrapping them around her. His palms settling at the curve of her lower back. Focussing his bright blue eyes, he studied her face, wondering how it would feel to press his mouth to hers. Her smile faded and her expression told him she knew what he was thinking.

“Just one,” he uttered quietly tipping his head toward her.

Their mouths met and their lips pressed softly together. With the slightest sigh, his body relaxed, and he gently pushed his tongue forward. Fuck, he thought, widening the kiss. Her scent and skin, her warm breath all felt so sweet, so much so, for the moment he chose to ignore the lie he suspected she had told him.

His curious mouth pushed the pace and he slid both hands over the round of her bottom. The sleek material of her dark slip made his touch heavy and eager. Breaking the kiss, they stared at each other before she pushed up and straddled him. Lowering her mouth back to his, their kissing resumed more urgently.

It would have been at this point, in a previous life that he would have pulled back and tapped her leg to climb off. Yet she had a way of looking at him, that made him want to run his mouth all over her.

“Take this off,” she muttered, tugging the neck of his tunic. His body froze and she pulled back, rubbing her nose to his. “Just your shirt.” Pressing her lips to his ear, she tugged his lobe with her teeth. “I want to feel your skin on mine.”

Sitting up, she swept her dark brown hair over one shoulder, its long length cascading down one side. The thin strap of her shift slipped and the material caught just above her nipple. Never taking his eyes off hers, he sprung forward, pulling the shirt off his back, tossing it onto the tile floor. Sliding his hands under the silky material, his palms skimmed and rubbed circles up her thighs. At his touch, Ahna sighed, causing Ivar’s eyes to widen. Grinding her pelvis down gently, she spread her knees wider.  

Everything about the sounds she was making told Ivar she was his to do with what he wanted. His eyes lit up and he withdrew his hands, bringing them to her chest, rubbing and squeezing both of her breasts. Tugging her nightgown down, his eyes nearly bulged seeing her perfect body. Even more beautiful than he first thought, he clutched one of her small breasts, pushing his other hand hastily back up her slip.

His fingers skimmed up to her core but feeling her velvety folds had him stop, pulling his mouth away. Utter bewilderment caused his face to twist and she had to bite her lip to stifle her laughter.

“It is the fashion here.”

“Huh?” his eyes dropped and he stared at the space between her legs. His fingers creeping over the area, unable to get their bearings.

“The hair is cut close to the skin,” she said, “like the sides of your head. I will show you.” Raising an arm, she swiftly whipped off her dress.

Dropping his gaze back down to her core, he was not entirely sure what he was feeling. Between her smooth thighs, he could see the details of her womanhood as if she was a young child. By the gods, he screamed inside his head, running his thumb across the curve of her shaved mound. They parted easily from her wetness and he knew there was a spot to find somewhere there. Fuck, he thought again, as he spread her lips wider. His mind racing, wondering what it might feel like to have his mouth on her. He knew his thumb and grazed that little point when she dropped her head back and whined. Immediately, he bucked his hips, surprising himself.

“Kiss me, Ivar.”

Collapsing forward, their mouths met with force. She whimpered from the feeling of her sensitive nipples rubbing against his chest. Spreading her thighs as wide as she could, she tipped her hips forward, grinding down onto his bulging grown. She gasped right into his mouth when he reached around her hip, touching her from behind.  

Grabbing her head with his other hand, he pulled her back and snarled, “You are wet for me!”

Nodding, she rolled her hips causing Ivar to moan. The amount of her slick, made him grunt like an animal and he too started rocking his hips, his fingers working the notch of skin between her folds.

“You like that?” he tugged her hair, pressing his mouth against her jaw. “When I play with you?”

“Pleeeeease Ivar,” she whimpered.

A prickling heat pooled in his crotch causing him to hiss through his teeth. The tips of his two fingers slipped faster between her folds making her arch her back.

“God,” she cried and he stared in awe, amazed that he was the one causing her pleasure. Lifting his head, he claimed her mouth again, feeling as if he was on the verge of losing himself. His lips grew greedy and he grabbed her neck, shoving his tongue deep into her mouth.  

“I want to taste your cunt,” he growled, barely letting her breathe, moving his tongue as if he was already between her legs. “You want my mouth on you, hmm? You want to get fucked by my tongue?”

Responding only with a breathy sound, Ivar grinned feeling her readiness through his pants. He had never had a woman trembling from his touch. Had never been desired by anyone so perfect. As his eyes drank in every detail of her form, he grabbed her hips, guiding her to crawl over his face. When she looked down and their eyes met again he knew by the way she smiled that he was failing at hiding his nervousness. Grabbing the headboard to steady herself, she moved her impeccable sex over him. Bright and round, his eyes stared at her, almost mesmerized.  

Grabbing her ass and pulling her closer, he inhaled wanting more of her scent. Pressing kisses up the inside of her thighs, he paused before pushing his tongue inside her. The heat of her sex matched his own hot breath and her wetness and flavour made his own desire rush. Like a strike of need, he jerked his hips and began running his tongue along her silky slit. Reaching a hand forward, he used his fingers to spread her folds further apart.

Sucking and licking her smooth, slick cunt, he stared up watching her beautiful face flush. Ahna’s mouth fell open and her head dropped forward, her flawless breasts heaved with her breathing. Watching her mew from his hungry mouth he again found himself awestruck. Every part of his body felt awake and he never again wanted to think of any other woman.

His mouth became frenzied, sucking her frills, he shook his head side to side, hungry for her taste. Finding her clit, her entire body twitched, he laved it like a lion before flicking his tongue on her tiny nub.

Ahna gasped as she rushed out foreign words, Ivar recognized little of her language. Tightening her grip on the headboard, the muscles in her stomach and legs began shaking. Darting his tongue around her clit, he alternated suction and pulling her flesh.

“Yes!” he cried. “Just like….,” her voice faded into a whine.

Gods, he loved this power over her body, thinking it was almost worth suffocating. Growing bolder, he reached up and pushed a finger slowly inside.

“Oh my god,” she gasped, throwing back her head.

The sound of her moans unhinged Ivar’s need, his finger pushed deeper and his mouth and tongue worked faster.

“I can’t…” she whimpered trying to raise her hips but Ivar stopped her with his arm, bracing her in place. “Ivar!” she pleaded, whimpering.

Tensing, she lurched against his hold, squeezing her eyes closed. The volume of her cries dropped softer and he could feel her womb around his finger, pulse and tighten. Pulling his mouth away, he reached up and ran his hand across her breasts, stroking her smooth tummy before settling his palm on her hip.  

Her sounds simmered and her breathing slowed. Ivar stayed in place wanting to catch every moment. It was the sound of nothing in the quiet room that brought his mind back to where they were.

“Fuck!” he growled looking at her pussy as she shimmied back down, collapsing onto his chest. So distracted by the feeling of her body that his hard straining cock did not catch his attention.

“Ahna.”

“Mmm,” was her only reply. She lay face down on his pillow, her forehead against his jaw.

The hardest word for him to say burst out before he could stop himself. “Stay.”

No sound came from her other than her steady breathing.

“Yes?” he prodded, running his hands up her slender back. “Will you stay with me?” he asked already upset that she was not his to keep.

“I must go,” she nuzzled her nose against his ear.

Staring at the ceiling, he could not help but feel rejected.

“I want to stay,” she slid further down his side, keeping one leg wrapped around him. He did not look over so she leaned close and kissed the side of his mouth.

“I need to wake in my own room. I will stay right here until you fall asleep. Yes?” she asked, trailing kisses over his cheek.

Dropping down, she planted one last kiss below his ear. Closing his eyes, he too felt tired but still, his mind was filled with a thousand revelations. With her scent and taste still raw in his mouth, he tightened his grip around her feeling, after all his suffering, she was what he deserved.

How could Oleg have shared such a woman, he asked himself, with no notion of the answer. Anger rushed through him, far from any feeling of appreciation. The realization struck him that he did not want to return her. In another life, another world, he wished they could have been important to each other. For now, he would enjoy just one last moment, lying with a goddess before she slipped back into the night.

---

“Sleep well? Oleg’s voice boomed through the dining room as he strode toward the seat at the head of the large table.

“Yes,” Ivar looked down with a waggish smile. “I believe I have you to thank….”

Raising his hand to silence Ivar, Oleg tilted his head in the direction of the heavy drapery blocking the entrance to the corridor.

“I hear her, my little cloud. She floats this way.”

Tipping his own ear, Ivar picked up the unmistakable cadence of her voice growing louder as she came toward the dining room.

Looking at Oleg, Ivar smiled with a wink, enjoying the camaraderie.

The curtain was pulled back by a servant and a radiant looking Ahna stepped in. Dressed in a fitted white gown, beaded with silver and pearls, her lips and cheeks were tinted with the faintest shade of pink. She looked like a goddess with her long wavy hair tied back loosely at the nape of her neck.

A brightness filled her eyes as she smiled at Ivar while stretching her arm out to Oleg. Up from his seat and moving toward her, he delicately took her hand in his, bowing as he kissed her knuckles. Raising their clasped hands, as if to present her, he turned back and looked to Ivar with pride.  

“My baby sister, Ahna.”

Ivar’s eyes shot wide.

“I know!” Oleg remarked with excitement. “Does she not take your breath away?”

“She does.” Ivar swallowed with a nod. “Yes, she does.”

“She is the jewel of the Rus people. Full of surprises! With a brilliant mind and a bold heart. Her beauty, of course,” he lifted her hand higher, “greater than a stary night. But,” Oleg looked at Ivar, “do not let your gaze linger,” his smile faded.

“Or you will pay with your life,” Ahna added in a playful voice.

“Ahna!” Oleg scoffed, theatrically gaping his mouth. “You tell stories.”

“You killed Farshi and his only crime was watching me ride my new horse.”

Shaking his head, Oleg walked her to the table. Graciously, he pulled out a chair for her to sit across from Ivar.

“I simply removed his eyes, Ahna. It was the infection that took his life. Sister, you make me sound so…. cruel.”

The curtain opened again and Oleg’s swarthy looking general stepped in. A jerk of his head was his only message.

Slapping his hands together in a clap, Oleg, addressed them both. “There is a matter which requires my attention, please start without me. I will not be long. And Ahna,” he looked down at his sister. Do your best not to charm our guest.”

“I make no promises, Oleg,” she smiled at Ivar who was sitting with a tight face.  

Softly touching the top of her shoulder, Oleg turned and walked with his man, disappearing as the curtain swung closed behind them. The footsteps of both men grew faint as they made their way down the long corridor.

“Ahna!” Ivar hissed.

“Oooh,” I like the way you say my name.”

“Stop it!” he spat.

“Or what?” she jabbed.

Picking up a table knife, he pointed it had her, leaning forward over his plate. “He never sent you to me, did he? Hmm?” Straining to keep his voice hushed, every feature in his face was pinched with anger.

“Of course he did not.” Her expression dropped.

Rolling his jaw, Ivar looked up to the ceiling.

“Ivar,” she whispered, leaning over her own plate.

“Do not call me that!”

“After everything we have shared?” The previous night’s look of mischief returned to her eyes.

“Are you trying to get my limbs ripped off?”

“I do not think it would be your limbs he would remove.” Straightening in her chair, she jerked her head at him. “Deep breaths Ivar, your behaviour is that of a puppet.”

Squinting his eyes, he pressed his lips together. “You are going to ruin my opportunities here.”

“Fear not, I have a plan.”

“You have a plan? You? No!” he snapped. “Oleg and I have plans. You and I have nothing.”

“That is what you think,” she replied casually. “Look,” picking up her cup, she took a sip before continuing. “Understand that I am twenty-two years old,” she articulated. “Oleg keeps me under his thumb and I am living out the world's longest death. I need to get out into the world. I must!” she exasperated. “You are my access. I decided after weeks of spying on you and my brother. You are intelligent, obviously powerful and have the face of an angel. And…. you will be a king.”

“I am a king,” he slapped the table with his hand, rattling the dishes.

“My apologies,” she acquiesced, glancing behind to the door. “My brother is not the only one with plans for Kattegat. You will need a queen once you take back the throne,” she paused watching Ivar’s reaction, “and Oleg is infatuated with you. He might, just might, allow us to marry solidifying our alliance. Kattegat could be my dowry. You have no notion of what it is like feeling all the things a woman feels with no man willing to cross my brother and ….,“ she raised her perfectly shaped eyebrows to insinuate her meaning.

“What!” he rushed. “You are a virgin?” Grabbing the biscuit from the edge of his plate, he threw it, pelting her arm.

“Oww,” she glared at him picking up her own. “Yes! Thanks to you!” Hucking hers, she hit his plate of food spilling egg onto the table.

With flared nostrils, he stared at her, slowly nodding his head. “Yes, yes, yes,“ he spoke more to himself. ”I am going to tell Oleg. I will explain everything.” He knew before the words had passed his lips that it would be suicide.  A thought occurred, “Does Oleg…. touch you?”

“No…. Wait, what!” she spat, her face contorting. “That is sickening, of course not. You Vikings are heathens.”

“I am a heathen and everyone here is fucking insane!”

“That is true,” her face steadied before she started to laugh. “He will be back soon. We will talk more tonight.”

“No, we will not. There will be no tonight.”

“You do not want to see me again?” she asked in a  whisper, her hazel eyes softening. “I, myself, cannot stop thinking of last night… us together.” Looking down, Ivar saw the slightest flash of shyness flicker through her. Wetting her lips with her tongue, she looked back up. “I cannot stop imaging it. Your mouth on mine. Your mouth everywhere. God,” she glanced away for an instant. “I did not even bathe this morning. I wanted to keep your scent on me.” Lowering her chin, she gazed straight at him. “You are the most handsome man I have ever seen and I am afraid I am smitten.” No longer able to hold his stare, she looked down at the table, adjusting the cutlery.

His eyes burned into her, skipping between the pink border of her lips and the hopefulness in her eyes. She sat perfectly still but her shoulders showed the weight of uncertainty.

Her words describing how he made her feel echoed in his ears along with the sound of her whimpering his name. The memory of her smooth thighs and small breasts and slender neck forced him to close his eyes for a moment. Gods, she made him feel like he had just won a war. Like a king again, a God even. The truth was she had stirred his most broken parts but he had not been prepared to attempt to make love. There was so much more to her that in any other setting, he would be desperate to learn.

Blinking, he could not stop the smile that touched his mouth the moment she lifted her head locking eyes with him again. Instantly he was hit with the understanding that he never wanted her taste to fade.

They held each other’s stare as lovers do spying each other from across a room. The sound of Oleg’s abrupt voice brought them back to where they were. Clearing his throat, Ivar composed reaching for something, anything, on the table to hold in his restless hand.

Adjusting in her seat, she turned, glancing toward the covered corridor before looking to him with questioning eyes.

“One more night?” she smiled, tilting her head.

Gods, she was graceful, perfect and adorable.

“Fine.” Nodding his concession, he pointed a finger at her. “Just one.”

Thanks for reading.

TROPES I tried to include:

Falling in love with your best friend’s sister

Forbidden love

Love at first sight

I am not who you think I am

Conspiring to marry

Someone suggested lovers shaving each other’s pubes – yeah, couldn’t really work that in, sorry.

MASTERLIST

@naaladareia​ @youbloodymadgenius​ @whenimaunicorn​ @lol-haha-joke​ @geekandbooknerd​ @waiting4inspiration​ @ivarsrideordie​ @ceridwenofwales​ @fangirl-nonsense​ @captstefanbrandt​ @fields-and-fields-of-poppies​ @flowers-in-your-hayr​@funmadnessandbadassvikings​ @mdredwine​ @yourpurplequeen​ @londongal2810​ @silly-bullshit-collector​ @readsalot73​ @yanii-the-hippie​

#ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar's heathen army #ivar and oleg #ivar and ofc #ivar smut #ivar falling in love #vikings smut #ivar one shot

[akiameokami]

Popular Potter

Look at him, looking so smug as that curly-haired reject has her legs strewn across his lap. Potter. It just isn’t right for someone of his status to be with someone like her. He is a pureblood, she is muggle-born, and to make matters worse she has an eyebrow ring! Her poise certainly isn’t a redeeming quality either. I cannot see a single element that makes her good enough for him, expect perhaps that she is smart enough to put Raven Claw’s brightest to shame. If it wasn’t for her lack of professionalism and personal upkeep I am sure she would be in Raven Claw and not Gryffindor. She has changed him so much since they started dating. Potter used to be such a prince, but even since they got together he has been hanging out with anyone, even the problematic Weasleys. I can’t believe his parents let him do that, do they not care about how it will effect their status? Father always reminds me to be cautious of my social relations because they will effect him greatly. He would simply die if he saw me with someone adorned in chains such as Hermione chooses.  The brazed crème a top the shit soufflé is that Harry Potter got a tongue ring! His parent’s certainly know nothing of this, but for the first time ever, I think I may not make Father privy to this. Potter and I have been associates every since primary school, and the tongue ring is a secret to all but his inner most circle. Except somehow Ronald and Hermione have become the bulk of that circle since we entered Hogwarts. To think that first semester we picked out matching Slytherin class rings together, and he somehow became a Gryffindor like them. Maybe classes do divide people too definitively? Or maybe he is changing as a person.. He always did have an affinity for the muggle world and other oddities, I just never thought he’d choose them over me. 

“Hi Har- Er, Potter, and company”, I say awkwardly as I approach their group. They all go quiet as they look at me, the only green clad robe amongst a sea of red. I feel as if this griffons pride may swallow me whole. They seem to be waiting for Harry to respond before they pounce, he really has gone from a Prince to a King. 

“Draco!” Harry exclaims as he moves Hermione's legs off and stands to greet me. I go for a slight wave but he pulls me into a hug. I can feel the daggers from his entourage. “I haven’t seen you around school in a while, what has Snape been forcing you into this time?” He asked, staring only at me. I’d appreciate the opportunity to get lost in his viper green eyes, but I can’t hold his stair. He knows my distaste for Snape, but he doesn’t know why. It’s a story for another time, but he’d already know it if he’d never stopped talking to me. 

“Oh, no, Snape is no longer tutoring me. Instead of academic pursuits, I’ve decided to try out for the quidditch team. Seems they have taken a fancy to my flying skills!” it hurts to not tell him to truth, to see him go from someone who I could tell anything to, to having to smile through the biggest heart break I’ve ever had. When I mention quidditch he gets very excited, and his posse eases up a bit. It is not uncommon for groups of different classes to enthuse over quidditch together, it is one of the few social glues we have. “What a coincidence! I will be joining the quidditch team as a legacy next season!” he says very boisterously, “I know they are expecting a lot because of my father, but I think they will be pleasantly surprised. I did always win when we would race, right?” He says with a slap to my shoulder. To others this would look like a casual challenge, but for me that slight touch meant so much more. It brought back summers spent struggling to learn how to fly out behind the greenhouse. The time he carried me back to Mother after I was able to be the first to get off the ground and flew too high. 

“You’re right, you used to be much better than me. Who knows if it’s changed, maybe you could have a practice race with me and give me some pointers if I lose?”. This audacious bastard would never turn down a challenge, and despite knowing I will likely lose, it means we’d finally have a chance to spend some time together so I’m willing to “take the L” as his muggle friends would say. 

“Harry, that’d be awesome to watch!”, “Yea Harry darling, you should host a little Gryffindor versus Slytherin flying practice before the season starts!’ Ron and Hermione cheer him on from the background. The other Gryffindor's start to chime in on how they would love to see a friendly match and see how skilled the new flyers are. “Well Draco, what do you say? I’m game to leave all you snakes in the dust, but only if you think Slytherin has enough flyers to make it worth the effort”, he chuckles as he says it, but he squeezes my shoulder with a bit of aggression behind it. He didn’t want it to be a spectacle, but I’m not going to clean up his messes if he wont be my friend anymore. 

“Sure Harry, I think I can pull together some wizards and witches that will make it worth your precious time.” I flatly announce as I start to walk away. I make myself keep stepping forward, and I can hear their snickers behind me. I walk straight away from him, no not quite, I walk straight to Snape's office. I wonder if he knows the pain he puts me through? Being compared to the Potter-Prince growing up, Father pushing me to be better than him, Harry having the audacity to be such an amazing man, friend, and first. Yet he also has the power to be the person to put me through more pain by not being in my life, driving me to focus on my studies, to get Severus to be my tutor, to use Severus as a coping method to get over him. Do you know what you’ve done to me Harry? 

~~~Imagine a world where Harry didn’t grow up with the Dursley’s, where Voldermort wasn’t a thing, where Lily and James didn’t die. Would Draco and Harry have been friends? Would they have been more? Harry and Draco are 17, nearing graduation and independence, but that also means they are climaxing from their teenage angst and heartbreak. Will they get closure?

I approach Severus’s office, emotions flooding me. After Harry and I got accepted to Hogwarts and he started drifting away, I found myself lost. At first, I believed his excuses for why he bailed on our plans, and then I blamed myself thinking I made him mad, and then I realized he just didn’t like me anymore. The self blaming was the hardest to get over, but Severus helped with that. I chose to focus on my studies, I had to find something productive to do so that Father would be proud of me again. He got very angry when I messed up the connection with the Potters. I decided instead to try and be very academically accomplished, so I needed a good tutor. Father and Mother were both very familiar with Severus Snape and knew him as an intelligent man and an excellent wizard despite being only 6 years older than me. They arranged for him to be my tutor, and he lived much closer to the school than we did, which meant I would study at his house and in the summers I stay with him. Since he is also a teacher at Hogwarts we don’t ever interact politely as school, because frankly our relationship is unconventional. to the public. I don’t love him, he doesn’t love me, but we both have been burned by the Potters more than once and despite all our pain, we still love them. Don’t get me wrong, Rus is very good to me, and we have had some very sentimental memories, but I can never mean as much to him as Lily I don’t think. That and I am not willingly to fall in love. 

*KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK*  - “Come in.” I walk in and instantly Rus’s face goes from stone cold to slightly softer. “Draco, I assume you came to speak about your last test scores?” He arches an eyebrow and nods at the door indicating I should close it. 

“Oh come on Rus, I know we have an arrangement to not interact extra here but I..” I close the door and try not to meet his eyes. I know what I am feeling, and its stupid! I can’t explain it though. He closes the door while reaching over me. With his other arm he pulls into a hug. 

“Use your words Draco.” He kisses the top of my head while whispering softly. I bury my face in his shirt. How do I tell him that I am hurting because the person who means the most to me, acknowledged me, and it left me feeling hollow? “Is it about Mr. Potter? I saw you speaking in the courtyard. That was dangerous.” I let out a shaky sigh. This is why we are together, because we share the same pain. 

“Yea..” I mutter, “We are going to have a little race between Slytherin House and Gryffindor to see who the faster upcoming flyers will be.” Even saying it sounds absolutely  ridiculous! It’s a bloody pissing contest! Yet nothing has been able to break me out of this numbness until now. Rus braces the small of my back as we lean against his office door. I look up to see him with a small smile, “I understand. I think this will be for the best. Whether it is closer you get, or simply a win. I be here if it goes wrong”. He is so consistent. Just as expected, after saying something so sweet that I could almost develop feelings, he leans down and begins a gentle kiss. He pulls my waist into him, spreading my legs with his knee. I kiss him back while running my fingers through his hair. I reach down for his belt, trying to undo it. He stops my hand and pulls back, “Now Mr. Malfoy, we are on school grounds.” He says with his stern, teacher voice. He the leans in and whispers, “You can show my what that Malfoy mouth is good for later”. I feel my dick jump a little bit, giving me a semi. This is how I cope. Feelings cannot negate the power of something physical, and Severus Snape needs to forget about the Potters just as much as I do. We were a match made in Hell. 

“Draco....” I hear Harry’s voice calling my name, but it sounds distorted, almost as if I’m underwater. “Draco!” it comes through clearly this time, but it isn’t Harry, It’s Blaise yelling at me to rouse me from my sleep. I had returned to the dorms embarrassingly late, but I had the forethought to lay out my quidditch gear ahead of time so I wouldn’t be scrambling in the morning. “Draco, wake the fuck up! We’re gonna be late to the race!” Blaise is still yelling but I can hear him heading for the door. Late? What did he mean late? I roll over and check the time, he was right, I had about five minutes to go from bed to the quidditch field. Fuck. 

“I almost thought you chickened out Draco!” Harry taunts as I approach the quidditch field, running as fast as I can with all my gear on. I was able to gather three other Slytherins that wanted to race, and who were marginally decent. Sadly Harry seemed to have a whole team that wanted to test us. I glance at Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle and they do not seem to be exuding confidence. I got them into this so the least I can do is be the one who people blame. “What? Run away from you Potter? I could never”, I say a little too seriously while making eye contact. I catch the slightest frown from Harry, but it fades as quickly as it appeared. “Well then, lets get this over with. It sounded fun, but looking at your little group, it just feels like bullying.” He rejoins his group at the start line. The course was to make one large loop around campus while going through specified markers, such as looping through the womping willow and its thrashing limbs, and past Hagrids hut. It is just the school campus, but that doesn’t make it not dangerous. That is why I wore my protective gear, but as I glance around I see that most everyone else was casually dressed with the exception of Longbottom. He looked as if he was wrapped in bubble wrap. I don’t want to be associated with the likes of him so I discard my protective layer.  I return my attention to the other end of the field where Hermione stands with the flare, and off it goes. I must’ve been disassociating during the count down. I feel the wind of the others taking off before I see the bristles of their brooms when they speed past me. Shit. I take off as fast as I can, but I am not too concerned about the starting line. Anyone can get up, its staying there that’s the problem. 

The first obstacle is the peaks of the school, where we stand the danger of Mr. Fletcher seeing us and everyone getting in trouble. This obstacle is more about stealth than speed, you could speed right through the peaks, but you would certain alarm everyone inside the castle. The trick to making it without being seen is to pay attention and roof hop, taking a break to wait out anyone who may see you. I can see ahead of me where two Gryffindor flyers drop altitude instantly, nearly getting caught. I swerve away from that tower and loop around the other way, hopping off the roof after checking the next peak. When I emerge from the other side of the peaks I see Harry far ahead, Ronald right behind him, and Blaise  on their tail. either no one else made it through, or they are behind me, because no one would be ahead of Harry. We approach Hagrids hut and drop down low for the loop, I see Blaise take the turn too tightly and have to drop to the ground to prevent himself from going tip over tail. Ronald falls behind me as he flew too close to the hippogriff and got the tail of his broom snipped out. The race is between Harry and I as we approach the womping willow. It is especially crabby today it seems, or perhaps that was just because I was actually flying closer too it and not away from it the way I would have preferred. As we near the willow I am close enough that I could grab the bristles on Harry’s broom if I wanted to. I follow his maneuvers dodging the willows grasps. There is no denying that when it comes to agility Harry has an edge on me. There is no doubt that James took the time to train him personally. Despite all his preparation I see Harry narrowly avoid getting swept by a branch, which meant I had no time to avoid the branch at all. The willow makes contact with my broom and sends me plummeting to the ground. I’d rather jump and break something, that be strangled by a tree. The impact knocks the breath out of me, and the pain floods my body. My vision goes black and once again I feel like I am in bed, floating into nothingness. 

“Draco?!?!” I hear Harry’s voice calling out to me, but I don’t respond. Blaise wont fool me again. He just wants me to wake up from my peaceful nothingness. Then the pain hits me and I remember what happened. I open my eyes to see a sweaty and shirtless Harry tying my arm in a makeshift sling. “Draco.. please say something..” He mutters as he struggles with the knot. 

“Ouch you bloody bastard, that fucking hurts!” I squeak as he tightens it too much. Despite my pain I see a look of relief cloud his face. “Other than your arm, what hurts? I can’t tell if anything else is broken. I already have Ron and Blaise going to get a teacher. I am so sorry Draco, it wasn’t suppose to happen like this!” Harry is running his sentences together as he is frantically searching me over for any other damages. Everything hurts, but what I feel the most is the throbbing in my chest. Did I really have to almost die for him to say my name in such a caring way? I don’t want to be here, it hurts to see him like this knowing it is just me that is feeling this way. “Professor Snape!” Harry yells as Severus approaches with Ron and Blaise right behind him. I see Rus reach for his wand and the next thing I know Harry is swept away from me by an unseen force, flown at least three yards away. “Harry Potter! What have you done now?!” Severus yells, abnormally angry. He turns his attention toward me, worry lines streaking his face. He looks me over and his face softens. A wave of his wand and I feel a million times better. He leans down next to me and whispers, “You’ll be okay Draco, I’ll take care of this”. He turns his attention to Harry, “While I transport this young man who could very well be crippled, I’d recommend you contact your parents before I get the chance. Let them know I expect to be seeing them soon.” Severus knows better than to touch me, so he makes me float using Hermione's favorite spell. He must have cast a different spell as well, because the last thing I see is Harry’s terrified face as Severus brings me back toward the castle. 

I wake up to a sudden jolt of pain coming from, well, everywhere. The most prominent pain is coming from my right arm. I sit up to exam the damage, but to my surprise I see none other than Hermione Granger sitting next to my bed in the infirmary, reading of course. Without a word she raises her hand and indicated the number 1, probably to suggest “one minute”. I wait for her to finish her page. 

“I know about you and Harry.” She announces bluntly as she closes her book carefully. She is smart, but she can’t possibly be that smart. “Well, yes, I assume you would know about how he got me clobbered by a tree. You were there.” I try and dismiss her suspicious words. She does not buy a word of it. “No, you twit, I know about you two’s past, and I am willing to bet that your annoying behavior is because you still have feelings for him.” She states it so matter o’ factly that I am left speechless. She rolls her eyes and gets up to leave, “Well, I sure hope that is the case. Him and I broke up you see. After I found out the only reason he wanted to be with me is because I am smart enough to brew a Polyjuice potion of you so he can fuck it, I decided maybe I should be with someone who was actually attracted to me.” She walks away without giving me a chance to argue, or well, say anything at all really. He does what?  She runs into someone at the door and I hear them exchange words, and to my surprise the next person to walk in is Harry Fucking Potter. He stands awkwardly at the end of my bed for what feels like an eternity before asking, “how are you feeling?”. Despite his concern, he wont make eye contact with me. He doesn’t even seem like he wants to be here. I sink back into the bed and roll away from him. “You can go, I am fine. I bet your friends are lost without you.” I bite my tongue at the end, knowing that isn’t how I feel. I feel the bed shift as he sits down on the edge. 

“Draco.. I don’t want to go. I feel terrible about what happened, and I Hermione just told me that you know about.. me, or us, or however you want to say it, and what I am trying to say is, “ He takes a deep breath, “Draco I am so sorry. I know your father doesn’t want me around you, but it hurts to see you like this, and it hurts to not be with you.”. His voice got weak as he finished his sentence. His hand grabbed my leg and squeezed it. It’d been forever since I had felt his warmth. 

I can’t. 

I can’t. I can’t.  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t  I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’tIcantIcantICANTICANTICANTICANT! 

Why? Why does he have to do this? Why does he have to hurt me like this? What does this all mean? Does he think that because he said sorry I can just roll over and pretend the last two years never happened?! HE LEFT ME! He hurt me! He got me hurt! When I lost him, I lost the love for myself as well. How can he say those things to someone who is just a shell? 

I start breathing desperately, my heart racing and my head flooding with these thoughts. I can’t control it, I can’t stop it, and I can’t move. I want to reach out to him, to grab his hand, to push him away, I don’t know!  

“Mr. Potter, now would be a good time for you to leave.” Severus’s calming voice announces over the hallway in the infirmary. I hear his footsteps swiften towards us. “Proffessor Snape I was only-” Harry starts, but gets interrupted by a stern and almost hissing whisper, “No, Mr. Potter. Mr. Malfoy’s parents are heading this way, I strongly recommend you make it as if you were never here. Do you understand?”. That very much so sounded like a threat. “Of course, I’m sorry... Please take care of him!”. Harry runs down the hallway and I hear the door slam before Severus addresses me. He kneels beside the bed to be face to face with me. “Draco, I’m so sorry. Deep breaths”. He says gently as he wipes away tears that I didn’t know I had. “Don’t worry about your parents. I will tell them now is a bad time. We will all reconvene at my house this evening once you recover from the healing spell. You can ask them about what Mr. Potter said if you must, I will protect you. Always.” He gently kisses my forehead and leaves silently, leaving me to suffer, as always. 

It's painfully awkward sitting at dinner with my parents and Severus. He was able to fix my arm, but it left me what could only be described as the largest hangover one has ever suffered. To top it off, since I was okay physically, my father was going to make sure I wasn't okay emotionally or mentally. He'd done nothing but berate me for causing a scene. I zone out of his rants and stare down at where Severus is squeezing my knee. He is trying to be supportive, but all I can notice is a strange tattoo on his arm that wasn't there before.

"Severus, what is this?" I ask as I drag my fingers over the snake that's wrapped around a skull. It graces his forearm so delicately, it really adds to his aesthetic. My father looks appalled at my blatant change of topic, and Severus looks panicked. He tries to cover it with his sleeve, but father stops him. "Severus Snape, is that the reaction to my spell?" Father stairs him down.

"Yes, my lord. I've no excuses for my behaviour. I will only say that never once have I sought to harm Draco. I've had his best interests in mind, always." Severus hangs his head as he finishes his sentence, knowing what he has just admitted.

"Draco, that mark - or something definitive, will appear on anyone you've had relations with." Father waves his hand towards Severus's arm as he struggles to remain calm. Mother chokes down a sob. "I had my suspicions about the Potter child, but I suppose this confirms that you are exactly the deviant whore I assumed you to be." I- wait, Harry? He knew about us? If he did something like this, something permanent to someone who worshipped him, then what did he do to Harry?

"Father! Tell me, is Harry's scar because of this?!". I grab Severus's hand and squeeze it, needing all the support from him that I can get in this challenging moment. Bever had I spoken againt father, but this was going too far!

"Of course. Are you really that daft to think he spontaneously manifested such an atrocious mark? Honestly Draco, to think you've tainted a wizard of such nobilty, and to include Severus on your path of destruction. I am ashamed to call you my son." Lucious stands to leave, grabbing Narcissa by the arm and dragging her with him. I never thought it would come to this, I knew father could be nasty, but I never believed he would be this way towards me. Everything I did was to make him look to, to do the Malfoy name proud. Yet he can't even let me love who I want to love? I want to chase after him but Severus weighs me down in my chair. "Don't Draco, let him cool off before you try anything. It wont end well if you pursue him now.".

The next day at school I can't help but stair at Harry's scar in every shared class. Severus explained how the curse worked, he explained that the mark would burn and feel as if it were festering when the host was around me. He explained that the reason Harry grew distant was because of my father and James Potter deciding to seperate us by any means necessary. Severus only learned about this after he began tutoring me and learned of my heart break. I still couldn't bring myself to speak to him. I don't know whether I feel betrayed, or heart broken. I don't know where I will go when the weekend comes, because I can't go home, or to Severus's, and I can't stay here. The library seems like the only logical option to kill a little bit of time at before finding a place to spend the night.

"Draco?" Before I even look, I know it is Harry who has joined me in the endless rows of books. "Draco.. I am so sorry. I hope you're okay. I hope Luscious didn't.. do anything, to you. Like he used to-" "STOP" I can't take this anymore! "Did you know? About the curse, about our fathers, and what he would do? This whole time were you just hiding from my reality?!" He is standing right here in front of me but as I yell at him I only stare at the scar on his forehead, knowing it must be throbbing.

"I knew.. after it appeared, they explained it to me. They said it was what you wanted, and that this would help us distance ourselves." He steps closer to me, reaching out for me. "But I knew it couldn't have been true. I figured it out after you started getting so familiar with Professor Snape. I tried asking my father about it and he told me the truth, but I thought you'd moved on so I didn't want you to have to choose.", he grabs my hand and holds it close to his chest. "But I'm done waiting. I don't think you've moved on, I just think you're too afraid to be yourself. So stop me if this isn't what you want." The last words are practically a whisper as his lips close in on mine. It'd been so long since I'd felt his touch, let alone his kiss. He starts out soft and sweet, lingering to feel the softness of my lips. When I don't fight his kiss, he gets more aggressive, his tongue parting my lips and finding mine. He grabs the back of my head and laces his fingers through my hair, cushioning the impact of him pushing my into the bookshelf. "Draco~" he mutters my name as he leans into me. I can feel his hard on pressing against me. "Fuck Draco", he lips press against my neck as he kisses me intensely, trying to leave a mark. "I've never stopped wanting you", he bites me gently, "I never let you get taken from me again".

#Harry Potter #drarry #Draco Malfoy #draco x harry #severus snape #severus x draco #lgbtq #hay #gay #romance #who does it end with? #It was meant to be Drarry #but I dont know anymore #Severus may be 6 years older #But he is a hell of a lot nicer #always

[flamboyantly-incompetent]

Since the World Began (2/?)

Hades!Bucky x Persephone!Reader

Word Count:  7793

Warnings: maybe a little trauma, nothing major

A/N: So, it’s been a little over a year since the first part of this series was posted - I know a couple people have asked to be tagged in this, so I’m sorry this has taken so long!  The gifs are, surprise surprise, not mine.  This is gonna get hella cute real fast.  And then hella angsty.  I’m sorry (kinda).

Part 1

When you fell for him, really fell, there was no way you could have known the consequences.

As the time passed, so did many mortals, and Bucky found himself busier by the day with the rising population of the underworld.  Sometimes, when you passed by the door in the cliff face, you could see him sitting in the doorway, eyes closed and legs hanging down, bathing in the sunlight so rarely seen.

Joining Bucky in the underworld became a frequent occurrence, and you didn’t mind.  For all the weariness slung on his shoulders, his home put him at ease, and his presence did the same for you.

One such occasion, you’d joined him in the tower as he tried to complete some kingly or otherwise morbid sort of task.  Enthralled in his work, he began to pay you no mind; you draped yourself dramatically over his bed.  When he didn’t look up from his desk, you sighed loudly.  A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  You were gaining ground.

Rolling onto your stomach, you opened your mouth to speak and -

Hermes flew through the open window, rustling every rustlable thing in the room.

“Sam!” Bucky exclaimed, trying to keep the papers littering his desk orderly, “You know I hate it when you do that.”

His wings snapped shut with a whoosh and he grinned, “That’s why I do it, Skully.”

“Cheron hates it when you do that - you’re supposed to take the ferry.  Cerberus hates it when you do that; he is especially fascinated by small flying things, he’s gonna be all in a tizzy.  Are you taunting him on purpose?”

“Oh, nuh huh I am never going near that thing, he tries to bite me every time I’m down here.”

“Did you hear a word I just said?”

“I am the messenger, proclaimer of things.”  Bucky huffed as Hermes turned to you.  “Persephone!  Fancy seeing you here.”

“Wilson,” Bucky warned.  Sam winked at you with a cheeky grin; you laughed out loud through the heat on your cheeks.

Sam ignored Bucky completely and continued, “Anyway, I’d love to shoot the breeze some more but I’ve got five more gods to get to by sunup.  Zeus has called a meeting for the Olympians, and I know you aren’t technically on the council, but he wants you both there.  Thanks for saving me the trip.”  He winked at you again, to Bucky’s chagrin.

“No problem.  What’s the meeting about?” you replied, rising to your feet.

Sam only shrugged and unfurled his wings, reaching for a piece of fruit from the bowl by the door.  Before his fingers could grace it, though, his hand was struck by a flying object - an ink well, you thought.  He stared at Bucky, now standing rigid, in shock.

“You really don’t want to do that,” Bucky said, voice low.

Sam gulped, “Right.  Sorry, I always forget that.  Uh, thanks.”  Bucky gave him a nod before he took off, rustling the room once more.

With Sam gone, Bucky finally shot you a glance.  You were smirking at him, altogether too satisfied by whatever thought you had running about inside your head.

“What’s that look for?”

You smiled wider and nudged him in the middle.  “The god of the dead is a big ol’ softie.”

“Am not!”

“Are too,” you reached up to poke his reddened ears.  “Your ears give you away every time.”

“I just don’t want that pigeon stuck down here pestering me for all eternity because of an orange.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, giving in but knowing you were, in fact, absolutely correct.  “I wonder what this summons is all about.”

Bucky groaned, massaging his temples. “It can’t be good,” he mumbled.

“What makes you say that?”

He turned to you.  “My family is, well, we tend to get into a lot of drama.”

You took his hand in yours.  “In any case, we should go.”

“But (Y/N),” he whined pitifully, wrapping his arms around your middle.  You giggled into his chest.  “We could just not go.  What’s Zeus gonna do?  Run the underworld himself?”

Still giggling, you pulled out of his grasp.  “Probably not, but we still should go.”  He was unconvinced.  “What if it’s serious?”

“All the more reason to stay down here.”

“Bucky.”

“Oof.  Alright, alright.  D’think Sam would mind if we brought Rus along?”

On your path back to the mortal realm, Bucky tried his best to placate a disgruntled Charon, who began complaining the second you were in earshot about how “gods these days have no respect for the likes of ol’ Charon.”

“I don’t even ask for a tool from Olympians!” he continued on, rowing Bucky and yourself across the Acheron slowly, “Is it really so much for me to ask, as the ferryman of the underworld, that when in the underworld one takes the ferry?”

Bucky nodded sympathetically, as if dealing with a child.  “Trust me, I know.  I tell Hermes every time he’s here.” 

“All I’m asking, is for a little respect.  The whole reason we have the bloody river is to control who gets in -”

“And out.  I know; I asked Poseidon to put them there.”

“Right, sorry.”

As the two of them bickered, you watched the wandering figures on the shore; they were as mournful and despondent as ever.  You had meant to speak to a few this visit, but the thought of seeing Bucky always seemed to take precedence.  It made you sad and ashamed, how often you allowed these pitiful beings to be pushed from your thoughts.

Bucky took your hand when you reached the shore, and you made for the mortal realm when a shade among the moaning fell to his knees at your feet, a river of pleas falling from his open and eerily still mouth.  You recoiled from the dead man’s spirit; his presence felt dank and slimy.

“Persephone, my lady,” his partially disembodied voice entreated, “My family, my wife, I’ve left them with no one, please.”

The look of shock evaporated from your face and with one hand you lifted the man to his feet, your heart sympathetic to his plight.  “What would you have me do”

Slowly and with much effort, he looked this way and that, as if confused and under water.  “Tell them I am sorry, and that I would rather wander the shore than they waste the drachma.”  He paused, surprised you listened still.  “Please, tell them, lady.  I have no other way.”

Bucky, still at your side, simply watched you, waiting for your response.  He needn’t protect you, not from these shades; he’d granted you authority enough already in his heart.

You listened to the spirits words, and imagined the twice-mortal blow of death and abandonment, and reached for his hand.  When his fingertips brushed yours, you saw it - a house, standing somewhat miraculously on a hill by the sea, but one wrong breath from collapse.  In addition, you saw that he had been a pious man, and knew it to be your duty to honor his request in death.

You smiled at him.  “I have passed this place many times; I know it well.  Your family shall hear your message, you have my word.”

The shade thanked you profusely with his motionless mouth, fading back into the others wailing on the shore.

“I don’t think you should have done that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Given him your word,” Bucky explained as the two of you continued on your way.  “You’ll be bound by it now, if you don’t deliver that message there will be consequences.  There are always consequences.”

You huffed lightly.  “I don’t see why that should matter, as I fully intend to visit that man’s family when we’re done on Olympus.”

He paused, glancing at you with a small smile.

“What?”

He laughed, “Nothing, just, sometimes I’m reminded of one of the reasons I love you and I’m, I don’t know, startled?”

A grin spread slow across your face, conquering you.  “Startled?  That’s what you want to go with?  You’re lucky I love you.”

“You don’t have to remind me of that.”

“Really?  I wouldn’t want you to be startled by your good fortune and say something you’d regret.”

“What would I say?”

“Oh I would rather not find out.”

He shook his head, still laughing, and pulled you closer to him.

Rus met you near the door.  He was, in fact, in a bit of a tizzy, bouncing around in circles, whacking the floor and shaking the ground with his tail.  You handled this one.

“Hey Russy,” you cooed at the dog, who only stuck out his tongue, to pant at you.  “Rus, did that big silly bird tease you?”  The beast whined in response, flopping over in anticipation for the inevitable belly rub to come.

Mount Olympus lay only a god’s walk away from the entrance to the underworld.  You and Bucky were nearly there when you were intercepted by a friendly face.

That face appeared in the form of a wall of water that came leaping out of the river you walked next to.

“Steve?” Bucky asked the open air, agitated and soaking wet.  You giggled quietly at the sight and flicked the water off your own hands.  “Steve, I swear, would it kill you to just say, ‘Hi Buck, nice to see you?’“

“Where’s the fun in that?” a voice came from the river.

“Get your scrawny butt up here.”

The man called Steve rose from the river, spraying Bucky once more with water.  “Hi Buck, nice to see you,” he said, grinning shamelessly.

Bucky smiled in spite of himself, and pulled the man called Steve into a bone crushing hug.  “You’re a real punk, you know that?”

“Jerk.”

Bucky pulled back, and gestured towards you, “Steve, this is Persephone.”

Steve reached out to shake your hand; he was quite small, though his eyes held a depth, a sort of ability.  “I’m Poseidon,” he said, “But you’re welcome to call me Steve.”

You smiled warmly, “Call me (Y/N).”

“I take it you’re headed to Olympus?” Bucky cut in.  When Steve nodded he looked to you for a moment then offered, “Walk with us?”

For the rest of the journey, Steve and Bucky swapped stories of silly things they’d seen mortals doing, and, to Bucky’s chagrin, you and Steve swapped stories of silly things you’d seen Bucky doing.  It was a pleasant change from your typical lonely wanderings.

“I’ll admit, Steve,” you started, “I haven’t met many gods yet.  You’re the fifth.  Tony - my mother goddes, Demeter - Bucky, Wanda, Sam of course, and you.  I’m rather nervous.”  You paused, realization flooding through you.  “Oh no, Demeter!  It hadn’t even occurred to me that I’d see him today.  Much has passed since we last spoke.”  Though you couldn’t explain why, the idea filled you with apprehension.

Mount Olympus stood the tallest among the peaks in the range.  On most days, the zenith could be seen with such clarity any mortal could spot the temple that sat there should they know what to look for.  Today, though, the clouds sat low on the mountain, obscuring the gathering from sight.  The mountain top was bustling with activity by the time you arrived at its summit; gods you had never seen before rushed around all about, and Steve was doing his best to point them all out to you.

“That’s Ares, god of war, everybody calls him Rhodey - I think he’s actually pretty good friends with Demeter.  Oh, that over there is Aphrodite, be careful, he’s got quite the temper, I hear - goddess of passion or, something like that.  And that is Athena - wisdom and -”

You cut him off there, “But why is he blue?  And why is he the only one wearing a cape?”

“Vision was born out of Zeus’ forehead.”  Steve shrugged, “He can do what he wants.”  You nodded, a bit overwhelmed.

“Zeus always gets the credit for that,” you spun around to see Tony striding up towards you, “But I did most of the work, you know.”

“Mother goddess!” you let him pull you into a hug.  “It’s good to see you.”

“You too, pumpkin.”  He released you to address your companions, nodding his head politely, if a bit cold, “Poseidon, Hades.”  They nodded similarly, and he turned his attention back to you, “Come, we don’t want to miss Zeus’ opening remarks.”

“We were just on our way, join us, Demeter?”

Tony gave a thin smile and obliged you, taking up his gait on your left.  Bucky remained on your right, though he had allowed some distance to come between you.

The temple where the council held its meetings was designed for twelve, not some odd hundred.  As such, Zeus addressed the throng of deities on the stage of an amphitheater.

“Friends!  Thank you for joining me, I have a very special announcement!” he said, loud, boisterous, and happy, grinning ear to ear.

Bucky leaned towards you to explain, “Zeus’ name is Thor.  He is very...”

“Loud?”

“Yes.”

Zeus continued, “Today, the council says goodbye to its eldest member, and welcomes a new.  Hestia, would you like to say a few words?”  The god called Hestia held himself with a regal demeanor; a soft warmth wafted off of him.

“Hestia is goddess of the hearth.  There’s a people on the African continent that know him as their king.”

“His name?”

“T’Challa.”

Hestia began to speak about the changing of times; Tony took the opportunity to whisper to you, “You and Hades seem rather familiar, dear.”

You blushed and whispered back, “We’ve become friends, yes.”

“I don’t like the idea of you spending so much time together.  He’s dangerous.”

How could you respond to that?  You were Olympians!  All of you were dangerous.  Zeus’ voice cut through your argument, “And so, it is with both sadness and joy that I welcome Dionysus to the council, and bid Hestia a happy retirement.”  Among the gods there was a hodge-podge of arguing, grumbling, halfhearted congratulations and some well-meaning applause.  He continued, unbothered by this response, “Would the twelve Olympians please remain seated, the rest of you are free to go.”

There was a general surge of noise as the whole amphitheater stood.  Bucky gave you a look as he moved off with Steve, which you returned with some apprehension before turning back to your mother goddess.

“Why don’t you like him, mother goddess?”

Tony scoffed, “Ask him why he is god of the dead.”

“Because Zeus made it so.”

“That is why he is king of the underworld, dear.  Ask why he is god of the dead.”  His cold tone struck an uncomfortable chord, and you found yourself unable to look at anything but your hands folded in front of you.

As the gods trickled out of the amphitheater, you bid your mother goddess a strained farewell, making for the home of the shade’s wife.  It was not far in god-stride, and you arrived in the face of a beggar with a gift.

When you arrived, a woman still dressed in the dark robes of mourning stood with her back turned to the road, salty win whipping locks of undone hair about her hung head.  You called out to her, and asked for a moment to rest for a while.  She turned to you, dazed, and invited you inside, where you gave your gift.  It was a jar of honey, which the bees had given up freely to you who was their first caretaker.

You both sat down for a meal.  There were four chairs at the table, and four hooks by the door, but as far as you could feel there was no one else in the house.

When the meal was done, she asked you, “Where do you travel to?”

“I am on my way to fulfill a promise.  It shouldn’t be much longer now.”  That answer seemed to satisfy her, so you asked her, “Who do you mourn for, lady?”

She stood, her every movement languid and melancholy.  “My husband.  I have some wine around here somewhere...?”

“No, I have another gift to give you.”

She looked puzzled and sat back down at the table.

“Where are your children?”

“They have gone.  My husband could leave me no dowry, and my time of childbearing has passed.  My sons are old enough to find work, so I bid them to.”

“Have you no kyrios?”

“When my sons return, I will know.”  She paused, looking worried, “I am afraid I have no gifts to give you traveler.  I haven’t even the coin to pay for my husband’s crossing of the Acheron.  I will be gone before his hundred years are up,” she continued quietly, “so we may at least speak again as lonely spirits.”

“Ah,” you said.  Her head lifted and her gaze met yours.  “That leads me to my second gift.”  You let the illusion drop about you , the blood red sheen of life on your skin obvious in the dull darkness of the house.  “I am the bringer of spring, and I also bring your husband’s words.”

The woman fell to her knees.  “Forgive an old woman who mourns, I have forgotten to wash your feet.”

“I will bring no curse upon your house; this is the favor I spoke of.”  You knelt in front of the woman, grasping her hands.  “Your husband came to me on the shores of the Acheron, and he asked me to tell you that he is sorry.  And to feel no shame in his waiting; that he would rather do so.”

She sniffed a little into her hands.  “I know that you speak the truth.”  The burden of your word was lifted, and you understood what the shade had wanted to ask of you, but hadn’t.  It was something you were happy to give.

You stood, pulling the woman to her feet with you.  “You have been kind to me, and let me ask my many questions.  Your sons will have every beneft I can give to them.”  She thanked you as you bid her farewell, donning your beggar shell once more.  “Gift to me a good life, and that of your children, so we may be friends in Hades after all.”

You walked down the hill until you were out of sight, and you became invisible to mortal eyes again.

Ask why he is god of the dead.  Your mother goddess’ words rang in you ears, persistent, with every step you took back to Hades.  It crossed your mind more than once to find some excuse not to join him again, but your feet refused to consider the idea.

You met him in the asphodel meadows and lingered there, watching the shades speak to each other in apathetic and faint tones, wondering how you could ever breach the subject of Bucky’s authority.  He walked beside you in silence.

Eventually, you said, “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

Abruptly you stopped and turned him to face you.  “My mother goddess, Tony,” you paused, uncomfortable under Bucky’s gaze, “he told me to ask why you are god of the dead.”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed, but not in anger.  “And is that your question?”

You nodded, guilt already welling in your chest.  The pale glow of the drop of sun Apollo had fixed on the smooth stone ceiling of the underworld did nothing to warm your nervous shivers.

“C’mon, this is a conversation better had with wine.”

“Oh, I thought I wasn’t supposed to-”

“No, honeybee,” he said, chuckling halfheartedly, “it’s for me.”

The two of you climbed the stairs to Hades’ tower in silence.  He gestured to a long, asymmetrical settee which he joined you on.  You took his metal hand in yours.

Before he spoke, Bucky ran his free hand through his hair.  “How much do you know?”  His face was laced with worry; those lines still made your heart ache.

“Only what you’ve told me,” you answered softly.

He began slowly, tasting each word before it left his mouth, with how he and his sibling gods had wound up in the belly of Cronus.  “Cronus lived in constant fear that he’d be overthrown by his children like his father before him, so he prevented a betrayal by swallowing us whole.”

The blue in his eyes held a reserved chill, an icy resentment.  You waited for him to continue, holding your breath.

“Zeus couldn’t set us free until he reached manhood, but even then - we didn’t know.  There was no hope.  Only darkness, and the knowledge that there would be an eternity of it.  Hestia was the oldest, he was trapped there the longest and he was alone for years before I joined him there.  I don’t know how he stayed so sane.  It was... different for me.  By the time Demeter was eaten, I had already gone off the rails.”

He withdrew his hand from yours and continued, “I, (Y/N) I could hear him speak to me.  Cronus.  He spoke terrible, vile things about my mother, my siblings.  He swallowed a whole pack of centaurs once to see if he could goad me into murdering them.  I suppose you could say I was his favorite.”  A rueful smile twisted his face before it softened and his shoulders slumped.  “Steve was trying to knock some sense into me when Zeus cut that bastard open.  That’s how,” he trailed off, gesturing to his metal appendage.  Your hand covered your mouth in distress.  “Then suddenly, we were free.  There was still work to be done, though.  I told Zeus he should just kill me and be done with it, but he said he needed all of our help in fighting the rest of the Titans; it was easy for me, even with only one arm.  Zeus just wanted to imprison them in Tartarus, where they could do no more harm.  When it came time for Rhea, though, I slit her throat.”

Bucky leveled his gaze on you, still holding your breath.  “That is how I came to be god of the dead and death.  It has followed me ever since.”

With great effort, you allowed yourself to breathe.  Your heart pounded in your ears in rage and sorrow.  “Thank you for trusting me with this,” you said.

Bucky shook his head, eyes fixed on his hands.  “It is not a secret; any god would’ve told you the story if you’d asked.”  He paused, chewing his cheek.  “Demeter was right to warn you; I am a dangerous god.”

You bit your lip, thinking.  Of course he was dangerous; that had never been a question.  How could you hope to explain that, while dangerous, he wasn’t a danger to you.  Deciding to climb out on that limb, you asked, “Would you let me show you my home?”

He looked up from his hands with something of relief and curiosity, “I thought your home was wandering the earth conjuring flowers and baby bunny rabbits.”

“That’s not entirely wrong.  It is about time for birthing season.”

“(Y/N),” he began, tense.

With a look you silenced him, and took his hand back into your own.  “Bucky.  Trust me.”

“I trust you.  Are you sure you trust me?”

You raised his hand to your lips.  “I love you.  Will that do?”

He blinked at you.  Then he blinked again.  He leaned into you, resting his forehead on yours, sea green eyes open wide.  “That it will.”

You grinned, hands shaking.  “Come on.  It’s high time I show you something of life.”

He gulped, but allowed you to pull him to his feet.  Bucky held a firm grip on your hand until you reached the other side of the Acheron.  Cerberus was waiting for you both on the shore; the shade that had approached you before presumably satisfied as they all gave you a wide berth. 

“Hey, Rus,” you cooed at the hulking creature, reaching out to scratch behind the nearest ear.  He followed you to the door with silent footsteps that shook the ground, whining softly when you stopped in front of it. 

Bucky caught your eye.  He was putting on such a brave face, but he let you push open the door.  “Do not be afraid.”

Out into the world you ventured.  The sun was out in full force; Bucky squinted at the powerful rays reflecting off the waves. 

You giggled softly, “When was the last time you went outside?”  The wind ruffled his hair and, by Olympus it was lovely.  He shrugged.  “Come on,” you said with a smile.  He followed you obediently across waters and through forests and fields, occasionally glancing back to check the damage of his footsteps, an action that did not go unnoticed by you.  You hoped you were doing the right thing.  You hoped he would understand.

Eventually, you arrived where you’d planned.  To call the patch of grass the doe had chosen a clearing would be an overstatement, but you stopped there nonetheless.  You gestured for Bucky to remain where he was, tucked neatly in the folds of the forest, and stepped into the light.  The deer was not startled by you, welcoming your presence as you approached and knelt in front of her.  Bucky shifted behind you and her head shot up, ear twisting, listening.  

You hushed her, “Shh,” and reached your hand out to Bucky.  He looked at you with an expression quite similar to that of the deer.  They looked at each other, communicating silently for a spell.

With exceptional caution, he approached.

“Is she…?”

“Pregnant?  Very.  It’s just about time.”  He took a sharp breath in; you gave his hand a reassuring squeeze.

Abruptly, the doe got to her feet and began pacing.  In all reality, there wasn’t much you could do for her besides keep her company.  So you did.

The doe curved her back, releasing the first fawn with little difficulty, and began to lick him clean.  Bucky watched, transfixed, as the fawn tried to stand through the resistance of his mother’s care.  

The second fawn was born with more of a struggle.  When he tried and failed to stand, the reason became apparent - his feet were curved at awkward angles, and when the doe began to clean him, white patches in his fur started to show.  

Beside you, Bucky was unnerved.  “I-I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come-”

“This is not your doing.”

“But,” he started, backing away from the fawns, “he…  Something’s wrong.”

You rose to your feet, the sadness of the reality of life weighing your heart.  “It is an unfortunate truth, one that even I cannot change.”  He raised an eyebrow at you, breath still irregular and nervous.  “Trust me a little longer.”

After a spell, the doe and her fawns moved on, the doe keeping a safe distance to distract predators from her new fawns.  The piebald fawn had a particularly hard time keeping up with his family, and it was him that you followed closely.

“My presence cannot bode well for this fawn,” Bucky hissed, following close behind you.  You shushed him gently, knowing he would soon understand if he could endure a bit longer.  “(Y/N),” he started.  Again, you shushed him, with more force this time; you wanted him to pay attention.  Stopping him with a squeeze of his hand, you nodded your head towards the mountain lion that stalked the fawn.

She was poised to strike at every moment, devastating strength thinly contained in muscular shoulders as she moved without sound.  She paid you no mind.

Bucky moved to protect the fawn.

“Just watch.”

His eyes were glossy as he stared at you with confusion, “He will die because of me.”

You paused, looked pointedly at his hand clasping yours and then his steps through the forest.  Or, more, the lack of evidence of his steps through the forest.

The corner of your mouth tugged up a bit at the realization that came over him.  “Trust me,” you implored, the tone of your voice practically begging it of him.  He released a shaky breath and turned his attention back to the predator and her prey.

When she finally did attack, the fawn didn’t even see it coming and it was over as quickly as it had begun.  Bucky held onto you when the fawn’s life fled from it and remained silent while you followed the big cat back to her den.

Inside were three young cubs that tore the carcass apart.

“Why are you showing me this?” Bucky asked in a whisper.

“Because life demands some amount of death.  It isn’t always as balanced or as poetic as this, sometimes it is harsh and bitterly futile, but it is a fact unwavering.  And it does not exist because you made it so.”

“I-I,” he started, pulling away from you, and you wondered if you had made a mistake.  You drew the backs of your fingers down his cheek with a sigh, and told him that he would know where to find you before turning to leave him with his thoughts.

His hand circled around your wrist and pulled you back to him until you were once again staring into the eyes that held the horror of truth.  You shivered.

“Marry me,” he said.

“What?”

“Persephone, (Y/N), please.  Marry me?”  Yes, you thought, your heart pumping blood into your cheeks with fervor.  “I love you, you love me.  Be my wife.  Let me be your husband.”

You laughed when you remembered you’d only thought it.  “Yes,” you said.  The tremor in your voice hinted at tears threatening to spill.

Here you were, Hades and Persephone, harbingers of the living and the dead, in over both their heads in love.  There was no force you could imagine that could ever sever what was forged when you said yes.  You were right, of course, but not for lack of trying.

You married Hades in early dawn on Olympus, the mountain deserted but for you, Bucky, and Zeus.  Cool air rushed through your hair, your hands holding your love’s.  Zeus asked you both if the other was your intended.  The two of you agreed, and there was nothing more to be said.  Each of you had already owned the others heart.

The moment, intimate as it seemed, was not without spectators, and by the time you and your husband reached the foot of the mountain, every god worth gossiping with had heard of your union.

Demeter heard of it while enriching the soil on the land owned by a grain farmer who had been particularly generous with offerings of barley and poppies.  He heard from Dionysus, who had heard from Hermes, who had heard it from Poseidon, who had heard it from the giants whose eyes could see and ears could hear for miles.

Tony sank to the ground in defeat, a storm of half lucid memories gusting through his chest.  The darkness, and fear, and blood.  Malice.  And the darkness.  It always came back to the darkness.  And it had taken his daughter goddess.  He knew there was only one thing he could do - one thing that must be done.

Demeter departed immediately, and marched straight for Mount Olympus.  

He threw open the doors to Zeus’ home and shouted, “Zeus!  You’ve married my daughter to that abomination!”  Thor stood, startled, from his table.  “Well?”

“I have,” Zeus replied, crossing his arms.  “They both consented to it, seemed pretty happy if you ask me.”

“I didn’t,” Tony snarled.  “You have given my daughter to a treacherous beast without asking me or even telling me.  I would like to know how you intend to retrieve her, because by Olympus you will.

Poseidon, who had just explained to Zeus how his friends the giants had learned of the ceremony to begin with, stood also.  He said cooly, “Your daughter goddess has made her own choice, and she is perfectly safe.”

“Safe?”  Tony rounded on Steve, fear and anger heating his face and his words.  “How could she be safe?  Have you forgotten what he did to our mother?”

Steve shook his head, bewildered, “She let him eat us!”  

Long had it been since they spoke of their years of torment.  Silence fell thick in the house, though outside passersby could hear most of the yelling, and the noise attracted the attention of a friendly looking dog.

Inside, Tony shook his head in despair.  “You always have to defend him.”

“He’s my brother.”

“So was I.”  Tony clenched his jaw, and before Steve could reply, said, “I invoke the rights of the twelve.”

Zeus’ face melted into shock and frustration.  “You cannot declare their union invalid; what has been done cannot be undone.”

“Hades is not on the council; it is within my rights to take back my own kin.  She will be free of his presence tonight.”

The dog outside, having heard Demeter’s plans to banish Persephone from Hades, ran back to her master.  Hecate was on the way back to the underworld, guiding the spirit of a woman carrying the required two coins of silver, when her familiar came bounding up to her, frantic.  Hearing the news for herself, Wanda left the spirit to be guided by the dog as she sped ahead to warn Hades.

She found you together on the Isle of the Blessed dancing with the spirits there around the only thing that could grow so deep in the underworld.  They ate the pomegranates from the tree with gusto, and you laughed in their merriment.  

The joy melted off your faces when you saw her sprinting toward you.

“Hecate!” Bucky said, confused.  He jogged to meet her, and you followed closely behind.  

She explained in gasps of air that Demeter and Zeus intended to remove you from Hades and the underworld.  Bucky took a sharp breath in and drew you into him.

“But,” you said, holding onto Bucky’s hand on your waist, “How can they do that?  It must be my mother goddess, but he has no right!”

Wanda shook her head, “He has invoked the rights of the twelve.  He has every right.  Hades, they will be here soon.”

Bucky nodded grimly, “I did not notice Demeter at first.  His authority feels similar to (Y/N)’s, but I can feel Zeus now.  Poseidon is with them also.”

“Go,” Wanda said, “Beg for them to reconsider.  Persephone, you should hide.”  

Bucky kissed your hand sweetly and whispered, “I will do anything I can, my morning glory, I promise.”  Then he turned from you and raced off to his tower in the distance.  His absence from you pulled your gut like a riptide.

The spirits on the Isle gathered around you, sensing your distress.  “What can we do, mistress?  What is the matter?” they asked. 

“Where can I hide?” you asked.

They whispered among each other.  “The only place outside the sight of Zeus is Tartarus, but you should not go there.  It is dangerous, even for divine ones.”

You looked from Hecate to the spirits, to the looming darkness you could not see, your heart racing.  Your hands shook.  Light flashed from the tower.  Lightning.  “I - I must.  Zeus is here, and I must hide.  Hecate, will you come with me?”

She stood very still, her eyes fixed on the tower.  “(Y/N), we cannot go there; there are dangers there we know nothing of.”

You nodded, understanding her fear.  “I cannot leave him.”  She called after you as you ran, your mind made up, but all you could hear was the thudding of your own heart and your own feet against the ground.  The darkness began as a low presence in the distance, and grew like smoke clouds as you drew nearer.  The darkness wasn’t nearly as horrible as the smell, a sickly sweet smell of rot, and the sounds, low rumbling of a mountain turning over and screams the likes of which you had never heard.  

The threat of separation from the one you held most dear spurred you on beyond all fear and all reason.  You would hide there, dangers be damned.  Literally.

Under the cloudy darkness, there was a deep depression in the ground with steep slopes all around, surrounding an enormous grate of enchanted iron.  You stood at the edge of this depression and peered into the darkness.  Through the holes in the grate, you could just barely make out the shadows of spirits fleeing, and the shadows of things much larger that devoured them.

One giant eye opened up altogether too close to the grate for your liking.  A voice spoke, crooked and gravelly, and eternally deep, “Zeus can still see you there, life-walker.”

You looked over your shoulder, afraid you’d see that tell-tale lightning.  “How do you know who I am?”

The eye blinked.  “I see everything, even from this prison your husband the murderer and his brothers have locked us in.  Though, he could not see you if you stood on the grate.”

“Why should I trust you?  Who are you?”  You asked though you feared you knew the answer.

“By all rights, I am your grandfather, Persephone.”  Cronus laughed.  “You know that you are the first of my offspring to visit me in this pit?”  At your silence, a giant hand swiped at the grate, only to be deflected long before coming into contact with it by whatever enchantment had been placed upon it.  “See?  You have nothing to fear from me.  I could do nothing to you were you not the Queen of this plane.”  

“You can see everything?”

“That is what I said, yes.”

You climbed down the slope carefully.  “Can you tell me what’s happening in Hades’ tower?”

“I can show you.”

In Hades’ tower, he paced, frantic and running his hands through his hair.  “Thor, please,” he said, hands clasped in front of him, “you know she is in no danger - I love her!”

Zeus stood next to your mother goddess, expression pained.  Demeter, however, was livid.  “No danger?  How can she be in no danger when she is here?  This is the home of death and monsters, you yourself have seen to that.”

“Tony,” Zeus said, his tone warning.

“I want her home, with me.”

Poseidon gestured out the window with exasperation.  “She won’t want to leave.  Her husband is here.”

“This is none of your concern, Steve.  Where is she?”

Bucky turned to your mother goddess.  The expression on his face broke your heart, shattered.  “Demeter, Tony, if you do this I will-”

“What, Hades?  Huh?  Kill me?”

Bucky was taken aback.  “I will never recover.”

You could see Tony’s resolve falter, but a second later his expression hardened again and he growled, “Where is she?”

If there was no way you could convince your mother goddess to let go of this fear, to let you love who you did, and if there was every possibility that if you left with him you would never see Bucky again… then hope was lost.

Cronus spoke again, “Demeter is right, this place is filled with monsters, your husband non excluded.”  A tendril of smoke had crept through the grate and began wrapping itself around your leg.  You recoiled in disgust, climbing out of the pit.

“The only monster here has been locked away, and I hope he rots there,” you spat.

“Be careful, child,” he said, his eye closing, “There are powers here still greater than you, and they do not forget in waking or slumber.”

At his words, you remembered something Charon had said, an age ago.  We didn’t make the rules, kid.  Once again,  you ran.  There was hope; it was a desperate sort of hope, but you knew what you had to do.  You ran back to the Isle of the Blessed, back to the tree that grew there, and plucked a pomegranate from the branch, four figures on the horizon.

“Persephone!” Hecate said, “No!”

“Wanda, there is no other way.”

“There is always another way.”

The figures were getting closer.  “Can you think of one in the next three seconds?”  She could not.  “Then help me!  Please, I know what I’m doing.  I will not leave him.”

They were close enough to see you now.  “(Y/N)!” Bucky called out to you.  Your eyes locked.

“Please,” you begged.  Wanda shook her head, distraught.  She pulled a dagger from an inner layer of her priestess robes and handed it to you.  You only managed to cut twelve seeds from the fruit by the time they made it to you, and you only ate half of those before your mother goddess wrestled the rest from your hands.

“Stop!  Persephone, please!” he shouted.  “What have you done?”

“I will not leave him.  And now you cannot force me.”

Zeus picked up the fallen pomegranate, pale.  Bucky had two thin tear lines streaked on his cheeks.  Steve put his head in his hands.  Wanda backed away into the shadow of the realm.

Your mother goddess, Tony, held both your hands.  “You, you are trapped here forever now.”

You squeezed his hands, desperate to make him understand.  “I know.”

The weight of what you had knowingly done set in, and your heart began to ache again.  It seemed there was no way to win.

“Thor,” Bucky said, “there must be something you can do.”

Tony rounded on him.  “What do you care?  You got what you wanted.”

“You think this is what I wanted?!”

Zeus held up a hand.  “(Y/N), how many seeds did you eat?”

“Six,” you said.

He pursed his lips for a moment, brows creased and stroking his beard.  “Yes, I think that could work.  It wasn’t the whole fruit, after all,” he muttered to himself.  You took Bucky’s hand, fingers interlaced, and held each other tight.  “And it is still, technically eternal.”

“Thor?” Steve spoke up, “You gonna clue us in?”

“It’s not ideal, but I’ve thought of a possible loophole.  In accordance with both invoking the rights of the twelve and the laws of the Titans before us, Persephone will be banished to this plane for six months of the year, and from it the rest.  Does that work for you?”

“No!” Tony and Bucky shouted at the same time.  Zeus shook his head and pointed at you.

“Me?” you asked, “That sounds like the best we’re going to get.”  You squeezed Bucky’s hand in reassurance. 

He looked at you, exhausted and burdened with troubles, his thumb ran circles over the back of your hand.  “I think you might be right, dove.  I just-”  his voice caught in his throat.

“I know,” you murmered.  The back of your hand stroked against his cheek.  “What about now?” you asked Zeus, “Am I trapped here now?  The world is not ready for me to be gone that long.”

“Then we must move quickly,” Zeus replied, gesturing toward the tower, and, further, the Acheron and the door.  “We don’t want to press our luck, especially here.”

Nodding, you hid the rogue tears that escaped your eyes from your mother goddess and your husband.  Bucky accompanied you to the edge of the Acheron.  Zeus followed your mother goddess onto Cheron’s ferry.  “I will be back,” you told Bucky, tapping his chest, “and I will be counting the days.”

He opened his mouth to speak, but Posieden cut in, “(Y/N), we need to go.”

With leaden feet, you tore yourself from your husband’s arms, and followed Steve onto the ferry.  You watched Bucky, standing alone on the shore, until he was lost from your sight.  Cheron was uncharacteristically silent.

On the other shore, Rus was waiting.  

His eyes were dark, and something in his demeanor changed when he sniffed the air above you.

“Rus?”  All six of his eyes snapped onto you and you understood.  “I know, I’m going, I’m sorry.”  He growled at you, a vicious and low dragging sound, and watched you like prey until you fled out the door.

In your hurry, you missed the step and slid down the steep, rocky slope until your toes  reached the tide of the island.  Shocked, you blinked at the ocean, expecting it to somehow reflect some, any change.

Your mother goddess slid down beside you.

“(Y/N),” Tony began, “(Y/N), I just wanted to protect you.”

Seething, you rose to your feet.  “How dare you decide what that looks like? You have ruined me and doomed this world through your deliberate blindness!”  He recoiled from your rage, and you drew back the tendrils you’d loosed. Zeus and Posieden watched awkwardly from the door.  You sighed.  “Everything I am comes from you, but the next time you presume to make my decisions, don’t.”

You held up a hand to prevent any more of Tony’s words, and set out alone across the sea to begin your half year of banishment. 

During this time, you found a small pocket of comfort in nurturing new lives, helping the saplings to find the sunlight and the calves to follow their herds.  But you missed him dearly.  It was an ache you fancied you could feel in the blossoms you encouraged to open.  The only cure for it was to wander as far as you had before you’d met him.  

So, you wandered.  Melancholy and in love, you wandered.  The forest and grassland that sprang from your steps grew in the shape of your heartache.  It would have seemed beautiful to you had it not been so irritating in its accuracy.

You watched the mortals build their temples and weave their legends; you watched them live and love with some amount of envy.

When the time came close for you to rejoin your husband again, you reversed your wandering.  Sleep, you whispered, I will wake you when I return.  As you left the forests, the animals found places to rest, and even the trees fell into their mighty slumber.  When you were satisfied, your feet carried you from across the world back to that forsaken and blessed door.

Cheron greeted you as you boarded his raft, and with every push of his long pole you felt yourself drawing closer to your husband.  Again, he saw you long before you saw him.  You could not see him on the shore when you stepped off the raft, but he could see you.  You were just as beautiful as you’d been all that time ago, but you had acquired an age.  The steps you took were no longer out of innocent joy but necessity.  He squared his shoulders and stepped out of the shadows to speak to you.

You felt his presence before he could speak a word.  

He said, softly, in the voice of a broken man, “Lady.”

@thelureabove​ @slender--spirit​ @egos-r-life​ @punkgirl-pinkbows​ @i-never-said-i-care​ @elsasshole​

#bucky barnes x reader #hades and persephone #Hades!Bucky #Persephone!Reader #marvel? #sort of I guess #this probably makes no sense #I hope someone other than me derives enjoyment from this #AU #greek mythology au #fluff #yeets aggressively into a shrug #freaking finally

[plumoh]

[FE3H] a sword length apart

Word count: 3118

Summary: Annette is a swordswoman and Felix is a mage.

Note: AO3 link. This was originally written for Felannie week day 1: role reversal! No specific route.

“Why are you so good at wielding a sword? I’ve never seen you fight with one!”

Felix pushes the bangs out of his eyes and smirks. “What, are you surprised I’m better than you?”

“You’re not better than me, don’t be delusional.”

Annette adjusts her grip on the training sword and lunges at him again. Her frontal attacks are weak but that’s only because she puts all her efforts in follow-up strikes meant to drive her opponent into a corner before landing the final blow. Felix has observed her form long enough to understand her fighting style. It’s not the most common and definitely not the one he was taught, but he recognizes there is value in it.

He hasn’t properly practiced with a sword for years. He retained all the teaching he got and the countless hours of form training, and he’d certainly do well in a duel but not on the battlefield. He hasn’t held a sword with conviction since he’s realized there was no point for him to chase a shadow, then a corpse.

Annette is diligent and enjoys training as much as he enjoys reading and studying, and that look of joy suits her. He blocks and dodges and retaliates, but she’s still faster and more at ease than he is so she swiftly knocks the sword out of his hand and grins.

“I win!”

Felix rolls his eyes and sits right there on the floor, in the middle of the training grounds. Annette is still radiating mirth when she joins him after picking up the discarded sword, placing it and her own in her lap.

“We should keep sparring, it’s fun,” she says.

“There’s no point in me sparring with you. I’m not a swordsman.”

“Maybe not, but I like sparring with you.”

Felix stares at her with unmasked surprise, and the scrutiny of his gaze makes her flush. And he feels himself grow hot.

“I-I mean, training isn’t only about fighting strong opponents? We can have fun sometimes? You know?”

It’s been too long for him to consider the idea of associating sword training and fun—and he’s buried that earnest boy long ago. It’s not serious; he’s not swinging his sword to prove something, or to push the limits of his own body. It’s completely different from what he’s used to, but there is still some cold twist in his stomach preventing him from accepting the offer.

“Sorry, you should ask someone else,” he mumbles. “I’m not that good with a sword anyway.”

Annette looks like she wants to say something else, but Felix gets up, and runs away.

***

The library is his favorite place in the monastery, since there are books and nobody will come to bother him with stupid questions or coerce him into a conversation.

“I never got the hang of magic, to be honest.”

Annette sits just across him, holding a book about chivalry that he remembers not finishing because it pissed him off halfway through it. Clearly she’s not reading it either since she seems more interested in the textbooks he’s poring over.

“My tutors told me I wasn’t focused enough, and that’s probably because I only wanted to practice my swordsmanship.”

She always wears that dumb smile when she speaks about training and swords, and when it happens to other people Felix thinks it’s laughable but Annette looks...endearing. He quickly dismisses the thought.

“Not everyone is cut out for some things,” he replies evenly.

“You’re right, and that’s why I gave up magic to only train with my sword!”

Felix sighs and leans back into his chair.

“Why are you bringing this up? If you haven’t noticed, I’m busy.”

Annette at least has the decency to look sheepish.

“Sorry, I saw you in the library and wanted to say hi,” she laughs awkwardly. His heart is racing. “And I, uh...wanted to apologize for the other day.”

Now it’s his turn to be awkward. “Why would you apologize?”

Annette plays with a lock of her hair, and doesn’t meet his eyes. “I shouldn’t have been so insistent, you clearly didn’t want to spar with me. I’m sorry.”

He stays silent. He has been rude too by leaving and ending the conversation so abruptly, and his throat itches with an apology of his own.

“It’s alright,” he says instead. “It’s not a big deal. I...maybe another time. One day.”

Felix pushes down the uncomfortable feeling speaking these words brings him. He’s not a child anymore, and he shouldn’t let emotions dictate what to do—how to live and to get by.

But Annette shakes her head, and smiles.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to force you to do something you dislike.” She pauses, and frowns. “Well, I’d ask you to forget you heard me singing, but you’re evil.”

This is an easy conversation he can slip into.

“You’re right, it’s too good to forget,” he snickers, and Annette puffs out her cheeks.

***

She’s never reckless in battle, but she does get too intense, sometimes, and makes mistakes that leave her skin all bruised and cut up. She doesn’t learn her lesson even though people tell her she should cover her left side better or to step back when the cavalry arrives too strongly, but she’s too stubborn. Felix guesses he relates to her desire to prove herself.

“You know, when I said I was going to learn faith, that wasn’t for you to come to me as a regular patient for practice,” he grouses.

“But Mercie is going to chide me again if she sees all these new cuts,” Annette whines, like that’s the main issue here.

Felix deeply sighs but never stops his Heal spell, grumbling some more about her fighting style that will attract more incidents in the near future. Lecturing her about prudence and knowing when to stop would be hypocritical of him, since his friends still come to drag him out of the library late at night. Annette spends time in the training grounds destroying dummies and nobody has managed to convince her that endless training will be more harmful than beneficial to her. Not that Felix listens to gossip and his classmates’ babbling, but he just happens to agree to what he hears.

“Besides, it was only a skirmish, so I don’t want to bother her. She’s already doing so much for our class! And I know you need to practice, anyway.”

Annette grins at him, unabashed though there is shyness dancing in her eyes, and Felix covers the sound of his heartbeat with a snort. Casting white magic demands more control and accuracy than black magic, which from the get-go is a struggle for him as he’s always preferred blasting entire zones with a powerful spell rather than focusing on a single target. But he’s trying, even if he’s complaining all the way, but he accepts the Professor’s praise at his progress nonetheless.

“It sounds like you’re making a sacrifice,” he says lightly.

“Mh, it’s just that I know you’ll take care of the injuries.”

Felix’s eyebrows furrow and he lifts his gaze, but has to look away just as soon when his ears start burning with the same red spreading over Annette’s cheeks.

This is ridiculous.

“You’re ridiculous,” he coughs.

“Maybe. You’re ridiculous!”

“Why am I the ridiculous one? That doesn’t make sense!”

Felix furiously avoids Annette’s eyes and puts all his efforts into his healing, even if the cuts are only thin scars now and will disappear in a few days. Annette stays silent after trying to sputter a sentence he didn’t catch any of its word, and they remain that away until Annette leaves the infirmary when a much too amused Sylvain pokes his head inside.

***

For a long time, Felix has been banned from the front line due to his utility as a long-range spellcaster and his tendency to destroy more land and soldiers than he was initially told. Over the five years they’ve fought their side of the war, he’s tried to control his accuracy to get stronger but also faster, and maybe his training paid off or Byleth simply needed more people at the front. Since he’s always been readily available and very vocal about wanting to fight alongside his allies, and not behind them, nobody was really surprised to see him wandering among a battalion of infantry soldiers while they march towards the Empire.

Annette shoots him a curious look, but he can definitely see the worry etched on her face.

“If you say anything I’m going to leave all the healing to Mercedes,” he warns.

She doesn’t look intimidated by his glare but she purses her lips, her hand fiddling with the pommel of her sword. She’s dressed like a proper swordmaster, with light armor over her padded cream-colored tunic while her left leg is uncovered as her boots don’t even reach below the knee. Felix has always thought it was a stupid outfit designed for practicality when it was only a recipe for disaster. His thick robes and simple armor cover and protect him better than what she wears. He still averts his gaze from her when embarrassment prickles his neck.

“I...be careful, okay?” Annette says in a low voice. “I’ll stick by your side, but...”

“I don’t need protecting, Annette. Don’t patronize me.”

The bitter words rush out of his mouth before he can think them over, and he’s only left with mild guilt when Annette doesn’t say anything else. Whatever—he’s perfectly able to decimate the enemy and still look after the injured. His grip tightens around the Caduceus staff Byleth has entrusted to him for this battle, and waits. From the corner of the eye he sees Annette stepping closer to him, but he pretends not to notice.

As soon as the fliers sent out as scouts come back, they get the order to charge. Some people around Felix let out a battle cry while others whisper prayers for their victory, but Felix stays silent, and follows the battalion. There are pegasus riders and cavalrymen charging at them but they make quick work of them. Even though he asked to be on the front line he knows he can’t cast whatever he wants in such close range of his allies, so he steps back, still surrounded by the other soldiers, and conjures up thunder striking down one, two, then three and four soldiers. The air is crackling and makes the screams even more morbid, while his allies rush past him without hesitation and finish the job. He looks ahead and advances, never faltering in front of the blood and the violence he’s grown up with, and calmly prepares another spell.

Felix isn’t one to be praised for his observation skills, but his instincts kick in and his senses sharpen when he’s on the battlefield. He watches the movement of his enemies to halt their advance with a well-aimed and well-timed spell and dodges every thrust of lance targeting him. Ingrid once told him his concentration in battle is terrifying, like his eyes thirst for a good fight and relish in the demise of his enemies. She’s not wrong; he has never felt more alive than when he’s hearing the noises of weapons clashing and seeing the blood pooling under his feet, while his hands call forth unbridled power. It’s war—it’s something he’s been raised for.

Annette materializes next to him and slashes down an assassin sneaking up on him. She dances on her feet and waves her blade like it weighs nothing, her blows always striking true and not letting any chance of survival to her opponent. She parries the onslaught of hits from another swordsman and Felix seizes the opportunity to fire a spell at him. Unable to dodge both the spell and the sword, their enemy is quickly taken care of when Annette runs her blade through his chest. He falls down hard on the ground, and in that few seconds break between felling two soldiers, Annette whirls around and looks sternly at him.

“Don’t get distracted!” she admonishes.

“I’m not getting distracted,” Felix retorts viciously. “I saw them coming.”

“Well, next time see them faster! Stay close to me.”

Felix is not going to follow Annette around in this battlefield—but if he doesn’t then she’s the one who will stick around him, so he begrudgingly lets her do whatever she wants. With the staff in hand he manages to push his spells farther than he usually does and in a much wider circle, while Annette is content to simply kill every soldier charging at them. He can’t say that his attention isn’t divided; he perfectly knows that not focusing on a single point can mean his end but fighting alongside Annette naturally forces him to make sure she isn’t throwing herself head first into danger. She’s a skilled warrior and light on her feet, but past experiences leave him with a nagging suspicion he will have to watch over her, too.

Annette makes sure that she stays close to him, but not too close; moving around and slashing her opponents don’t give her much of a choice, and Felix wouldn’t have recommended her to get into his personal space when he’s summoning his enemies’ worst nightmares. They work surprisingly well despite their infrequent partnership and their different fighting styles. None of them steps on the other’s foot and causes an incident, and despite Felix’s preference for long-range spells, from time to time he will zap anyone trying to get close to him into the void. Annette looks extremely pleased by this teamwork, so he can’t repress a small smile of his own.

The enemy troops are already retreating, as they were outnumbered and they probably shouldn’t have run into them in the first place. Smoke is rising from the ground where fire and thunder have scorched it, and blood has painted their clothes and their faces like a possessive mark of their passage. Sighs of relief echo amid the silence that falls upon the after-battle.

Felix looks critically at Annette, searching for an injury. She is dusting off her tunic and doesn’t notice his gaze, so he slowly approaches and claps her on the shoulder where his fingers start glowing. She startles and tries to turn around but Felix keeps her rooted on the spot.

“Don’t move, I’m trying to heal you,” he snaps.

“Felix, you could have waited until we regrouped with everyone!” she huffs, but stays still.

The gash on her shoulder isn’t wide or particularly life-threatening, but Felix doesn’t want her to keep bleeding all the way to the meeting point. That would kind of defeat the point of him being here on the front lines.

“You didn’t unnecessarily put yourself in danger today,” he remarks, and he’s glad he can’t properly see her face.

“Well, I...I had to protect you, too. It doesn’t matter that you think otherwise.”

It’s useless to argue with her because she will win. He doesn’t need protection, and especially not from her, who is just as vulnerable to sneak attacks and arrows. He can’t deflect the blows as quickly as she can, but he is alert enough not to let them happen in the first place. His grip on her shoulder relaxes, and she immediately turns around to lock her eyes with his. He resists the urge to look away—she’s shorter than him but her whole body language screams confidence and she’s always managed to make herself bigger than she is.

“I don’t want you to get injured,” she states firmly. “So please let me stay by your side when we fight like we did today.”

He exhales slowly. “Annette, I told you I’m fine—”

“I know you can take care of yourself! But I just...I just want to make sure you’re alright.”

There is no way for him to convince her otherwise. His fingers are still tingling with the sensation of the spells he relentlessly cast, and now that they’re all safe, that Annette isn’t bleeding anymore, he feels all the adrenaline leaves his body in one second. And Annette is the one to cast her gaze downward.

“I don’t want you to push yourself to—to prove you can fight or something, I know that using magic is hard and can easily exhaust people, so if I’m not here to help you when you’re already tired after both killing our enemies and healing our allies—”

Felix grabs her arm and she instinctively lifts her head; for a split second he takes in all the worry her eyes are shining with.

“I get it. Stop it,” he grunts. “Don’t be reckless, that’s all I’m asking.”

Annette is still staring at him, but slowly her lips tug upwards and she nods frantically.

“And I still don’t need you for protection,” he adds hastily before she can get any more ideas. “I’m the one who should keep an eye out for you.”

“Well, let’s say it’s mutual protection then!” Annette chuckles.

He’s fine with it. Felix snorts and tugs her along with him to regroup, and he knows she sees the slight smile on his face because she keeps laughing and looking at him as they cross the entire battlefield.

***

Felix thinks Annette didn’t expect him to ever step into the training grounds ever again, which is why she points at the lance, then at him, and again at the lance.

“You want to spar with me?” she asks, confused.

“Yes,” Felix grits out. “I figured I should polish my skills on horseback. With a weapon.”

“...And you chose a lance?”

She remembers their conversations from five years ago. She knows he refuses to wield a sword but has never asked why, and even now her gaze is full of curiosity. Felix chooses to ignore it altogether—he’s not ready to have this talk yet.

“We have a better reach with a lance.” He shrugs. “Sylvain and Ingrid showed me the basics, but training with them is annoying.”

(And a long time ago, the prince of their kingdom guided him through the moves of a lance before Felix decided that a sword was way cooler.)

Annette nods like it makes perfect sense, though her smile is a little too pleased.

“Right. Your magic is impressive, but I understand why you would want to use a weapon too.”

She gets into a defensive stance, and grins.

“Do your best, Felix! Don’t think I’ll go easy on you because you’re a mage.”

He lets himself get carried away by her enthusiasm, and prepares his attack.

“I wasn’t expecting any less.”

Perhaps she was right all along; sparring can be fun.

#fe3h #netteflix #felannie #felix hugo fraldarius #annette fantine dominic #fire emblem three houses #my fanfic #i love role reversal!! #i had a whole background story for felix choosing magic over swords but it wasn't relevant in the grand scheme of things haha #and that would have made the fic even longer

[octosan]

RIP in the Gossip Sea

[by Cosmo-P]

Everyone gets a little carried away, y’know

When they’re criticizing each other each day for everything

Acting as if this world is just a brief interval

Just a place to relieve their boredom until it’s time to go

-

I fell into despair cause there was nothing to do

My eyes were becoming cold and glassy like those of a fish

As I lurked, I simply stared into empty space

As I stared, I naturally shut down my thinking brain

-

Ahh, I’ve come to not care about anything now

But there’s something new that I have finally found out; it’s the most interesting of content, yes

H-U-M-A-N, HUMANS, of course!

-

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

Greater than any cheap trashy novel to read

They all forget that what you sow is what you reap

And that what goes around will come around eventually

-

Bashing people, though not to make them go away

Cause we all go “Rip” if they should vanish anyway

This tireless crusade of “justice” is fun, is enough

To kill people virtually

-

Acting like they’re sheep, people tend to always, believe

In what the vocal minority speaks

This is a "holy war” between the either extremes

And now those stuck in the middle can do nothing by weep

-

“Did you hear ‘bout the awful things that this person’s done?”

“See how good a person I am, advertising for this cause”

Even those SJWs aren’t warrior enough

For this great human drama touting a god-awful plot

-

Please, I just want to live out my life in peace

This all is harmless and isn’t about me, 

I’ll keep reading this content

H-U-M-A-N, HUMANS, of course!

-

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

More addictive than any music, you’ll see

So go on bashing people and hold nothing back

Come on, and join the fun of all the flaming and attacks

-

Making a fuss over some new idiot today

But after we’re bored of him we’ll just throw him away

Oh those are the cheap kind of laughs that we seek

To appease our excitement-craving needs

-

We’re all laughing too much

We make way too much fuss

We’re all laughing too much

We make way too much fuss

-

R.I.P in the Gossip Sea

You’ll sink to the bottom if you don’t know how to swim

All the fools who would use to argue with me

All ended up drowning in the sea as well

-

(Oh, that’s sad...)

(That’s so sad...!)

(Now I feel bad!!)

(But not really)

-

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

Greater than any cheap trashy novel to read

They all forget that what you sow is what you reap

And that what goes around will come around eventually

-

Bashing people, though not to make them go away

Cause we all go “Rip” if they should vanish anyway

This tireless crusade of “justice” is fun, is enough

To kill people IRL

-

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

More addictive than any music, you’ll see

So go on bashing people and hold nothing back

Come on, and join the fun of all the flaming and attacks

-

Making a fuss over some new idiot today

But after you’re bored of him we’ll just throw him away

Oh those are the cheap kind of laughs that we seek

To appease our excitement-craving needs

-

I hope I’ll be able to continue watching

Humankind, and its amazing specimens

I hope I’ll be able to continue watching

Humankind, and its amazing specimens

-

With my indifferent, clouded-over eyes

————————————————————————————————

PACING GUIDE

(please note that this is a rundown of how I imagine these lyrics being sung as illustrated by the separation of syllables in the original romaji. this is not a representation of how the original Japanese lyrics are supposed to be sung or written i.e. some syllables may be made to run together, one syllable may be stretched out into more than one, some romaji are on a different line from where they are in the original, etc.)

da-re-mo-ka-re-mo-hi-sshi-ni-na-t, te-sa

Everyone gets a little carried away, y’know

kyou-mo-aa-de-mo-ko-de-mo-nai-to-na-ji-ri-a-i

When they’re criticizing each other each day for everything

ma-ru-de-sha-ba-wa-ku-ta-ba-ru-ma-de-no

Acting as if this world is just a brief interval

ta-i-ku-tsu-shi-no-gi-da-to-de-mo-ii-ta-ge-da

Just a place to relieve their boredom until it’s time to go

-

bo-ku-wa-shin-da-sa-ka-na-no-you-na-me-de

I fell into despair cause there was nothing to do

na-ni-mo-o-mo-shi-ro-ku-nai-to-ka-tteni-zet-su-bou

My eyes were becoming cold and glassy like those of a fish

ji-tto-na, ri-o-hi-so-me-bu-za-ma-ni

As I lurked, I simply stared into empty space

po-kan-to, ku-chi-a-ke-te shi-kou-te-i-shi

As I stared, I naturally shut down my thinking brain

-

aa, fu-kan-shou-ni-na-tteshi-ma-tta-bo-ku-ga

Ahh, I’ve come to not care about anything now

sa-ga-shi-te-sa-ga-shi-te-ta-do-ri-tsui-ta; yuu-kyo-ku-o-mo-shi-ro kon-ten-tsu

But there’s something else that I have finally found out; it’s the most interesting of content, yes

H-U-M-A-N-nin-gen, sa-ma

H-U-M-A-N, HUMANS, of course!

-

hi-to-wa-so-re-o, go-shi-ppu-to-yo-bu

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

don-na-sho-u-set-su-yo-ri-mo-ki-na-ri

Greater than any cheap trashy novel to read

hi-to-o-no-ro-wa-ba-a-na-fu-ta-tsu

They all forget that what you sow is what you reap

sha-ba-no-kuu-ki-wa-ku-ru-ku-ru-ma-wa-ru

And that what goes around will come around eventually

-

shi-na-na-i, tei-do-ni-it-a-me-tsu-ke

Bashing people, though not to make them go away

shin-da-ra-mu-se-ki-nin-ni-te-o-a-wa-se

But we all go “Rip” if they should vanish anyway

na-ri-ya-mu-ko-to-na-i-gif-un-wa, kyo-u-mo

This tireless crusade of “justice” is fun, is enough

hi-to-sa-e-ko-ro-su

To kill people virtually

-

sei-gi-me-ga-hon-ka-ra-ta-re-na-ga, shimou-mo

Acting like they’re sheep, people tend to always, believe

kufu-shi-a-na-shin-ji-te-o-do-tte

In what the vocal minority speaks

shin-ja-to-an-chi-no-shu-u-kyou-se-n-so-u

This is a "holy war” between the either extremes

haz-a-ma-de-na-ku-wa-mo-no-yu-wa-nu-ko-e

And now those stuck in the middle can do nothing by weep

-

ait-su-wa-hi-doi-a-ku-ji-ha-ta-ra-i-ta

“Did you hear ‘bout the awful things that this person’s done?”

o-re-wa-ko-nnani-ta da-shii, shu-chou-o-shi-te-i-ru

“See how good a person I am, advertising for this cause”

he-ta-na-kan-zen-cho-u-a-ku-mo-ka-su-mu

Even those SJWs aren’t warrior enough

don-bi-ki-shi-na-ri-o-hyu-u-man-do-o-ra-ma

For this great human drama touting a god-awful plot

-

aa, hei-on-bu-ji-nii-kite-i-ki-tai-na

Please, I just want to live out my life in peace

ga-men-no-mu-kou-no-mu-kan-ke-i-na

This all is harmless and isn’t about me,

an-shin-an-zen-kon-ten-tsu

I’ll keep reading this content

H-U-M-A-N-nin-gen, sa-ma

H-U-M-A-N, HUMANS, of course!

-

hi-to-wa-so-re-o, go-shi-ppu-to-yo-bu

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

don-na-o-n-ga-ku-yo-ri-do-rag-gu

More addictive than any music, you’ll see

hi-to-o-no-ro-wa-ba-mu-ge-n-da-i

So go on bashing people and hold nothing back

sha-ba, no-ku-u-ki-wa-o-ma-tsu-ri-sa-wa-gi

Come on, and join the fun of all the flaming and attacks

-

ba-ka-ka-tsu-gi-da-shi-ni-gi-ya-ka-shi

Making a fuss over some new idiot today

a-ki-ta-ra-su-to-n-to-o-to-shi-me-te

But after we’re bored of him we’ll just throw him away

ta-no-shi-sa-ni-ue-ru-bo-ku-ra-wa

Oh those are the cheap kind of laughs that we seek

ge-bi-ta-wa-ra-i-mo-to-me-ru

To appease our excitement-craving needs

-

wa-rai-su-gite-hora

We’re all laughing too much

ao-ri-su-gite-ho-ra

We make way too much fuss

wa-rai-su-gite-hora

We’re all laughing too much

ao-ri-su-gite-ho-ra

We make way too much fuss

-

R-I-P-go-shippu-no-umi 

RIP in the Gossip Sea

u-ra-mi-tsu-ra-mi-no-hai-sha-ga-shi-zu-mu

You’ll sink to the bottom if you don’t know how to swim

ka-tsu-te-ta-ta-ka-tta-ak-u-yuu-mo

All the fools who would use to argue with me

mi-nna-ko-no-u-mi-ni-shi-zun-dan-da

All ended up drowning in the sea as well

-

ka-nashii-naa

(Oh, that’s sad...)

ka-nashii-naa

(That’s so sad...!)

ka-nashii-naaa

(Now I feel bad!!)

hait-nan-chat-tee

(But not really)

-

hi-to-wa-so-re-o, go-shi-ppu-to-yo-bu 

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

don-na-sho-u-set-su-yo-ri-mo-ki-na-ri

Greater than any cheap trashy novel to read

hi-to-o-no-ro-wa-ba-a-na-fu-ta-tsu

They all forget that what you sow is what you reap

sha-ba-no-kuu-ki-wa-ku-ru-ku-ru-ma-wa-ru

And that what goes around will come around eventually

-

shi-na-na-i, tei-do-ni-it-a-me-tsu-ke

Bashing people, though not to make them go away

shin-da-ra-mu-se-ki-nin-ni-te-o-a-wa-se

But we all go “Rip” if they should vanish anyway

na-ri-ya-mu-ko-to-na-i-gif-un-wa, kyo-u-mo

This tireless crusade of “justice” is fun, is enough

hi-to-sa-e-ko-ro-su

To kill people IRL

-

hi-to-wa-so-re-o, go-shi-ppu-to-yo-bu 

Make no bones about it, this “gossip” has to be

don-na-o-n-ga-ku-yo-ri-do-rag-gu

More addictive than any music, you’ll see

hi-to-o-no-ro-wa-ba-mu-ge-n-da-i

So go on bashing people and hold nothing back

sha-ba, no-ku-u-ki-wa-o-ma-tsu-ri-sa-wa-gi

Come on, and join the fun of all the flaming and attacks

-

ba-ka-ka-tsu-gi-da-shi-ni-gi-ya-ka-shi

Making a fuss over some new idiot today

a-ki-ta-ra-su-to-n-to-o-to-shi-me-te

But after we’re bored of him we’ll just throw him away

ta-no-shi-sa-ni-ue-ru-bo-ku-ra-wa

Oh those are the cheap kind of laughs that we seek

ge-bi-ta-wa-ra-i-mo-to-me-ru

To appease our excitement-craving needs

-

zu-tto-zu-tto-zu-tto-mi-te-i-ta-in-da

I hope I’ll be able to continue watching

zu-tto-zu, tto-zu-tto-nin-gen-sa-ma-o

Humankind, and its amazing specimens

zu-tto-zu-tto-zu-tto-mi-te-i-ta-in-da

I hope I’ll be able to continue watching

zu-tto-zu, tto-zu-tto-nin-gen-sa-ma-o

Humankind, and its amazing specimens

-

ni-go-tta-ren-zu, de-mi-te-i-tai

With my indifferent, clouded-over eyes

#Rip in the Gossip Sea #Translyrics #English Lyrics #cosMo-P

[possiblypeachy]

tea & schemes. (1)

―; summary: Florence Abberline was a woman bound to get herself wrapped up in trouble. Trouble came with the name 'Jacob Frye'. 

―; pairing: jacob frye x ofc

―; word count: 3.4k

―; warnings: light swearing.

―; A/N: i just think Assassin’s Creed: Syndicate is pretty neat. this is, if all goes to plan, a multi-part fic because i am obsessed at the moment (oops)!

i thought that i’d dabble in original characters for this and so forth came my lovely Florence. i do hope you all like her because she is indeed baby and i treasure her and her journey (that’s already mostly written out in my plans!)

do enjoy and please ignore any segments of terrible characterisation or inaccuracy; my writing hands are rusty.

―; part: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10

― ❊ ― 

“Freddy! Fredd-- shit!”

Florence Abberline was something of an abnormality when you consider the temperament of your average middle-class lady. She lacked the charm in her spoken word than some of her neighbours and tended to be far too intrigued in tasks that didn’t befit a lady of near-twenty. Though, it was hard to dislike the mousy-haired woman, what with that sweet smile of hers. She was often caught bumbling about the streets of London, doing sleuthing of her own.

She had a penchant for finding dark information about suspected criminals. Time and time again, Florence had helped her brother in making an arrest on someone unsuspecting. This was solely because she was unfathomably lucky in that field. It also helped that, despite her assumed airy-ness, she has a superb sense of one’s character.

The glint in her eyes of honey brown told that she had found something of good enough interest to share. That, and the letter that she was waving wildly in the direction of Frederick.

He, and the two others he was speaking with, turned to look at her as she stumbled over to them, wiping the dirt of Whitechapel off of the knees of her dress. “I have a--” she inhaled deeply and made a ‘hoo’ noise as she breathed out, “I have a letter here that might be of interest. It fell out of--”

“Florence!”

She paused, her face like a startled hare and her body still locked in its dress-patting position.

His mouth was drawn into a tight line. Then, he sighed and held out his hand. “It is as though,” He took the note from her and she rolled her eyes to the side, knowing that she was going to get a telling off, “you never give a few seconds to consider and filter your words.” When she finally looked back to her brother, he was pointing a finger at her, “You’ll never find a man to court you with a foul mouth like that.”

“I shall not marry a man who cannot bear to hear me curse when I desire to.”

Frederick sighed deeply, poking his tongue into his cheek for a moment, before glancing behind her. He gestured to his sister with the hand that held the letter. “I apologise for my sister; she can be so… brash.”

Finally, Florence turned to examine those behind her. A man and a woman of equal height-- give or take a small bit-- with the kind of likeness that only befitted siblings. A strange sense of fashion with regards to the lady, she thought, though perhaps she was envious of her trousers; she certainly wouldn’t have tripped earlier if she had dressed like that. Gaze flickering between them both, she observed they both had a very similar twist to their smile and the look in their eyes told of amusement.

“Well, she’s not the most peculiar character we’ve met in London so far, so you needn’t worry, Mister Abberline.” The woman mentioned, to which her companion nodded almost too enthusiastically.

Florence, having had her fill of trying to assume things about them both, held a hand out for either to shake. “I apologise for my interruption. I’m Florence Abberline-- the sergeant's sister. It’s lovely to make your acquaintance…”

As she trailed off, there came a shake of her hand and the introduction of “Evie Frye”. She couldn’t help but notice how firm Evie’s calloused grip was; it was all but too obvious that the woman wasn’t your usual ‘lady’. “This is my brother, Jacob.”

“A pleasure.” He said with the kind of sly grin that already gave her the impression that Jacob was the more lively of the pair.

They were both fighters, there was no doubt about that. Both grips were strong and, while shaking Jacob’s hand, her eyes had grazed over that strange gauntlet they both seemed to wear. Evie seemed more fluid-- gazelle-like-- even in the way she stood and balanced her weight from foot to foot. Jacob, however, was the opposite and appeared to be very content with making himself out to be a brick wall of a man. Ever intrigued, Florence began a bank of questions she would ask another time.

With introductions out of the way, Florence turned back to her brother, an eyebrow raised, gesturing toward the letter. He narrowed his eyes as he read along the last few scrawlings of ink. Clicking his tongue, he passed it back over to her and she gave him an altogether confused and offended look. “What is it?”

“It’s interesting, Florrie--”

A little hum came from behind her, alongside a “‘Florrie’: how sweet”. She heard Evie mutter something and the sound of a slap on an arm, to which Jacob chuckled out an ‘ow!’.

“-- but we can’t just make an arrest based on a scrap of paper and nothing else. We’d need to do a house investigation and we don’t have the men for that-- especially not with all these bloody Blighters.”

“Freddy! You can’t leave a man to do things like that; he’s a people-snatcher! And, he’s sweet on me.” Florence threw her hands up into the air, the curls in her hair wobbling. The woman was certainly animated; the twins had already come to that conclusion. “What happens if I’m next to be snatched? How would you explain that to mother and father, hm?”

Freddy stared over her shoulder into the distance, bottom jaw protruding in annoyance.

“‘Sergeant Stolen-Sister’-- does that have a nice ring to it, Freddy?”

While Evie stifled her laugh behind them, Jacob unashamedly chortled at Frederick’s vacant expression.

Florence huffed. “Don’t blank me when I’m asking you perfectly valid questions, Frederick Abberline!”

“You’re being ridiculous. I’m in the middle of business and you--”

“Oh, you are insufferably boring sometimes.” She folded her arms below her chest. There were a few moments of quiet in which they could all see cogs rotating in her head, her weight rested on one leg while the other bounced up and down. Chewing on her bottom lip, Florence pointed into the air as if to punctuate her next point. “If you won’t do anything about it, perhaps I will.” Honey eyes locked with her brother’s dark ones. There was a challenge somewhere in her gaze-- a blazing mischievousness that made his posture slump. Before he could say anything to object, she turned to the twins, who were highly entertained by the entire ordeal. “Meet me in the market at 2 o’clock, if either of you are so inclined to help a lady who worries for the well-being of her fellow people.”

With that, Florence was off, deciding to continue on her endeavour of wiping the dirt from the pale yellow of her dress as she went. The three of them stared after her, Frederick looking particularly defeated. Evie appeared appropriately confused and her gaze flickered between the alleyway and Freddy, who likely didn’t have the answers she would’ve liked. Jacob, however, seemed fairly amused; his lips had curled into the kind of smile that would’ve allowed a laugh had he not also been taken aback by the young woman’s nature.

He pointed in the direction that she had left and Evie gave him a side-eye. “I like her.” He grinned, earning him a deep sigh from his sister, though Evie’s own lips twitched upwards.

Florence Abberline could easily be described as a hurricane of personality.

As Freddy turned back to them, he was pinching the bridge of his nose and overall had the disposition of a man who had dealt with her for far too long. “Just…” He showed them his palm like he was warding away an incessant house cat, “... ignore my sister--”

“That’s what I tell most people too.”

Smack.

“Shut up, Jacob.”

“-- and do not indulge in her fantasies of adventure; she’ll only end up hurting herself.”

Jacob dipped his head to one side, clearly about to object, but Evie placed a firm grip on his arm and gave Frederick a reassuring smile, though her eyes screamed irritation at her brother. “Don’t worry, Mister Abberline. We--” a rather harsh glare was thrown at Jacob, “-- will not be seen at the market this afternoon. Besides, what with the work you’ve given us, among other things, we should be too busy. Isn’t that right, Jacob?”

A snide grin graced the younger’s expression. “Of course, dear sister.”

“Good.” Freddy said, nodding to himself somewhat.

Florence had been known to worry her brother to no end since moving to London. It wasn’t that she was a terrible sister, per se, it was just that she had such an overwhelming desire for her life to be… seen that it likely pained her not to be in the centre of some kind of attention or scheme. She would make a pleasant actress, he’d always thought, but Florence seemed insistent on real-life experience over anything in the theatre. Oh, how he rued.

“Well,” Jacob began, already taking a few steps away from their meeting place, “if we’re all done here I do believe I have one Homer Dalton to bring to you, Freddy--”

Frederick grimaced. “Sergeant--”

Jacob, unfazed his attempt at correction, was still walking away from the scene, a devilish smile playing at his features. “-- and, Evie, perhaps I’ll bring some fresh fruit from the market back to Greenie’s shop for us all to share later.”

If Evie could’ve rolled her eyes any harder, they would’ve popped out of their sockets. “Jacob, no--”

“I hear the pears are exquisitely tasty this time of year.” He was moving further still and had almost turned a corner.

“Jacob--”

“Don’t worry, Evie; I would never forget the red apples.” The rest of him disappeared, leaving them both with the terrible image of his grin.

They stood in silence for a few moments, both staring into the air like they wished they could evaporate into it.

Evie exhaled deeply. “I’m so sorry. My brother is such a--”

“I understand.” Freddy gave her a tired smile and brief raise of his eyebrows before toddling off down the alleyway, holding up the skirt of his dress.

Hoping that this had been a strange dream, Evie shook her head.

Much to her displeasure, nothing changed.

Perhaps she should’ve stayed in Crawley.

---

In the afternoon, the marketplace was quite the attraction. Most saw it as a place to not only collect the next few day’s groceries but also to have a good gossip. On a good day, Florence would accompany her household’s cook, a kindly older lady by the name of Lissie, to have a nice chat and treat herself to a gift or two. If Frederick was lucky, perhaps he would get a trinket when she returned home but it depended on if she deemed he had been a nice enough brother that day or not.

Today was not one of those days.

Having changed into a cooler, green dress for the afternoon-- free of marks of her clumsiness, Florence would’ve been quite content to stand near the woodworker’s stall for a good portion of the rest of the day. She’s always had an appreciation of the little wooden figurines he sold. They framed the mantlepiece in the lounge of her home and she was contemplating on filling a shelf in her bedroom with them too. The little bird sculpture she held was sweet enough. If she’d learnt anything from the nature encyclopaedias she read as a child, she believed it to be a sparrow: a bird that she found to be quite positively adorable.

A hand came to her shoulder and she tensed, juggling the figurine to keep it in her grasp. As she went to turn, a body slid in place beside hers at the stall and a familiar voice said: “It looks a bit like you.”

Her lips tugging upwards, she allowed her gaze to flicker towards Jacob, who was perusing through the other trinkets sold by the woodworker. Studying the profile of his face, she raised an eyebrow. “Are you implying I have a beak, Mister Frye?”

Though he wasn’t facing her, Florence could see that he was smiling. “Of course not, Miss Abberline.” His gaze finally met hers and he held his hand out. She placed the bird in his palm and he began to examine it. “I just think it has… pretty eyes.” Jacob had a certain glint in his eyes, as though he wanted to get some kind of rise out of her.

The young lady rolled her eyes and shook her head, though the exhale she gave sounded like a laugh, which satisfied Jacob enough. “While I am glad you trust me enough already to express your, perhaps intimate, liking for avian creatures, Mister Frye,” She began, to which he grimaced and she let out a pleased little laugh, “the man I-- we-- plan on arresting this afternoon is just over there and-- pass me back the bird--” He did so, “-- is glaring at our conversation.” Halfway through her speech, Florence had adopted a rather charming smile, looking through the stalls at a rather large man, though the way he carried himself told of a lack of confidence.

Jacob followed her gaze and, at the same time, Florence went back to looking over the trinkets on display. As soon as the man moved his sight from her and onto Jacob, he seemed a great deal more aggressive. It was an unfruitful effort to scare him away.

Jacob’s smile only seemed to infuriate him more and he went back to moving sacks of goods about to avoid the unwavering stare of the assassin. “What’s his name?” Jacob asked.

“Peter Fullmore.” She mentioned, placing the bird back down onto the stall. Jacob glanced at it, then her. “He’s the eldest son of the local butcher and his first wife recently passed—“

“— meaning he’s on the lookout for his next one.” He finished for her with enough intent in his voice that she knew that he was speaking of her.

Florence hummed uncomfortably. “Indeed. I’ve never truly been interested in him, what with his strange demeanour and grubby, grubby hands, but he appears enamoured with me.” They both stared at Peter for a few moments. During that time, the man managed to wipe his nose in a way that could make some ladies faint. Florence and Jacob shared an almost identical look of disgust, which she took as an opportunity to elaborate on her plan. “His liking for me might make it easy for me to… make my way to his home to hunt for evidence.”

Jacob pondered for not even a few seconds before he reeled back and gave her a look. “You plan on offering yourself to him?”

“Yes, Mister Frye, but I’m not going to… do anything!” Leaning closer to him, her voice lowered, “He’s a kidnapper! Do you really think I’m idiotic enough to fuck him?”

He raised his eyebrows and a smirk graced his expression. “I suppose not, Miss Abberline, what with your strong choice of words.”

“It’s commonplace for me; perhaps you should get used to it.”

“Implying that we’re going to spend more time together, are you?”

Florence grinned, the dimple making an appearance again. “If you’re lucky, Mister Frye. Now,” She gave him a tap on the shoulder, as to move him out of the way and walk around him, “I’ll whistle if I need your help inside the house. Try to keep a policeman nearby, if you wouldn’t mind?”

“So, I’m a bodyguard?” His brows knitted together, body shifting in her direction.

“Of sorts. You look like you climb,” she gestured to his hands, which he then looked at too. Jacob ran a thumb over his palm and fingers. He supposed, with a tilt of his head, that they were quite rough, “and I don’t intend for you to just waltz into his home with me; I don’t think dear Peter is that way inclined. So, you should stay to the rooftops with that lovely gun of yours,” Jacob narrowed his eyes, now realising that Florence was far more observant than she let on, “until something bad happens upon me. Oh, and don't worry; I’ll pay you for your troubles.”

“No need. I’ll do anything you ask to keep the law in check.”

Florence looked unconvinced. “I feel as though you are simply saying that to appear more saintly.”

He smiled. “Perhaps.”

“Well,” Her face twisted in disappointment, glancing away from him, “that's no fun, is it? To think, Mister Frye, that I was going to be getting up to no good with you.” When her eyes met his again, there was a mischievous light within them and her lips tightened to suppress a smile. He shook his head and gave a quiet laugh.

He was going to have fun with her.

“Right,” Florence gave a sigh and Jacob nodded, “I’m off to work whatever magic I may have. I’ll see you in a bit, Mister Frye.”

“Stay safe, Florrie.”

Over her shoulder, she gave him a look sharp enough to stab him but the little smile she fought away made him break out into that terribly satisfied grin of his.

As soon as Peter heard the determined little clicks of her shoes, he shot upwards and gave her a dopey smile. She returned the gesture, her fingers dancing along the wood of his father’s stall. “How’s the day been, my dear?” Her voice took a rather enchanting tone and the way that her posture straightened— no doubt drawing attention to her figure— made it clear why she was well suited to become an actress.

“Oh— uh— good, I suppose. Pa has been…”

His voice trailed into the background of her thoughts-- not that that was a difficult task; poor Peter’s tone had never been particularly invigorating. Rather, as she nodded along to the conversation, honey eyes raked along him for any signs of his criminality. It was a difficult task, what with him helping his father, the butcher, often and Florence failed in finding anything. Though, the way he frequently glanced over her shoulder as though he was looking out for something was suspicious and his tendency to wring his hands together only made him look--

“Miss Abberline?”

She jolted and the absent look in her eyes drained away. To recover, she smiled and huffed out a carefully practiced laugh. “Sorry, dear. My mind has been all over the place lately.”

Peter gave her a concerned gaze, to which her lips curled in a rather feline way. “Don’t worry, Miss Abberline. I was… I was only asking what your plans are for the rest of the afternoon?”

Ah. Splendid.

“I’m entirely free for the day, Mister Fullmore. Why? Did you perhaps want to,” Florence’s voice lowered and she leant over the stall, closer to him, gaze dancing between his lips and his eyes, “occupy my evening?”

Peter coughed, blinking rapidly.

Florence straightened herself again and gave a saddened sigh, “Though, I would understand if not. You’re always so busy--”

“No!” His voice cracked and he looked surprised. If one looked closely enough, they would’ve seen her jaw clench in an attempt to stop from laughing. Florence could almost feel Jacob’s amused gaze watching them. “No, Miss Abberline; nothing would make me happier. I just--” Peter swallowed and his eyes flitted away from her for a few moments. “Meet me at the entrance of the market. I just have to finish up here then we can… be on our way to my home, perhaps?”

A smile that could rival the Devil himself graced her lips and she nodded. “That sounds lovely, my dear.”

With that, Florence made for the main street, a flame of utter delight flickering within her eyes. Adrenaline had already made its mark on her body: her hands shaking and blood rushing in her ears. So many underestimated the might of a charming lady. How foolish of them.

As she passed the fruit stall, she locked eyes with Jacob, who was rolling a red apple in his palm. He gave her a knowing grin, a sense of approval hidden beneath his gaze. Florence had to stop from giggling like a madwoman.

Oh, how devious she felt. It was delightful.

#assassin's creed #assassin's creed: syndicate #ac: syndicate #jacob frye #jacob frye x oc #jacob frye x reader #frederick abberline #florence abberline #evie frye #writing #please do give feedback!! #bc im very excited for this and would like to hear your thoughts #i don't even care if this flops #bc i am enjoying myself!!!!! #:))))

[chrysalispen]

Prompt #27 - Palaver

aight y’all i got asked for nero/wol wedding fic and since it fit today’s prompt, here’s the whole thing

ask and ye shall receive, etc etc

=========

“I can’t believe you’re actually letting me go through with this,” Nero said yet again, resuming his agitated back-and-forth pace about the cathedral vestibule. He’d worried his cufflinks undone for the third time in the last half-bell, and he still hadn’t managed to get his cravat fastened. “You’re supposed to save me from my matrimonial fate, and here you are consigning me to it instead.”

“You did this to yourself. Hold still.” It took him a few tries but Cid was finally able to intercept the other man’s circuit over the ancient stones of the church long enough to grasp him by his wrists. “And stop fidgeting with your cuffs, this is the last time I’m fixing them for you.”

“This is all your fault, you know.”

“…How is this my fault?”

“Well, I don’t bloody know, but clearly it’s your fault, Garlond. Otherwise that makes it my fault, and I don’t like that.”

Cid almost laughed, but the wild shine in those eyes told him that would be extremely unwise. He hadn’t seen the other engineer this anxious since he was a young boy; Nero was such a tightly controlled man under most circumstances that it could be difficult to tell what was actually running through his mind, but in this instant the stress had worn down his emotional defenses, and the poor man was perilously close to panic.

So, he decided to pick a fight with him.

“You gave her a ring, bent the knee, the whole nine yalms. What did you expect her to do, turn you down?”

“Yes! No. I… don’t know.” His fingers twitched, obviously wanting to go right back into his hair or to his cuffs, but Cid slapped them away and kept working at the fabric. “The Warrior of Light has any number of admirers and assorted hangers-on, you know that.”

“So she does. And you’ll notice she isn’t marrying any of them.”

“And if something goes wrong? If she decides this isn’t really what she wants?” At his exasperated sigh, Nero snapped, “It could happen and you know it.”

“What could happen?”

“She could simply leave me at the altar, for one.” Cid did laugh, then. Nero shot him a withering glare the likes of which he hadn’t seen since their Academy years, and he noted with satisfaction that the other man had mostly stopped fidgeting with his cufflinks.

“Tell me you aren’t actually being serious, Nero. This woman has seen you at your absolute sodding worst. You were her enemy once. You tried to kill us-”

“Point of order, I was not trying to kill her. Or you.” A pause, then the ghost of a smirk. “Perhaps I might have liked to singe your short hairs a bit. The notion of hauling your arrogant carcass about the castrum in one of those claws like a scruffed kitten was half the appeal of deploying them in the first place.”

Cid rolled his eyes.

“Thank you for making my point for me. As you’ve so helpfully demonstrated, Aurelia knows what a pillock you are. She’s seen it for herself.”

“I am not a pillock.”

“Yes, you are, Nero. And she knows it and she still said yes. That has to be worth something.”

“…I suppose,” the engineer groused.

“She’s not going to leave you standing in the vestibule,” Cid grunted, pulling the silk tie around the taller man’s neck as taut as he could manage without choking him, then arranging the knot. “She’s just running a bit late, that’s all. It happens- don’t you dare touch those cuffs.”

Nero scowled, but his hands dropped back down to his sides.

After a few moments spent in silence as Cid examined his work on the cravat with a critical eye, he finally said: “I’m happy for you. You know that, right?”

“Don’t get sentimental. I’m barely keeping my breakfast down as it is.”

“Shut up, you great lout, I’m talking.” He busied himself pinning the Nymeia lily back in its place on Nero’s lapel; it had fallen askew with all the pacing. “We’ve known each other since we were boys and in all this time, I never thought you’d take interest in anything that wasn’t related to magitek. But you weren’t happy in the Empire any more than I was, and lest you think otherwise I know full well that was why you didn’t warn anyone I’d planned to defect. I never understood why you stayed.”

“You know very well why I stayed.”

“Aye, I do now, for all the good it ever did you. You’re happier as a defector than you ever were as a tribunus. Not the least of those reasons being you finally found someone willing to put up with you, and out of all of the women in Eorzea – hells, Hydaelyn – of course it had to be the Warrior of Light. I’ll give you this, you never did do anything by half-measures.”

Nero hesitated, then offered him a rueful, lopsided smile.

“On that much, I suppose we are in agreement.”

Cid reared backwards, clutching his chest in mock surprise. “Hells below, did we actually reach consensus on something? Does this mean marriage might actually turn you agreeable for the nonce?”

“Agreeable? You think a walk down the aisle with the woman I love means I shall march in lockstep with you, Garlond? And risk destroying the fundamental underpinnings of our relationship? Perish the thought.”

Nero’s smile had stretched into that toothy, idiotic grin he normally hated, the one the man used when he was getting ready to tease. But this once, just this once, Cid Garlond grinned back at the cocksure git that passed for his best friend in the world.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Oh, she’s here!” someone gasped out in the foyer. “And the Count’s with her! Places!”

There was the sound of hurried whispers and the patter of feet, and the rustling sound of silk, followed by the deep creak of the doors opening on their ancient hinges.

“I’m going to be ill,” Nero muttered, and further inspection revealed that he was shaking from head to toe. Somehow, Cid marveled, he was actually vibrating in place, as though he were an idling combustion engine.

With a short laugh, he took the man by the elbow and held him fast–both to keep him from making good on his threat, and from bolting for the door like a spooked animal. 

“Just mind you don’t ruin your bride’s dress if you are,” he said, “because she’s coming into the foyer as we speak.”

Cid just so happened to be looking right at his friend’s face as aforementioned bride entered the cathedral with Edmont de Fortemps as her escort. He was glad in retrospect that he did, for he was rewarded with the quite remarkable view of watching a man fall in love all over again, in real time.

It was in his eyes, he thought. Despite being rather passionate by nature, Nero was not outwardly expressive when he did not care to be - lessons, Cid assumed, he’d learned during his wheat-counting days. But those frosty eyes had turned bright and soft and warm, like the spring sky at midday. He had stopped shaking, and the tension in his slender frame had all but disappeared.

All he appeared to see in that moment was the Warrior of Light–who was herself, admittedly, quite a vision. Jandelaine had overseen her preparations personally, being a good friend of hers, and the eccentric aesthetician had outdone himself this time in every sense of the word. He had arranged her hair in a long spill of golden curls over one shoulder, interwoven with orange blossoms and forget-me-nots secured into myriad small braids throughout her coiffure. Combined with the lavish, lace-trimmed dress she wore, it was a sight to knock the breath from the lungs.

The old Count was murmuring something to her, something that made her smile, laugh softly, and kiss him on the cheek with the sort of familiar fondness reserved for parental figures–that was right, he remembered; in the eyes of Ishgardian law she was technically a Fortemps, though he was fair certain that the man’s fatherly affection for her was in no wise any sort of mummery.

Edmont dropped his arm from hers and stepped back, leaning on his walking stick. She approached the two men on slightly slowed, hesitant footsteps. Her eyes were fixed on Nero, and they were very blue and very wide.

After a moment, she smiled her usual smile- albeit with perhaps a touch of shyness- and Cid heard an exhalation at his side.

“See?” he said. He released his death grip on Nero’s arm. “You’ll be fine. Now go see to her. If you need me then give a shout, but I don’t think you will.”

Almost instantly, it seemed, it was just the two of them, the sound of retreating footsteps, and a closing door. Music played from the hall beyond, muffled and ponderous, and they regarded each other in a sort of awed and awkward silence.

Then Aurelia grinned from ear to ear and started to snicker in a decidedly unladylike fashion.

“Gods,” she blurted. “I feel ridiculous. Look at me. I look like a window advertisement for lampshades sold to bored Ul'dahn housewives.”

“You didn’t have to say yes when I asked, you know.”

“Of course I did. I couldn’t very well turn you down after you were half-dead from panic just trying to ask at all. As it was, you almost immediately started trying to talk me out of it.”

Nero glared at her. “I was nowhere near that bad.”

“Oh yes you were. You were being very reasonable about it all, too, coming up with a half dozen perfectly good reasons why I’d be stark raving mad to even consider accepting your proposal.” The edges of her smile softened. “But anyroad, we’re here now.”

“So we are,” he said.

There wasn’t much left to say that hadn’t already been said, and Nero wasn’t entirely sure he could find the words to say even if that weren’t the case. He could feel the anxiety creeping up on him again by ilms, running its invisible fingers up his spine. 

She must have noticed; he saw her expression darken a bit with her concern.

“Are you all right? You don’t look well.”

He began to say of course I’ll be all right, let’s just get on with it, but what came out instead was:

“Seven hells, all this godsdamned palaver for two rings and five minutes of vows. Are you quite sure you’d not rather elope?”

“Right,” Aurelia snorted. “We can run away to Dravania and get married by the moogles. Though I’m not sure ‘now you may kiss the bride, kupo!’ is terribly binding in the eyes of the law.”

“And I don’t know that goblins actually have marriage traditions of any sort, so I suppose that settles it. Bugger.” He ran a thoughtful hand over his currently clean-shaven jaw.

“I suppose we’d best–oh, Nero, wait!” She reached into his pockets, heedless of his sudden flush. “Your gloves.”

“…I’d hoped you might forget about those.”

“No, you have to wear them, at least for the first bit. Here, hold out your hands, I’ll put them on.”

Biting back a sigh, he obediently held out his left hand.

She bent over his forearm, one of her slim healer’s hands bracing his wrist delicately in one hand as she slid the kidskin over his fingers, smoothing it out with the deft and gentle touch of a woman well accustomed to such trivial luxuries, and it struck the engineer then just how strangely intimate the act was. Such a simple thing, the act of putting a glove on his bare hand, but something he knew no one else would have done in quite the same way.

Once she’d fastened the little pearl-button closure to fit the glove properly, Aurelia lifted his hand, and placed a small kiss to the smooth skin of his inner wrist, where the base of his palm met leather. Intimate, indeed. He swallowed, hearing the sound of it click in his ears.

“Hand me the other one?” he asked.

She did. Hastily he slipped the remaining glove onto his other hand, hoping she wouldn’t notice how much she’d flustered him.

“You know,” she murmured, her grin edging into something almost wicked, “that kiss would have had the ton all aflutter and speculating, back home.”

“Would it?”

“Mm. Absolutely scandalous in polite society, as it happens.”

“Us? Polite society? And here I thought we were just a couple of especially dodgy imperial defectors borrowing Saint Reymanaud’s on a lark.”

Aurelia’s soft laugh echoed against the stones beneath their feet. 

“I think that Halone, on the wild off chance she might actually exist beyond the fond hopes of the masses, would be willing to forgive a couple of godless heretics just this once given their history of service to Ishgard,” she said. “So, Scaeva- are you ready for us to go make an utter spectacle of ourselves in front of the assembled leadership of an entire continent?”

Beneath the finery and the fuss and bother of the event, he could still catch that lavender scent about her, and her smile was the same smile it had always been–the smile he especially loved to see when he knew it was meant just for him. Bit by bit the not-so-secret fears he’d harbored that she might renounce him publicly at the altar, or simply not show at all, dwindled to nothing.

For all his outward self-assurance, Nero knew he wasn’t really worthy of her: not just as the Warrior of Light, but as the very mortal woman she was. He was painfully aware of that fact, had always been aware of it. But that said, neither was anyone else he could have named. As Garlond had said, she had her choice and she’d chosen him, and that had to count for something.

Besides which, he loved her. And maybe that was a place to start.

With that thought squarely in mind, he held out his hand, and let her clasp it in her smaller one.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” he said aloud. “Shall we?”

She nodded, still smiling.

“On my count,” she said. “One, two-”

And beneath the Fury’s watchful gaze, Nero Scaeva and Aurelia Laskaris stepped across the threshold together, hand in trembling hand.

#FFxivWrite2019 #aurelia laskaris #nero scaeva #nero/wol #this may be the most self-indulgent thing i've ever written but f it

[toreii]

I’m one of those people that is also upset with another pretend marriage event. At this point, I’m ready to see my girl, Mai, get married and have kids. Still, I made the effort to at least read Mitsuhide’s route, and I must say I am not that disappointed. For the most part, it was funny. I guess I’m so used to Mitsuhide and desensitized to his teasing that it does not bother nor surprise me anymore.

I must remind you all that I am no way fluent in Japanese. There are bound to be mistakes in here. Feel free to correct me. For the most part, the gist of the story should be clear. If you aren’t afraid to be spoiled, feel free to click under the cut and enjoy!

One fine summer afternoon, MC is called to the audience hall by Nobunaga. She opens the door to find a woman sitting next to Mitsuhide. Nobunaga tells MC to take a seat, and she sits right across the mystery woman. Mitsuhide begins by introducing the woman as a distant Oda princess. The woman says her name is Tsubaki. Mitsuhide informs Tsubaki that MC is also an Oda princess. Nobunaga explains to MC that Tsubaki is expected to get married to a daimyo soon. MC congratulates Tsubaki. However, she notices that Tsubaki is a little enthusiastic about the engagement. She thanks MC for her wishes solemnly, and MC takes note of her sad voice.

Mitsuhide announces that he wants to know about the state of Azuchi for the day, and informs MC that he wants her help. MC agrees to go with him. Tsubaki tells MC to do her best. Mitsuhide tells MC that he’s counting on her as he reaches over and pats her head taking her by surprise. He then adds that she should be careful not to get lost. MC retorts that she won’t and tells Mitsuhide to stop teasing her. Mitsuhide smiles at MC and then turns to Tsubaki saying that their banter is always the same, so she shouldn’t worry. Tsubaki doesn’t say a word, but smiles at them. MC can’t help but note that there is something underlying in Tsubaki’s smile.

Afterwards, Mitsuhide and MC take Tsubaki on a tour of Azuchi. Along the way, they stop at a teahouse for a rest. MC and Tsubaki are about to enter the establishment when Mitsuhide calls out to MC. He tells her that he will be waiting right outside for them. MC is confused, but Mitsuhide explains that it’ll be more comfortable if it’s just her and Tsubaki talking with each other. MC wonders if Mitsuhide is starting to care, but she replies that she understands and tells Tsubaki to follow her.

Inside, MC and Tsubaki are sitting down eating dumplings. MC comments that the dumplings look good, and Tsubaki half heartedly agrees. MC notices a sadness in her again. Even though weddings are suppose to invoke happiness, MC wonders why Tsubaki is sad. MC asks Tsubaki if she is worried about the wedding. Tsubaki is startled and MC apologizes for her boldness and explains that it looked to be out of the ordinary. Tsubaki is quiet. She closes her eyes and then tells MC that she has a man whom she loves. MC is shocked by her words. Tsubaki explains that her marriage is a political one and arranged by her dad. She heard her fiancé is nice, but people are believing in them so she can’t give up.

MC sympathizes with her feelings. She understands there are a lot of political marriages in the era. For her, she’d rather be with the person she likes, but Tsubaki has accepted her circumstances. MC tells Tsubaki her point-of-view, and adds that it’s wrong for someone else to decide on her happiness. Still, MC apologizes for speaking out of turn.To MC’s surprise, Tsubaki looks relieved. Tsubaki says that MC must secretly have someone she likes. MC shyly denies it, but can feel her heart beating wildly inside of her. After their conversation, they return to Azuchi castle.

Later that night, Tsubaki is sneaking around the castle when she suddenly bumps into Mitsuhide. He asks what she is doing up so late, and Tsubaki is too nervous to answer. Mitsuhide already knows what she is up to and tells Tsubaki if she is aware of how much trouble she’ll be in if she elopes. Tsubaki is temporarily crestfallen upon hearing that.

The next day, MC is shocked to learn that Tsubaki indeed eloped last night. Mitsuhide informs that Tsubaki left a note behind. MC asks if they are going to search for her. Nobunaga replies that they have no choice. MC recalls Tsubaki’s thankful smile from yesterday, and cannot believe the turn of events. Nobunaga says their only hope is to negotiate with the other group. Mitsuhide mentions that there is still a problem, though. He can’t cancel the wedding ceremony. He turns to MC and tells her to substitute Tsubaki in the ceremony. MC questions him,but Nobunaga declares MC as the replacement since they have the same status and age.

MC can’t believe it. Mitsuhide assures it’s only for the day of the ceremony since the other party is also looking forward to it. MC wonders if she can go through with it, but she wants Tsubaki to be happy. So, MC assumes her responsibility and agrees to substitute Tsubaki. Mitsuhide is quiet, but Nobunaga tells MC that he leaves everything to her. He then tells Mitsuhide that he will be “punished” for what has happened since Tsubaki was in his care. Mitsuhide agrees. MC tells them to stop, and Nobunaga asks her if she’s worried about Mitsuhide. MC believes Mitsuhide shouldn’t be punished. Nobunaga smiles and tells her to calm down. Mitsuhide’s punishment is to make her the perfect bride and to see everything through. Mitsuhide turns to MC and tells her that’s how it is and flicks her forehead as he tells her to do their best. MC thinks it’s not a bad punishment.

After the meeting, Mitsuhide asks MC if she has work to do. MC says yes, but if it’s related to the ceremony plans, she can adjust her schedule. Mitsuhide agrees saying she alone can’t make herself the perfect bride. She’ll have to go through a lot of things. MC wonders how she can be like Tsubaki. Mitsuhide comments it will be difficult for her to be like Tsubaki. MC is hurt by his words, but Mitsuhide tells her not to worry. He plans to help her so she wont embarrass him, and promises to make her the perfect bride.

That night, Mitsuhide summoned MC to his palace, but MC did not arrive until late at night. She goes to his room and apologizes for being late. Mitsuhide is surprised to see her, and says he wasn’t expecting her at all for the day. He says it’s late for her to be out alone. MC asks if he was worried for her. Mitsuhide tells her that she’s right since it’s normal (to be worried). He looks away and MC is touched he cared for her well being. She promises to come early from now on. Mitsuhide tells her to do so. Her heart is warmed by the thought, and asks him why he called for her. Mitsuhide takes her to another room which contains a lot of bridal kimonos. MC asks Mitsuhide what it’s about. He explains that they are the kimonos she will wear for the ceremony, and tells her to pick one she likes. MC informs Mitsuhide that she doesn’t know how to wear one, and asks if a maid will help her out. Mitsuhide tells her to forget about the maid. He’ll help her get dressed instead. MC is surprised by his cool expression. She thinks that although Mitsuhide may know how to dress her, she exclaims that it’s impossible and embarrassing. He laughs and pats her head saying he wont take her whole kimono off. He tells her to pick a coat off the racks and try it on. MC finds his voice kind and relents in letting Mitsuhide dress her as he takes a kimono in his hands.

Moments later, Mitsuhide has MC dressed in one of the kimonos. They had tried all of them, and he tells her that the second one suits her. MC asks if it looks okay. He replies that it looks good on her, and that he’s happy to see that she likes it. MC asks if he doesn’t think she should be happy, but Mitsuhide states that he isn’t saying it looks bad. He tells her she looks cute. MC thinks Mitsuhide is teasing her and tells him to stop. He tells her to not be so upset. Still, MC asks him if he’s sure he likes the kimono.

Mitsuhide thinks it’s a bad thing that he’s involved, but MC doesn’t think so. She feels responsible for Tsubaki eloping. Mitsuhide asks MC if she doesn’t want to get married anymore. He explains that even if she’s pretending, she’s going to get married to a man who she doesn’t even like. MC is surprised to hear his words. She wonders if it’s just her, but hearing Mitsuhide’s gentle voice is making her have second thoughts. MC asks Mitsuhide why he said that, and he asks her why she thinks he did. MC replies that she does not know. She then asks him what he’s thinking. Mitsuhide questions her in response. MC says that even if it’s a pretend wedding, she still wants to continue with the ceremony with the man she does not know or like.

For a moment, neither she or Mitsuhide say a word. Then, Mitsuhide speaks up and tells MC if he says no, will she quit? MC is taken aback by his words. MC doesn’t want to, but if Mitsuhide were to tell her to stop… However, MC can’t bring herself to answer him as her heart begins to beat faster. She continues to stare back at him until Mitsuhide tells her he’s joking and to forget about it. Mitsuhide tells MC that it’s getting late. He tells her to get dressed, and that he’ll walk her back to the castle. He leaves the room, and MC sighs. She wanted Mitsuhide to say no; that she didn’t like the idea of the wedding anymore. She’s left feeling more confused than ever. MC stops thinking, and gets redressed.

A few days later, the day of the wedding has arrived. MC is waiting in her room to be escorted. She stares at the kimono Mitsuhide picked for her, and wonders if she should back out. Mitsuhide comes to mind and she recalls their conversation from the previous night. In the meantime, MC has been learning on how to be a proper princess, and has barely seen Mitsuhide. She’s driving herself crazy when Mitsuhide announces that the other group has arrived. MC says she’ll be on her way, and rushes out the door. When she runs out into the hallway and sees Mitsuhide, MC is stunned by his appearance. Mitsuhide tells MC he’s ready to go, but she is too absorbed admiring his clothes. Mitsuhide asks what is wrong, and she asks him why he is dressed like that. Mitsuhide replies that he is the one playing the part of the groom. MC is floored and wonders what he means by that.

Mitsuhide asks MC if she is unhappy with him. She demands he explain himself, and Mitsuhide explains he will serve as the groom’s substitute. MC is still in shock and asks why. Mitsuhide says he will explain on the way. He tells MC to follow along as he begins to walk away quickly. MC realizes she has no choice, but to follow along.

At a small secluded shrine, MC notices there is no one present. She asks if the ceremony will be held here. Mitsuhide replies yes, and MC wonders if the others will arrive later. However, Mitsuhide says no one will be coming. MC exclaims that she prepared so as to not embarrass the daimyo. Her efforts feel wasted. Mitsuhide explains that MC was initially meant to be the perfect bride, but he decided to change things. Only they are the only ones able to keep up with this façade. Mitsuhide tells MC to calm down as he begins to explain the change in events.

When Mitsuhide and MC were showing Tsubaki around Azuchi, he listened in on their conversation at the teahouse. MC is surprised by his confession, but Mitsuhide tells her that he is her supervisor. MC internally agees that Mitsuhide is good at eavesdropping. Mitsuhide continues by saying that Tsubaki couldn’t remain positive about the marriage. He planned on using MC and learn the whole truth from Tsubaki. MC asks Mitsuhide if he knew Tsubaki would elope. Mitsuhide says that after overlooking it, he made some improvements. MC asks him why he overlooked such a detail, and Mitsuhide says it was on a whim. MC demands Mitsuhide tell her properly since she is involved. She doesn’t want to be misled and stares intently at Mitsuhide. He remains quiet, trailing off for a bit. After a moment, Mitsuhide tells MC it was due to the things she told Tsubaki.

MC can’t believe it was because of her, and Mitsuhide reminds her that she told Tsubaki that it was wrong of others to decide on a person’s happiness. Her intentions are true and only happiness can be decided by oneself. That is why he let Tsubaki leave. MC can’t believe her words affected Mitsuhide’s thoughts. Mitsuhide continued to explain that once he let Tsubaki go, the other party would not be silent. He tells MC that it was a good idea to use her as a substitute for the ceremony, but even if it was a lie, Mitsuhide did not want to see MC get married to another man. MC notes the telling gaze in Mitsuhide’s eyes without falter. She does not hate his expression realizing Mitsuhide is not joking or lying. It dawns on her that this was Mitsuhide’s true intention. She asks him why and Mitsuhide answers that there are things he does not know. He smiles at her and MC feels her heart waver.

Mitsuhide says it can’t be helped and decided to act as her husband. He asks MC if she doesn't want to have a fake wedding with him. As he stares at her looking for an answer, MC doesn’t like the idea, but she tells Mitsuhide that she does not know. She thinks Mitsuhide is still not telling her the whole situation. She can’t believe Mitsuhide just asked her to marry him. Because, to her, there is a special meaning between two people when it comes to marriage. MC wants to reply, but can’t bring herself to answer.

Mitsuhide says that even if it’s a lie, it’s a relationship between a husband and wife, and says he is not lying. MC is shocked by his words again, and is suddenly held by her waist. Taken by surprise, she calls out to Mitsuhide. He tells her that he is being honest with her, and tells her to answer next time. MC can’t bring herself to reply. She recalls that she accepted the role herself. She thinks it was wrong to accept to marry a man she did not like and go through with the charade.

MC’s chest is swelling with sweet feelings. She starts to say that if it’s with Mitsuhide, but stops herself saying “Nevermind.” Still, she is glad Mitsuhide came for her. Mitsuhide replies that she’s right as he smiles at her honest answer. Mitsuhide draws MC closer making her gasp as she’s held against his chest. He tells her “...Not bad.” MC questions him and he explains that it’s not bad having a lovely wife like her. MC yells at him to stop teasing her. In any case, she wants to know what happened to the other party. Mitsuhide explains that he introduced a better princess than Tsubaki to the daimyo. He also explains that if the daimyo disregarded Tsubaki and canceled the ceremony, then there wouldn’t have been a problem. MC realizes Mitsuhide is right. She thinks he’s amazing after saying such things. However, after being impressed, MC realized that there was no need for her to go through with the ceremony. She wishes Mitsuhide had told her that the ceremony could be canceled. Mitsuhide laughs and says he made her the perfect bride. He then asks MC to be his wife for the day.

MC tells Mitsuhide he’s speaking those words with the usual meanness. She feels a small pain in her chest. Mitsuhide says it’s a lot to say, but if it’s not with her then there’s no point in doing any of this. MC tells him to stop teasing her already. She can’t believe he’s saying such things while hugging her. She thinks he’s not being serious as her embarrassment rises and the tips of her ears grow hot. She changes the subject and asks if no one is coming, why don’t they go home? She lightly pushes on his chest as she tries distancing herself from Mitsuhide. Mitsuhide tells her they haven’t done anything yet. MC asks what he means by that when Mitsuhide presses his fingers to her lips. He tells her she is his wife right now. He moves his hand from her her lips and smiles softly. MC does not understand and thinks he is a cunning person. Even so, MC can’t resist the sweet smile and takes his hand. MC presses her fingers to her lips and begins asking Mitsuhide why he did that. He replies, “I just kissed my sweet wife.” His eyes crinkled as he holds MC’s cheeks in his hands. His thumb brushes her lips and he tells MC that he will not let her go today. His voice is bewitching as the pad of his finger traces her lips. MC feels her heart beating noisily in her body.

#ikemen sengoku #ikesen #ikemen series #cybird #mitsuhide akechi #mai mizusaki #wedding event #translations not 100% accurate #i did my best #i hope you guys enjoyed it! #epilogue coming soon

[keelywolfe]

FIC: A Bit of a Stretch

Summary: Edge has a few questions for Stretch after his de-aging incident. Stretch has a few questions of his own. Answers are the only thing that seem to be in short supply.

Tags:  Pre-Spicyhoney, Pre-Relationship, De-Aged, Possible Implied Past Child Abuse (nothing explicitly shown), Angst, Hurt/Comfort

Notes: This is a direct sequel to ‘Keeping Elastic’. 

Apparently I like to write de-aged fic when I am hungover. I’m rolling with it. 

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

i need to talk to u. w/out my bro

Edge looked at the text with a frown, reluctantly curious. It had been nearly a week since Stretch’s childish little incident, and he hadn’t seen him since Undyne had returned to take him away. Presumably she hadn’t had any difficulties returning him to his normal state or not that Edge heard from his brother.

So why did Stretch want to speak to him now?

Only one way to find out. Edge replied to the text, Come to Underfell.

In less than a minute, there was a pop of teleportation and Stretch was in his living room, looking, well, exactly as he was supposed to. In an oversized orange hoodie, his hands tucked into the pocket, overtop track pants and untied sneakers with the laces damp from dragging in the snow. What wasn’t normal was his tight expression and before he could speak, Edge held up a hand.

“Not here. Follow me.”

Almost, Stretch protested, his teeth parting. He seemed to rethink it and shrugged, following after Edge as he led them outside. The walk through Snowdin was brief and Stretch didn’t flinch, but Edge saw him twitch occasionally. He understood; it was strange to see mirror images of Monster you knew, ghosts of what someone could be.

He led Stretch out of town, past the bridge and to where the first of the traps were. Or last, depending on the direction of the travel. Edge pointed out a tree on the other side where a red light attached to the trunk was flashing. “Shortcut us over there.”

“you hate shortcutting.” It was the first thing Stretch said since he arrived and he sounded normal enough, that faint, sardonic note in his smoke-husky voice.

“I do but it’ll take us past the trap without me having to recalibrate it.” A moment of queasiness was worth sparing an hour of effort.

His vision blurred and when it cleared, they were on the other side. It was slightly smoother than one of his brother’s shortcuts and Edge wondered sourly if Stretch was better at it or if Red was simply an asshole. Either option was possible. In any case, he only had to lean against the tree for a moment, waiting for his queasiness to ease before they walked on. Not far away was a sentry post and Edge wrinkled his nose at the smell of burnt dog biscuits, making a note to discuss the issue with Doggo before his next shift.

When Stretch saw they were stopping, he ignored the chair and instead hopped up on the counter, long legs dangling. “why do you want to talk all the way out here? if you didn’t want to chat in the house, why not waterfall or something?”

“Waterfall is out of my territory and you wanted somewhere away from your brother,” Edge preferred to remain standing, crossing his arms over his chest and regarding his alternate evenly. “Sans…Red is the only person who does sentry duty in multiple areas because he can shortcut. He’s in Hotland right now so we are alone.”

And Doggo’s post was one of the few places Red hadn’t been able to place his listening devices. The other sentry was far too attuned to any unusual noises and was quick to find them. It was the closest Edge could come to a guarantee that Red wouldn’t be listening in, but there was no need to tell Stretch that. “Now, you wanted to talk.”

Instead of answering, Stretch lit a cigarette and normally Edge would snarl about him fouling the air around them. Today, he would grudgingly admit Stretch looked like he needed it. There was a faint, visible tremor in his hands and his eye lights darted around, almost hunted. Perhaps that could be chalked up to simply being in Underfell, but Edge didn’t think so.

He waited, clinging to patience while Stretch smoked until he finally threw down the butt and let it wink out in the snow.

“what happened when i was little?” Stretch asked abruptly. “blue won’t talk to me about it. he doesn’t not talk to me, okay, he tells me everything, but this he’s talking around and i don’t like that.” He fidgeted with his lighter, flicking it and letting the flame waver a moment before snapping it closed. “what he did say was you were there for a while and you helped out. so what gives? why is my bro so upset that i spent a few hours at knee high?”

Edge studied him. It seemed Blue wasn’t interested in solving the mystery of his brother’s past, whether in an attempt to protect him or to simply forget the entire incident, Edge wasn’t sure. But Edge saw no reason to hide from truths, even painful ones.

“Whenever you saw him, you cried,” Edge told him flatly. “It helped a little when he changed his clothes, but you still refused to let him hold you. you spent most of the day with me until Undyne returned for you.”

He’d actually spent a better part of it sitting on Edge’s lap on the floor, happily banging together pots and pans, and stacking measuring cups, but Edge saw no reason to bring that up. Blue had been deemed reluctantly acceptable when he was no longer in his uniform, but it seemed little Rus was unwilling to forgive him for having worn it before. Edge suspected it was a very good thing he’d changed before coming to Underswap or the child might well have spent the entire day behind the sofa.

To his surprise, Stretch went oddly pale, the color his magic lent to his bones fading, leaving him bone-white, and his eye lights shrank to pin pricks. He looked away, letting out a weak laugh.

“is that all?” He fumbled out another cigarette and lit it, exhaling with, “guess i'd be upset if kids cried whenever they saw my face, too.”

“I'm sure you would, but it wasn't kids, it was his brother,” Edge said slowly. “Why is that? Why would you be upset at seeing your brother?”

“beats me.” It sounded like a lie, thin and wrong. Stretch shrugged and it was somehow nervous, uncomfortable. “i don't remember much when i was little like that. hell, i don’t really remember much before i was a teenager. blue was barely out of diapers, so to speak, it's not like i knew him when i was a kid.”

“Someone who looked like him, then,” Edge pressed relentlessly.

“i...don't know,” Stretch said falteringly, “how would i know? it’s not like i remember being little either time, how would i…i don’t…”

He was shaking, his gaze wide and oddly vacant, and his cigarette fell from his limp fingers, hissing out in the snow. He looked as if he was close to fainting, all from a few simple questions.

"Put your head down," Edge told him brusquely. He moved to stand in front of him, forcing him to lean over when he didn't move.

"i don't remember," Stretch whispered, almost inaudibly, "i…i don't…"

"Easy, you're all right," Edge told him softly, the same as he had when he'd been small enough to cradle in his arms. He made the attempt now, warily sliding an arm around him, and was forced to catch him when Stretch collapsed against him, almost sliding from his perch.

Comforting him as a child had been almost a reflex, all too easy, and Edge found it was much same as an adult. The difference was Stretch didn’t cry. He trembled in Edge’s arms, the entirety of his surprisingly light weight leaning against him.

He was mumbling beneath his breath almost too quietly to hear, and Edge strained to catch the words.

There was little enough to hear, nothing more than the same words, over and over. “he’s gone, he’s gone.”

“He’s gone,” Edge agreed softly, although he had no clue who ‘he’ was. A wracking shudder went through him and abruptly Edge was reminded of being awoken by one of his brother’s rare nightmares. If they were rare. Red would never have allowed this sort of comfort, but somehow, it was easy enough to offer to Stretch, with his layer of sarcasm peeled away, leaving this frail vulnerability behind. Edge shifted, pulling him in close enough to rub his back, murmuring against his auditory canal, “He’s gone, you’re safe.”

It seemed to help. Slowly, the shivering eased. It took longer for Stretch to pull away, scrubbing against his face with a sleeve as though to clean away tears he hadn’t shed.

“sorry,” he said stiffly. “i…sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize,” Edge told him, softly. There were more mysteries now than he’d started with and it was unlikely he’d be getting answers to them. Already he could see the walls falling back into place, the brief vulnerability he’d never suspected existed being tucked back away. The biggest mystery being left behind was ‘who’.

Whoever they were, they were someone a child was desperately afraid of, enough so that trying to remember him as an adult was nearly enough to cause a panic attack. One that had brought a too-quiet, frightened child to…well. To Stretch. He remembered that tiny baby bones, his sweet laughter as he played…his teary fear whenever his brother came too close…

Gone, Stretch had said, and that was a good thing or Edge might well have more LV for the others to disapprove of.

“i’m just…thanks, then, i guess,” Stretch laughed uncomfortably. Sitting on the ledge as he was, he couldn’t really withdraw from Edge, and though he shifted as if he wanted to, Edge didn’t remove his steadying hands. Not yet. “not sure where all that shit came from, but thanks for not ditching me to knock my skull against a tree.”

That sent a sharp throb through his soul. He’d meant it as a joke, Edge knew, but there was no humor in him when he quietly told Stretch, “I would never leave you alone like that.”

He wilted, whatever pride he’d been shoring himself up with was failing, and the way he leaned into Edge’s hands seemed somehow reluctant and yearning. That vulnerability, not yet hidden away, was soft in his voice as he said, “why do you even care?”

“Despite what you seem to think, I’m not soulless.”

Stretch huffed softly and his breath was harsh with cigarettes, sweet with magic. “i don’t think you’re soulless.”

“No, only that I replaced it with a chunk of coal.”

“you said it, not me.”

He’d never seen Stretch smile like that or if he had, it certainly hadn’t been directed at him. Stretch was an irritant, smirking and smoking and…his smiles weren’t supposed to be soft and sweet, for once not mocking but instead almost inviting him to share the joke and—

“We should get back,” Edge said brusquely, finally stepping back, and he ignored the sharp, internal twinge when that smile faded.

“yeah, i should get home.” Stretch stumbled as he hopped down, tripping over one of those stupidly untied laces and it was a reflex to steady him, pulling him back up. It left him with his face inches from Edge’s, his sockets wide. He took a step back and Edge let him, his hands reluctantly letting go. “um, yeah, i really have to go.”

He vanished without another word, teleporting away and leaving Edge standing with his own confusion in the snow.

Only to realize that Stretch had left him on the other side of the traps. An hour ago, that would have irritated him, but now Edge was almost grateful.

It would take hours for him to make his way back home and that was fine. He could use something to do.

-fin

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus

[theatricks]

A Sincere White Day Recipe - Chapter 2

Video here, translation below!!

The Birds Were Watching

[White Day?] Rui: "Greetings. With the cold weather of early spring gradually giving way to a more pleasant interim, how does the season find you?" Rui: "I am sincerely grateful for all the ways you continue to look after me." Rui: "Soon it will have been a year since I enrolled at Rinmeikan Girls' School." Rui: "Looking back on it, a lot has happened, and I've met many wonderful people." Rui: "After my enrollment, while aimlessly searching for Tamao-senpai, not knowing left from right, Ichie-senpai called out to me." Rui: "It was our first meeting, but she spoke openly with me like a friend. Thinking about it now, I feel like I trusted her instantly." Rui: "Perhaps she was trying to ease my nerves. The 'barley tea' she handed to me was noodle broth, though..." Rui: "I'll never forget how she guided me to the classroom Tamao-senpai was in while never once becoming perturbed by my awkward way of speaking, caused by my shyness around strangers." Rui: "I met Yukko, my fellow first-year, during my arrival at the dorms, and before I knew it, we'd become acquainted." Rui: "She was my polar opposite in personality, so maybe I admired her for that." Rui: "Although her 'late to sleep and late to rise' pace is a bit of a drawback, she's my precious classmate and my closest friend. But..." Rui: "It seems she received a special training menu from Fumi-senpai recently. As a Stage Girl and her closest rival, I won't lose." Rui: "Ever since Fumi-senpai transferred to the Theatrical Department, our daily life has become quite strict, but much more worthwhile." Rui: "She still scolds us often, but her instructions are accurate, and more than that, the way she's quick to show an example is wonderful." Rui: "When I learned she was a transfer student from Siegfeld Music Institute, I also heard a rumor that she was one of their best in acting ability." Rui: "I believe that rumor must be true. The real feeling of growth I experience almost daily is thanks to Fumi-senpai." Rui: "And, finally, Tamao-senpai..." Rui: "I'd like to tell the rest to you in person, so why don't we meet after school on March 14th, in classroom 1-1 of the old school building?" Rui: "Pardon me for asking so much of you. Well, then, I'll be waiting. Sincerely yours." Rui: ............ Tamao: Rui-chan, were you waiting? Rui: Ah, Tamao-senpai. Sorry for making you come all this way... Tamao: No, I was happy to receive your letter. So, what was it you wanted to tell me in person, I wonder. Rui: Y-Yes. The truth is... Rui: (Rui, you can do it. Today's the day to tell her how you feel...!) Rui: A-Ah, umm... Thank you so much for the delicious chocolates last month! Tamao: Chocolates... Aah, you mean for Valentine's. Rui: I...made you cookies in return. Here! Tamao: Thank you, Rui-chan. I'll be sure to eat them. Rui: (Now, Rui! Not just your thanks for the chocolates, but the feelings you've nurtured for so, so long--now...!) Rui: Ta-Tamao-senpai! Tamao: What is it, Rui-chan? Rui: Er... Um... Rui: (It's no good, I tried so hard to muster my courage, but for some reason, I can't say it...!) Tamao: Hey, Rui-chan. Rui: Y-Yes! Tamao: If you can't say it, shall I do it for you? I am the senpai, after all... Rui: Eh, ah, w-what do you mean? Tamao: I understand completely. Rui: !? Rui: (She understands completely!? Does that mean, Tamao-senpai is also...!? No way, what should--, I--, my heart isn't--...!) Tamao: Rui-chan... Rui: Hyaah! Ta-Ta-Ta-Tamao-senpai...we can't! We're senpai and kouhai...! Tamao: Yes. Rui-chan is a cute kouhai. So, as a senpai, leave this to me--- ????: Ru~i? Oooi. Rui: Tamao-senpai, don't... The birds are watching... ????: Yeesh... Using rakugo as an alarm clock is a privilege, but guess I'll give it a whirl. "We're told to be grateful to the gods, and yet their so-called 'myriad' is so varied, it includes the God of Poverty and the God of Death, don't it?" Rui: Waah!? Yuyuko: Welcome back from the world of delusion~ Rui: Y-Yukko... Was I saying something? Yuyuko: 'Greetings, with the cold weather of early spring gradually giving way to a more pleasant interim...' Rui: Waaaah! Yuyuko: Seems you're operating like normal today, too~ But, practice or not, zoning out while making a cake is pretty dangerous, I'd say. Yuyuko: In more ways than one. Rui: Uuu... I want to crawl in a hole and die... Yuyuko: Now I'm worried about going back home and leaving you behind. Rui: Ah, that reminds me, you're visiting your parents', aren't you? Some famous rakugo story teller is going to be in the area or something... Yuyuko: That's ri~ght, next Sunday. Not only do they rarely visit, but apparently they hardly ever show their face at home. Rui: That'll be fun. Ah, but, don't slack on practicing for the musical performance. Yuyuko: Shhh. You don't know if Tamao-senpai can hear you. Rui: Oh, right. Sorry. Yuyuko: I don't really care if it's not a surprise, but Ichie-san wants it that way for some reason. Rui: Yeah. But, I think she's fixated on it being a surprise because Tamao-senpai will enjoy it more that way. Yuyuko: I get the feeling she's just trying to startle her, though. Well, once I get back I'll help out with the cake, so let's put our hearts into it~ Rui: Got it, I'll get lots of practice in before then! Rui: It'd be nice if we can make a cake that will convey not only our thanks for the chocolates, but our everyday gratitude, too... Yuyuko: Don't worry, we can. No birds will be watching, either. Rui: FORGET ABOUT THAT!

#revue starlight #shoujo kageki revue starlight #starlight relive #translation #rinmeikan #rui is hilarious and i love her