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amyelevenn · 1 year

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I Hate to Interrupt This Alternate Universe I've Wandered Into

c!Technoblade x gn!reader

add yourself to the taglist here!

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Chapter 2 of my series Glimmer in the Eye of the Curious

PAIRING; c!Technoblade x gn!reader

SUMMARY; You and Technoblade have a bit of an...unwanted... reunion, but it's better than being dead

....well, is it?

WARNINGS/TAGS; nothing really - a bit of panic

A/N; so I realised I want this fic to feel like the song snowfall by Øneheart (you may know from tiktok) - sad, angsty undertones but still have happier, nostalgic vibes to it?? I don’t really know but I hope someone understands the vibe I’m tryna give

also - i have some questions;

- do you guys like this chapter length? would you rather longer/shorter?

- do we want this to be angsty? cause if you have read any of my other stuff you know i am a sucker for angst, but i want it to appeal to you guys!!

1.8k words

A tired yawn emitted quietly from your lips, your eyes struggling to open. The first thing you felt was a weary, refreshing euphoria – the type you would feel after waking up from a much-needed midday nap, or after sleeping for 13 straight hours. However short-lived the warmth is, you bask in the intoxication as it slips through your fingers and moulds into an aching agony.

You should be dead.

With an alarming amount of effort, you open your eyes, groaning quietly as your whole body floods with aches and pains. You notice distantly that you are still caked in blood and mud, and still slightly damp from the snow. It takes a second to soak in your surroundings, and the fact that you don’t recognise one thing nearby – coming rather quickly to the conclusion that this isn’t somewhere you had been before, and that needed to change.

Maybe it was all a horrible nightmare, and you were really dead, and this was your version of limbo. Honestly, a win for everyone.

A voice clears its throat from across the room.

So, not limbo – not just yet.

Ignoring the soreness of your neck and the protest of almost every limb in your body, you snap your head to see a fairly large man leaning casually against his sink, sipping something out of a mug as if this was just a normal Monday – or whatever day it was now – for him.

And knowing Technoblade, this very well might be.

“How ya feelin’?” he asks, not moving from his place. “You weren’t out very long – woke up much earlier than I expected, actually.”

You hesitate, expression falling. No. No, no no no no no. Not here. Not now.

As subtly as you can manage you look for an escape route, a way you can get out fast and avoid trouble.

“There’s no point. I’m not gonna hurt ya.”

You weren’t stupid. With the condition you were in, there simply wasn’t a way of leaving without injuring yourself even further.

You go to reply to his first remark, but all the rasps out from your throat is a rough croak, sending a throb of pain through your head. Closing your eyes to help the hurt subside, you don’t even notice Techno sitting by your side, gently pulling your ankle onto his lap.

A cup of water was in your hand before you could fully register what was going on, but you had drank it all without so much as a second thought.

“Been better,” you finally manage, watching as he unravels a slightly blood-stained bandage from around your foot. “You’ve seen firsthand how bad of positions I can get myself in.”

“Your ankle is the worst you’ve done, everythin’ else will heal just fine,” Techno murmurs. You noted how calm and collected he was. Like how he always was.

You knew he knew how you got in situations you were unfamiliar with – you were skittish, panicked, like a deer in headlights. So he had to tread carefully, not wanting to scare you off (Gods knew he was good at that).

“Doesn’t feel like it,” you chuckle, trying to ignore the burning in your chest. “Thank you for helping me, even after… uh- everything.”

You don’t need to see him stiffen, you could literally sense how he unconsciously sits straighter, holding your ankle a little bit tighter than before. “We don’t have to talk about it if you don’t wanna.”

“I don’t – at least not now,” you whisper, swallowing the lump building in your throat.

“Alright,” he softly agrees, but is still tensed up as if you would attack at any moment – and you both know you have every right to.

But that wasn’t you – you weren’t a fighter like he was, and you both knew it.

Slowly, he unwraps the bandage on your ankle, letting you assess the damage for yourself. He seems almost zoned out as you look at the brilliant purples and greens that taint your skin, an ugly bruise dark and daunting.

“And my shoulder?”

“Just dislocated. Nothin’ a healin’ potion can’t fix.” The monotony in his voice is one you are all too familiar with.

You hum in agreeance, fingers on autopilot as they trace where a scar should be on your thigh from that skeleton’s arrow. There’s nothing there – no marks, no dents, no lumps – no trace of any injury in the first place apart from the bloodied tear in your pants.

“You always had the best stuff, didn’t you?” you snicker a little, letting yourself relax slightly.

If he wanted you dead, you would be by now – he wouldn’t have gone through all of this trouble to keep you alive if that was the opposite of what he wished. He wouldn’t have wasted so many precious resources to keep your heart beating if it wasn’t in his best interest.

Ignoring the dull ache moving caused, you ran your hands through your knotted and muddy hair, realising how dirty you must look.

The hybrid had to have read your mind, pointing lazily to a closed door. “Bathroom’s in there, use whatever you need. I’ll get you a change of clothes.”

Limping over, you barely make it to the door before collapsing onto the side of the bathtub, the overwhelming pain shooting up your calf making your head spin in many different directions. Black dots violently painted your sight, bile slowly creeping up your throat. You push it away, not wanting to cause a scene.

Technoblade walks in, holding a pair of clean pants and a shirt. “Will you be alright to do it by yourself?” he asks, clearly wary of your ankle.

You give a curt nod, taking a deep breath through your nose.

He huffs, “Yell if you need anythin’, yeah?”

Closing the door behind him, you are left to peel the bloodied and snow-soaked clothes off your sore body, ditching them to lie forgotten on the floor. Your whole body was littered with scars, marks and bruises – some new, red and healing, others older, faded but still visible.

You couldn’t help but stare as you always did prompted with a mirror at the scar running from between your shoulder blades all the way down to the small of your back. It was a scar that never fully healed, physically and emotionally. The memory of how you got it made you want to vomit, especially since you were in his presence again.

The tub filled quicker than you had anticipated, and you wasted no time dipping into the warmth the water in the bath provided.

Almost instantly the water became a murky, rusty colour, yet it felt amazing as you scrubbed off the built-up grime off your arms and legs. You could feel the soreness in your muscles soften as it melted away with the heat. After a while of gently running your fingers through your hair, the tangles and dirt clumps are out, and the water ran cold.

Reluctantly stepping out, you dried yourself off with the first towel you could grab, shivering at the new lack of warmth. You weren’t overly excited at the prompt of wearing his clothes, but as of right now you didn’t have much of a choice.

Because of his sheer size, Technoblade’s clothes were way oversized on you, but you compromised with what you had. The pants barely stayed on your hips and were too long at the foot so you had to roll them up. The shirt came down past your thighs, sleeves much longer than your arms were.

Pure exhaustion clouded your vision, having to blink away the stars dancing across your eye line. Dizzy, you took multiple deep breaths to attempt to steady yourself, gripping the doorknob as if it was the source of all your problems.

You distracted yourself by thinking – thinking about leaving, going home, fixing yourself up there and never leaving again. Thinking about the closure you could finally get, the explanation you had dreamt of for many sleepless nights-

No.

You were going to go home, and never see this man again, just like you had planned in the first place.

Opening the bathroom door, you hardly manage to fight the wave of nausea that washes over you, and by some miracle, you had made it back to the couch you were on before.

Technoblade sat idly at his desk, trying his best to calm the voices – the same voices who screamed for blood, blood, blood at the slightest mention of your name. He made his hands work so he wouldn’t have to think, praying the tedium and repetition of it would quieten them down, at least for a moment so he could attempt to concentrate.

Your mask lay partially fixed between his fingers, the least he could do to try and rekindle what once was.

He sensed your presence immediately, turning to make sure you were okay. He watched your eyes flicker from his to your mask back to his, but ask no question.

Technoblade was the one to break the silence. “When was the last time you ate-?”

You immediately cut in, “I’m not staying.”

He ignores you. “Now would be a good time for food, and maybe another potion.”

You watch him stand and make his way to a cupboard, pull out a full glass bottle and make a piece of buttered toast.

He first hands you the brew of rich pinks and reds, waiting patiently as you waft the potion to ensure there is no foul play. It tastes of melons and light, yet recovery and safety. A soft sigh involuntarily escapes you as you relax into the warmth spreading through every part of you.

The toast finds its way into your hands and down your throat before you can really process anything, still too caught up in the soft exhilaration rush to think about things too hard.

“It’s late,” Techno finally murmurs, “and a snowstorm is on the way. Look, I’m not gonna make you stay, but I would strongly advise sleepin’ the night off and dealing with everythin’ when you wake up.”

There’s only one thing playing on repeat in your mind.

Two, if you count how pretty he looks in this lighting.

“Why’d you do it?” You whisper it with so much heartache, Technoblade can almost, almost feel it radiating off of you. “Why did you…why…”

“Go to sleep.” It’s quiet, barely there, but it does the job.

The piglin watches as you drift into a restless slumber, silently arguing with the voices about something he had no control over.

Sleep and you had a very delicate, fickle relationship – and yet tonight she decided to hold you dear and close, allowing you a long, overdue nights rest that was very much needed. If she was feeling up to it, she may even have given you a dream.

Or possibly show that dreaded nightmare you face every time you close your eyes.

Blood for the Blood God.

TAGLIST;

@raes-gay @howtobeamoth

#technoblade my beloved #reader insert #x reader #gender neutral reader #dsmp #technoblade x reader #dream smp #technoblade #angst #ameswrites #fanfiction #glimmer in the eye of the curious #chapter two

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hadesbullshit · 5 months

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hi hades! i have a lot of strong opinions on a couple specific spn episodes, and id love to hear your thoughts!! i will not judge for your answers, because this show fucking sucks but also its the greatest piece of media ever so any opinion is correct objectively. ok anyways

what do you think about: faith (season 1 episode 13) , roadkill (season 2 episode 16) , and playthings (season 2 episode 11)?

I'm gonna rewatch them to ansure this (bc y be normal about media when u can go ferral) but pre rewatch: Roadkill is one of my fav eps ever.

1x12 (faith is 1x12. 1x13 is Route 666 (also a very good ep as a dean charaitor study if u do want my thoughts it)):

i forgot how much i love this ep. I'm really into religious imagery in any media. dean on deaths door in the singlar reazon I'm gay /j. Sam's desperation to save Dean was always hinted at but this ep really does the "show not tell" thing right in a way most of the show doesn't. john not coming to help dean is one of the reasons i fucking hate the guy. Dean refuses to believe there is a God pre s4 because what god would put him though everything he's been though, i love him so much. the parrales between john and god with Dean's faith in an absent father.

Quotes:"i didn't pick you dean, the lord did" "why do you deserve to live more than my daughter" "it must be ruff. to belive in somerthing so much and have it disappoint you"

2x11:

of the 3 eps this is my least favourite I'm going to be honest but i still love it so much. The twist is so good. the sibling devotion, they would rather be dead together then one of them leave (Sam and Dean prrallels). "what do you mean we look the type" is iconic (Dean vs people knowing he's bi before he does). Sam's break down, begging Dean to be the one who kills him is so well done.

2x16 (this will be looooong):

when the audience learns things after Sam and Dean/the narrative isn't chronological but we think it is, it makes the twists better. Sam wanting to ease Molly into the fact she is dead vs Dean wanting to tell her straight up bc in Sam's life knowing about monsters has only ever been a burden wear as Dean (Has not met Mary yet and doesn't know she knew about deamons) thinks, as John thinks, that he would still have his family if more people knew how to protect themselves. (i might be reading to much into that part but i am a lit & media student). then after the half way point Sam wants to tell her because she thinks David is dead and that is the worst thing in the world for her whereas Dean wants to comic to lying because telling someone the truth this far in would be hard and he cant have emotional convocations to save his life (see also; Gadreel arc).

This ep is so good for rewatching it and putting into context the things Dean says. The resolution of her letting go of the loop AAAAAA.

Every motw ep in spn has a little twist in it and using the different graves to fulfil the audience expectations only to pull the rug out from underneath with the "Molly is ALSO a ghost" .

The enphisis on the idea people are not born monsters especially in relation to Sam. "what ever it is, they just hold on too tight. caught in the same loop" (sam talking about the ghost but also him and Jessica (among others)) and "something happened to them. something they couldn't control" (sam with his whole being a deamon & yellow eyes' army in s2) bc Sam in the early seasons is insane and so full of self loathing.

The question of what happens to monsters after they die (and people) being uninsurable, beng afraid of death and the unknown feels like a nod towards s3 with dean waiting to die having no idea what will happen. "hope is kinda the whole point" them pre hell, and pre knowning just how fucked up every is AAAAAA

#i did most this in history class btw #spn #supernatural #dean winchester #sam winchester #sorry sometimes i have anaylsis and sometimes I'm just insane baout this show #hades bullshit

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enjomo-arch · 9 months

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( flame command ━ unprompted : nami ) // [ ♠ @chatcambrioleur ]

"Um... Ace?" It was taking all of her courage to not run back to her room. She twirled a tangerine curl around her finger, sinking her teeth into her lip. Uncharacteristically nervous, with trembling hands and shaky breath, to match. Something was bothering the navigator. "I need to talk to you," her voice firmed, her hand landing on his wrist, pulling him to the tangerine grove. They were alone, and there would be no better time to approach the topic. It had been on her mind for a few days now; Nami had been doing her best to keep putting it off. The lingering hope of her cycle starting late rest bitterly on her tongue. The same hope that she had awoken with every morning for the past few weeks had faded into the back of her throat; then, the sickness had started. Every morning, like clockwork. Sanji's breakfasts, normally so delicious, went untouched by Nami. In favor of finding the bathroom. When her nakama expressed their worry, she told them it was merely a stomach bug. Food poisoning. When Robin expressed the thought, Nami only scoffed. Of course it wasn't pregnancy. She had birth control. They used protection --- most of the time. Except that one time... "I have something to tell you, and --- promise you won't freak out?"

ace would normally spend the day. this time being in the middle of the sea as the ship moved slowly through its designated route to the next island. the more he stayed since their night, a few weeks back the more he started noticing a change in nami. he'd brush it off as normal problems that people went through but the more time passed, the more bothered she looked with everything. he could only wonder if his presence was the cause, if he had done something that night that could only derail their relationship. he was anxious, weirdly wondering about any negative possibility that could have led to this. in the end, she may have convinced herself that he's no good. ace never was.

she stopped eating, talking to him while sailing about everything and nothing. everyone else was just as worried about it. maybe the fact that he formed an alliance with his little brother negated everything rather than make it better. maybe she didn't want to see him here anymore. he'd stare at the sea, hoping for a whisper to tell him the truth about it, tell him the best idea would be to leave and go all the way back to sphinx where he could find marco. there was a small frown on his expression, he was frustrated that further the past was chasing his tail and not allowing him to have any normal relationships. each time, people became convinced of the evil child that ace was, and still is to this day.

all until his throughts got ripped from his mind by the grip of his wrist. the navigator pulling him away, to a place where no one else could be around. she looked just as bothered, maybe even more. and now, she wanted to talk about something. he expected the worst, that she would tell him to leave. her firm voice only prompting the thought to be more real. ❝ nami. ❞ he started. lips curling into a thin line before he let out a small exhale, scratching the back of his head. ❝ i won't freak if you wanna tell me to go away. y'seemed bothered with me lately, i get it that .... i'm no good. alright ? if you don't want me here anymore, i can't be mad. ❞ he said it, with a painful smile slowly blooming on his features. the fake warmness of it, trying to somehow alleviate this tense situation.

#chatcambrioleur #「003」 𝗜𝗡 𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗔𝗖𝗧𝗘𝗥 #「ver」 𝗣𝗔𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧𝗦 𝗔𝗨 / chatcambrioleur #ace and his intrusive thoughts :#tw: pregnancy

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juantheashura · 1 year

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Hey, since in a recent ask you mentioned potentially adding a Aki x Lat x MC poly in book 2 I wanted to say firstly I wholehearted support this as choosing between them when they are both so dang wholesome is the worst and they also have a cute dynamic both with each other and the MC so I think it would totally work. But that being said I think with Aki being so inexperienced both with romantic relationships but also seemingly with just normal health social relationships you do need to go about it super carefully. In my own experience poly relationships need to be super equal and have really good communication. And I feel like if do you want to add that relationship you need to make sure to set it up early right because otherwise if we romance Aki or Lat in book one then start a poly in book two it makes the third person be a bit of a third wheel who is coming into this already established preexisting relationship and especially in the case of like romancing Lat in book 1 then starting the poly in book 2 with Aki like this would still presumably be Aki's first relationship and her first experience being joining a preestablish relationship as a third feels vaguely exploitive. Like you can mitigate that to some degree by how you write them and their interactions but even still for it to feel real or like relationship that would actually work long term I think you need to set it up in book 1 and either have a separate slower burn romance with them both wherein nothing more serious happens until the poly or I think limiting the poly to those who romanced Aki in book one would also work because she's really the part you need to be most careful with how you write given her inexperience. That isn't to say you absolutely can't have book 1 romanced Lat MC start a poly with Aki in book 2 you can but its just I do think you need to be extra careful if you want it to feel like a real healthy stable relationship that would work long term. Like I said I wholehearted do think a poly between them could work and I hope I didn't scare you off doing this I just wanted to add some thoughts based off my own experiences.

Also I've a separate question on a completely different topic, so I know you've said we for sure won't surpass BK or BQ in in the books but I am curious since some of what you have said about why we won't surpass them seems focused mostly on the seer amount of experience and time they have had to grow in strength could the MC given a decade or two eventually reach them or surpass them given even longer?

Also also sorry for any spelling or grammar errors I tried to proof read but my brain is terrible at doing that so chances are high there are more than a few I missed.

Don't worry- I feel relatively the same on the poly aspect of it. I'm very likely not adding a third route in Book 1 for romancing both, I think (at least, not anything directly), but my idea has always been that it'd be a poly dependent on romancing Aki in Book 1, that'd be the only way to be able to get Lat in a relationship as well. Aki needs a little experience with things first, before she starts considering if she wants something more.

I appreciate hearing your thoughts though! I've... definitely never been in a (well, consensually, anyway) polyamorous relationship myself, so I'd be flying relatively by the seat of my pants and what I manage to read about the dynamics. I am definitely thankful for knowing how people with more experience than me feel or think about these things.

As for your second question, it's... a bit more complicated than that, but I'll try to make it a little short:

The Broken King and the Blitz Queen both started off stronger than the MC- as in, their base powers before training were of a higher 'tier' than the MC. That already establishes a gap, but then you have the fact that the two of them had each other to train with as well, meaning that they had a direct challenger through which to better themselves, something the MC doesn't at the moment.

Then you come to the matter of experience. The Blitz Queen, compared to the (current, at least) MC lived in a more unsettled time, which I think we can all agree on. She had to fight more often, and had her powers for longer than the MC (she got them as a toddler, basically), which means she started growing stronger than the MC from earlier.

Then add to that the fact that she had 50~ years to further grow in strength.

Now, consider all that for the King as well, but add the fact he's been using his powers every single day since the Queen died.

All this combined means: Catching up within a decade or two is most likely impossible because the starting gap is oh so huge. You might become someone the Queen or King would have considered a worthwhile companion, but you're definitely more the... say, Piccolo to the King's Goku, or the Sanji to the Queen's Luffy.

#a tale of heroes #ask me anything #wip ask #ro asks #hero monarchs

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themattress · 7 months

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FE3H: 1, 3, 7, 8, 9, 10, 12, 16, 17, 18, 19, 20, 21, 24, 25

1 - Not "everyone" gets them wrong, but both Edelgard and Claude frequently suffer from truly terrible takes. Edelgard gets treated as a clear-cut, evil and/or stupid villain rather than the morally gray character with admirable qualities that she truly is, while Claude gets treated as a 100% reliable good guy when in fact he's far more complicated and has just as much potential to swing toward the dark side as Edelgard and Dimitri (though he's admittedly still more reasonable on the dark side than either of them). Tellingly, many fans got angry at Three Hopes for clarifying the truth about them rather than admit they pegged them wrong.

3 - Concerning takes on Edelgard:

7 - "Hate" is a strong word; I don't hate him at all and think he's a good character....buuuut I'll freely admit that I have less fondness for Dimitri than I might otherwise have had due to the fandom's treatment of him. So many fans who accuse other fans and even the games' writers of "uwu woobifying" Edelgard in order to distract from her flaws and crimes do exactly that for Dimitri without a hint of irony. This is a guy who, prior to his redemption in Azure Moon and prior to his death in Silver Snow and Verdant Wind, committed the most personally vile, cruel acts out of all the Lords, with little to no remorse. That's really not something that should be minimized or brushed under the rug as if it didn't happen, nor is it something that any amount of trauma can excuse. Hell, Dimitri at the end of Azure Moon would agree with me here!

8 - The common opinion of Edelgard haters is that the Church of Seiros did little to nothing wrong and Edelgard is stupid or evil for wanting to destroy it, while the common opinion of Edelgard fans is that the Church of Seiros is rotten to the core and the best future for Fodlan is it being destroyed. I disagree with both takes. The problem isn't the Church, the problem is Rhea. And not in a bashing way, in an objective way that Rhea herself concedes to by the end of Silver Snow and Verdant Wind: she let her fear, grief and desire consume her and cause her to run the Church in a (though she of course didn't see it this way) self-serving manner that exacerbated the divides in Foldan. The bottom line is that a lot of Fodlan's problems could have been resolved if only poor Rhea had gotten some serious therapy.

9 - The Battle of Gronder Field's aftermath in Azure Moon. On paper, I like Dimitri's redemption arc, but I feel that the execution behind his big turning point was handled horrendously. Rodrigue, who is Felix's father and not Dimitri's, dying gets Dimitri to turn around while Felix himself barely reacts. Fleche, who had potential surviving and helping in Dimitri's arc while also being helped herself, is just casually killed off while only Dimitri finds healing and redemption. And Byleth just forgets that they have the power to turn back time, therefore allowing Rodrigue and Fleche's deaths to happen. Worst writing in the game, easily.

10 - All of the blatant mischaracterizations.

12 - Now, I totally get why many find him off-putting, but Lorenz deserves more love. He is among the biggest cases in the game of someone who struggles to unlearn what he's been taught for his entire life, but that's what makes him so interesting. And whenever he's actually successful at it, he's quite likable with his more humbled personality and bonds with others.

16 - The Holy Kingdom of Faerghus and the Blue Lions. For the most part, it's a bog-standard medieval kingdom and character archetypes that have been done better elsewhere.

17 - More Edelgard vs. Hilda casual rivalry fics/art please; it's hilarious.

18 - Edelgard/Claude as a ship. So much potential there!

19 - Silver Snow. Yes, it's the most unpopular route in Three Houses. Yes, its execution is ass. Yes, its character dynamics are wasted. Yes the final boss is an absolute nightmare. But I like what it was trying to do, damn it! With enough tweaking, it coulda been a masterpiece!

20 - The Heroes' Relics. I get why they're a big deal, but I can't bring myself to actually care about them beyond a gameplay level. And yes, that includes the Sword of the Creator.

21 - Dimitri, Faerghus, the Blue Lions and Azure Moon! Haven't you been paying attention?

24 - Edelgard, of course!

25 - I have sometimes heard complaints that the Golden Deer get the short end of the stick because their backstories, families and home regions tend to get less focus compared to the Black Eagles and Blue Lions. This is missing the entire point. The Golden Deer don't represent a single, powerful entity, but a diverse alliance of city-states, one that has been particularly shaky as a of late. The individuals are not as important as the unity - the alliance - between them is. The focus isn't meant to be on the Golden Deers' backstories, families and home regions, the focus is meant to be on how they gel with one another despite their differences and what they achieve together. In any case, Three Hopes granted more spotlight on half of their homes and families, so it's not like they're totally deprived of that either.

#Fire Emblem #Three Houses #Three Hopes #Opinion #Meme

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madillhethen · 2 years

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I’ll post the screenshots of Heaven’s Feel later. Since its in my ipad I have to transfer to my PC, and those two are not always together at the same time.

Anyways, Heaven’s Feel, I really enjoyed it.

I loved the parallels of how the Holy Grail War started, and this, how it ends. Someone pointed out that Shirou’s war is about dismantling the grail in favor of being human compared to how all the magi have the HGW as a ritual and religion but it has furthered them from humanity.

I agree with that. Heaven’s Feel is defiantly the route where it focuses a lot more on one’s own humanity and individualism. Sakura’s own inner conflict is a great representation of this. She struggles to keep Angra Mainyu at bay, but more than that she’s struggling to hold the pieces of herself together, the girl who loves the people around her, the girl who was wronged, but throughout the route we see many times that it is a great struggle between keeping this part of you and being tainted by the wrongs of people and the world. In the end, she succumbs to the evils of the world, she becomes what the world is: ‘evil, cruel, no regrets’ but the parts of who she really is, still remain and it took one act of kindness from her sister for her to regain and realize who she really was.

The route gives that Sakura has never been treated as human, she wasn’t raised like a normal girl or even a normal magus, yet the juxtaposition of the inhumane ways and how human she is amongst the three protagonists was really beautiful. If Shirou’s story is about him becoming human then Sakura’s was her trying to remain human in a world that tried to prevent her from being one.

The other part I really loved was the foil of the 5th HGW to the beginning. The Creation of the Grail starts with Tohsaka, Einzbern, and Makiri with the sorcerer Zelrich, who creates the grail for a wish and in Zouken’s case, to eradicate all evils. This grail was made in the hopes of bettering the world, the ideals carried by like-minded individuals but then we get to the 5th War and we reverse it. Most of the servants are gone, just like how when the Grail was created, there was no servants.

You see without Saber, we return to the Einzbern (Illya), Tohsaka (Rin) and Makiri (Sakura) altogether, and rather than a great sorcerer to help create the war, we have the worst magus who is going to stop the war. If Zouken’s wish was to eradicate all evils, Shirou’s wish is to remove one evil (Zouken) not for the world, but for an individual. Zouken sacrificed his love (I’m assuming he was in love with Justeaze. The narration hinted heavily and during the movies, he looked rather sad about her sacrifice) for the world, and Shirou refused to give up Sakura for the world. Zelrich tells Rin that Tohsaka was his useless disciple but she has risen above her ancestor. And of course, Illya is the one to close the gate compared to Justeaze who opened it, but whereupon Justeaze sacrificed herself for the world, Illya sacrificed herself for one boy to live.

The story had a lot of subplots, but in the end, it was tied together nicely and the epilogue is probably my favorite out of the three routes.

Another reason I love this route is that it gave a lot more screentime to Kirei and Illya, without reducing Shirou or Sakura’s importance. Kirei’s parts were really great. His view, his backstory, everything was really well done, he’s the villain of the story but he’s not what you can say evil for a fact. He had a wish, and he had no heart yet he was just as human as everyone else.

The fight between him and Shirou at the end, how it has them both stripped of powers and dying, that was great. Magi or not, they both were human who wanted something, and they both fought to the end.

#Mad's Fate #Mad's thoughts #fate heavens feel #Heaven’s Feel #feels really empty because I didn't post the reviews for UBW or Fate here but I will give a more subjective version later #rin tohsaka #sakura matou #shirou emiya #kirei kotomine #zouken matou #maybe I will scramble to find my Fate and UBW from twitter

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sheikahwarriork · 2 months

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Even though Hopes was actually not very good compared to Houses; we gotta appreciate how it mixed up a lot of things and brought a breath of new life to the fandom and I am forever thankful for it even if the rest was not the best for many charcters, what do you think about it?

hi anon, thank you for the ask! oh boy where do i start-

first of all, you should know i LOVE musou games. i love smashing those buttons and defeating hundreds of eniemies. so, when they announced three hopes, i was THRILLED.

but maybe my expectations were a bit too high.

(spoilers about all the routes and endings)

i think the story is fine, but it could have been much better. i like shez, no, i love shez as a character: theyre silly but strong, determinated and yet loving. i like that theyre dubbed, i like their quirky and yet silly comments, i like how they flirt with some characters and yet are completely clueless, and the female VA did a WONDERFUL job. also, i simply ADORE arval. theyre so sassy i always laugh when arval says anything. the dynamic between shez and arval is written better than the one between byleth and sothis imo. (i love sothis too, but i feel her relationship with byleth needed more screentime)

but shez has a problem. (well, actually two.) the first problem is that shez isnt byleth. shez works well with the majority of the cast, but not with the three lords (a bit better with edelgard but still meh). shez's presence in the war doesnt make much sense as byleth's one did in three houses: the fucking school closed like two WEEKS after the lords met shez, they didnt have the time to bond and to know each others as byleth did (cuz, yk, byleth was their fucking teacher for a year). so, even if i like shez A LOT, their presence in fódlan war seems a bit off to me. i wish shez was in a different game overall.

the second, big problem of shez, is that we get to know almost nothing about their past. but this is a writing problem, not of the character themselves. i wanted to know who their mother was, why they are arval's vessel. RIP dlc i guess

about the three routes:

azure gleam: oh boy. OH BOY. the most disappointing of all. i LOVED the first part, for it explores much better all the kingdom's issues and we get more informations about the tragedy of duscur. but, "and then?". i'm gonna be honest dear anon: i dont remember much about the second part of azure gleam, just this big sense of disappointment. i'm actually re-playing it right now, so maybe i'll be back here in a few weeks. anyway, i do remember liking the fact you can save jeritza here tho, mercie deserves her little brother back!

scarlet blaze: the exact opposite of my thoughts about AG: scarlet blaze is a GREAT black eagles route. dont get me wrong, i liked crimson flower (its actually my second fav route of three houses), but being it the shortest one i always felt it was missing something, aka the fight against TWSITD (since, yk, we dont fight them in CF, they just defeat them offscreen in the ending cards. wtf). and in scarlet blaze we got it!!! also edelgard is better written in SB: shes still resolute and yet willing to *not* kill almost everyone on fódlan (i have Opinions about the ending of CF but another time). i never liked how edelgard sides with TWSITD in three houses, and im glad she didnt in SB. i mean, lets kill those bastards gurl!!!!!

golden wildfire: LMAO. ok i must admit i have a big problem: i dont like the golden deers (as a house; i like some of them alone, like marianne and lysithea), and claude is my least favourite lord, and i think verdant wind is the worst route of all three houses. so, GW was the last one i played. aaaaand. it is better than VW! i liked how claude allied with edelgard to defeat the church! i liked how claude is a little bastard plotter in there! as for AG, i think the first part of the route is much better than the second part (if you dont recruit byleth, judith dies in a dumb way just like rodrigue..... claude-routes-dont-copy-other-route's-things challenge). overall, i think GW is much better than VW, bc i think VW i just a weak copy of silver snow (sorry claude)

about the supports overall: some are cute and i like how we get supports between characters that didnt have ones in three houses, like bernadetta and marianne, or bernadetta and dimitri, or ashe and flayn.

and at last we've come to the elephant in the room.... byleth. how did they treat byleth in my opinion? short answer: terrible. long answer: terrible, because byleth doesnt have supports (except for shez and jeralt ikik). like WTF!!!!! give me supports with the lords, at least! let me see the byleth in this timeline, where they arent a professor, where their father isnt dead!!!! and why did they make byleth the ENEMY?? and we can recruit them too late in the game! GIVE ME MY PROFESSOR BACK-

the (one sided) rivalry between shez and byleth doesnt make any sense. "ohh the ashen demon killed my merc company >:[" says shez, just to admit five minutes later that they didnt really care about that company. and yes, okay, shez wants to prove everyone (themselves included) theyre stronger than byleth. thats fine. but here too, shez lets the matter drops too fast. "i will be stronger i will kill youuuuu- oh wait the lord wants you to join our side of the war. guess we're bestie now!". most of the time (before we actually recruit byleth) i get the feeling shez doesnt really give a fuck about the ashen demon, and this could have been okay, IF THEIR RIVALRY WASNT THE POINT OF ALL THE TRAILERS???????? their relationship is not explored well. shez's initial resentment doesnt make any sense bc THEY THEMSELVES say they really didnt care about the company. SO, if even the new protagonist, who was supposed to hate byleth, doesnt actually hate byleth, why make byleth the antagonist in the first place? why do we have to fight byleth? just to have a different fódlan story?¿?¿?

and i'll shut up about how they treated my dimileth in the game. you dont want to open this pandora's box dear anon.

so, the summary is: the gameplay is great bc i love musou games. the additions to the lore are pretty cool. i like that claude has his own original route that makes sense, and that edelgard got a much better written route. byleth deserved better. SHEZ! is fantastic, and arval is one of my fav character of all fódlan games. also i think arval and sothis should kiss

thank you anon for the ask, i enjoyed writing my thoughts on three hopes! hope i didnt bore you to death lmao

#anon ask #fire emblem warriors three hopes #few3h #few3h thoughts #few3h spoilers #yuzu speaks

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considermygenderminecrafted · 3 years

Text

Ramble bout c!Dream i suppose

I think my biggest fear for this plot, is that the message is some people are just Evil.

Actually no I think the one I’d find hardest stomaching is being expected to entirely support and root for dream unequivocally while he shows 0 changes in the ideas that made him think abuse was okay, I straight up am not going to be able to do that. But the thing I think is most likely is they Make Dream Evil Bad. Tell us nothing has changed, that nothing will make him change.

I’m also nervous because no matter what, the fandom will not be happy with anything other than the Worst for dream? Like, fuck how do you rehabilitate abusers? I genuinely don't know that answer, I'd have to look into it.

I think about what I want for dream and I don’t, I don't know. I don't know what it looks like. I mean, anyone who has met me for more than a second knows I want recovery, obviously, but I don't know what that entails, or how that starts.

And no matter what he will never be allowed to be okay within the fandom and, honestly? that’s is kinda understandable. He was an abuser. I get it, if you want him to rot.

I think Tommy should be allowed to be as angry as he wants he can have a breakdown and be terrified and he deserves to feel all of his emotions with his chest, and thats okay, he's allowed to do that. God knows he's allowed to do that, and he never has to be okay with Dream and he never has to forgive Dream and he can hate him until the day he dies that is okay /gen. But I am scared

Like Dream is going to have to recover from his own experience of abuse, of torture, and I’m really worried he will just, go back to the place he was before and not learn anything. And the thesis of the plot will be "people will never change no matter what". Like that sucks as a conclusion.

But I also know that to keep dream """"EVIL""" is the easiest way to deal with the aftermath of exile. Because like then you don't have to confront the fact he's a person and that he's also just,, been tortured for 6 months.

Like I want the story to look itself in the eye and go "the thing is, abusers are not mystical evil monsters that spawn out of no where, and die evil, they are also people. They are people like you, and they are people like your friends, they are humans and that is terrifying, but important". But that is not a fun thing to have to do, and people won't be happy.

I don't know, if that is what is going to happen, but I want him to have internalized the fact he hurt people, now that he's like been stuck with nothing but pain. I hate the prison and he never should have ever fucking gone through this fuckin hell I mourn when i think about him but if there is one good thing i want to come out of this, its for him to realize that like, hurting people is wrong because they are people.

I think that if he does that, if he confronts the fact that he hurt someone, hurt a lot of people, that he hurt Tommy, and that he doesn't want to do that again, I think I will be okay with what he does next. I just don't want them to ignore it.

You know, my expectation is that Dream will play a long with Techno and then there will be a reveal that Dream was still being evil and manipulating Techno and that way they don’t have to answer any questions. And like, I won’t, be surprised if that is the route they take.

I have some hope /gen. The prison arc humanized him a lot, which I know a lot of people don’t like, but I think it’s a good thing. It puts him in a similar place and Quackity and Wilbur and Sam in that the thing that is terrifying is how fucking Human they are. IDK how intentional it was, but it’s something!

But I don’t want the thesis statement of DreamSMP that some people are just born Wrong. I want people to be okay. People are allowed to be okay, no one can give up their personhood.

Hello an edit!

I want to state that I don't want the prison to be framed as a good thing, and for pain to be framed as healing. I should have phrased that better. In the reblogs I have a more detailed explaination but tldr;

Are not mutually exclusive and don't have to be framed as such

- Causing pain, torture and prison is bad and nothing will ever justify it

- Pain is something that can cause you to re-evaluate your place in the world

I was thinking soemthing a long the lines of:

Prisons was so bad he has to abandon the mindset that made him want to build it in the first place

Either way thanks for the critiques /gen.

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mountain-man-cumeth · 3 years

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What Went Wrong: An In-Depth Analysis of Muriel's Route

*Youtuber voice*

Below are the opinions of an uneducated individual on what could’ve left the majority of The Arcana audience dissatisfied. I will explore the plot, tropes, themes and morals of the Muriel route and try to explain what may have gone wrong. I will be treating the game as a novel since it's advertised as one.

1. Consistency. If you are unfamiliar with the chekhov's gun; it's a story writing principle that dictates each element you introduce should come into play (foreshadowing). Now let's start with a few story beats that were later abandoned or concluded in an underwhelming manner:

Muriel's blanket

Muriel's magic mark (on his back)

Forest spirit (spirits in general)

Lucio's upbringing

Circumstances of MC's death

Figurines/whittling/charms

Muriel's blanket is teased to be a tapestry, which would tie in with his later fascination with them later on, as it had been the only thing he had left from his past. MC neither sees nor comments on the blanket, we only know it exists thanks to other playthroughs and short stories.

Magic marks are an important point in the game. Every main route emphasises on how it affects the chosen LI. It's reveal is important in a way that it serves as a passage to a new act where the reader explores magic and Arcana pantheon as they are a monumental part of the overall worldbuilding. This exact point applies to the Heart of the Forest and how spirits interact with the world around them as well.

Whittling and Charm making are the only hobbies we get from Muriel's isolated life, their introduction helps the reader humanise the character by giving us a crumb of his everyday life. It's never mentioned again after the scene where MC asks him what he does. He doesn't idly whittle during their journey and charms only come to play in an offhanded reference during reversed ending.

The other two are also ignored but I will touch on Lucio later on.

Why do these matter? A few abandoned plot points don't make or break the story but on a grander level it hinders the audience investment. When we read, we like to think the details we notice will come to play eventually, we like recognizing references that were introduced earlier. I'm sure I don't need to give examples on this one, I don't think anyone will disagree.

2. Themes. Thematic influences this story utilized are all over the place, and it seems to me like it stems from the improper application of certain tropes;

The Hero's Journey

Home Sweet Home

Shell-Shocked Vet

Last of His Kind

etc.

Some of these tropes tackle themes such as;

Slavery

PTSD

Survivor's Guilt

Genocide

I'm not going to try to explain How to Write any of these topics. I'm not remotely qualified. I think it's better if I just give examples from popular media because whether you know how to write it or not, you can still understand when it's written well;

AtLA deals with genocide and survivor's guilt. It's in the name; The Last Airbender. Aang is the sole survivor of a culture he'd only had an opportunity to engage in for a handful of years. He left them with a childish tantrum and now they're gone forever. I can't think of another mainstream series that shows the gruesome reality of war and genocide better than this one.

When Muriel realizes his true heritage and loses Khamgalai is the point of the story where Luke sees his family's farm burned down, Aang goes back to the air temple, Treebeard walks in on the demolished part of the forest. (The inciting incident)

(Could also have been forest spirit’s death but it was too early in the story so I don’t consider it a missed opportunity.)

Up until this point the hero has their doubts, they're going through the motions but they are either underestimating the enemy or they're a passive protagonist. Either way, this is the point where the hero has to take the reins of the story. What purpose does this serve in Muriel's route instead? It simply validates Muriel's beliefs. He's useless, he isn't strong enough. We as the reader need a point to see where the hero takes a step to drive the story forward or whoever takes that step will steal the spotlight, it will be their story. As it is, this is the point where it ceases to be Muriel’s story.

PTSD got the worst end of the deal. Since Dragon Age fandom has a huge overlap with the Arcana I will use Fenris as an example; for those who are unfamiliar with the character, Fenris is an escaped slave. After the sex scene he vividly describes an experience that most people can easily identify as a flashback. The game never tells us that he was abused, it doesn’t show us him having a panic attack but it shows us that whatever transpired between him and the player character clearly triggered an unpleasant memory.

Arcana tries and initially succeeds to do something similar. We see that the character is untrustworthy, sensitive to touch, easily agitated, can’t sleep outside of his perceived safe environment… It introduces us the cause later on and the story has two options, each will drastically change the moral of the story:

Remember these as they will be important later on

Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing; You can’t fight violence with violence angle or the fact that the villain’s forcing him into a situation where he’ll have to fight again makes the villain all the more intimidating.

Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing; He has the means to defeat the villain and he just needs encouragement. With great power comes great responsibility. By not fighting he willingly condemns everyone to an awful fate and that he is selfish.

I’d like to take a second to explore the 1. Option, I feel like the game may have intended to implement that idea but failed because of the implementation of Morga and choices presented for the player character: Morga is an Old-Soldier, these characters are often push the hero out of their comfort zone in an aggressive way towards complacency, they are a narrative foil to the mentor. For the first option to work the story had to show Khamgalai acting as a mentor and having the protagonists challenge Morga’s teachings(see Ozai-Iroh). As it is, Morga’s actions are never put under scrutiny (narratively) and her death feels hollow as a result. She didn’t sacrifice herself for the heroes due to her guilt, she died because she felt a moment of sympathy for her son which wasn’t explored before, she showed no intention to change nor any doubt.

It is clear the game choose 2. Option, it is a controversial choice given Muriel’s mental condition and the game is acutely aware of this, which is likely why Muriel’s PTSD will get carefully scraped from the story from here on out. (I won’t address other instances where his trauma wasn’t taken into account, I feel like this explanation should cover them as well.)

3. Morals. Every story, whether the author intends it or not, has a moral. The Villain most often acts against that moral and in turn can change the hero's perspective. Morals are not ideals; the morality of Killmonger isn’t that marginalised people should fight for their rights, it is that vengeance is just. Whether it’s right or wrong can be debated but what makes an ideal the moral of the story is in the portrayal. How the narrator depicts the events, how people around the heroes react... all are a part of portrayal.

The story choosing “Muriel fighting is a good thing” earlier puts in the foundation of a moral. The story tells us Muriel has to fight, it’s the right thing to do. He has to be brave for the people he loves.

This choice affects how his past actions will be perceived; now, him escaping the arena to save himself is cowardly, abandoning Morga is cowardly.

The story tells us it wasn’t, but shows us that it was. This is the end of the midpoint of the story, at this point we need to have a good grasp on what we should perceive as wrong or right for us to feel invested. If we zig-zag between the morals we won’t know which actions we should root for. But more than that, the conclusion will not feel cathartic as it will inevitably demonstrate the opposing ideals clashing at its climax.

Villain doesn't necessarily have to be sympathetic and Muriel's route makes no effort to make him as such, but they need to be understandable. What danger does Lucio pose to the status quo, what makes him a compelling villain? Whether he conquers Vesuvia or not doesn’t drastically affect Muriel’s way of life, he’s been in hiding for years. He doesn’t threaten to steal MC’s body, Muriel is not compelled to pick up arms to save his beloved. He wants to protect the people from going through what he’s been through, right? That is what the story wants us to think. But what has he been through? Fighting was his choice, Lucio tricked him into it. Lucio later tricked Morga, his own mother, to save his own hide. This tells us that Lucio is a manipulator, but he doesn’t manipulate his way into Vesuvia, he barges in with deus ex machina monsters. He doesn’t demonstrate his skills as a tactician by making deals with neighbouring kingdoms to get their armies. We don’t know his strengths therefore we don’t know his weaknesses. If he seems to be losing he can just conjure a giant dragon to burn everything down, we just can’t know. That is why the application of deus ex machina is highly taboo, the victories don’t feel earned and defeats feel unfair.

4. Tone. Playing with the genre is not uncommon and a game such as Arcana has many opportunities to do so. It is a romance story, everything else is the back-drop. The tone works best when its overall consistent but tonal changes act as shock for the audience to keep them engaged and keeping one tone indefinitely gets us desensitized. We can’t feel constant misery if we are not made to feel tinges of hope in between. Good examples of dramatic tonal change (that I can think of): Mulan - arriving at the decimated village, La Vita e Bella - the father’s death, M*A*S*H - death of Hawkeye’s friend. Two of these examples are mostly comedy which is why this tonal shift affects us so, it was all fun and games until we are slapped in the face with the war going on. There are no one liners in those scenes, the story takes a moment to show appropriate respect to the dead, it gives its characters time to digest and come to terms with loss. Bad examples are the majority of Marvel movies.

In Muriel’s route there’s never such a thing, Muriel has a panic attack and MC kisses him. This unintentionally tells us, the genre being romance, that the panic attack only served to further MC’s advances. It tells us that he’s never had the control of his life and it’s yet again stripped from him by the decisions of player character. This is not the only instance this happens. The story shoe-horns in multiple cuddle sessions between important plot beats. And it does the exact opposite during a moment where he is having a heart-to-heart with the person he loves by having the ghost of Morga appear to give an ominous warning/advice.

When he runs off during masquerade it’s built up to be an important plot point. Muriel will finally face his past, he’s been running away from it all along, and he will have an opportunity to be accepted back in. MC is supportive but ultimately, it’s meant to be Muriel's moment. But as I mentioned above this is not his story anymore so he’s not given any time to address his problems, instead a ghost appears to tell him what he needs to do, again. Because we need to wrap the story up, we don’t have time.

Remember how I said the 2 Options will be important later on, well here we are at the very end. Upright and reversed.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a bad thing”

This suggests that the triumph of Muriel won’t be through violence. Maybe he will outsmart Lucio in a different way, he won’t play his games anymore. This option suggests that Lucio will not be beaten by his own terms.

“Portray Muriel fighting as a good thing”

This option concludes with Muriel finally overcoming his reservations on violence and doing what's right to save the people he loves. And bringing justice to people who Lucio hurt.

If you are wondering why the upright ending feels random, this is likely why. The ending plays out as if the story was building on the 1st option while we spent chapters upon chapters playing out the 2nd one. It is unearned.

(The reversed ending, being reversed, also uses Option 1 path but in which Muriel can’t achieve his narrative conclusion)

The Coliseum is filled with people who are on their side against Lucio’s shadow goons. Because we can’t have people being on Lucio’s side without addressing the duality of human nature, even though it’s an important part of Muriel’s story. The people who watched and enjoyed Lucio’s bloodsport are no more, they are all new and enlightened offscreen. We completely skipped the part where Vesuvia comes to terms with its own complacency and Muriel simply feels at ease because the crowd is cheering on him now. This is what happens when you give the character a chance to challenge those who have been complicit in his abuse (masquerade scene) and completely skip it to move the story along.

Muriel doesn't get justice, ever. The people only love him now because he's fighting for them instead of his own survival. Morga or her clan doesn't answer for the massacre of Kokhuri, Vesuvia doesn't answer for the sick entertainment they indulged in and Lucio doesn't answer for Muriel's enslavement. It is not even acknowledged, nowhere in the story (except the very end of reversed ending, and even then it almost gets him killed so its clearly the wrong thing to do on his part) is a choice presented where Muriel has an opportunity to get any sort of compensation where he instead chooses to move on.

I don’t intend to straw man anyone but this is a sentiment I’ve seen a lot; “It’s a short story, a dating-sim, what do you expect?”

I expect nothing, I’m simply explaining why some people feel how they feel. It is a short dating-sim but it seems to me like it was aiming to be something more by borrowing elements that were clearly far above their weight range to tease something more and under deliver. It is okay to feel content with the story, and it’s okay to feel let down. If we had a unanimous decision on literature we would never be inclined to write our own stories.

#personal #muriel #muriel spoilers #tw: PTSD #tw: trauma #tw: slavery #tw: genocide #karayan

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dreamingofaizawa · 3 years

Text

Powerful Ch. 3

Yakuza! Shouta Aizawa x Fem! Reader

*Mafia AU*

Warnings: Misogyny (not from Shouta), a dagger, kinda fluffy

Word Count: 3k

Author's Note: This took too damn long but here we are. Definitely coming out with another part or two, but the next one is gonna start at a huge timeskip so yeah. That'll be fun.

Anywho, Enjoy~

For Reference, this is the dress I describe in here.

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 4

For your second night with Shouta you find yourself lost in thought, staring out at the stars. The stress from before the meeting never disappeared, only delayed. Now it’s all catching up, and your brain is struggling to sort everything out.

Shouta could be on the receiving end of some very misogynistic and traditional clans’ anger very soon. You’re relieved that your future husband is nothing like them, but the backlash he could be getting just by bringing you to a meeting so soon after the announcement is frightening, not to mention some irrational clans may decide to split off and find a rival Yakuza to adopt them. Even so, that’s probably the worst of the outcomes. It’s unlikely you’ll have to worry about either of your safety, though there is still a small chance.

For the second time Shouta wraps his arms around you, surrounding you with his scent and body heat.

“I hope this won’t become a habit, little one.” He presses his cheek to the side of your head, kissing your temple gently. His presence is calming, helps your overactive brain slow down.

“I just needed space to think.” He hums, the sound reverberating through your body.

“What could you be thinking about so late at night?” You don’t really want to tell him, but you figured it’s better than keeping it all in.

“I just worry about the backlash you’ll be getting after the meeting today. This organization is a traditional one, and women have always been kept away from the violent and criminal side of it for centuries. To suddenly name an onna-oyabun, and a woman that previously held a low rank at that, you’re bound to feel some sort of repercussions.” He squeezes you gently, kisses your temple again.

“That’s what you’re worrying your pretty head about? I’ll be fine, little one. Let’s go to bed.” He’s right, you suppose. There isn’t a lot that can affect him or his position, so there isn’t a lot you need to worry about. You nod, taking your weight off of him to go back to the room. You’re a little surprised when he picks you up again, scoops you off your feet and carries you to bed. He tugs you into him just the same as the night before, and once again you fall asleep to the soft thrum of his heart.

The next morning you’re woken by Shouta again. This time you don’t immediately pull away, instead choosing to bask in his embrace a few moments longer. It feels like you’ve known Shouta for years rather than hours, having seen some of the most intimate and private parts of him, and all you want to do is dig deeper. But of course, there’s time for that later.

“Come on, little one. It’s time to wake up. We’re going to see your parents today, and then we’ve got another meeting to attend.” You hum lightly then push off of him, taking a glance at his handsome face before getting out of bed to prepare for the day. You choose a dress you hadn’t worn in a while, one that felt like it would fit today’s events, a flowing black sundress with a halter neckline. Simple black heels pair nicely with it, as well as a small black clutch purse.

You aren’t anxious about Shouta meeting your parents. They aren’t as traditional as most, ideals and views closer to Shouta’s. All parties involved gave their bows in greeting, even Shouta, and brunch went by without a hitch. It wasn’t the usual cringey romcom scene where the parents ask ‘why do you love our daughter’. In fact, they know that the marriage is strategic. Of course, Shouta had made his thoughts clear, that he intends to ensure the union is enjoyable for the both of you. His honesty made a small smile worm its way onto your face, though you managed to hide it well enough.

Soon you’re on the road again, en route to the second meeting. You aren’t too surprised that Shouta already has two scheduled meetings back-to-back after the gala, he is a busy man after all.

The venue is another restaurant, this one not quite as high-end but just as beautiful, the entire massive building shaped like a circle and a koi pond around the perimeter. A bridge is all that connects the sidewalk with the building. You and Shouta are guided through by a host, and out a back door where another bridge connects to a separate island in the extended pond, the structure enclosed with sheer beige curtains.

Again, conversation abruptly stops when you enter. You’ll have to get used to it, you suppose. You sit, and the meeting begins. The subject is mostly territory disputes, bargaining for territory extensions or swaps with the others, all of them trying to work out strategies that benefit not only themselves but other clans as well. You keep silent throughout, listening carefully and learning, taking information and analyzing it. There must be someone Shouta doesn’t like in the meeting, because when the most important details are worked through, he excuses himself to the restroom once again.

You wonder, briefly, why he’d choose to play the same trick a second time in a row. If he does it too often his plan would become transparent, though one could argue not doing it enough would be just as easy to read. You don’t know how often he excuses himself from these meetings, so you decide to leave it in his hands.

Fortunately for you, it would seem no man here is willing to speak about your presence. It’s been almost ten minutes and none of them has said a word to or about you, choosing instead to discuss territories a bit further. Though you were beginning to question why Shouta hadn’t yet returned. Surely one would get suspicious, and one did, glancing toward the main building. It was then you all shifted your attention to Shouta, who stood at the opposite end of the bridge speaking into his phone. So that’s why he’s taking so long.

And unfortunately, that meant these men were relatively safe.

“So what’s the woman doing here?” It was barely a whisper, but you could hear it even over the sounds of the pond. A glance up shows the blonde to your right had leaned over to the man next to him. He’s much younger than the man from yesterday, maybe in his mid-late twenties, his hair clearly not natural. The one he’d whispered to flicked his gaze up, catching your own, and shouldered the blonde who subsequently looked to you. He cracks a cheeky smile, a poor attempt to cover himself really.

“Ah, Onna-oyabun, it’s good to finally see the Black Dragon’s wife-to-be.” It would seem news travels fast, and the blonde is much less bold than the older man. You crack your own smile, a sickly sweet show of teeth that hid a venomous bite.

“The woman has a name. Please, do not be afraid to use it in discussion. And I will tell you exactly what I told the previous oyabun who questioned my presence. I am here because Shouta wants me to be.” His smile doesn’t falter, but his eye visibly twitches at your response. It’s almost amusing to see his composure slip. It’s less amusing when he glances back to where Shouta is still on the phone.

“With all due respect I’m not afraid, I simply do not feel the need. And my question was not directed at you, but at my associate here.” He loops an arm over the shoulder of the man he’d asked, the dark-haired man wide-eyed and nervous. You aren’t sure how to answer his quip without rising tension, but Shouta made it clear you’re to be commanding a room just as he does, so you choose to strike a nerve and stir the pot. For added effect you let your face drop into a deadpan, tilt your chin up just a hair and glare.

“Most would feel it necessary to use a person’s name or title when discussing anything regarding them, especially in their presence. Therefore I can’t help but feel you may not have any respect for me when you clearly should.” You could see the muscles in his jaw clench as he ground his teeth, his nostrils flaring with his anger. You nearly let a smile crawl onto your face at the satisfaction of knowing you’d angered an asshole like him with only your words.

“Maybe I don’t respect you. What are you going to do about it?” The man still under his arm stiffens, a hand slapping the blonde’s chest, his eyes locked on the entrance to the room. Shouta stands there, but the blonde seems to either not notice or not care. You aren’t given time to answer his rhetorical question.

“Nothing. You can’t do a thing about it, because you hold no power over me.” He’s elbowed this time, the dark-haired man trying harder to get the blonde’s attention off of you and onto the man he should be fearing right about now. To be fair, Shouta stands almost behind the blonde, who sits to your right, so it isn’t hard to believe he doesn’t see him. You just let him dig his own grave.

“And you hold no power over me because you’re a woman. A woman out of her place and on the wrong side of business, let alone holding a rank much lower than mine.” The man beneath the blonde’s arm had given up, choosing to bow his head down and stay silent. It’s Shouta who speaks next.

“I believe it’s you who holds a much lower rank than her.” The blonde’s face goes pale, his shit-eating grin dropping faster than a sinking stone.

“In case you hadn’t heard the news yet I’ve assigned her a title, and I expect you to use it. She may have asked you to use her name, but you should address her as Onna-oyabun any time she is brought up in discussion, regardless of whether or not either of us are present.” He strides up behind you and places a hand on your bare shoulder, just like yesterday. You can’t help but feel his positioning is on purpose, physically placing you in front of him.

“Are you ready to go, little one?” You nod, rising from your seat and taking a small bow signaling your leave. Shouta lets a hand rest on your lower back, guiding you out, but you overhear the same blonde whisper under his breath. You’re definitely not meant to hear it.

“The Dragon can’t always be around to save you, brat.” You both freeze in your tracks, Shouta’s eyes wide and nostrils flaring with anger. Before he can turn to react you lean in and whisper in his ear.

“My turn.” He raises an eyebrow at you, then nods, crossing his amrs and leaning against the beam at the entrance. You pivot, pinning the blonde in place with a glare. If looks could kill, he’d be in a casket. Slowly, you begin a steady pace around the table.

“I do not rely on Shouta to help me in these situations. In fact, I could just as easily take a piece of your tongue myself.” You’re on the opposite side of the table now, still taking long, slow strides and glaring down at the man.

“But it is so glaringly obvious that you lack the same level of intelligence I hold, and therefore I would feel guilty to rob you of a muscle that you clearly haven’t learned to use properly,” you stop, standing stock still behind the blonde, “However.” In one swift movement your dagger is stuck in the wooden table directly in front of the blonde, your manicured fingers curled around the handle delicately.

“Should I hear another demeaning or degrading word out of your mouth, I will not hesitate to stain my fingers with your blood.” He doesn’t seem to be reacting at all, whether he’s afraid or not you can’t tell, but you don’t let that affect your performance. You lean in, your lips nearly grazing the shell of his ear.

“You probably wouldn’t even get to taste my blade, but I don’t mind taking my time if you want to savor the tang of steel.” You yank the blade from the wood and sheath it, straightening your posture.

“Had Shouta chosen another woman for his wife you may have been able to actually hurt her feelings with your childish words.” You turn, striding back to where Shouta holds his hand for you to take.

“Unluckily for you, I’m just as volatile as my other half. Be grateful that either of us are merciful. You get to keep your tongue. For now.” It’s cathartic, letting out your anger like that. It’s unlikely that the threat will get you any sort of respect, but fear works just as well in your favor. Respect is something hard to find and even harder earned as a woman in a man’s world, but fear works better against an enemy that dreads change. You can’t help but smirk as you walk away from the chaos you left behind, and as you glance up you see the faintest smirk worming its way onto Shouta’s face.

____

His chest swells with something akin to pride as he waltzes away from the restaurant. He was wrong to assume you were averse to violence, had taken your level-headedness and cool temperament to mean you are not a violent individual. To assume you were either incapable of violence or unable to handle the intensity was obviously a mistake on his part. Watching the blonde freeze up and pale under your hard gaze was extremely satisfying, and he had to admit seeing such controlled rage and sharp words pour from you was enjoyable and, among other things, wildly attractive.

Shouta thinks he should let you handle these situations more often, let you have your fun, maybe even plot to have you purposely go just a little too far and have him reel you back in. Maybe then people may start to understand that you aren’t to be treated lightly, you aren’t just a means to an end, just a glorified housewife. No, you’re much more than that and if it takes bloodied words and bloodier actions to get it through some thick skulls, well, he’s sure you know he’s willing to go there and farther.

But for now, he’d settle with the occasional threat of taking a body part.

____

Once again you stare out at the stars, thinking about the day’s events. You’re almost bouncing on your feet, adrenaline still flowing through your veins. You feel light now, knowing you can take control of an escalating situation. Whether or not you can do it all on your own isn’t a real question. Of course you could do it without Shouta present. His existence alone is enough to ward off any violence directed at you. But it’s your own actions that determine how people will perceive you.

You let Shouta control the first meeting incident, mostly because you had no clue what was going on and no information to work from. Now that you know Shouta is listening and that there’s a purpose behind his absence, you can use it to your advantage and weed out the worst of the bad apples. With that information, and confidence that Shouta will not reprimand you--but will in fact support you--for getting mouthy with said bad apples, you could let loose some of the rage that made your blood boil. It’s freeing, taking entitled men off their precious pedestals and knocking them down a bit.

Shouta wraps his arms around you for the third time, burying his face in your neck and breathing in your scent. He kisses you lightly, feather light presses of his lips against your skin. It really does feel good, being so close to someone.

“I thought this wasn’t becoming a habit.” You sigh and lean into him.

“I’m not quite tired. Honestly I’m thinking about today. I’m still on an adrenaline high just replaying it in my head, the thrill, being able to finally get a word in.” He chuckles, squeezing you a bit tighter to him.

“I’m going to assume you’d never really been allowed to do that sort of thing before.” You nod, a small smile curling your lips. Up until now you lacked any sort of standing or power, and the rush is amazing, for lack of better words. Shouta hums then nips at the shell of your ear, his voice sultry and deep.

“Well if you’re looking to burn energy I think I could help you with that.” Your breath hitches, not prepared for such a suggestion. For a second you believe it, believe he’s really suggesting what you think he is, but you can feel his hands moving and before you can react he’s digging his fingers into your sides, making you giggle uncontrollably.

He’s laughing with you, enjoying watching you try to squirm from his grasp. He releases you, and you run over to the bedroom and duck under the blanket in an attempt to hide, but he only laughs.

“You silly girl, now you’re trapped!” He finds your waist through the thick blanket and doesn’t relent until you’re gasping for air and crying for mercy. He stops, finally, and pulls the blanket off your head. Your face is flushed, your hair splayed wild over the sheets and your chest heaving for oxygen. For a moment his mind drifts to dirtier thoughts of a similar expression he’d like to see. He pushes those thoughts away as you beam up at him, your smile reminding him of sunshine. Rough fingers brush away the hair that had fallen over your face.

“Are you ready to try sleeping now, little one?” You lean your head into his hand, nuzzling your cheek into his palm. The way he’s gazing down at you now, you know you’d never felt so adored in your life.

“Let’s sleep.” He lies down and you get comfortable on top of him, resting your head in the crook of his neck and wrapping your leg around his waist. His arms lock around you, holding you in place and he kisses the top of your head.

#shouta aizawa x reader #shouta aizawa x fem reader #shouta aizawa bnha #shouta aizawa mha #shouta aizawa #aizawa shouta x reader #aizawa shouta x fem reader #aizawa shouta bnha #aizawa shouta mha #mafia au

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arvandus · 3 years

Note

Hi☺️ congratulations on the 500 followers! Please could I have number 27 with Shouto Todoroki and Fluffy ending?

Hope you have an amazing day!

Okay, so I SO APOLOGIZE for how late this is. Also, I've never written Shouto before and I was ✨nervous.✨ For some reason he's a hard one for me to pin down, but hopefully I'll get better with practice!

Anyway I hope you like this! It's got a little angst, but nothing heavy and definitely gets that fluffy ending. 🥰

Word Count: 2052

Pairing: Shouto Todoroki x GN!Reader

27. “I can’t think straight when I’m around you.”

You had thought that you’d enjoy working with Shouto Todoroki. Everything you’d ever heard about him was that he was calm, intelligent, and kind. And when you’d first started working at his father’s agency, those things were all true. He was always helpful, giving tips, answering questions, and offering to help with the paperwork that had quickly piled up. In fact, your first couple of months were made significantly easier by Shouto’s constant support and helped offset the sternness of his father who still ran the agency.

Everything had been going fine. More than fine, even. Shouto and you had become increasingly friendly, meeting up for your lunch breaks and pairing up for the patrol routes together. But something started to change. It was like a subtle shift in the air, a stillness between the two of you that wasn’t there before. You weren’t sure what started it.

Was it the time your fingers had brushed his when you’d handed him some paperwork? He’d frozen like a deer in headlights...

Or was it that one time during lunch where you offered part of your food and he’d turned it down with averted eyes and flushed cheeks? Maybe you’d offended him...

Or was it that time you’d just captured a particularly difficult villain and flashed him a glowing, excited smile as the public swarmed you for photos? Perhaps he thought you were gloating...

Whatever it was, you desperately wanted to undo it. Shouto began to pull away from you, a little bit at a time. His eye seemed to avoid yours more and his small, familiar smiles vanished. Gradually, he became less and less available. Wanted to meet up for lunch? Oh, he had a stack of paperwork to take care of. Offer to help him with said paperwork? Can’t do that, it’s “classified.” Meet up for drinks afterward? Couldn’t do that either; he had to get his rest for the next day. His answers and explanations were never mean; his still handled you with kindness. But there was a wall there suddenly that you couldn’t see past. He only let you see as much as he wanted you to see.

But the worst part was when he changed his daily patrol routes. Once again, he was kind about it, flushing slightly and avoiding your eyes as he explained that he had to pair up with a less experienced newbie who needed help in the field. It made sense, of course it did. Still, his response had left you unsatisfied. It felt incomplete, a half-truth meant to divert your attention from the real reason, whatever that was. You wanted to prod for more, to silently showcase the skepticism that you felt with a hard look. But you couldn’t bring yourself to. His reason was sound enough, and to accuse him of otherwise might make things worse. So, you bit your tongue and tried to let it go.

Tried, but failed. You missed him. You missed his smiles, your conversations... your days felt a little bit greyer, and a lot lonelier. You’d chalked it up to missing your friend – after all, you were still friends... right?

But one day you saw him on patrol with another hero, a smile on his face as he talked to them. They stood a little too close to him for your liking, the light in their eyes as they looked at him a little too bright. That part wasn’t surprising. It was pretty unanimous in the popularity polls that Shouto was a beautiful man. What did surprise was the sharp sting of jealousy that shot through you.

That was when you realized. You liked him.

The feelings had crept up on quiet feet, through a forest of gentle of smiles and the low rumble of laughter. Through shared lunches and bad jokes (some of which went over his head). In such a short time, he’d helped you grow as a hero and celebrated in your successes from the sidelines. He’d been there for you so much and so perfectly that no longer having him with you left you feeling empty.

You felt like such a fool.

Was that why he’d started to distance himself? Did he see it before you did and immediately make his decision before you were even aware of it? It was like you’d received the rejection before you’d ever even thought of the question. The entire situation felt backwards and upside down, leaving you feeling confused and embarrassed.

You wanted to run away from the entire situation, to transfer to another agency without a single word shared. But your heart wouldn’t let you. Not without answers. You deserved answers. There were still too many questions.

It was late in the evening, with most of they daytime staff gone and the nightshift heroes out on patrol. Shouto had just finished his shift and changed back into his civilian clothes when he came out into the hall from the locker rooms. You were there, leaning quietly against the wall as if you were waiting for someone, your presence taking him by surprise.

“Y/N!” he exclaimed as his eyes locked with yours. His unruly heart skipped at the sight of you.

Your eyes met his, a silent hurt swimming in their depths. That’s when he realized... the person you were waiting for was him.

“Hi...” you mumbled quietly. You broke eye contact and stared at the floor. “Um... could I talk to you for a minute?”

Shouto stared at you for a moment, taking in your averted eyes and hunched shoulders, and his chest tightened. You looked... sad. Upset, even. Your smile that had given him butterflies before was gone now, and your body language screamed of hurt even as you tried to hide it from him with arms crossed over your chest. There was no doubt that he was the cause of it, that he was seeing this part of you because you were in his presence. He knew he’d grown distant from you, a panicked decision that he’d committed himself to because he didn’t know what else to do.

But looking at you now, he hated it and he hated himself. He did this; he made you feel this way. Shouto inwardly cursed his own cowardice. You had every right to be hurt, and you had every right to be mad at him.

He had to make this right.

“Yeah.” He finally replied with a sigh.

Shouto joined you against the wall with his hands shoved into his pockets, his arm a few inches from yours. He joined you in staring at the floor, his eyes focusing on a piece of dried gum stuck to the tile.

“Did I do something wrong?” you asked finally, your voice tight.

Shouto’s eyes snapped up to look at you in shock. That wasn’t the question he’d thought you were going to ask. Why would you assume that you’re the one who did something wrong??

“What?” he asked, stunned.

“I just... we used to work together a lot, and talk, and go on lunches... and I thought we were becoming really good friends, you know? But then it just... stopped. You got busy, and then you stopped working with me, and... I can’t help but feel like there’s a reason for it all.” Your eyes finally met his just and he could see the tears being held back by the curve of your lashes. “Did I... do something to make you uncomfortable?”

You words were like a punch to the gut. Make him uncomfortable? If anything, he made himself uncomfortable when he began to realize what the pounding in his heart meant every time he was with you. Every time you smiled, or touched him...

“No.” he replied emphatically. The emotion in his tone took you by surprise and he softened his voice as he returned his eyes to the floor. “No. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

Your face scrunched up in confusion. “Then why-”

“I can’t think straight when I’m around you.” He blurted out.

The two of you froze, him staring at the floor as his face turned bright red and you staring at him, watching it happen.

“...what?” you finally whispered, your pulse racing.

Shouto averted his face from your wide eyes in shame. “I... I can’t think straight when I’m around you.” He repeated.

Your mind felt numb as the words tried to sink in. But it was a struggle; Shouto’s words didn’t fit at all what you’d concocted in your head. It was like trying to fit a round block into a square hole.

You cleared your throat. “What do you mean?”

“I mean...” Shouto took a shaky breath before returning his gaze to the floor in front of him, still unable to look at you, “something happened, and I just... whenever I was around you, I couldn’t focus. On anything. Not on my job. Not on my paperwork. Not on my food...”

“Wha... why not?” you asked, your mind still reeling as hurt slowly gave way to the weightless sensation of hope.

Shouto finally looked at you through his soft bangs, his bicolored eyes locking with yours for the first time in weeks. “Because...” he replied. “All I could think about was you.”

It was as if someone had pulled you out of freezing, murky water. You gasped for air, the weight of your worries evaporating off of your skin under the sunshine of his confession.

“Me??” you breathed.

Shouto looked back at the floor again, the shame still in his eyes. “Silly, huh? So unprofessional of me. I figured... I didn’t...” he took a breath and tried again. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.” A slight grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “And I needed to be able to focus on my job. But...” – he looked back at you – “really... more than anything, I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”

“I’m not...”

Shouto’s eyes finally met yours, wide with surprise. “What?”

A small smile blossomed on your lips. “I’m not uncomfortable.” You replied softly.

A warmth spread through his veins. “You’re not?”

You shook your head as you bit your lower lip with barely contained happiness. Shouto’s eyes glanced down at the action as his arm gently found its way around your waist of its own volition. Your body felt warm beneath his touch, and it sent goosebumps across his skin in excitement.

“You sure?” he whispered, as he stared into your eyes. His other hand came up to gently brush the old tears from your lashes with his thumb.

You began to lean into him and nodded. “I’m sure. Really sure.”

“Well, that’s a relief.” He whispered with a small smile. His hold guided you closer, closing the small distance left between you.

Your lips finally met, warm and gentle as Shouto pulled you flush against him. You could feel it – that painful knot that you’d been caring in your chest began to unfurl with the gentleness of rose petals. It softened everything – your mind, your heart, your kiss, your touch. It made a bed of warmth to nestle into, a special, secret place that was only big enough for two. Your arms wound their way around Shouto’s neck as a happy hum found its way to the back of your throat.

Your kiss was cut short by the sound a familiar, angry voice.

“GET A FUCKIN’ ROOM, YOU TWO!! DON’T DO THAT SHIT IN THE HALLWAY!!”

You quickly pulled away from Shouto, your body hot with embarrassment to see Bakugou standing there, his face red with anger. Deku was with him of course, his face red as well, but more for embarrassment.

You self-consciously rubbed your lips together bashfully. “Um... sorry.” You mumbled.

“Y/N! Uhh...” Midoriya scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “Congrats?”

You stifled a chuckled. “Thanks, Midoriya.”

Bakugou huffed in disgust and went into the locker rooms, dragging a blushing Midoriya after him. “Don’t stare, ya fuckin’ weirdo...”

After they were gone, you turned and looked back at Shouto with a chuckle. “Well, we’re never gonna hear the end of that, are we?”

He gave a small smile. “Probably not.” His thumb traced along your cheekbone, gentle and cool as he admired you, and you shivered beneath his gaze. “Worth it though...” he smirked.

#Arv's 500 Followers Event #shouto x reader #shouto x y/n #shouto x you #Shouto #Shouto todoroki #fluff #sfw #bnha #mha

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awanderingdeal · 3 years

Note

hi! I hope you’re having a great day! I really like how you write the cubs dynamic and I wanted to ask if you could write some fluffy o’knutzy smut?

Hi! I had a lovely day. I hope you have too!

Thank you so much for your kind words :D

A rare turn of events, I was struggling to write the smut for this so its basically two thousand words of Leo simping for his boys (and food). I hope you enjoy it anyway!

CW: Food (oh so much food) and Sex.

Rating: M

Leo, Logan and Finn are original characters created by the lovely @lumosinlove. I love these boys and you should too. Go check out her writing to see more of them!

"Je vouidrais duex baguettes, sil vous plait," Finn asked, showing the vendor two fingers. The words were stilted and barely comprehensible, but even from a short distance away Leo could see the pride spilling off of him. The vendor gestured to the array of breads in front of her. Leo saw her mouth moving, but he couldn't quite make out what she was saying. Whatever it was made Finn's eyes widen in panic.

Leo watched Logan place a reassuring hand in the small of Finn's back. It was pleasant to not be so on guard all the time. They hadn't abandoned caution completely, but at least there was some element of anonymity here. Preoccupied with the small gesture, Leo missed whatever interaction had happened. It seemed any falter in communication had been repaired now, Finn handing over the required euros with a beaming smile.

"Merci! Bonne journée," Finn's grin stayed in place as he slipped the two baguettes in a cloth bag and he clutched his hard earned purchases to his chest.

The vendor shared a laugh with Logan. Leo noted that she looked younger than the other stall-holders, barely older than himself, and the smile appeared to slice another few years off. He couldn't help but imagine himself in her position. Not here, but in New Orleans. An array of freshly caught seafood on offer: crab and lobsters and oysters. Another life. Maybe better. Maybe worse. Definitely different.

He shook himself out of the thought, looking up to see Finn and Logan heading towards him. Logan threw his hand up in a wave, despite the fact, they had been apart for less than ten minutes. His skin had tanned, a few shades darker than normal, his hair grown out long enough that it was beginning to curl. Leo knew he would cut it soon; Logan hated the feel of it brushing the name of his neck, but he'd enjoy it while it lasted.

"Hey," Leo asked once they were nearer, "How'd it go?"

"Fish continues to bastardise the French language, but I'll forgive him because he's hot," Logan shrugged.

"No fucking baguettes for you," Finn huffed.

"I was joking, of course," Logan bumped his shoulder against Finn's. "We'll get you fluent yet."

"I want your French in France accent. It's sexier than your French in Canada accent."

"Excusez-moi! My accent is always sexy."

Leo let the two of them banter, listening on with an easy smile. He tugged the second of the traditional market baskets from Logan's hand, their acquisitions making it much weightier than when Leo had last had hold of it, and inclined his head in the direction of the Tremblay's townhouse.

"Yeah, let's go home," Logan agreed.

Leo led the way back, the route familiar after a week of being here. Finn and Logan occasionally drew him into their playful argument for his opinion, but mostly he just replayed the day in his head.

After a breakfast of fresh croissants and coffee, the three of them had ventured down to the beach. Leo didn't want to objectify his boyfriends, but a topless, sweaty Finn and Logan playing volleyball had definitely been a highlight of the morning. Having worked up an appetite, Logan showed them a tiny restaurant nestled into the houses on a side street. Mr. Ollivander, with his white hair and shaking hands, served them an absolutely sublime lunch of ratatouille and grilled tuna. Mopping up the last of his sauce with a hunk of bread, Leo had attempted to charm his way into getting the recipe but alas, the old man was immune. He had, however, recommended the market stall which sold the quiche currently weighing down Leo's basket, so he couldn't be too begrudging. Even though they hadn't made plans for evening yet, Leo was sure whatever happened it would be the icing on top of the metaphorical cake.

The walk back was short, no more than ten minutes. With the markets to the west, and the beach an equal distance away in the opposite direction, the house's location was ideal. However, it was built into the cliffs, and hauling groceries up the cascade of steps in the heat always left Leo hot and clammy. Finn didn't seem to mind; as soon as the door clicked shut behind them, he abandoned the baguettes to the sideboard and draped himself over Leo's back.

"I missed you."

Leo laughed, spinning around so they were face to face, Finn's arms wrapped around him. "I've been with you all day."

"Yeah, but he hasn't been able to do this." Logan drew up onto his tip-toes, and pressed a kiss to the corner of Leo's mouth. Logan seemed to give off a lighter air here in Nice, or perhaps it was the two bottles of wine they'd shared over lunch.

"Hey! Stealing my kisses," Finn protested, furrowing his brow into a mock frown and pressing his lips to the same spot as Logan.

"Alright, alright," Leo laughed. "No need to fight boys, there is plenty of me to go around." He rested his forehead against Finn's, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Finn smelt like the gingerbread syrup he used in his coffee, no matter what time of year it was, and Leo didn't want to let him go. The basket was beginning to feel heavy by his side though. "First I need you to let me put this thing down before my arm falls off."

Finn grumbled, but after another quick kiss he reluctantly let Leo pull away.

***

Leo was ushered from the small kitchen, Finn and Logan insistent on putting the shopping away for once.

Alone in the living room, Leo took the opportunity to look around again. It seemed that no matter how much he snooped he still found himself discovering new things. The bookcase, a grand antique, was an endless source of treasures. There were dog eared comics, a yellow sun hat that was probably small enough to fit Katie Dumais, and a wristband from the local aquarium, faded with age. They were just ordinary objects, left behind over years of vacations, but each one gave Leo an additional piece to the Tremblay family puzzle.

A mismatch of frames dominated the shelves. Leo browsed, his fingers settling on one that was slightly out of focus. A baby Logan was red faced, squirming in his sister Aubrey's arms, their mother reaching out to take him. Someone had penned the words 'The reality of it" underneath in an elegantly scripted hand.

Aubrey had her own child now, a daughter named Cordelia. She and baby Logan looked remarkably similar.

"Peanut!"

Leo jolted, almost knocking over the entire shelf.

"Sorry," Finn apologised, nudging Leo's shoulder gently. "I called you a few times. What's got you all up the stars, huh?"

Leo glanced at Finn, a smirk lifting the corner of his mouth. "Just thinking of Lo in uncle mode." He swore Finn's eyes dilated as he splayed the back of his hand across his forehead, pretending to swoon.

"Yeah, okay. I'll give you that one," Finn laughed.

"Don't you know it's rude to talk about people behind their back."

Logan's voice took Leo by surprise again, but his reaction was somewhat more restrained this time. "Are you two trying to give me a heart attack today?"

"I can think of more fun ways to get your heart rate up," Logan said, his tone a little cheeky as he sidled up behind Leo, pushing his hands under the hem of his shirt. His thumbs massaged slow circles into Leo's skin and he pressed a kiss to the back of his neck. Leo gave a low moan, leaning back into the ministrations.

"Is this what you want to do with your evening?" Leo chuckled, although he wasn't doing much to dissuade Logan's actions.

Finn made a show of checking his watch. "Seems like a perfect time to go to bed."

"It's 4pm," Leo quipped.

"You wanted to rollerblade along the promenade tomorrow, right? I read that it was like 4 miles each way. We'll need all the rest we can get."

Rest. Leo rolled his eyes, his smile betraying his amusement. "You can just ask if you want to have sex."

"We were trying to be romantic," Logan said, his words muffled against Leo's back.

"Oh, my bad," Leo drawled, straightening up a little. Logan, ever the limpet, moved with him. "I'm ready to be romanced now."

"You're the worst," Finn laughed, the unrestrained joy was one of Leo's favourite sounds. "Leonardo Knuttius, if you would do us the honour of allowing us to rock your world, we would very much appreciate it."

Logan snorted, his grip loosening on Leo's hips. "What he said."

Leo blinked a few times, unable to think of words suitable enough to respond to the absurdity that had just left Finn's mouth. "I'll pretend you didn't say that," he pursed him lips, allowing himself to be tugged in the direction of the bedroom.

***

Leo whined, low in the back of throat as Finn sank into him. He tilted his head back, hands grasping at Finn to pull him into a kiss.

Logan panted, pushing back against Leo. "Fuck me."

"Always so impatient," Leo chuckled. He meant to tease Logan a little longer, but Finn fucked into him and Leo knew Logan could feel every bit of it.

The three of them were adventurous, they enjoyed experimenting with different positions. Sometimes the results were spectacular. Sometimes they ended up laughing too much to get anywhere. But, this, Finn fucking into him, whilst he fucked Logan. It would always hold a special place in Leo's heart. They were smoother now. Logan could hold off his orgasm better now - if he wanted to. But it would always be reminiscent of that first time together.

They rocked together, grasping at every spot of skin they could. A roll of Finn's hips. The squeeze of Logan's ass. Finn finished last as always, spilling down Leo's throat. Logan kissed him afterwards, his tongue seeking out Finn's taste. They lay together, chests heaving until one of their stomach rumbled. They all denied it, but each of them admitted to being able to eat something.

***

It felt a bit like of an injustice to the quiche to be eating it like this, all sweaty and riding the high of their orgasms. Or perhaps, this was exactly how the cook wanted it to be experienced; woven into love.

"Stop it, you're going to get crumbs on the bed," Leo reprimanded Finn who was leaning across him, a slice of the tart balancing precariously in his hand.

"I won't, it'll be cute," Finn argued. He smushed the quiche into Logan's mouth, less romantic, and more reminiscent of a cake smash. Inevitably, the pastry flaked all over the sheets. Finn glanced at the mess, then looked up at Leo, smiling impishly, "I'll clean that up, I promise."

Leo felt warmth. A different kind of warmth to that of the sun beating down on him. This one seemed to radiate from the inside outward. It was the kind that occurred when you knew that your boyfriends were idiots. And that still, you loved them very, very much.

#logan tremblay #finn o'hara #leo knut #sweater weather #lumosinlove #rating:m #cw:food #cw: sex #18+

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msfcatlover · 3 years

Note

Can you give the bullet points for that Hollow Knight Ludonarrative dissonance essay so us who played the game can fill in the gaps?

Sure thing!

First and foremost, I know many people are familiar with the term “ludonarrative dissonance,” which is when the mechanics of a game run counter to the themes and sometimes the plot of the story being told. On the opposite end of the spectrum, and far more rarely talked about, is “ludonarrative harmony,” which is when the mechanics of a game support the story being told or even tell a supportive story of their own!

I am very firm in my belief that in a quarter of a century playing video games, Hollow Knight has the best ludonarrative harmony of any game I’ve played.

Here’s my primary example: the condemnation of the Pale King’s actions, and how it ties into the original possible endings of the game.

The Pale King’s failure is the great final tragedy of Hallownest. He saw the end coming, knew he could not defeat the Radiance again, and did not want his people to suffer. He determined he needed a being of pure Void to contain the Radiance, but believed that any emotion would lead to a flawed prison. So, he created the Vessels by the hundreds, letting them struggle to the top of the Abyss, and cast each one of them back down into the depths for the “flaw” of being children with actual emotions. We don’t know how he determined this, but when he finally found one that seemed properly emotionless, “truly hollow,” he took that child and sealed the gate behind them, locking the player character (henceforth referred to as “Ghost” in this first draft ramble-essay,) and who-knows-how-many-other Vessels to fend for themselves in the depths.

You already know this. And you already know that child was not given a name (though I will be referring to them by the fandom nickname “Hollow” from here on out,) was purposefully neglected, taught only training and their purpose for existing in the hopes it would keep emotions and desires from taking root. But Hollow did have desires; specifically, Hollow just wanted their dad to be proud of them. When Hollow sacrificed their mind to hold the Radiance and was imprisoned in the Black Egg, after the Dreamers gave their own minds to keep it sealed, the prison was faulty. An unspecified amount of time later, the Radiance’s influence was able to leak out in the form of the Infection, and the kingdom of Hallownest was destroyed.

(The Pale King often gets pilloried by the fandom for “letting” that happen by showing any level of caring for the child. This is the wrong conclusion.)

The game begins with us playing Ghost, having at some point escaped from the Abyss and (seemingly) having lost their memories in the wilds outside the kingdom. It is as Ghost that we track down the Dreamers and slay them, opening the Egg to face Hollow and put an end to the plague, though how exactly that happens and what the outcome is depends on your choices throughout the game.

As a fellow Vessel, you can take Hollow’s place. When Hollow is slain, Ghost absorbs the Radiance and the Egg reseals itself.

Using the power of the Dreamnail, you can enter Hollow’s mind and fight the Radiance directly, driving her back into hiding for the foreseeable future.

If you have the Voidheart charm equipped and choose to fight the Radiance, you become a “higher being” yourself and are able to slay her for good. The kingdom is free of the plague, and Hollow even survives and has another chance at life. (This one is, by the way, known as the “True Ending.”)

And here we finally reach my argument, and I can stop regurgitating old information. Because these endings and what you need to achieve them is what finally solidifies just how wrong the Pale King was. Wronger than he ever knew.

He must have thought the Vessels less than people, or he would not have been willing to kill so many. But he would not have rejected so many of them if the Vessels weren’t inherently feeling, thinking creatures like any other bug in the kingdom — none of them were “truly hollow.” Children, left to die in the dark by the hundreds. The greatest sin he ever committed.

We know he did, on some level, care about Hollow, but still chose to neglect them in hopes of stunting their emotional growth. That he believed the sacrifice of one Vessel and three of his most respected advisors (give or take Herrah, who’s whole deal with him is kinda... weird,) to eternal imprisonments was better than letting the whole kingdom fall to the Radiance’s vengeance. That the ends justify the means. It’s his last thought, still echoing in his corpse when we find him on his throne: “...No cost too great...”

But the ends don’t justify the means, and I don’t just mean because the plan failed. I mean because it was inherently flawed in its initial premise, the very assumption he built it on: that “being hollow” was the solution to the problem.

A truly hollow Vessel would not care one whit about the mission or anything else. If Ghost were hollow, there would not be a game; they would wander aimlessly, not speaking or interacting with anyone, until they finally died.

If you play Ghost as being hollow, or as close to it as you can, you’ll be ignoring all NPCs. You’ll not be buying any upgrades or equipment. You’ll not be wandering far from the central path. Why would you? A hollow Vessel should care only for their mission, find the shortest route to enter the Black Egg, slay Hollow, and be done with it. Not only does this make life much harder for you, it nets you the worst ending. The Pale King’s trap just resets, now with the Dreamers dead so none can ever try to fix the problem again, and it will fail eventually, because Ghost isn’t hollow. The very fact there is a plot to follow, a goal to achieve, means that Ghost has goals they are willing to suffer hardships to reach. Frustration, determination, and pride in success have to be assumed, complimented by the fact those are all the emotions the player will feel on this particular run.

If you want to face the Radiance, you have to upgrade the Dreamnail, and you’re not told that will be the end result when you first receive it. You have to be ambitious and stubborn, at the very least, to pursue that goal blind, or you have to really want to know what the Sage will give you as a reward. You have to experiment, going back to bosses you’ve already beaten to fight their dream versions and put them to rest, track down the hidden dream roots and clamber all over the map to solve their puzzles. For the second ending, Ghost has to have goals outside of their main mission, has to think through the concept of deaths enough to make the connection between the ghosts and the bosses, and repeatedly return to speak to the Sage for the upgrades. They have to be curious enough to even use the Dreamnail in the first place, and like it enough to want to improve it.

And how do you get the best ending? The true ending? Slay the Radiance, defeat it for good, save the kingdom of Hallownest?

You explore. You wander off the main path, root out secrets and shortcuts and answers. You need to talk to multiple NPCs, and not just speed through their dialogue to get your reward but actually think about it and remember who’s connected to whom. You meet the White Lady in the Queen’s Garden and travel down into the Abyss, both areas you never need to go to and which no one will even tell you about before you’ve been there. You throw yourself against the Path of Pain again, and again, and again, and again, with no promise of reward, just to see what’s on the other side.

To truly defeat the Radiance, you have to play Ghost as being curious, distractible, attentive, and caring. They cannot be isolated and they cannot be ignorant. And if you care enough to end up with the Voidheart, you probably talked to everyone, helped them complete their quests, tried different charm combinations and ran around the map just to see how people reacted. You probably wanted to know the secrets of Hallownest, and refused to let insurmountable odds turn you away.

In the true ending, Ghost actually has a pretty strong personality, told purely through mechanics.

Story and gameplay.

The Pale King was wrong. We’re told that, asked to look upon his actions and despair that anyone could be driven to such lengths... made worse by the fact his theory was flawed in its very foundations. Being hollow was never the answer; a hollow Vessel was always going to fail. The cost was too great, and all the awful things he did to try and stop the Radiance... it was all for nothing.

Harmony.

It’s just... it’s heartbreaking, and absolutely beautiful.

And every time I see people say Ghost can defeat the Radiance because “they’re the one who’s really hollow,” I want to rip my hair out, like how the fuck can people just IGNORE the SMOOTHEST INTEGRATION OF STORYTELLING AND GAMEPLAY I’ve ever seen in my LIFE, one of the HARDEST PARTS OF GAME DEVELOPMENT that someone probably spent months getting down to such a truly astounding finish, and somehow reach the conclusion the guy whose fuckups lead to the deaths of hundreds of children, intentional child abuse, and the downfall of his kingdom was RIGHT?!

#hollow knight #hollow knight meta #hk meta #the pale king #hallownest #games #my life #mine

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.36 - End

A Chance Meeting

08/08/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 10,158

Warnings: language, angst, fluff, creepy dudes

A/N: The end. 😭 I hope you’ve enjoyed it. If you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please DO NOT repost my stories on any other sites or blogs. REBLOGS are always welcome.

*pictures relay only style of clothing and not physical appearance/race

Silken sheets that are cool to the touch. A roaring fire. The heartbreaking smell of peony blossoms.

A wooden bucket—your wooden bucket—full of ice-cold water.

A chill warmed by a feverish heat wrapped around your back.

All of these thoughts-no. They’re more like memories.

All of them have come to you over the course of a year.

They grow more elusive as they come.

Before you thought you could almost see a garden with an ocean of pink peonies in varying shades of blush to wine.

Now, after months of having these strange visions, they have become condensed into single colors at random. The most frequent is a shade of gold. A circle of blue.

You think these memories might be important but you cannot grasp onto them long enough to make any sense of them.

There’s also the fact that you know they cannot possibly be memories.

You have never seen a garden of peonies.

You’ve had plenty of chill in your life but a warmth like the one you’d recalled at the beginning of the year when the winter cold had been at its worst is as unfamiliar to you as the looming manor on the hill above the village.

With a small groan, you stop and set the bucket down. Your arms are strong enough to carry it but after so harsh a winter, you’d be a fool not to take care.

You’d only just managed to make it out alive after devoting so much time to your little one.

You suppose the golden hue you keep remembering is similar to your baby’s hair. Just a shade or two off. Just as beautiful.

The estate sits looming at the peak of a hill that sits almost a mile away from the village.

The manor itself, you can see, has been expanded. It has the appearance of a small castle now with towers and battlements. The parapet walls that now surround the structure offer crenels to whatever guard the now small castle may need.

It had sat there abandoned for so long, the lord once given task to watch over it and Bright Rise as well as several other small villages in this part of the kingdom having left.t

With the primary building made of wood, the added masonry has really given the old place new life.

What magnificent furnishings must it have? Gilded and ornate probably. Chairs worth more than everything you own.

What type of person has taken residence there? Is it someone you’d know?

Someone beautiful probably. A handsome lord and his gorgeous lady. Both of them probably members of his Majesty King Anthony’s court.

Do they have children? A young little lord or lady running around causing mischief.

You find yourself smiling, made happy by the image you paint in your head.

It makes you only a little sad that you picture yourself there. Your baby in your arms. Your husband…

My husband?

Silly…You don’t have a husband.

But you yearn for something you very nearly miss. Something you know you should have. Something…precious.

“Hello there, little mouse.”

You gasp, startled out of your daydreams and turn on your heel in search of the horrible voice.

With a stuttering heart you spot Phin, standing with his grimy hands in his tattered pockets.

“What do you want?” You ask him, voice cold but wavering as you grow wary.

Already you’re searching with a quick glance for the nearest route of escape.

You hunch over, grabbing your bucket and attempt and fail to stifle your groan of effort.

Phin lunges forward, his hand thrown out towards you. It makes you flinch. You keep your eyes shut as you wait for the blow.

It never comes.

Slowly you peek, searching for Phin's extended hand and find it wrapped around the rope handle of your bucket.

“What are you doing?” You ask, confused and fearful. “Let go.”

“I can treat you right, little mouse. I can give you proper protection. I’ll even pretend that bastard brat of yours is mine.

“I’ve been patient. I may not be able to wait much longer.” His voice is like sludge, creeping down your spine raising chills of terror as it goes.

You yank on the handle, urging him to release it. You meet his gaze, matching his threat with your own angry stubbornness.

You will not give in to him. Not now. Not ever. Even with your little one…you can’t.

He keeps holding it, refusing to let go until you feel like you’d rather drop the water and come back for more later.

He drops the rope and you stumble back a step, not having realized how much you were actually pulling on the bucket.

Some water spills but you’re just thankful to be free of Phin and you rush away to be even further. A glance back when you’re close to your small home shows you Phin still standing where you left him.

He’s watching you.

You hate him.

Getting inside, you shut the rickety door tight, resting your forehead against the splintered wood as you wait for your heart to stop pounding.

From behind you a sudden “goo" chases the tension and fear from your body. Your shoulders relax.

With a smile tugging at the corners of your lips, you turn in search of the cooing source.

Nestled into a bed of hay, covered with a thick blanket of navy fabric, is your little one.

A hair of golden hair and eyes as blue as the deepest ocean have enraptured you. Stolen your heart and changed your world.

“Are you finally awake?” You gush, moving to place your bucket by the crumbling and unlit fireplace before you make your way to him.

His chubby little legs kick away his tunic. A plain brown piece of linen you’d stitched together to keep him clothed.

At six months, he’s nearly outgrown it.

When you offer your arms, he throws his weight to his left until he can roll onto his stomach and then reaches for pivots towards you.

Sliding your hands underneath his arms, he grabs you and you lift him up then place several kisses to his chubby baby cheeks.

He's gorgeous, your baby boy. His smile is sun bright and the gleam in his eyes is sharp and observant.

The expressions he wears on his little face are familiar. They pull and tug at something too but you can’t focus on it long enough to care.

Your boy is your world and that’s all you need to know.

“Is my sweet boy hungry?” You wonder while moving for the bucket of water you’d lugged into the hut.

You dip your hand in and for a moment relish in the feel of the water on your hand. A sudden desire to be submerged in steaming hot water that smells like a spring garden overcomes you, but it’s gone by the time you gently swipe across your little one's face.

He protests you cleaning his face. Whining a little and twisting in your arms until you’re done and wait with both arms supporting him for his sputtering to stop.

He looks at you and after taking another moment to overcome his displeasure, he smiles again.

You chuckle and move to grab the swaddling blanket you’ve set aside for his use alone and sit with it in your lap as you lean back a little to expose your breast to feed him.

A song you feel you almost dreamt slips from your lips in a soothing hum. With your eyes shut you can almost see a beautiful gown sweep around your feet.

Strong arms hold you close as they lead you around a crowded room.

The image is like a dream too, part of the song you’re humming. You’ve never been in so vast a hall, tables laden with food and the satin gown you wear is softer than any rag you’ve ever worn.

No. You’ve never been bathed in such luxury.

This hovel is your home with its mostly dirt floor, loose cobblestones shoved around in spots you’d set aside to keep dry.

No windows. A door that hangs off its hinges. A straw bed. A patched roof.

As your son feeds and you allow your mind to put away the dream of nice things, you assess the hut you’ve made your home.

You’re almost certain that you’d had it in better condition before. The door had hung straight, the rickety fireplace had been sturdy and homely.

The floor had been more even. Your straw bed had been less lumpy.

You’d had another small shelf with your plates and cups. Your sewing kit safely stored in the cupboard below.

Your home had not been grand but it had been comfortable. It had been yours and you’d cared for it delicately and made it a sanctuary.

When had it changed so much?

As you attempt to remember when this place fell apart your mind is forced to confront several other unanswered questions that you seem to think on often but always forget.

It’s almost as if the thoughts are pushed from your mind until they are brought to the surface once more.

The one question that started it all…the one that had made you pause. You still remember the miller’s wife, staring at you at the small grocer's shop while you waited to pay for your bushel of potatoes.

“Oi, orphan. How much longer ‘til you have the babe?” She'd asked, her eyes narrowed as she considered your swollen belly.

You'd stroked it, smiling fondly at the little life growing within you.

“A fortnight.” You’d answered, happy and content despite your poor living.

“Ah, and who's the father?” She'd asked, then waited as your smile slowly fell.

You’d stood there for a few minutes, waiting your turn but lost in thought at the question that had never once occurred to you in the seven months since your belly began to grow.

“I…I don’t know.” You’d admitted to her and her eyes filled with a solemn worry.

“Looks like they finally cornered you. Didn’t get a look at ‘is face?” She'd wondered and it was then that you realized what she thought.

Your precious baby, your little growing bean, was the product of one of the village men forcing himself on you.

But it wasn’t true!

As you sit with your son in your arms, rocking him back and forth as he eats, you know without a doubt in your mind that your son was made with love.

You can feel it within your very soul. There was passion and love and devotion in his making.

A golden aura, warm and encompassing that gave you your own little ray of sunshine. But even though you know this you cannot see his father.

There is no father. Only your Joseph.

He stirs in your arms. You find him smiling, finished with his meal. And just like that, your thoughts are lost to his special allure.

“All done?” You ask him and he yawns.

You begin to wrap him up in the blanket you’d made for him and bring a basket from the corner of your hut.

It’s a decent size with straps sewn into the wicker so that you may put it on your back.

You place it before you, balanced between your legs and gently lay Joseph within. You make certain he's wrapped up tight and kiss his cheek before you fit a domed lid on top.

The lid covers his head and keeps him safe from the summer heat.

“We'll check the traps and then come right back.” You promise him and lift the basket onto your shoulders, listening as he coos long baby words that say nothing.

It’s like he’s talking to you, the quiver of his voice moving up and down with inflection as if he knows what he’s doing.

He takes a breath and then starts again, “Oooh-awhhhh-wahhhhhh-ooooohhhhhhh…”

You can’t help but smile, your skin greeted by scorching sun as you start your trek into the trees behind your home.

“Let's check the traps by the pond first, then we'll check the bog by the road.” Joseph coos along with you.

~~~~~~~~~~

The view is spectacular.

It’s downright scenic from up here so high on the hill. Even if the beautiful valley is slightly tarnished by the village below.

It’s part of the reason he decided to keep the purchase.

Several months ago, Steve had found the deed to the manor on Sunbright Hill.

He'd sat for nearly an hour while he'd considered the paperwork, trying to remember why he’d made the purchase of such a dilapidated plot.

The lord that had once resided here had apparently vacated when he'd married a lady of considerable wealth but she preferred the Capital city to Bright Rise below so, they’d left and never come back.

Slowly the manor began to rot and the village, without its caretaker, had also fallen into poverty and corruption.

The farms were all but dead. Only two were still in use and had the season failed once in the past few years, the village would have surely fallen.

“Steve?” Bucky sighs, moving into the renovated den.

Steve stands by the large arched windows behind his massive oak desk.

The chair is angled towards the glass, distracted as he's been lately, he can’t seem to get any work done.

“Steve?” Bucky says louder.

Steve blinks, pulled from his brooding to notice his friend. He turns and waits, saying nothing.

“She's here.” Bucky smiles.

Steve’s heart gives an eager stutter as his own bearded face breaks into a wide smile.

“Where?” He asks, moving towards his oldest friend.

“She’s with Nat in the dining room. She was hungry.”

Steve is already out the door, stomping with wide steps down the hallway, then another and another, down a staircase then to the east side of the manor towards the dining room.

It’s a long room, a table long enough to sit at least forty people takes up most of the center space.

Each wall has been adorned with tapestries and paintings, an iron chandelier with sixty candles hangs at the center of the room, currently unlit.

Instead, windows on both sides of the room sit open, a cool breeze blowing in to cool the manor from the summer heat.

As Steve thrusts the doors open, he spots a grouping of his closest friends. Sam, Wanda, Pietro, Peter who is actually squatting beside the chair they are all surrounding, and Natasha in the one beside it.

In the chair is a cherub. An angel. A literal princess dressed in pale pink. Her golden hair, a shade darker than Steve’s is pinned back on one side with clasp of small and ornate white peony blossoms.

“Maggie!” Steve calls, the honey in his deep voice soft and flowing as his heart swells in his chest.

The toddler turns her head, searching aimlessly as his voice echoes around the room. Her right hand full of jelly and toast as she’d sat munching, she now opens and holds her fingers wide as she isn’t coordinated enough to recognize when the food has fallen from her tiny grasp.

Everyone is watching her, despite the presence of their King and Steve cannot blame them. Her eyes find him and she releases a high squeal of excitement before she turns in her seat to take hold of the arm.

“Wait, Maggie, your hands are a mess.” Nat says, her voice full of amusement.

But little Maggie has no patience for cleanliness with her papa so close.

“Papa!” She screams, turning to look at him as she stands on the chair.

Her lips wrap around the name with a slur, her talking improving but still just beginning.

Nat continues to wipe her hands as Steve laughs and moves for her, arms extended.

Maggie bounces on her feet excitedly. Her pink dress swishing with every move.

As he reaches her, she allows herself to fall into his arms and he catches her, spinning her once as he presses a long kiss to her cheek.

Maggie laughs, her hands wrapped around Steve’s head so tightly that Steve wonders if her strength is increasing or it’s just his imagination.

“She has been asking about you all week.” Nat says, rising and then turning to Bucky as he approaches her to give her a kiss.

“We'll give you some space.” Wanda offers then moves around the chair towards the exit.

Steve stops his turning to watch her go, Pietro following.

“Will you be going back to Broklin?” He wonders, wondering if the twins only came to escort Maggie.

“No. We'll visit with Tony.” Pietro nods, then both of them stop at the door and bow before heading off at what must be Pietro’s run.

“How was the journey?” Steve worries, turning his eyes on Nat.

“It was fine. She was a little fussy last night but as soon as I explained that we were coming to see her papa, she converted her energy to enthusiastic impatience.” Nat chuckles. “She really has been asking for you. ‘Papa where?’, ‘Where Papa?’, ‘Papa, Papa, Papa…’. It’s almost as if it’s the only word she knows.”

“She’s never been away from him for so long.” Bucky observes, both he and Nat watching as Maggie places her little hands on Steve’s cheeks, her fingers exploring the edges of his beard while Steve admires her little face.

“I’m sorry, my treasure. I just wanted to make sure the manor would be ready when you arrived.” He tells her.

She seems to understand as she tilts her head to one side and throws her hand up, bent at the elbow as she babbles a string of words only she understands.

“Do you forgive me?” Steve begs.

Maggie giggles sleepily then leans forward to lay her head on his shoulder.

Steve strokes her tiny back, caressing her hair a bit as her eyes begin to close.

“How long will you stay, Nat?” Steve asks, his voice dropping a bit in volume to respect his sleeping toddler.

“Long enough for you and Sam to go and come back. Bucky and Peter will help me with Maggie.” She nods, looking for her faithful friend and Knight.

She spots him in another seat, head in hand, elbow on the table as he dozes lightly.

“He's been doting on her.” Nat explains. “Too much, perhaps?”

Sam huffs a laugh as he crosses his arms across his hard chest, tugging on the crimson tunic he’d quickly dressed himself in this morning.

“He’ll be angry we went to visit Morgana without him.” Sam observes and Steve can’t find it in him to deny it.

The romance that had bloomed between them had seemed to come out of nowhere for him.

In the back of his mind when he’s been laying in bed with Maggie beside him, he can almost remember a conversation about their eventual marriage. When he brought it up to Nat—he was fairly certain the topic had been discussed with a woman—she admitted to the thought never even crossing her mind.

She’d praised the match and teased Peter afterwards, but it has left Steve with another unanswered question.

So many…so many strings that he’s tried to pull on only to find the way blocked.

Maggie coos in his arm, another bout of baby babble in her sleep that pulls him from his pondering.

“We’ll head out in a few hours.” He tells Sam who straightens up and nods. “I would like to go now, but I want to spend a bit of time with Maggie before I leave her again.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A few hours with Maggie turned into thirty minutes.

The longer Steve sat with her in his arms, the more eager he was for her to wake.

He’s missed her but knows that she’s tired so in an effort to get the visit over with and return to his smiling princess, he tucks her into her crib in his bedroom then hands her care over to Nat who sits by the window while Bucky sees them out.

“How long will you be, your Majesty?” Bucky wonders, keeping pace with Steve’s quick and long stride.

“Not long. I’ve only to invite him to the ball in two weeks and we’ll return. I’m certain we’ll be back before dinner.” Steve assures him. “I hear you and Natasha are considering adopting a child?”

Bucky smiles. “There is another option, one that Natasha is most eager to try but I think I’ve convinced her to reconsider.”

Steve regards his friend skeptically.

“Truly, I think I have. She met with a witch a few weeks ago and apparently there is a way for Natasha to regain her ability to have a child.” Bucky explains, his expression a little darker.

Steve’s confusion is evident in the narrow of his brow. Despite his curiosity, he keeps his eyes fixed ahead as they move along the south hall to the stables.

The fall of their shoes echoes along the empty corridor, still only half decorated as it was only finished a few days ago. Steve can still smell the fresh clay between the stones underneath their feet.

He’ll have carpets put in to quell the sound.

“Isn’t that what you both want?” He wonders.

Bucky shakes his head. “I want her to be happy. She thinks I want a child of my own. Naturally my own. But I don’t care if the child is mine by blood. I just want to love her.”

“Magic like that of which she speaks comes with a hefty price.”

“That’s why I refuse to accept it.” Bucky sighs, the worries of his world evident on his shoulders.

“The price is too high?” Steve wonders, finally looking to his friend.

“We would be granted the ability to have our own child, but the mother would have to relinquish years of her own life. Five is what the witch told her. So, if it were Nat’s fate to die at the age of sixty, five years would be taken from that and she would die that much sooner.” Bucky laments, shaking his head in denial. “I cannot condone it.”

Steve sees his friend thinking things through, biting his lip as he wonders if he should speak what has consumed his mind aloud.

He gives in, “I know that it’s her choice. If she should want to do it, I only have some say in it. If having a child truly born of us both is what would make her happy then I would have no choice but to comply, but I would rather adopt a child who we will both love as our own anyway and have my wife for five years longer.”

Steve’s heart gives a painful ache.

Something in Bucky’s words makes him sad and breaks his heart.

My wife…Steve repeats in his head, the memory of feeling proud at that very thought overtaking his senses.

“Is it Margaret again?” Bucky wonders, stopping as they reach the end of the hall. “You’ve got that look on your face again.”

Steve reaches up to stroke the spot on his chest where he can feel his heart beating. Every thump it gives sends more agony into the pit of his stomach making his head hurt.

Is it Margaret? Steve doesn’t think so.

The first time someone had asked him if it was Margaret he was mourning he admitted it was because it was easier than to tell his friends that no, it wasn’t his dead wife he was thinking of. In fact, he wasn’t sure who it was he was thinking of.

He shuts his eyes now, overcome with the sweet scent of oils. Lilac and juniper. Peonies. Fields of them. A garden full, just like back home.

A smile flitters past his sense. The image nearly chokes him. A laugh. A pout. A tear stained face made blurry as he can’t recall its beauty.

Maggie in womanly arms, pressed gently to her breast.

These elusive images that skim his mind are not Margaret. Everyone seems to ignore that Maggie is too young to be Margaret’s or perhaps they simply don’t care?

It’s almost a silent agreement that Maggie’s mother is not Margaret but who exactly she is, no one cares. No one will think on the possibility long enough for it to matter.

Even Steve loses focus after a few second of torment.

Even now, as his heart breaks painfully, Bucky puts his hand on his shoulder and gives him a shake.

Just like that, the images that pained him only moments ago are gone.

Steve smiles, breathing in deep before exhaling in a huff.

“I’ll be quick. I want to be back before it’s too dark.” With a nod from Bucky, Steve hastens his way into the stable.

Sam already has his horse saddled and waiting.

He hops on, adjusting his posture as he takes the reigns then turns to give Bucky one final wave.

“Keep my daughter happy until I return.” He orders.

Bucky waves them off and watches until they clear the large gate.

~~~~~~~~~~

Your hands are shaking with rage. Yet another night with nothing caught.

All of your snares are in fact, broken. A deliberate cut made to the wire you’d spent so much money on.

You think you know exactly who it was that came out to ruin your work. There’s only one person who would benefit from sabotaging your efforts to feed yourself and your boy.

The image of Phin standing across the field from your home, staring at you is burned into your mind.

If it weren’t for Joseph, you would happily starve before you accept Phin’s hand in marriage.

As it is, it isn’t only you. In order to feed your son, you must eat. With no one coming to you for mending—which you are also sure is thanks to Phin’s interference as it has only been happening the past few weeks—you have no money to buy anything. No grain. No bread. No meat.

If you do not eat, your son will starve.

You clutch the broken snare in your hand, squeezing so tight you can feel the wire dig into the palms of your hand.

Were they not so rough, you may have cut yourself.

You take a quick peek at the basket carefully nestled between the rough trunk of tree and large berry bush. Your little one still dozing peacefully and safely covered by the basket’s lid.

While he sleeps, you know you must be quick with the snares by the bog. It isn’t too far so you decide to let him sleep in the shade and make your way through the trees to the road’s edge.

It’s a very short walk. Should he cry you’ll hear him perfectly and be able to run back to him in less than ten seconds.

The sun beats down on the road here and the bog is nearly dried over from the heat of the summer sun.

Normally the mud within is a thick sticky paste that one can easily be caked in. You even remember fetching a purse for the old woman who used to care for you when you were little.

As you stop by its edge, you wonder where the old woman has gone. You attempt to recall the last time you’d seen her but the last memory you have is fetching her purse from the mud pit.

Forcing her from your mind, you look to the two snares you’d set up between two trees and right at the edge of the bog.

The one at the edge has also been cut. You kick it angrily before you move to the other and find that it has also been tampered with.

“Fuck!” You mutter, hating Phin with every fiber of your being.

You try to picture him beside you, laying claim over you as his wife. You think on the life you will live, trapped in your home, and expected to fulfill his every whim, wish, and desire. He will rule you with a heavy hand, command you to obey, and take what he wants from you with violence if need be.

Terror roots you to that spot between the trees, hunched over as your hands shake with anger at the lack of options for you and Joseph.

There is the other choice, the one you’ve refused to make because where might you go? Here in Bright Rise you at least have a roof over your head.

Soon fall will come, then winter after that. If you choose to leave, you might be condemning yourself and your son to a death by freeze and you can’t do that. You can’t make such a reckless choice with him so little still.

You gather as much of the wire as you can, carefully wrapping it around an empty spool you’d kept just in case, hoping to keep your anger from shifting into sorrow.

As you work, you can hear the sound of hooves behind you. Two horses at most. Perhaps three? The sound of shifting gravel too close.

There’s the clearing of a throat before a steady voice speaks. “Excuse me, might I trouble you, miss for some directions? My guard and I seem to have become lost in these backroads by the village.”

You sigh, still consumed with rage with Phin, but rise and turn to face the man who addresses you.

He’s godly, this man with golden hair and a beard to match. His eyes are piercing. Storm blue as they stare you down and you fidget with the spool in your hand as your heart does a sudden and unexpected dip into your belly where it explodes into a flurry of butterflies.

Voice choked in your throat, you look away from the beautiful man and tried to clear your head.

“His Majesty, King Steven has asked you a question, miss.” His guard says, shocking your system into an automatic curtsy as you intentionally avoid their gaze now.

“I’m sorry!” You gasp, worried you might have given offense.

“Sam, it’s alright.” King Steven says, his voice soft and coaxing.

You take a quick peek at his guard, another handsome man with deep umber skin and a soft bronze glow. His gaze is a little sterner but kind all the same.

“We did not mean to startle you.” King Steven says, the gentility in his voice luring you into taking another look at him.

When your eyes meet, you find that you can’t look away.

“I-I was checking my traps.” You relay, feeling stupid suddenly for giving him information that he has not asked for.

“I can see that.” King Steven nods, a small smile tugging up half of his full pink lips.

He’s exquisite. His dress is fine, luxurious satin and silk. His tunic is a royal blue, a silver stitching along every seam in what looks to be a small wavy pattern.

It looks familiar and your hand absentmindedly moves with the pattern of the stitch as if it remembers how to make it though you’ve never sewn on anything so fine in your life.

King Steven’s eyes notice the movement and he watches your hand before you remember yourself and speak again.

“Forgive me, your Majesty, you asked me a question.” You gasp, dropping the spool at your feet and moving around the mud pit to stand at the edge of the road, much closer to where he and his guard tarry.

King Steven smiles again, sending your heart into a pitter patter.

“If you head down this road, you will reach a fork with three smaller roads. You’ll want to take the Eastern most road for nearly four miles before you reach a second fork of two roads. Take the left and follow that road and do not stray. You will reach the Capital before noon.” You say, pointing as you give instruction.

As you finish you drop your arm and bring your hand to tug at the worn leather of your belt.

King Steven stares at you, smiling for so long that you look down at your feet and are suddenly aghast by the state of your shoes and skirts.

You’re so dirty that you’re ashamed to be seen by them. With a bite to your lip, you turn and hurry back around the mud pit to pick up your spool.

“Thank you.” King Steve says, his wide shoulders relaxed. “Might I pay you for your assistance? What is the customary amount? Five silver pieces?”

You throw out your hand to stop him, embarrassed to take payment for so small a favor. “No!”

Gasping you watch as the spool flies out of your hand. It hits the front of his horse then topples onto the road where it rolls along further down the rocky path.

King Steven dismounts as you rush forward in chase of the wire.

Both of you reach it at the same time but King Steven is first to bend over and take it.

“Oh, please…” You gasp, worried about the dirt and muck that must be caked on the tool. “You’ll dirty your hands.”

As King Steven stands upright, he dusts it off then offers it to you. “A little dirt never killed anyone.”

Your senses are assaulted by him and for a moment all you can do is stare at his hand as he waits for you to take your wire.

He smells like evergreen woods and oranges. No…limes…You’re not sure! It’s a citrus of some sort and it overwhelms your mind. His voice is deep and smooth. It works its way into your bones and nearly turns them into jelly.

“Will you not take it?” He asks, shaking the spool a little.

You look up to meet his gaze but find that his smile has disappeared. In its place is a look of severe concentration.

Is he angry with you? Have you insulted him by waiting so long to take your property?

The look in his eyes is intense. He looks almost as if he’s trying to recall an elusive memory.

You know the feeling…

Quickly you take the spool, ignoring the moment your hand brushes his. He must notice how rough your hands are. He must mix with ladies whose hands had never once known the strife of physical labor.

“Thank you, your Majesty.” You curtsy quickly, avoiding his gaze and move around him.

A hot, vice-like grip takes hold around your wrist.

You stop, turning to look at his hand then up to meet his gaze.

Gone is the look of confusion, replaced by a furrowed brow and what can only be hopeful searching within his storm blue eyes.

“Steve?” His guard warns, confused by the moment almost as much as you are.

“What are-” You whisper, voice so weak you’re surprised you can manage to speak at all.

You clear your throat and search for the courage to say your piece.

You don’t like this. The way his presence almost consumes you. His touch is burning, and you’re not sure why you feel as if you’ve also been waiting a lifetime for it.

“Unhand me.” You plead, twisting your wrist in his hand but refusing to look away from his slowly shifting expression.

He smiles and your heart stutters, fear of what it might mean making you yank a little harder, but King Steven uses the momentum of your pull to step towards you. He wraps his free arm around your waist, dipping his head down as he presses fevered lips against your own.

You’re frozen in his arms, wide eyes staring at his own now shut. His lips are fierce, his kiss is hard. It hurts a little and it takes you a moment to feel the warmth of their touch.

He drops your wrist and wraps his other arm around you, hand pressed to the back of your head as he tilts his own to one side and coaxes your lips open with a gentle swipe of his tongue.

The taste of him stuns you, your body freezing as your mind is assaulted with images all blurred together into one precious life that you’d most assuredly lost and now found again.

Your eyes grow blurry, tears flooding from the corners as your lips finally respond to Steve’s kiss.

With a gasp you pull away, sobbing once as you gobble up the sight of him.

Steve’s hands caress the sides of your face, stroking your hair and cheeks as he also devours your visage.

“I found you.” He whispers, throat tick with emotion.

You sob once more, arms pulling him towards you as you give in to the shocking relief you feel to be in his arms once more.

Your heart breaks as you clutch him close. Over a year of lost time with not only him but…

“Maggie!” You exclaim, voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s perfect,” Steve assures you, pulling back to meet your gaze once more. “She’s growing bigger every day. She has your sweetness, your love of jams and jellies.”

Steve laughs, so happy that his own tears fall too. “She calls me Papa, and she calls Sam birb.”

You laugh, shaking your head already knowing that Bucky’s to blame for that.

“I don’t think it’s that funny.” Sam suddenly says, pulling both your gazes towards him.

“Sam…” You smile.

“I’ve kept watch over her, just as I promised.” The recognition in his eyes is heavenly.

“How did this happen?” Steve asks, continuing the caress of your cheeks. “How did we lose each other.”

You sigh, licking your lips as you prepare to explain when your heart suddenly drops, and you remember another pair of storm blue waiting in a basket. “Steve…”

Without warning you turn and race into the trees, running as fast as you can to make sure that he wasn’t a dream.

You find the basket where you left it and pull it away from its hiding spot before you remove the lid, happy to find your little boy still fast asleep.

“Y/N!” Steve calls, racing up behind you where he skids to a stop. “What is it, my flower? What’s the matter?”

He sighs heavily when he finds you, moving to place his hands on your shoulders, needing to feel you it seems.

“Don’t run away from me like that…” He pleads, and your heart aches for him but this is much more important.

“Steve,” You begin, and turn to reveal the six-month-old baby in your arms. “You have a son.”

The step back he takes you attribute to shock. The heartbreak and confusion on his face you have only yourself to blame for.

“How-?” He asks, shaking his head as he stares at the tiny prince in your arms.

“Steve…” You begin, suddenly fearful of what he might say when you confess the deal you’d made with grandmother.

“No.” Steve cuts you off, reaching out to trace the shape of your arms through the dingy dress you wear. “Not here. Let’s go home.”

“To Broklin?” You wonder, relieved that he’s eager to resume your lives together.

“No, I-do you remember when I asked you if I should purchase your little hut?” Despite speaking to you, his eyes are still trained on your son.

Slowly, as he speaks, his hand skates across your arms until he can stroke Joseph’s little cheek with one tentative finger.

“Yes.” You frown, disapproving of the purchase as it isn’t your land to begin with.

“Well, when you forbade me from buying it, I bought the manor on the hill instead.” He confesses, finally meeting your gaze.

“Oh.” You’re stunned.

“I thought that it would be nice to have somewhere in Malibia to call our own. Visiting your family is something that I wanted you to feel free to do. I wanted to give you a space you could come to, somewhere near your home.” He explains sweetly sending your heart into a tizzy.

“Steve…” You reach up, pressing your palm to his warm bearded cheek while keeping a firm hold of your little one with the other.

“Come on.” Steve urges you, leaning down quickly to kiss you then pulls away slowly almost as if he doesn’t want to. “Our princess is waiting.”

~~~~~~~~~~

She’s as beautiful as the night you’d held her close, memorizing the little wheeze in her breath as she’d drifted to sleep.

She’s bigger. She’s walking, unsteadily but moving. She’s talking, indeed saying ‘Papa’ but she says other things that you’ve already picked up on.

Her little chubby limbs have stretched a bit and you can’t believe you’ve lost so much time with her.

Tears are still streaming down your cheeks while you sit here, staring at her sleeping face.

Steve’s hands support her little back as he holds her to his chest, his back resting against the ornate wooden headboard of your bed.

“She’ll know you soon enough.” Steve assures you as you nod and quickly wipe the tears from your eyes. “She was so little.”

“I know.” You reach out, caressing her little head before you look down at the even smaller boy between you both. He’s chewing on his fist, little legs up in the air as he quietly plays by himself.

He’s so good at just being alone, you feel terrible about it because you know that it’s your fault. You’ve needed him to be independent as you worked hard to earn money for both of you.

When he meets your eyes, he coos those long wordless streams of vowel. He’s talking to you, probably relishing in the plush mattress all four of you lay on.

“Shh, my sweet boy. Your sister is sleeping.” You stroke his little chest and he takes hold of your hand as he kicks his legs in excitement.

“Y/N…” Steve begins, and you know it’s finally time.

“I’m ready now.” You sniffle, meeting his look of somber confusion. “I’ll tell you what happened.”

It takes you less than five minutes to explain. Grandmother’s vision. Her actions to see it in greater detail. The truth of his imminent death. You tell him that you begged for his life and that night when Grandmother had interrupted your sleep, she’d come to tell you that she’d found a solution.

“She said the magic would ask for payment. Something that only I could give.” You hope that he doesn’t hate you, his expression unreadable as he watches you with his brooding brow all scrunched and focused. “I thought that it would be my ability to see or walk. My hearing perhaps? Or being able to speak…I never thought that it would take you and Maggie from me.

“My life perhaps? But not my memories of you. Not knowing you.” You sigh, waiting for his rage to show.

What you get instead, is a calm conversation and a gentle pout.

“But it wasn’t only your memories. It was everyone’s. The magic wiped your existence as my wife and Queen completely.” He observes.

“Yes.” You agree. “Even the villagers in Bright Rise acted as if I’d never gone anywhere. How can magic be so powerful as to erase me completely from so many minds?”

Steve shakes his head, his hand still absentmindedly stroking Maggie’s back.

“It was such a risk for you to take.” Steve frowns, his gaze piercing, and the guilt you’d felt building since you’d stepped foot in the manor crests. “How could you make such a choice without consulting with me? I’m your husband.”

“I know.” Your lip trembles. “I’m sorry. It all happened so quickly, and I had so little time to consider the consequences of my choice. All I knew was that your future was certain. You would die protecting the world and I could not give you up to it. If I had the power to save you, of course I would use it. So long as I knew that Maggie would have you, I could stand any future I had to live.”

“Even this one? Both of us separated forever?” Steve counters, holding a mirror to the past year of your life.

You shake your head, new tears springing forth as you look down at your boy who has fallen asleep once again.

“I thought I would have to marry Phin.” You admit, voice quiet so as not to disturb your little ones.

“Why?”

“I’m fairly certain he was orchestrating it. No one in the village were taking work from me to mend their clothing and today, you found me checking my snares for small game, but someone has been breaking them. Cutting the wire or simply tearing it down.

“He wanted me to be hungry enough to marry him and the bastard knew that I would do it, for Joseph if not for myself.” Your anger taints your vision red, Phin’s detestable face a memory you wish you could forget.

Mentioning your son brings Steve’s eyes back down to him. He takes one hand and reaches down, placing his finger into Joseph’s tiny open hand. He grasps his papa’s finger, a tiny fist full of surprisingly sturdy strength.

“Now that we’ve remembered, I’m panicked by the idea that you might have found a new Queen in my absence.” You confess, chewing nervously on your lip.

“Bucky and Sam suggested it. They brought Sharon around me often to try and convince to take her on, but something prevented me from doing so.” His words send your heart into your feet, your head is suddenly splitting.

Glad as you are that he doesn’t seem to have found a new wife, the possibility of it make you feel almost sick to your stomach with anxiety.

“I think perhaps I knew in some way, deep down, that I was already married. The very thought of sharing my bed with someone else drove my skin to crawl. I felt guilty, as if I were committing some grave sin.” He admits, unrelenting in his stare.

“I would not have blamed you…” You whisper, almost fearful to speak the words. “…if you had taken a new wife. If you’d had another child with someone else. I would have had no one to blame but myself.”

“No one could ever take your place.” He assures you. “Even though I didn’t remember you, your presence was greatly missed. I may not have known what it was I was yearning for, but I was wishing for you every moment of every day.”

You shut your eyes, allowing the pleasure his words give you to soak deep down into your bones.

Even though he doesn’t ask, you’d also felt the exact same way. Something had always told you that somewhere was a home waiting for you to take your place. Never would you have guessed that it was a castle in the next Kingdom over.

“Were you frightened?” Steve wonders, drawing your gaze once more.

You find him watching Joseph once again, his thumb stroking the little one’s hand.

“Expecting him all on your own?” He clarifies.

“I was afraid of how I’d take care of him.” You smile, reaching to stroke the length of his little nose. “I knew I would be alright birthing him. It was long and taxing. But he was with me so suddenly. It was over before I even knew what was happening. The miller’s wife came to check on me and she helped me for a few days after, but I had no other choice than to push on. I was up and caring for him and myself before the week was out. That’s when my fear came.

“I knew that I had to feed myself in order to keep him fed and healthy and I wasn’t sure exactly how to do it with the village set so resolutely against me. An unwed mother with a bastard child?”

“I’ll have it burned to the ground.” Steve declares suddenly.

You smile wide, your heart melting as you watch the intensity in his gaze as new love blooms for his son.

“I wish you had spoken with me about Agatha’s vision before you made any decisions.” Steve laments, an anger growing in contrast with the new love.

It effectively wipes aware the happiness his love gives you as you regret having kept him in the dark.

“If I’d told you,” You begin, voice breaking and weak as emotion gets the better of you. The sound of it brings his gaze back to you and he seems to soften with it. “You would have kept me from doing what needed to be done. There was no question of saving you, Steve. I had only just found you. Our baby girl only just born. I could not lose you.”

Shutting your eyes, you let your head fall, burying your face into your pillow.

“Imsuhsawree.” You sob, muffled against the fluff of the bed.

The silence feels endless until you’ve just about made up your mind to look at him again when a sudden snort of laughter cuts the tension with ease.

You whip your head to face him, searching for the source of the laugh only to find Steve with his hand over his mouth as his body shakes with silent laughter.

“You’re laughing?” You gasp in disbelief; certain you must be seeing things.

Your husband cannot possibly be amused in this moment while your heart and soul are drowning in guilt and grief.

“I’m sorry.” Steve chortles, a whisper of giggles as he tries his best not to wake Maggie. “Forgive me, I…”

You frown at him, displeased with his humor but he reaches for you with his hand and hooks it behind your head in a soft caress.

“It’s not funny.” You insist.

“No.” Steve shakes his head. “It isn’t. I’m sorry, my flower. I’m just…so happy you’ve returned. I’ve missed you so much.”

And just like that, he’s forgiven.

The four of you lay there in bed for hours. Though your stomach is empty, you refuse to bring your hunger to Steve’s attention. Even though you know very well just how much he will be upset with you for it, you can’t bring yourself to tear your little family apart so very soon.

The sun is only just setting when Joseph decides it’s time to eat. He whimpers, a soft murmuring of whiney breaths until the air takes shape and his cries begin to grow louder.

Beside him Maggie also stirs, staring around with wide eyes as the crying rises in volume and she’s brought out of her blissful slumber.

Steve wakes last, while you are already scooping your little boy into your arms and propping yourself up against the headboard to feed him, he rubs his face and glances at the window.

“It’s already so late.” He realizes, turning back to you and Joseph while Maggie twists her body until she can lay on her stomach and then throw herself back to sit on her bottom.

Her eyes are glued to Joseph as he latches to your breast and begins to suckle. Your breasts are sore, and the pain is worse than you remember it being with Maggie, but you have no time to focus on the pain.

You make sure he can eat easily, watching him for any signs of distress.

“Did you get her a wet nurse?” You wonder, letting your eyes drift to Maggie who still sits watching you feed her brother.

“I did.” Steve nods, lifting the girl back up onto his lap. “She was so little.”

You look away, a quiver in your bottom lip as you try to push past the heartbreak that you hadn’t been there for your daughter like you’d wanted to be. “Yeah.”

Steve is familiar with you enough that he knows you don’t want to dwell on it and changes the topic quickly.

“Shall we have dinner in here? I don’t want to share either of you yet.” He confesses, stroking the back of Maggie’s little head.

“Yes.” You nod, perhaps a bit too enthusiastically at the mention of food because Steve frowns.

“Damn it, Y/N.” He gripes and gently places Maggie back on the bed before he marches towards the doors. “If you were hungry, you should have said something. After your meal, I’ll have Natasha draw you a bath.”

The prospect of a full belly and a luxuriously hot bath which you hadn’t realized you’d grown so fond of is so dreamy that your heart gives a clench and once more you feel so very happy you just might cry again.

~~~~~~~~~~

“How’s your bath, my petal?” Steve checks, moving to the edge of the bed once more as the children sleep on.

After their dinner they’d quickly begun to play. They’d explored each other’s boundaries and Maggie had made Joseph cry only once for a few minutes before they were sharing Maggie’s soft cloth dolls.

They each sleep with one in their hands, huddled close together at the center of the bed.

“Is the water too hot?” Steve pulls over a small yellow footstool, sitting upon the soft cushion.

He doesn’t wait for your answer and dips his left hand into the water, testing the temperature as you lay yourself back against the large copper tub.

“Your hand is going to smell like peonies and rose oils.” You tease him, bringing your hand up above the fragrant water.

You take a peony petal and carefully tuck it behind his ear, gentle drops of water skirting down into his beard as the pink stands in pleasant contrast to the gold of his hair.

Biting your lip, you comb it back, tracing the shape of his jaw with damp fingers.

“Even though I didn’t know you, my heart and soul yearned for you.” You whisper, sliding your hand down to rest upon his shoulders.

“And I you.” He smiles, eyes shut as you lean in to press a gentle kiss to his lips.

“I wonder,” You begin, pulling back to examine and rememorize every inch of his face. “Now that we are together again, whether this will negate in some way the effect of the spell?”

This thought raises a new worry in you. A fear that by meeting again you have somehow doomed Steve to die.

“Even if it has, I will not part with you again. I won’t die either.” Steve promises, but how can you take him at his word.

Magic is wicked and it will take its price one way or another.

“I have to speak to grandmother.” You counter, your gentle caress of his shoulders turned into a desperate cling.

“She’s gone.” Steve says, sending your heart into a pit within your belly. “No one has seen her since all of this started. However, there is something that I found in my office back home.”

Steve rises, moving towards his cloak left to rest on the back of a chair at the opposite end of the room.

When he returns, he holds in his hand a sealed piece of parchment, folded twice to keep its contents secure. The wax seal is a deep purple, her insignia that of a cat, back arched and head tilted up as if to yowl towards the moon.

You reach for your towel nearby and dry your hands then take the letter as Steve holds it out.

“I’ve been carrying it with me everywhere I go, hoping it would yield some explanation as to why I have been feeling so…empty.” He tells you, picking up his stool and moving to place it a bit more near the head of the tub where you sit. “Scoot forward.”

You do as he asks, staring at the letter and consider what its contents might be.

Steve’s hands disappear beneath the surface of your bathwater and emerge with a small porous sponge. It’s rough at first but with water and under Steve’s heavy hand, it becomes malleable and he begins to stroke your back, cleaning the peasant grime from your body.

“Why haven’t you opened it?” You wonder, turning it over almost expecting it to billow with glittering smoke.

“I attempted to many times. I couldn’t. The seal would not break. See there at the bottom of the fold?” He instructs.

You turn it over to look at the side with the seal and spot the small loopy writing at the bottom. The penmanship is so exquisite, you’re almost certain now that grandmother had indeed once been of noble blood.

For the Queen of Broklin.

“For me?” You gasp.

“I think it will only open for you, petal.” Steve explains as he leans closer to get the tops of your arms and then following the flow of muscle over your shoulders and down along your sides slowly.

Eager now, knowing this letter is meant for you, you tear it open and the seal breaks without fuss.

“Can you read it?” Steve wonders, no note of teasing in his voice.

Like you, he must be wondering whether so long a time away from life at the castle has made you forget everything you’d learned.

“I think so.” And with bated breath, you read, glad that you’d tried so hard to learn and only slightly surprised that you understand every single word she’s written.

If you are reading this note, it means that I was right.

First, believe me when I tell you that every word I spoke of King Rogers’s death was true. There is indeed a threat that would take his life and that of your father’s and King Thor’s as well.

I thought that perhaps King Rogers’s death would be enough to convince you that what we needed to do would be necessary and I am glad to say I was right.

What I did not tell you is that I knew the price to be asked would be the life you’d built within the castle in Broklin. I could not bear to tell you that you’d spent all that time suffering and building a family with him only to have it ripped from you.

Somehow, I don’t think you would have changed your mind even if I had.

After you spoke to me of your connection with the Asgardian king, I was wary of what it might mean for your future as Queen in the kingdom. There was only one chance to break the curse dealt by the spell to save your husband’s life and that was if you and he were always meant to be together.

Soulmates, I believe they call it. Two halves of one whole, set at opposite ends of the world to meet each other in just the right way to create what we know as destiny. In this case, the opposite ends you were placed in were poverty and wealth.

Your husband had every advantage in life while you had none. You were given no loves in life and King Rogers was given one big enough to eclipse the pull you would have for him when and if you met.

At the time, I worried that King Thor might be your true mate. The two of you were so well suited and perhaps I’m right? But if you’re reading this, it means that you and King Rogers found each other once again.

By some miracle, he or you have lifted the curse, and you can once more be together to live your lives and King and Queen of Broklin.

A fate you might not have found had I not thrown my purse into that bog by the road. I hope you appreciate my efforts, girl. I have worked very hard to walk you through this life but must now leave you to shape it on your own.

Don’t worry. I might not be with you every day, but should you need me, I will come. You don’t need to send for me. I’ll know. And rest assured, your husband’s life is safe.

There will always be evil in the world and he will always rise to fight it but be content to know that his life you most certainly have saved. Take care.

-Grandmother

You read the letter at least three times before Steve’s chin finds your shoulder, the scruff of his beard pleasantly rough against your skin.

“What does it say?” He wonders, tilting his head to kiss your neck.

You fold the letter and toss it away so that it won’t get wet, then lean back until you’re relaxed and can turn to look and admire your husband’s storm blue eyes.

“It says that no matter what might come to tear us apart, you will always find me.” You smile, reaching up to scratch underneath his chin.

Steve’s lips curl up on one side, a dashing smirk if you ever saw one.

“Always.”

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