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heliads · 3 years

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If I Can’t Have You

Based on this request: “one shot of Wanda and the reader are married and Agatha likes the reader and creates problem in their relationship. one day the reader and Wanda were fighting, the reader leaves to find Agatha who controls the reader to fall in love with her. Wanda finds the reader and removes the mind control.”

masterlist

Agnes walks down the sun-bleached sidewalk, arms full of a stack of hardbacks that most certainly were not transformed spellbooks. Of course they weren’t- she is Agnes now, not Agatha, and even nosy neighbours would never be caught dead studying incantations. She has to keep up the illusion of innocence, and that is final.

Agnes’ cheerful grin slips when her eye catches on something in the bushes. They should be drab shades of gray (they’re still stuck in the 50s, no matter how much Agnes wishes they would just change decades already), but there’s a flash of color inside them. Agnes groans. Is Wanda’s control disintegrating so quickly? Agnes gestures towards the bush ever so slightly, and the color fades back to black and white in a second, with only a flash of purple dancing around Agnes’ fingertips to show that anything had changed.

However, in the split second that Agnes’ focus had been diverted away, her tall stack of books had begun to slide out of her arms. Agnes reaches out to steady the pile once more, but it’s too late- the books cascade to the ground, spilling out over the pale concrete. Agnes kneels, ignoring the spike of heat slicing up her knees from the sunburned sidewalk, and begins to gather up the books. To her surprise, a second figure leans down beside her, picking up the scattered hardbacks as well.

When Agnes looks up, her breath catches slightly in her throat. There’s someone standing over them, sun shining out in a halo over their head. A smile flashes across their face as they hold out the remaining books. “I’m Y/N. I don’t think we’ve been able to meet before.” Agnes shakes her head. “No, I don’t think so. I would have remembered you, hon. The name’s Agnes.” Y/N grins, teeth flashing in the sun. “It’s nice to meet you, Agnes. I think we’re neighbours- I live down the block with my wife, Wanda. Great to make some new friends.”

Agnes clears her throat. “Well, thank you for your help.” Y/N tilts their head in acknowledgement. “Well, I figured I might as well do something quickly. Wanda’s right down the block, and I don’t think you would have wanted her to see you summon up some purple sparks to retrieve the books.” Agnes stares. “You-” Y/N waves a hand in dismissal. “Don’t worry about it. I’m not going to say anything. I saw you fix that hedge, so clearly you’re here to help. If there’s one thing I can do, it’s keep a secret for a friend. See you around, Agnes.”

With that, Y/N heads back down the sidewalk, footsteps echoing down the concrete path. Agnes is left staring. Y/N knew about the magic and Y/N is married to Wanda, yet they aren’t going to say anything? As Agnes walks back to her house, she realizes there’s a new feeling of rage bubbling up in her stomach against the red-haired witch. It’s not just envy of Wanda’s chaos magic. No, this is something different. It takes Agatha a while to realize what it is, and then it occurs to her. She’s jealous that Wanda has Y/N in her life every day.

Agatha can’t take this feeling of envy for much longer. She begins small spells targeting Wanda and Y/N’s marriage, ones that will sow seeds of discontent that will draw Y/N to Agatha instead. At first, they’re barely noticeable- traffic is bad so Y/N arrives home later and later each day, Wanda keeps forgetting to keep a space out for Y/N at the dinner table. Then, it’s time for Agatha’s magnum opus- one thunderous rain storm that forces Y/N to dash into Agatha’s house to escape the torrential showers.

Y/N only has to knock a couple of times before Agatha opens her door, quickly ushering the drenched neighbour into her house. Y/N apologizes profusely, but Agatha just shakes her head. “It’s fine, trust me. I’d rather you stay in here for a while and dry up than have to run home in this sort of weather.” She hands Y/N a blanket, which they accept gratefully, wrapping around their shoulders.

Y/N gets distracted by a bookcase in the corner of the room, a deep mahogany number with intricate carvings detailing the sides. “You have a good collection of books here. Rivals even my own.” A faint smile slips across their face as they examine the titles, a warmth in their eyes as if greeting dozens of old friends. At last, Y/N’s finger stops over one book in particular, and they carefully draw it out from amongst the others.

Agatha leans over to Y/N, curious. “Which book is that?” Y/N delicately opens the cover, poring over the detailed illustrations and long swoops of text. “Greek mythology. I’ve always been a fan.” Y/N flips through the pages, stopping before one particularly beautiful depiction of a myth. In the drawing, a goddess lies desolate over the body of a lover, roses beginning to form where blood pools from their body.

“Aphrodite and Adonis. That’s a classic. The goddess of love and the queen of the underworld both fell in love with this one mortal hero, Adonis, and they fought over him for a long time.” Agatha furrows her brow. “What happened?” Y/N shakes their head sadly. “Adonis ended up dead, killed by a boar. The stories differ over the killing- some versions say it was Ares, Aphrodite’s husband, or it could have been Persephone herself, jealous that Adonis was falling in love with her rival. Either way, he ended up dead and they both ended up unhappy.”

Y/N sighs. “There are a lot of myths like that, actually. Two gods fall for one lover and in the resulting fight, the world seems to be torn apart. Something similar happened with Hercules and the river god Achelous over Deianeira, actually. Every time, two fall in love with one, and every time, violence always follows. If one god couldn’t have their lover, then nobody could. It never made sense to me. Why tear apart the world over love? Besides, it always hurt the lover, who never had any choice in the matter. A waste, honestly.”

Y/N closes the book and glances outside the window. “Look, it stopped raining. I will stop intruding on your hospitality with my sad Greek myths and leave you to your afternoon.” Agatha starts to raise her voice to protest, to say that Y/N could never be a waste of time, but Y/N is already donning her coat and slipping out the door with a raised hand and a final declaration of gratitude.

Wanda waits for Y/N when they get home. She stands in the middle of the living room, just waiting for when her spouse walks through the door. Y/N has barely closed the door behind them when they see their wife, and their smile fades. “What’s wrong, Wanda? You look upset.” Wanda’s gaze remains steady, bordering on harsh. “I wonder why that would be. I wonder why my spouse would show up late again, especially when I asked them to be here early for dinner.”

Y/N gestures loosely at the door behind them. “I couldn’t go anywhere! It was raining so hard I could barely see two feet in front of me. Here, you can see my jacket, my hair, they’re wet-” Y/N’s voice breaks off as they reach for their coat and find it perfectly dry. They rush to the window, but there is no sign of rain. No puddles, no clouds, nothing. Y/N turns back to Wanda, a look of bewilderment fogging up their eyes.

“I have no idea what happened. I swear, it was raining, but now there’s nothing there at all.” Wanda raises an eyebrow. “Yes, that’s very convincing, isn’t it? A magically disappearing rainstorm apparent only to you.” Y/N tilts their head, irritation beginning to show. “Don’t use that tone. I would never lie to you. This is just strange. Something is happening and I can’t understand it.” They throw their arms up in frustration, but just as they raise their hands, Wanda flinches. It’s a small movement, barely there at all, but it’s enough for Y/N to notice. Instantly, all annoyance fades from their face, replaced by swift betrayal.

“You flinched- you thought I would-” Y/N’s voice is quiet, barely there at all. Wanda shakes her head fervently. “I didn’t mean that. It was an accident.” Y/N looks back at their wife, expression bleak. “It wasn’t an accident, though. You thought I would hit you? You truly think so little of me?” Y/N turns around, grabbing their coat from the door once more. “I think I should go. I think that would be best for both of us.”

Wanda reaches out to stop Y/N from leaving, but her spouse has already disappeared through the front door. A quiet gasp comes from the stairs behind Wanda, and she turns to see Billy and Tommy clustered together on the stairs, twin looks of horror on their faces. Billy is the first to speak. “Are they leaving us?” Wanda rushes over to them, hurrying in her apologies. “Of course not. Everyone has disagreements, you know? It’s impossible to be perfectly happy forever. Y/N is going to come back very soon, and we’re going to talk things out again. That’s what makes us love each other, you know. We always come back to each other in the end.”

Wanda’s voice is light and untroubled, but her children still don’t look entirely convinced. In fact, Wanda doesn’t even look convinced herself. After Billy and Tommy retreat back upstairs to their rooms, Wanda walks slowly to the kitchen and sits down at the table, placing her head in her hands. What has she done? What if Y/N really doesn’t come back?

Y/N regrets storming out of the house as soon as the front door closes behind them. They want nothing more than to go back inside and apologize, but they’ve always had too much pride to swallow. So, they walk out of their house, heading out into the street. Maybe they’ll go into town for a while, shoot the breeze and cool down, and then come back home and make things right. Y/N has never been able to stay away from Wanda for too long, especially during an argument. That’s what made them work so well together- they always returned to each other.

However, Y/N hasn’t gone more than a couple of feet down the road when someone walks up to them. Y/N glances over, recognizing Agnes. “Look, I’m sorry but I don’t really want to talk right now. I’ve already messed things up with Wanda, I think it’s best that I stay by myself for a while.” Agatha’s smile doesn’t falter for a second. “Of course you want to come with me, hon. You love me.”

Y/N frowns, but with a wave of Agatha’s hand a violet streak flashes across Y/N’s eyes and a relaxed smile spreads across their face. “I do love you.” Agatha holds out her hand, and Y/N takes it without a second’s hesitation. Agatha glances over at Y/N, considering them. “Actually, I think we need one more spell. I can’t have Wanda recognizing you, after all.” Agatha murmurs a spell under her breath, and Y/N’s features ripple and change into an entirely different face. Even if Wanda happened to see Y/N walking with Agatha, she would have no idea who they were.

Wanda is growing more uneasy as the hours pass by. Y/N should have returned by now, they should have made up by now. The fact that they aren’t here tells Wanda that something is wrong. Wanda knows it must be the aftereffects of the argument, but yet there’s something in the back of her head telling Wanda that there might be some foul play. After a while, Tommy slips into the room, pausing as he walks by Wanda.

“Are you still looking for Y/N?” Wanda nods, then frowns at Tommy’s tone. “What do you mean, still? Do you know where she is?” Tommy shakes his head, but he hesitates slightly. Wanda jumps on this uncertainty like a lion. “Tommy, love, I need you to tell me where Y/N is. We both know something isn’t right, don’t we? This is really important.”

Tommy still deliberates, but after frantic glances from Wanda he finally relents. “I was running past Agnes’ house and I saw someone in there. I had never seen them before, and Billy says that nobody new has come into town. It didn’t look like Y/N, but it was still strange.” Wanda swoops forward, pressing a kiss to Tommy’s forehead. “Thank you so much for telling me. I’ll go look into that right away. Stay here with Billy, alright? I’ll be back in a second.”

The methodical rhythm of Wanda’s boots echoes down the street as she heads purposefully to Agnes’ house. She knocks a couple of times before the door opens, and Wanda is face to face with an utterly unfamiliar person. Wanda blinks in confusion. “Hi, I’m Wanda. I was looking for someone.” The stranger in Agnes’ house smiles. “Well, come on inside. Maybe you’ll find them here.”

Wanda nods, following the stranger inside. “What’s your name, by the way?” Wanda asks, and the stranger just looks at her. “I wasn’t given a name.” There’s a moment of tension, like the stranger is almost begging Wanda to realize something, but then their face smooths over and everything returns to normal. Wanda is shown to a seat in the living room, and she stares around Agnes’ house. She reaches out with her mind, searching for Y/N, but nothing happens.

The stranger bustles back into the room. “Agnes is out, but she’ll be back in a little bit. Is there anything I can do for you right now?” Wanda shakes her head, standing up. “Actually, I don’t think so. I’m sorry to waste your time.” Wanda starts to head to the door, but the stranger quickly walks in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you sure? I thought you were looking for someone.” The stranger is staring at them with a look so full of pain and hope that Wanda almost has to look away. What would the stranger want Wanda to know? What would they know, except-

Then Wanda realizes, and she reaches out a tentative hand to the stranger’s temples. Wanda concentrates for a second, searching, and then she feels the spell masking the stranger’s thoughts and pulls it away like she’s removing a blindfold. Instantly, the stranger straightens up, and they shudder for a second as their face changes into a more familiar countenance. Wanda cries out in relief, wrapping her arms around Y/N, for of course it is they who stand before her.

“I thought you were missing- I thought you hated me-” Y/N holds tight to Wanda. “No. No, I could never. I tried to go back, but then the spell hit and I couldn’t do anything.” Y/N leans back, cupping Wanda’s face gently in her palm. “I’m so glad you found me. I was so scared that you wouldn’t know it was me.” Wanda smiles bittersweetly. “I will always come back to you. Every single time.”

Wanda and Y/N leave Agatha’s house, heading quickly back to their own home, back to their twin boys who look up excitedly when they see Y/N return. Wanda and Y/N do not notice Agatha, who just arrives at her house in time to see the married couple disappear back through their own front door. Agatha glares, storming into her house to see the hated truth- Y/N is indeed gone, the spell broken. In a moment of utter rage, Agatha lets her power flow through her, murky indigo smoke pouring over the room as walls crack and glasses break.

When Agatha is at last able to control herself, she stands panting in the middle of the room. Her eyes catch on a book that had been yanked from its shelf, a book that now lies open on the ground. Agatha’s eyes widen as she takes in that familiar drawing of the goddess and the lover, from the story Y/N had been talking about earlier. Aphrodite and Adonis, forced to repeat their pain once more.

But Agatha understands it now, understands it as Y/N had never been able to fully comprehend. Why shouldn’t the gods tear apart the world? This feeling in Agatha’s chest, this empty broken rage, will never be able to subside. Y/N loves Wanda, and Wanda loves Y/N. There is no room for Agatha in that story.

A twisted, fractured smile begins to wend its way across Agatha’s lips. Before, she had been hesitant about messing too much with Wanda’s reality, but now, all rules are gone with Y/N. If Agatha can’t have Y/N, no one else will. Wanda doesn’t stand a chance.

wanda maximoff tag list: @mycosmicparadise @mionemymind @xxxtwilightaxelxxx

#wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff imagines #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff oneshot #scarlet witch #scarlet witch imagines #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch oneshot #avengers #avengers imagines #avengers x reader #avengers oneshot #mcu #marvel #mcu oneshot #mcu imagines #wandavision #wandavision imagines #wandavision oneshot

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fireheartfaery · 3 years

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and i fell apart

I got very obsessed with maelin and went on a tumbles binge. While the content is INCREDIBLE there just wasn't enough so I'm adding to the pile with *gestures to whatever this is*. Please enjoy! Let's not pretend this was edited lmaooo

to Jana (@flamingveritas): for the compliments and falling down the maelin rabbit hole with me

i highly recommend listening to rosier/punk2 by brakence while reading this. if i could i would have just copy pasted the song and made that the fic.

I left home now I'm fucked up

Realized how much I loved you

Whole goddamn life, been a suck-up

Now I'm just tryna get my luck up

All the pain went when you kissed me

—rosier/punk2, brakence

Manon has indulged, feverently and with vicious delight, in all manner of debauchery and sin over her many years. She has sipped the blood of men like fine whiskey, and kissed women like morning dew clinging to rosy petals. Most especially, she has never denied herself a pleasure.

Once her gold eyes lock on a target it's as good as hers, already weaving into her present and past. It is no longer a thing of the future to her. No because that would imply she still needed to get it, that it was not hers yet. It is something she simply refuses to accept.

Which is why, blood boiling, iron nails glinting viciously in the midday sun, she snarls at the blonde haired, blue eyed queen. The most beautiful being she has ever seen and by far the most infuriating. Manon has never wanted to lick someone's lips while simultaneously driving a dagger through their heart so godsdamn much in her life.

"Get your ass back here, Queen." She can barely keep the growl out of her voice. She feels half beast.

"Fuck you Witch," Aelin sneers, "You don't get to tell me what to do. Not anymore."

Manon is in front of her before the wind can catch in her snow white hair. With another grumble clawing through her throat, she plants her feet in front of the blonde. It takes everything in her not to melt at the fierce beauty she is met with. Gold spun hair, rivaling her own eyes, and sun smattered freckles and arched eyebrows. There's a look in the queen's eye that makes Manon want to pull them too close for decency and see how much of the pretty gold ring swallows that blue gaze.

"You owe me." She says instead. There is no gentleness in her voice. They have never been gentle with each other.

"I owe you nothing." Aelin spits. "I stopped having anything to do with you the day you left me."

"I didn't leave you." She explodes. She cannot go on like this. She can't bear it.

"Oh," The queen's voice takes on that high pitched tone, as if she's attempting to be snappy but her emotion is betraying her. She carries on despite it all. "Well, sorry for thinking that coming home to a note that says 'I'll be gone for a some time' and then not having a wife for ten years doesn't count to you."

There are tears running down that beautiful face and it makes every part of Manon wither away. She is made of iron but it takes one look at Aelin's crumpling composure to reduce her to rust and ruin.

"If I was gone for three hundred years I would still be your wife. No matter how long, or how far." Her voice is disturbed dust on a locked chest.

"Please leave." The queen shakes her head, stumbling backwards, away from her, from them. "I can't do this. I won't."

"I'm not going anywhere Aelin." Her voice cracks and she wants to curse herself for sounding so weak. But this is not a matter of blood and teeth and enemy. This is a matter of heart and she would always be weak when it came to the person who owned hers.

"That's what you said every day before you left for a decade." It is so quiet, so unbelievably quiet it feels almost as if the world hushed to hear that statement.

Her chest feels like it's been struck by lightning. She cannot imagine anything else would make her heart beat so fast while killing her so slowly.

"I didn't have a choice." She shakes her head. The words are coming out wrong. Will they ever be right?

"You had the choice to tell me."

At this her mouth curls into a snarl, gold eyes flashing with rage. "I would never have put your life in danger like that."

"We could have faced it together." Aelin bites her quivering lower lip. "Like we always have."

"I will never risk you, I will never put you in harms way if I can handle it myself."

"Maybe you could have handled it Manon," Her wife sighs, tears still rippling down her golden cheeks. They carve rivers over her freckles, making them stones on the riverbed. "Or maybe we could have done it together and it would have taken five years instead of ten. Or maybe you could have gone alone and I would have kissed you goodbye and said come back soon."

"That is—"

"Instead," The blonde interrupts, sadness, true grief, covering her face like a veil. "Instead I woke up to an empty bed one morning and it just never ended. Everyday I wondered if you had left because you no longer loved me, or if you had been dragged away, or if you went on a mission and had not survived it. Every day I thought of your white hair and your gold eyes and the smile you have when the wind dances across your skin and I didn't understand why I could no longer see it, see you."

Tears, hot and salty, stream down Manon's face. It is violent and full of agony. She isn't going to survive this. How could she?

"But I'm back now." She gutters.

"For how long?" The question is laced with exhaustion as if it had been asked to the point of meaningless.

How long will she be gone? How long can I live like this? How long should I wait before I try to find her? How long before I realize she doesn't want to be found? How long has she stopped loving me? She sees the questions reflected in those blue-jeweled eyes. It snaps the chords of her heart, like broken piano strings.

"Forever."

"That tells me nothing."

She doesn't know what to say, doesn't know how to make this right. She would do anything. She would suffer through hell if it meant making this okay again. If it meant standing by her wife's side once more, instead of loving her from so far away.

"Please Aelin," She breaks, cracks so hard her jaw snaps. "How do I make this better? How do I fix us?"

"I don't know," Blonde hair glitters in the sun as she shakes her head. It catches like a halo. "I don't know and it hurts so much and I can't—" She is hyperventilating.

Manon wants to go to her, wants to wrap her arms around the queen and hold her until they've both stitched themselves back together. But she knows she will be shoved away, so far and so fast she will not be able to recover.

"I love you Aelin." She says. Her voice is quiet but her words are clear as Terassen waters. "And I will love you through every season to come, and every sunset we witness while on the back of abraxos, and every morning I catch you with chocolate cake before breakfast, and every evening that you read a book to me, and every moment I find your lips perfectly slanted over mine. I will love you through this life."

They had never placed their love in the past. Manon had never said "I have loved you since", she always says, "I will love you through..."

"And I will love you through the next."

The sobs that wrack the queen's body make the witch's hands shake. She cannot believe she has hurt her love so much, so carelessly, so destructively.

"I don't need you to love me through the next. I needed you to love me through this one."

"I do!" She cries. "I do, I do, I do. How could I not?" There is distance between them that no bridge can cross, but she can reach out a hand and brush her fingers across a tear-streaked cheek. So close in body, so far in heart.

"I will not survive if you leave me again." Her queen sobs. Manon sobs with her.

"I cannot survive leaving you."

Hands, smaller than hers, infinitely more warm, find her own. "I love you through the darkness."

"Until it claims us." She finishes softly.

And ever so gently, intertwined only by their fingers, they begin to stitch together. The future is theirs, and it is the only guarantee.

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[image id: white all caps text, on a black background, that reads, “i thought you were dead”. end id]

#maelin #manon x aelin #aelin x manon #manon blackbeak #aelin ashryver whitethorn galathynius #fds fanfic

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darkpoisonouslove · 3 years

Text

The Road of Words

Summary: Griffin is visiting Valtor at the hospital after he got injured pulling a stunt to impress her. He has to wake up to see the results of his efforts and Griffin swears to put in an effort of her own to reach back to him.

CW: mentions of coma, head injury, blood, self-harm (very minor but it counts), self-deprecation

@trashcankitty12 requested the following prompt - You’re in a coma and I confess all my feelings only for you to wake up - and I did my best to deliver. Not a scenario I usually dig but I tried to give it a spark of originality.

Songs I listened to while writing this and I feel like really fit the tone of the fic are Promise by Fytch and Tether Me By Galleaux. Give them a listen if you feel like it!

Griffin's fingers clutched the smooth pot desperately. It was heavy and slipping in her sweaty palm. There was no heat left in her body for the cold clay to absorb. The dread had numbed her to anything but the occupied hospital bed she was looking for.

She'd gotten directions at the reception after giving her name. She had to be on some kind of list with allowed visitors when she had no business being there. Just like Valtor.

She swallowed around the lump in her throat only the frozen blue of his eyes could wash away as she reached for the handle on a pristine door. Behind it was Valtor, lying motionless like she'd never been prepared to see him. For all of her resistance to his flirting, she'd always figured the first time she caught a glimpse of him in a bed would be with herself underneath him and pinned to the mattress by his rippling muscles and disarming smile.

A notification from Instagram had found her in the middle of the night curled up with a novel. Valtor had tagged her in a photo of a rare flower he'd taken hours earlier at sunset. The captured moment had found her despite the tricky signal on his mountain climbing hike and she'd drifted off to sleep with a smile still on her face and a warmth in her heart.

Her tea had been steaming in her half-empty mug the next morning when the twins had called her with the headline that Valtor had been found with a head trauma and taken to the hospital.

Coma.

She'd thrown every window of her apartment open but all the chilly morning air had done had been to shake her to her core. Her lungs had heaved with dry sobs as she'd looked down from the 40th floor, hands clutching at the windowsill. He would've climbed up the side of the building if she'd asked it of him. All she had done had been letting them both down time and time again.

Griffin pushed the door open slowly. Her heart pounded in her ears to compensate for the stillness on the other side of the door and and her finger trembled over the cactus in the pot. Prickling it would spill red to drown out the unblemished peacefulness of the hospital room in case it was too unbearable.

Valtor's parents were sitting on a couch opposite from the door amidst too much chaos in place of the rigidness she'd expected. Elinor's long black hair spilled over Ailan's suit jacket and his shoulder where she'd rested her head as if it were too heavy. Her usual stoicism had melted off of her lean form. Her eyes were red-rimmed and she'd missed to wipe away a smudge of her mascara. Ailan's hand was gentle on the crown of her head but his knuckles had turned white gripping at his own knee. His leg twitched in failed restraint to keep it from bouncing and his lips moved senselessly in his wife's hair. He was pulled taut like a bandage stretched to tearing over a wound that was too big. Nothing in their stance spoke of both their remarkable height or the power their name carried.

"Griffin," Elinor rose up from her husband's chest. He offered her his handkerchief at the sound of her nasal voice.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to intrude," Griffin was stuck to the floor, her legs made of lead. It would be like stepping on their graves to go any closer to them. Her hard-to-get routine had left their son limp in that bed.

"It's okay, dear," Ailan rubbed Elinor's back while she was blowing her nose quietly. "I'm sure he'd want you here. Maybe he'll feel your presence. He's always been attuned to it."

Griffin swallowed. Valtor had put his whole heart into getting to know her. He'd found a way into hers through the suffocation she'd subjected it to to avoid a crack in her walls. And now the only sound coming from him was that of his shallow breaths.

"We'll be outside on a short walk." Ailan helped Elinor up and they leaned on each other. Their steps were slow but steady as they passed by her and Elinor squeezed her shoulder instead of holding on to her husband.

Griffin had to push her finger on the cactus in her hands for the pain to ground her. The moment the door closed behind Valtor's parents, her knees gave out and she slumped in the chair at the side of the bed. Their company had been a punishment but one well deserved.

The quiet hit her harder now that she had proof she was the cause of it. She'd always been but Valtor had been filling it–and her lungs–with his sweet talk. She'd come to talk but her throat was parched like she'd choked on the sun.

All the ashes of the moments she'd let burn out were flickering over her skin to brand it with echoes of the words she'd never said. Her breath had stopped the first time she'd laid eyes on Valtor's shapely physique and his confident stance, on his strong jaw and striking eyes as he'd introduced himself as a benefactor to the school where she'd grown up and was working. She'd smiled to herself watching him do an art course for her students through a window after she'd refused to be the head of the project and his supervisor. She'd discussed books with him till the middle of the night and had never said a word about his pick-up lines. She'd accepted his invitations to a matinee raising awareness about endangered species in the local botanical gardens and a charity fundraiser for victims of abuse but had never replied to his date suggestions. So many things he'd said to her and she'd kept her silence, and her distance.

Her grip tightened on the pot with the cactus. She'd smeared her blood on the side like some sort of magical ritual to bind her life force to that of the cactus, and of Valtor. She'd picked a succulent that survived with the same tenacity he'd shown and bloomed in the color of her hair. She hadn't managed to kill that one even when she'd stopped tending to her plants for months on end alongside abandoning Faragonda and Valtor appreciated her and her efforts. He had to wake up and give the cactus the same devotion he'd put in the photograph that had won her over.

"In the eye of the sun," the caption had read under the glowing halo of light the sunset had become around the flower's crown of purple-bluish petals.

Griffin left the cactus on the nightstand before she'd broken the pot. She dropped off her purse next to it and wiped her palms in her charcoal skirt mindful of the blood oozing from the pinprick on her finger. She didn't take Valtor's hand into hers. She'd left her fingerprints on him.

"I came here for myself as much as I did it for you. Because it turns out you've become a part of my life no matter how much I was trying to avoid just that." She'd grasped it in the artfulness of the photograph – he was the sun and she was the flower as much as the opposite was true as well. Her eyes were the golden ones but his gaze was the only thing that would brighten her day. If he'd give it to her. If she hadn't made it to the end of the universe where sunlight didn't reach.

"I was scared to know where the road stopped for us. I didn't want to face an inevitability. But I figured I'm more afraid of not knowing just how far we can go." The sun would rise one day on a dead flower but if Griffin let herself, she could have with Valtor what his parents did. She could have a lifetime full of love – in the eye of the sun instead of the storm. "I was scared of being just a speck of ink on your life but I will be. I will be anything you want me to be."

Her finger wasn't bleeding anymore but her heart hadn't stopped. It was pumping blood in her veins frantically to keep her moving and breathing long enough to be anything to him. Being just a short footnote to his life explaining his condition would be enough for her as long as he survived it.

"What do I have to do to show you how much you mean to me if you're still not convinced?" The silence shattered from the power of Valtor's voice and air cut into her lungs.

Tears spilled from her eyes like liquid sunlight. "Valtor."

()()()()

Her heart was hammering under her palm like it was trying to knock her down where she was leaning on the wall next to Valtor's door. It'd been a long while since she'd ran out to get the doctor and then Valtor's parents. They were inside now along with her purse and her tears had dried on her cheeks but her heart wouldn't settle. It wanted to shoot out of her chest and land only in Valtor's hands after she'd dashed out the door without another word. She hadn't had any this time. Otherwise, they would've spilled out along with her tears.

The door opened and Elinor stepped outside. Her blue eyes had lit up with the light of a whole sky full of stars and the corners of her mouth couldn't contain her smile. She was steady on her heels in her own right again. Her husband was a reflection of her lightness once again rather than a crutch to support her weight.

"Thank you, Griffin," Elinor drew her into a hug that turned her stomach. "You were there five minutes and he woke up."

Griffin's hands weighed like anvils on Elinor's back and would break her spine with the words pushing on Griffin's tongue. "No, it's all my fault he ended up here in the first place," she could hear herself speaking from afar through the confusion dizzying her mind that would have sent her tumbling down if not for Elinor's embrace. If she'd been more honest with Valtor–and with herself–she never would've pushed them down that road. She'd made him feel like he needed to prove something just because she was woven from distrust in the dark. "I'm sorry."

Elinor pulled back, eyes locked with Griffin and hands on her shoulders. "You don't have to apologize to me. Valtor makes his own decisions and I wouldn't stop him. You've been unfair to yourself in your refusal to believe he was seeing your worth."

Griffin grabbed on to Elinor's arms as the world spun around her on its head. Valtor had gone to such lengths for her, to show her her own worth, not to prove his feelings. He'd risked his life for a single photograph when she hadn't believed his words. And she'd received the message – loud and clear.

"Thank you," Griffin squeezed Elinor's hands whose touch was gentle despite the strength in her arms – just like Griffin's own mother's had been. She was lucky to have found someone with the same striking wisdom to advise her in the wake of her parents' deaths.

"Go to him," Elinor brushed a strand of purple hair from where it'd stuck to the salty tracks on Griffin's cheek. "He's been asking for you." With a nod of encouragement Elinor released her.

Griffin pushed the door open to draw the attention of both men inside. Ailan nodded at her and patted Valtor on the shoulder before making his way out quickly and closing the door.

Griffin and Valtor stared at each other wordlessly. She took in the way every inch of him moved with vitality. His lungs drew in full breaths and her smile got a wide grin in return. How had she ever doubted the shine in his eyes? He was glowing like the sight of her infused him with pure light.

"Thanks for the cactus," Valtor reached over to pull it to the edge of the nightstand, fingers brushing the leather of her purse still lying abandoned there. "Now I'll have company in my prickliness."

Griffin chuckled despite herself and shook her head. "That's not why I brought it. I was hoping it would lend you some of its resilience." The confession came out whole instead of shredded in pieces like she'd feared. "It has survived through many years with me."

"There was no way I wouldn't pull through with you here but why did you come? Was it just fear that drove you here, saying the things of my dreams?"

Her heart jumped in her throat and she had to swallow it to speak, not to keep him from seeing it. She sat down in the chair by the bedside again. It was quickly becoming a monument of their relationship's development.

"I don't know how much you heard of what I said before but I was scared. I was scared I would never get to tell you the photo got through to me because I'd been so scared to act, to feel. I hardly made it through the loss of my parents," Griffin choked back the memories spilling into her eyes. "It was so hard for me to believe in my own future when I'd been pulled from my roots. I've been living on willpower and instinct but I'm ready to feel again, to love again. With you."

Valtor offered her a hand and she took it. He brought it to his mouth for a kiss, the breath from his lips scorching her nerves with the pleasant shiver it sent over her skin. They'd held hands as they'd danced but they'd never made it closer to each other than an inch apart.

"I heard you say you'd be anything I want." Valtor's sly smile had her resisting the urge to roll her eyes. He had something positively scandalous on his mind. "I want you to be my wife."

"Valtor!" Heat rose inside her – overwhelmingly invigorating in the subtlety of the romantic history between them. "Ask me on a date first." She'd say yes this time. She'd say yes any time.

"Take your time. I'll ask you on a thousand dates. We have a whole future in front of us," Valtor laced their fingers together.

#winx club #winx griffin #winx valtor #griffin x valtor #covenshipping #fanfiction #my fanfiction #my writing #200fc #i'll tag valtor's parents when i come up with a surname for them

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j-hawthorn · 3 years

Text

Havelock’s Morning Off

(Some Sybil/Vimes/Vetinari :D You can find it on AO3 here)

Rated: Mature

Havelock Vetinari rolled his head in one direction, then the other, trying to work the kink from his neck. He'd dozed off at his desk the night before and had woken at an odd angle with his head in the crook of his arm. He yawned, and tapped his pen on the desk.

It was, he thought, a suspiciously quiet day. Drumknott flitted about in that silent, unassuming way of his. Folders had been removed from the desk, and replaced with a large pot of tea and a plate of biscuits. Havelock's brow twitched. He folded his hands and waited.

He was utterly and completely unsurprised when, ten minutes later, Sybil entered the office all ruddy cheeks and billowing skirts. She beamed, waving a hand, 'No, no! Don't get up, Havelock!'

Havelock, who had not moved at all, simply smiled, 'Good morning, Sybil.'

'Hello, darling,' She sat opposite him, pouring a cup of tea. 'How are you?'

'Perfectly well,' he said, taking a cup she offered him. 'What do I owe this charming, and completely out of the blue visit?'

Sybil leaned in, crooking a finger for him to do so too. When they were level, she whispered, 'Sam's on his way over.' Then winked.

'Oh?' Vetinari allowed himself to do a camp little shoulder and eyebrow raise. 'And the purpose of this visit?'

'To surprise you both into taking the morning off.'

'Both of us?' Havelock chuckled.

Sybil smiled, a sweet, charming smile that spoke volumes. 'I think the world will still turn while I have some time with my boys.'

Havelock hummed, leaning back in his chair. Her boys. He let that thought warm him, a small smile on his lips. He was very happy to be one of her "boys". It was a very comfortable place to be. He cherished their quick, stolen moments of love and softness that always left him reeling, and wanting for more.

The door opened and in strolled Sir Samuel Vimes. He cocked a half grin, pulling his helmet off. Placing it on the desk, he walked up behind Sybil.

He gave her shoulder a loving squeeze, 'Alright, kid?'

'Hello, darling,' Sybil smiled brightly, arm around his waist.

Havelock loved watching them together. He was happy his dearest friend had found herself such a match in that watchman. He liked seeing Sam's walls come down. A man not suited to public displays of affection, when the doors were closed, he knew Vimes damn near worshipped his wife. Which of course was the appropriate response to being loved by Sybil. Gods knew he adored her for years. Decades.

The scent of the city, mixing with sweat and leather broke him from his thoughts just as Vimes leaned in, hand braced on the chair back. Havelock turned his head in time to press a kiss to the corner of Sam's lips, feeling the brush of stubble on his skin. The watchman chuckled, hand on Havelock’s cheek as he captured him in a kiss.

Vetinari could taste smoke and coffee. It wasn’t exactly pleasant, but it was safe. A kind of home he hadn’t ever expected. He raked fingers through Sam’s short hair. Then stood. Vimes was not a tall man. He stumbled backward, grunting as Havelock pushed him back against the desk. Head tipped back, Vimes braced himself against the desk, Havelock’s hands on his cheeks. Sam held him at the waist, pulling him flush against his body but armour poked and prevented true contact.

When they came up for air, Vimes was flushed red. Sybil laughed, her chair making a sound on the stone floor as she stood. Before Vimes could react, she slipped her arms around his waist, nuzzling into the crook of his neck.

Havelock watched as Vimes relaxed into her touch. Between her distraction and Vetinari’s quick hands, pieces of armour were shed and Vimes was lead to the bedroom. Sam gave Sybil such a dopey, love filled grin when she pulled him onto Havelock’s bed, he couldn’t help but laugh. Husband and wife tangled together, Vimes made short work of her dress lacing.

Leaning against the wall, Havelock smirked. He quite liked watching, especially now as Sybil’s gown was on the floor and her stays were coming loose.

She laughed brightly, holding out her hand, ‘Havelock! Darling, come over here.’

He took her hand, bowing low to kiss her knuckles. Sam snorted, ‘You know he likes to get an eyeful.’

‘Maybe I want to get an eyeful of him,’ Sybil retorted, pulling Havelock onto the bed.

He was suddenly trapped between them. Vimes had an arm around his waist, and a hand resting just below Havelock’s throat. Vetinari tipped his head back and to the side as Sam kissed his neck. Teeth grazed his skin and Havelock moaned, throwing a hand back to grip the other man’s thigh. Sam laughed, breath hot by his ear.

Slow and gentle hands undid his buttons. Sybil kissed his forehead, lips feather light, a pleasing contrast to Vimes’ teeth on his neck. She stroked fingertips down his chest, then extracted him from her husband’s grip.

Havelock was more than happy to let Sybil take over, move him however she wished. Straddling his hips, left in only her chemise and stockings, Sybil was a glorious sight, haloed by the morning sun coming in through a high window.

She was strong. Her body was soft and strong, with small patches of rough skin where dragon fire had caught her. He let his fingers explore, following curves and arches, soft and slow before taking full palmed grabs of her. She laughed, bright and musical, her forehead pressed to his.

‘You’re so beautiful,’ he whispered against her lips.

Sybil wrinkled her nose, shaking her head, ‘Oh hush, you.’

‘Never,’ Havelock smirked. He waved a hand in the air, ‘Sir Samuel, care to weigh in?’

‘Oh, she’s absolutely gorgeous.’Vimes laughed and with a gentle hand turned his wife’s head towards himself to kiss her cheek, ‘The gods smiled far to brightly on me the day we met.’

‘Oh, goodness me!’ Sybil giggled, blushing.

Havelock ran his hands up her thighs, finding her ribbon garters and slowly untying them as Vimes kissed her. She made the sweetest sounds, her breath hitching when Sam broke the kiss to growl something in her ear. Havelock rolled her stockings down to her knees, watching her smack her husband’s shoulder with the most salacious and cheeky grin he’d ever seen.

The commander smirked, caught Havelock’s eye and winked before laying down beside him. Sybil climbed off of him, slipping off her chemise and stockings – not that Havelock was free to move again. Vimes was on him this time, hungry mouth on his throat.

Havelock hooked a finger through Sam’s belt loop, pulling him down hard. Where Sybil was soft, Vimes was hard. A thin, muscled man, his strength was in his hands – one of which had slipped down and was unbuckling Havelock’s belt with surprising ease.

‘...Have you been practising?’ Vetinari purred, one hand in the man’s hair, the other up under his shirt and raking his nails over his back.

‘Shut up,’ Vimes snarled, nipping at his ear. He got a fistful of Havelock’s hair, tugging as he kissed him. Both the men moaned, Vetinari grabbing Sam’s thigh.

He was delightfully entranced. Havelock arched his back, a hand on Sam’s cheek, fingers brushing over stubble. The man was intoxicating, the strength of his grip showing the truth of his feelings. Sam Vimes was the kind of man to hold onto what he loved. Havelock knew he was loved by that man, even when Vimes struggled to say those exact words. He didn’t need to.

Havelock pulled back, and with a firm hand forced Vimes to look at him. ‘I love you,’ He whispered. And watched the quick flashes of emotion pass through the man’s eyes. Surprise, fear, a pinch of guilt, and ultimately the truth of it. Sam gave a tiny, near imperceptible nod, smiling weakly. He pressed his forehead to Vetinari’s, and sighed, stroking his cheek with the back of his hand.

He didn’t need to say it, but that didn’t mean Havelock wouldn’t.

Movement on the bed signalled the return of Sybil and a second pair of exploring hands wandering along Havelock’s body. He welcomed her back with arms as open as he could make them with the commander in the way.

Soon the three of them were far too engaged with each other to notice the time, or to care about the world beyond those walls. For the time being, they were all each other wanted or needed.

#These boys love their wife #their wife loves them #there will be another part of this where the boys surprise Sybil #she needs all the attention in the world #get it girl #Sybil pulling strings again #My writing #also on ao3 #discworld #Sybil/Vimes/Vetinari #vetvimes

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harrysgoldenbum · 4 years

Text

A New Adventure* one shot

*Warning: smut 2.3k words

I know I am a couple of days late, but inspiration stuck and I went with it. Happy New Year Everyone!

NOTE: not edited

They stumbled into the house, Harry leaning heavily on Y/N. Her arm around his waist and his over her shoulders. The couple looking over their shoulders, at the car that is currently occupied by their good friends. They had gone to a mutual friend’s New Year party together. It’s just past 12:30 and Harry is just tipsy enough for Y/N to know that her man is soon going want to get himself action. She just hopes Harry gives her the chance to surprise him. Her husband pays a lot of attention to her body (and her of course).

“Can’t believe it! We are becoming an old couple! Barely the new year and we are home! Remember when I could stay out all night and not even be tried the next day! Wha’ happened to us!”

Chuckling quietly, Y/N glances up at her husband. “Honey, we have to go to the Key’s birthday party and we have to find time to fit in the Christmas decor clean up. We aren’t old! We… are um...just practical.” Carefully, guiding Harry to the stairs, Y/N hopes Harry will let her separate from him just long enough to get his surprise ready.

“Bein’ practical sucks! Next time we are staying up for three days! I demand it!”

“Alright sleepy beauty, the day you can stay up for three days is the day pigs can fly.”

“Oi! Why you bein’ so mean to me!” Harry whines. Walking into their bedroom Y/N makes him sit on the bed. Thanking the perfect opening she is given.

“Sorry love, how about I find a way to make it up to you?”

With a cheeky grin, her husband starts to get handsy. “Hhhmm I can think of a few ways you can make it up to me” His hands grip her hips tightly, before sliding down and cupping her ass. “Did I tell you that your ass looks amazing in this dress?” Harry mumbles as he starts to kiss up her neck. Y/N’s hands go straight to his hair. “Harry…” “Hhmm? You gonna make it up to me?” He starts to suck on the spot behind her ear that always has her toes curling. Inhaling deeply, Y/N tries to remember what she needs to do. “Yes… yes, I will… I need you -” her sentence is cut off when her husband starts to unzip her dress.

Shaking her head as if to clear the lustful fog, she steps away from Harry. “I have something for you, a gift, can I get it for you? Please?”

“But that wasn’t what I was thinkin’-” Trying to bring her back into his embrace, Harry stands and goes to grab her hands.

“Trust me baby.”

With a pout, Harry sits on their bed once again. With a small smile. Y/N takes the one step it takes to stand between his legs and kisses her husband’s lips gently. “I’ll be right back”.

She walks to their walk-in closet and opens the drawer that holds her lace. Her hands are shaking. ‘I can do this!’. She starts to strip out of her dress and removes the underwear she has on to put on hot, red, lace baby doll she bought just a couple of days ago. The baby doll’s cups push her breasts higher and is completely see-through. Just ending at the beginning of her thighs, she slides on the lacy, crotch less panties. She bends at the waist and runs her hands through her hair. Trying to give it the messy/just rolled out bed look that Harry just loves. Looking at her reflection she smiles brightly. Happy with her look, once again she goes to the shelves that hold her purses and grabs her black bag from the top shelf. Opening it she pulls out a red box with a gold bow. Then slowly slides the closet door open and hides the box behind her back. She is greeted by her very naked husband and the bedside lamps casting a warm golden glowing. Y/N laughs lowly when she sees that Harry has the 2020 new year glasses on. He hears the first few steps Y/N takes and glances up from pulling the bed sheets and comforter. His mouth drops open and eyes widen. Y/N bites her lower lip and slowly starts walking toward Harry. As she gets closer to their bed, Harry starts crawling backward towards the headboard his eyes never leaving her body. Watching her, Y/N reaches the foot of the bed and starts crawling toward Harry. Once she reaches him, she straddles his hips. Eyes never leaving one another, Y/N slowly reaches over to the bedside table and places the box there.

“That’s for later” she whispers.

Harry’s hands are at Y/N’s hips and he is looking up are her “Fuckin’ hell, I married the sexiest woman in the world.” He starts to move hand over the material of the lingerie, “how did I get so fuckin’ lucky?’

Y/N leans forward and Harry’s eyes drop to her chest. Smiling against his lips, Y/N slowly licks his upper lip. “I don’t know baby, I would say I’m the one who got lucky. Millions of girls out there that wish they were me.”

Harry’s grip tightens. “Wouldn’ want anyone else here.”

Y/N slides her arms around his neck “good.” and finally kisses him square on the lips. First drawing his upper lip in and sucking on it before lightly nipping it with her teeth. She does the same with his full bottom lip too. Then after a while, Harry can no longer take the teasing and slides his hands from her hips, up to her chest, giving her breast a squeeze. He continues to move one hand to her neck and finally into her hair. Giving a firm (yet gentle) tug Harry takes over the kiss. He slowly slides his tongue into her mouth, before finally sucking on her tongue. All the while his fingers pluck at her nipple through her outfit. Bringing them to stiff peaks. Needing air in his lungs, Harry removes his mouth from his wife’s and immediately connects them to Y/N’s neck. Harry slides his hands down her body to the junction between her legs and freezes. “Are you not wearing-”

A giggle leaves Y/N’s lips before she can help herself. “They’re crotch less”

An animalistic noise escapes from the back of Harry’s throat brings a smirk onto her lips and before she could realize, Harry lifted the both of then and brought Y/N’s back to the bed. Looking up at her husband, she sensed the change in her husband. With a wild glint in his eyes, Harry practically ripped her flimsy nightwear and throws it over his shoulder. Without any hesitation, he drops his head and latches on to one of Y/N’s nipples and sucks deep. Y/N’s back arches, trying to get closer to her source of pleasure. Her fingers lock on to the curly locks that cover her husband’s head. All the while, Harry slowly starts to ease his middle finger into his wife’s core.

“Fucking soaked” Harry moans against Y/N’s breast, a desperate moan is released from Y/N’s lips. “Who gets you that way, huh? Dripping onto the bed sheets and we’ve just gotten started”

“Y-you do!” Y/N whimpers, tossing her head left and right “a-always am when I’m with y-you.”

With a groan, Harry moves down her chest closer to her center. He blows air on her lower opening, “Takin’ me finger so well petal.” Adding his ring finger, he pumps in and out of her slowly before curling his finger and touching the spongy spot on her inner wall.

Releasing a wet moan, Y/N begs for more, and not one to deny his wife, Harry starts sucking on the erect clit in front of him. “Y-yes! Yesss! I’m going to c-cum! I’m-”

Her hands tighten on harry’s curls. With a deep bend of her back, her walls start to milk his fingers. “That’s it, baby, work my fingers.” Harry continues to pump his fingers in her trying to prolong her pleasure. When her orgasm comes to an end her moves back up to her. Caging her in. Her lips are a dark raspberry color from kissing and working her teeth against it. Her eyelids are lowered and her hair creating a halo around her.

“God, you’re beautiful” Harry whispers in awe.

A shy smile makes its way to Y/N’s face. “You aren’t hard to look at either Harry” she inputs quietly. She cups one side of his neck and pulled him down for a gentle kiss. Then just like her husband, her hands slowly travel down to the hard organ that rests between Harry’s legs. Caressing him first, Y/N tightens she hands around his cock and starts to pump slowly. Harry’s head drops to watch her small hands pleasure him. She brings her thumb over his tip, causing him to shudder.

“Fuck.” Harry hisses. “Love watching you take care of me.” Y/N’s hands continue to twist, go up, go down, round his tip, and every once in a while she will cup his balls. “Can’ take anymo’” he removes her hands from him and brings them up to his chest. He gives her a long kiss. Tongues caress each other, teeth nipping lips. Pulling away, Harry grabs himself and positions himself. Inch by inch, he enters his wife’s pussy, stretching her out. “Always so tight ‘n warm” His thrusts start off shallow, once the both of them are more comfortable with the rhythm, Harry moved one of Y/N’s legs and hooks it to his shoulder. Allowing him to travel deeper into his wife’s canal. The only noises that can be heard are the moans that both parties are releasing. Harry drops his head and starts to suck on one of Y/N’s hard nipples. He nips the bud, before soothing it with his tongue. He does the same with her other tit. He pulls away and rests his forehead against hers.

“Look at us petal” he pants, “look at how g-good you take me.”

“More… h-harder” Y/N begs.

With a guttural moan, Harry brings her leg down from his shoulder, Harry plants both Y/N’s feet on the bed. He surges up to his knees and grasps Y/N’s hips up to meet him thrust after thrust, causing her shoulder-blades and head to sink into the mattress. Sweat drips down Harry’s brow onto Y/N’s belly. The room echos with the sound of skin slapping against skin.

“Gonna leave bruises on yeh. Given it that hard.”

Unable to make a sound, all Y/N can do is grab Harry’s wrists and pant through the pleasure. The couple keeps eye contact until Harry hit the right spot and Y/N’s roll into the back of her head.

“Foun’ it, didn’t I”

“C-close, I’m close” Y/N manages.

“Me t-too love”

Harry’s speed picks up and it’s almost unbearable for the couple, to be hanging off the edge for so long until they fall together. Placing his thumb on Y/N’s clit, he circles slowly, as if he is just barely making contact with the sensitive ball. But that more than enough to push Y/N over the edge. Crying out his name she cums… HARD. Toes curling, nails digging, every muscle in her body tightening (even ones she forgot about). One, two, three thrusts later Harry feels his balls tighten and white light flash behind his eyelids. He joins Y/N in the fall of the pleasurable abyss. Rooting into her, Harry tucks his face into Y/N’s neck. The husband and wife cling to each other as they try to recover from their journey.

Once their breathing becomes normal, Harry pecks kisses all around Y/N’s face and neck. With a sigh, Harry slowly starts to lift off his wife. Still sensitive, a whimper escapes from Y/N’s throat. It takes longer for Y/N to recover and once she does her first instinctive reaction is to cuddle with her husband. No words are spoken between the couple, they are so absorbed at the moment that they don’t even realize it. It isn't until the random patterns Harry is drawing on her back with his fingertips does she remember what all this excitement was for. Reaching over to the bedside table, she grabs the box. Harry watches her curiously, as she presents the box to him.

“Christmas was days ago love” he jokes, “and me birthday isn't for another month.”

“This is a different kind of gift” wringing her hands, she lays on her side. “Open it.”

And that’s exactly what he does. And in the box, he finds a small onesie that says ‘Mama’s Boy’ and another that says ‘Daddy’s Angel’.

“Wha-”

And at the bottom, is a pregnancy test (wrapped in tissue) and a sonogram picture. Harry looks up at his wife speechless.

“I know we haven’t been trying for long, but um I guess we were really good at it…” she doesn’t get to finish explaining, because Harry is suddenly on her. Kissing her with so much emotion, she didn’t know how to explain it. He pulls away and places a gentle kiss on her tummy.

“How long have you known,” he asks looking up at her with tears in his eyes.

“Two weeks. I’m six weeks in.” Y/N whispers with tears falling down her temple, “ we can’t find out what the gender is until I am about sixteen weeks and I didn’t know which outfit to get.”

“We’re having a baby. A little prince or princess.”

“It’s going to be a new adventure.”

~~~~~~~~~

My Works

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leilabeaux · 4 years

Text

In My Sights II

Masterlist | One

Pairing: Ivar/Reader

Word Count: 1885

Warning: Schmut, this part literally starts off with a bang.

Summary: Certain obligations call you back home.

Author’s Note: So much for this being a one shot.

Your hand grabbed the headboard tightly, holding on for leverage as you slammed yourself down onto Ivar over and over again. You bit down hard on your lip when you felt that sweet release slowly creeping up on you again. Trying so hard to hold back your desperate moans, you refused to let him know how badly you were falling apart. But when you felt his thumb start to circle around your clit, you were unable to stop yourself from crying out his name.

He wrapped his hand around the back of your neck, pulling you down to him. “Say it again, say my name again,” he whispered harshly into your ear as his thumb moved faster.

Your head was so cloudy from the pleasure that you found yourself willing to follow his order and repeated the cries of his name. He kissed you deeply while his hand tightened around the sides of your neck. You felt the spasms taking over your body as you became lightheaded.

Digging his head back into the pillow, Ivar groaned out loud as he came inside you after feeling your pussy clench around him. Your senses felt overloaded when he loosened his hold on you, the rush of air you were finally able to take in seemed overwhelming. You continued grinding your hips slowly against his while you both rode the aftershock of your orgasms.

You collapsed onto his chest in a sweaty mess of loose limbs. A part of you was surprised he lasted as long as he did. It seemed like he was determined to make up for all the lost time and make sure you didn’t forget him if you decided to make yourself scarce once again.

“Stay with me for once. It’s the least you could do,” he insisted, pulling you back to him when you tried to get out of bed. It was the same thing every time you two got together, he’d beg you to stay and you’d have an internal struggle while you told him no.

Feeling his arm wrap around your back, you laid your head against his chest. “Because I stole your kill?,” you guessed.

“Because you said no,” Ivar lamented softly. Taking your left hand in his own, he gently caressed your empty ring finger. “I still have the ring if you changed your mind.”

You were foolish to think he wouldn’t bring up the elephant in the room.

This is why you stayed away for so long. You knew if you kept showing up in his life that he would slowly try to wear down your resolve. At least he didn’t have the ring with him this time. It was hard enough just saying no to his hopeful face at the time and even harder saying no to the beautiful ruby stone surrounded by a diamond halo.

“Ivar, you hardly know me.” It was the same response you gave him the last time.

Other than your addiction to labels, luxury, and murder, he only knew of a few small facts you deemed safe enough for him to know. None of which you thought would cause a man to spend at least six figures on the perfect piece of jewelry for you.

“Well if you marry me, then I can spend the rest of my life getting to know you,” he contended as he interlaced his fingers with yours.

“How about we just enjoy the next few hours?” You were grateful that you were looking away from him. You didn’t think you could take seeing the disappointment that you were sure was on his face.

Ivar only hummed in response. You knew this wasn’t going to be the last you would hear of this though it seemed like he was conceding for the night. The truth was that you wanted to be his wife, you wanted to wake up every morning in his arms. But you weren’t naive. You knew that the only happy ending women like you get is one where you don’t end up with a bullet in your head.

You closed your eyes and allowed yourself to be lulled by the sound of his heartbeat.

It was a faint buzzing sound that stirred you from your slumber. After a few moments of trying to wake up, you realized it was all coming from your phone. You looked down at Ivar and was thankful that he was still deeply asleep. Carefully slipping away from his hold and out of bed, you grabbed your phone before going to the bathroom for privacy.

You tried to hold back your disgust as you evaluated the room. You couldn’t understand why he would lower himself to such grimy accommodations when he had more than enough money to buy a whole luxury hotel if he wanted to. Shaking your head, you started going through your phone.

You had two missed calls from the same contact. There was no name saved under it, only a single emoji of a cross. Your finger hovered over the screen as you dreaded having to return the call. You knew the voice on the other end would be displeased over being ignored. A single message popped up just when you were about to hit call.

You are due for a confession.

Kind of early for that, ain’t it, Padre?

Do not call me that and you are due whenever I say you are due.

Fine, I’ll be there as soon as I can.

Good. I will have a plane waiting for you at the airport.

That was not good. If he knew where you were, then it was very likely he knew what you were up to. Cracking open the door, you peeked to make sure Ivar was still sleeping. So much for staying till morning.

You quickly freshened yourself up, taking care to wipe the mascara and lipstick smudges from your face, before stepping out and quietly putting your clothes back on. Gathering his clothes, braces, and crutch, you set the items by the bed so he had easy access to them.

You didn’t take a chance on kissing his goodbye, fearful that he would wake and give you too many valid reasons to stay. Hopefully, your parting gift would ease his frustration when he woke up alone.

——

You said you would be there as soon as you can but that was a lie. After your long flight back to Wessex, you decided to take a much needed soak in the bath. It was just before midnight when you texted that you were finally on your way.

Though you never missed an opportunity to get dressed up, you knew walking into the church wearing a high-end dress and a pair of pumps at this time of night could possibly draw some unwanted attention. Instead you were dressed in a well-worn University of Wessex hoodie and plain jeans. To the few people currently occupying the pews, you were just a normal college student looking for some spiritual guidance.

You entered the confessional booth and knelt down on the step, clasping your hands in prayer. “Bless me, father, for I have sinned. It has been three weeks, twelve hours, and six minutes since my last confession.”

You wondered if you had the wrong booth when all you got was silence. Usually the exchange was simple, you would say the code—twelve hours and six minutes—and then the priest passed along a memory stick containing your next assignment. The remainder of the time was spent with listing your unabsolved sins.

“Hello? Is this thing on?,” You jested, giving a few raps on the partition. When it did finally open up, you could tell it was him even though the screen obstructed most of his face. “Damn,” you softly whispered.

Heahmund stared down at you, slowly exhaling as if trying to control his annoyance. “Hello, Sister Mary Julian. I am glad you could finally join me.”

The Bishop was very careful to limit his interactions with you which you took no offense to. The rare times he made an appearance was either to make a very special request or to lecture you over your work. “So, this assignment must be a juicy one if you’re personally delivering it to me,” you hoped.

“I think we both know that there is no new assignment. I had been informed that you have been away for the past few days.” It looked like you were in for a reprimand tonight. Raising his brow at you, he continued, “Tell me, Sister, what was the purpose of your trip? And I think it is in your best interest if you do not lie to me.”

“Pleasure, mainly.” Technically, not a lie. The only reason you took the job was to see Ivar again. “Just needed a bit of R&R.”

“I found it very interesting that the son of a well known diplomat was also there getting some ‘R&R’. A diplomat who is a very generous friend of the church.”

“That is interesting.”

“And even more so that his son unfortunately died due to a severe allergic reaction.”

“Should have avoided the shellfish.”

“I did not get to that part yet.”

“Damn.”

Heahmund pinched the bridge of his nose while he roughly sighed. “While your creativity in your work does amuse me, I thought we agreed that you would not take a contract on your own. Remember I handle the clients and I pick your assignments. All for your safety. Or do I need to remind you why?”

“No.” Your hand instinctively went to scarred skin below your ribs, remembering when you first met him. You were a bloody mess, passed out at his feet after being betrayed by a client. But that was a few years ago and you felt a few years wiser now.

“Do not go behind my back again,” he warned. “Your set of skills have proved useful to me and to the church and I ensure that you are well compensated for it. We would both hate it if I had to cut ties with you now.”

Rising up from the step and brushing the dust off your knees, you were happy there was no mention of what or who else you were doing while away. Heahmund was willing to overlook the sinful acts you had to commit for work purposes but, as a bride of Christ, any personal intimate relationship was nonnegotiable especially one with a man whose family was considered an enemy of the church.

“I have not excused you. I told you that you were due for a confession.”

You didn’t care if he saw you roll your eyes as you kneeled back down. You made quick work running down the list of sins you committed since the last time you were in the booth. Murder? Check. Grinding against a married man? Check. Not dressing modestly? Check. Obsessed with material possessions? Always.

Still Heahmund held back on giving you your penance. “Anything else you might be missing?”

Your mind shifted to the image of Ivar looking up at you from his position between your thighs, his tongue flat against your clit while his hands pinned yours down on the bed. You felt yourself getting wet just from the memory alone. “No, nothing I can think of, Bishop.”

——

Tags: @youbloodymadgenius @spotgaai2000 @castielsangelsx @walkxthexmoon @multifandom0-0 @placetokeepstories

#viking fanfic #viking fanfic au #ivar the boneless #ivar the boneless au #ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #alex høgh andersen #alex høgh andersen imagine

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ravinewreyn · 4 years

Text

In the Night - Helsa Oneshot

Pairing(s): Hans/Elsa, slight Anna/Kristoff Rating: T Genre: Family, Hurt/Comfort

((A re-write from my old oneshot))

She was there.

Under the silver moonlight that basked over her like a glowing halo for the woman who sat by the window, singing soft lullaby as she rocked the bundle in her arms close to her chest, blue eyes never leaving the sight of the nursing child, skin flushing beautifully as she had glanced up to find him standing at the doorway, song stopping and yet smile never fading as she made a gesture with her head for him to enter.

“Did he wake you?”

His head shook at her question as he came to sit by her side, lips pressing against her temples as one of his hand found itself cradling the child’s head, thumb running over the gentle curve of his head. The child’s fist curled into a clench over the fair skin of his mother’s breast, and he could not help but smile, finding himself just as equally enchanted by the innocence of the babe just like his wife was.

“The bed was empty,” his hand had found empty sheet by his side when he had rolled onto his back, eyes fluttering opened as the absence of the figure he had went to bed with had driven him out of his own dreams. “I figured you would be here.”

There was a laugh that came from her, soft and quiet as not to startle the baby in her embrace, as she adjusted her hold on him until she could free one of her arms, hand coming up to rest against his jawline, thumb running over the high of his cheek as her eyes met his, so clear and so blue that they reminded him of the cloudless sky, or the calming sea. “Where else would I be, darling?”

He brought his own face close to hers, eyes fluttering closed until he could feel the brush of her soft lips against his, the closeness had him used his other hand to round around her until it held her by the back of her head, fingers combing through the thick platinum blonde hair that she had, holding her close.

When his eyes had opened again, all he could see was the ceiling of their bedchamber.

There was barely any light, curtains were drawn close that signaled him that the servants had not yet entered to wake them up, too early to. His hand came to the opposite side of the bed, finding the emptiness to be the one thing that had only woken him up further as he turned his head around, only to see the undisturbed white linens under his touch.

Finding himself unable to return back to sleep, he had sat up on the bed instead, feet touching the cold floor as he got up, fingers combing through his unruly auburn hair as he made his way toward the door, barely glancing at his reflection as he knew of how he would look, barely awoken and clad in his nightwear and already heading out to the halls.

The sun had not even risen at the horizon as he made his way down, shadow dancing on the walls from the candles that lead him to where he wanted to go.

“Hans!” the call had not been expected, not at this hour, as his head turned to see the strawberry blonde-haired Princess whose steps he had failed to hear, pulling on the robe she had thrown over her nightgown, but there was something off in the way her eyes had looked, as if their lights had been taken away. “What are you doing?”

Brows furrowing at the odd question, his hand had lowered from the doorknob he was reaching for earlier. “To find Elsa, she was not in bed.” It was already strange enough that Anna would wander around the castle so early in the morning, as she was known to be the one who had the hardest time in waking up early, but the change in her facial expression had drove him into further confusion.

She held a look of pity, as she came approaching him, walking far slower than what he had been used to when it came to her. “Hans,” her voice was soft, as if there was a certain fear that held her back, though he did not think that she would fear him. “She’s not here.”

“The kitchen, then?” his wife had been making trips to the kitchen ever since she had found out they were expecting a child, finding the need to munch on snacks between meals. Yet when Anna’s head had shaken in uncertainty, he had taken another guess. “The study? I’ve told her not to overwork herself.” She could be a headstrong, he had caught her sneaking out to continue in her work even when he had personally told her that she should rest and mind her health and their child’s over the kingdom, as Arendelle would not be as affected by the lessening of the Queen’s work hour when she had the heir to the kingdom to care for. “I’m going to check on the baby first.”

“No, Hans,” there was a lump in her throat, he could hear it as clear as she could feel it, as her voice had thickened with the sadness he had no idea of it’s origin, and her hands fidgeted, as if she wanted to touch him but decided against it. “Elsa is not here, nor does the baby… they are gone, Hans.”

Someone had grabbed onto his heart, burning hot fingers curling around it as it slowly tightened it’s grip, preventing his body to function as it should, driving him into suddenly needing to breathe but couldn’t. “What do you mean by ‘gone’?” Elsa would never leave him; it had been in their vow to each other to never part unless death had come between them.

“We buried them a week ago.”

Something rung painfully in his ears, against his eardrums, and he wanted to scream, to yell at his sister in-law to not speak of such thing, to joke about such terrible thing that could not possibly happened. But he couldn’t, something held him back, something from within.

Instead his hand had turned the doorknob, pushing the door opened to a cold and empty nursery, abandoned. His heart dropped, for this room had been such a warm place, a favorite place of Elsa to stay in as she had spent her time decorating with an absolute attention to detail, a place for her to dream of the time that their child would eventually occupy it. He often found her sitting on the armchair by the window, reading or simply staring out to the calm waters of the fjord, sometimes she would sing, softly to herself, when she thought no one was watching.

“We don’t know what was wrong but the baby came far too early.”

He remembered that she had been feeling rather unwell, a little ill, that she had trouble in eating her breakfast and had Kai cancelling the meetings she had with her Council that day. She had wanted for nothing but to lie in bed, to rest and gather her energy, and he had kissed her temples after she had pulled the covers over herself, a small smile playing on her lips as she sleepily kissed him on the lips.

It had been hours, and he had made his way up the rounding stairs after she had failed to show up for lunch, thinking that she may have overslept and need him to wake her up. He was halfway through the halls when he had heard of the smashing of glass from their bedchamber, and the sound alone had prompted him to run the rest of his way, throwing opened the door to find her standing by the bed, hand holding tightly onto the bedpost as the other cradled her stomach, tears pooling in her eyes as she looked up at him, whole body trembling as she barely able to cry that something had happened, something terrible.

He had cried out for help, knowing that there would be servants coming and going around them, as he came to hold her, to support her and let her leaned heavily against her as she held on, the tears streaming down her cheeks and the continuous groans of pain had only driven him into a similar state of panic that she was in.

She had delivered the baby, writhing in so much pain as he could do nothing but held her, fighting his own tears because their child was not supposed to be born yet, there were still months for Elsa to carry it to term. It was a boy, a tiny little boy that were supposed to spend more time in his mother’s womb, too small for this world as their young son was struggling to even breath let alone to cry.

“Elsa couldn’t stop bleeding, there was so much blood.”

Red stained the gown she was wearing, the white linens laid underneath her, and the hands of the midwives and the doctors that surrounded them. There was so much red that he was suddenly sick of it, of the very color, but the white in his wife’s face was even more horrible. Her lips had lost it’s color, skin so pale as sweat dampened it, her eyes were dull as she was too weak to even try and hold their son.

The Queen had passed away shortly after and the premature-born Prince following close behind.

Rain had drizzled over them as they held the funeral, such gloom mirroring everyone that attended, royalties and commoners alike, as the beloved Queen and the heir they had been waiting for were lowered down into the same hole, joining the late King and Queen that had passed years ago.

He didn’t even know that his legs had gave up under him, not until he found himself hunching forward on his hands and knees on the floor, right in front of the abandoned nursery, stomach twisting so painfully that he felt like he was on the verge of throwing up.

“The grief may affect the Prince more than others.”

Someone had said it before, to Anna, when he thought that the auburn-haired Prince was not around to listen to, when he thought that he had drowned in his own grief over the loss of his loved ones. But he did drown, didn’t he? Still was, unable to find something to hold onto, to keep him afloat, because the rock in his life was gone. His attempt in surviving had only prompted his mind and heart to create false reality, one where he could have his happy ending after all that had happened in his life, clutching him in Fate’s grasp until he could not escape.

A hand rested against his shoulder before the Princess had lowered herself to kneel by her brother in-law’s side, and he remembered now, on why Anna had been wandering the castle’s halls despite the late hour, the reason why dark circles had now situated under her eyes. Grief had kept her from slumber, had disturbed her mind with nightmares each time that she closed her eyes, waking her in a state of hysterical screaming despite Kristoff’s best attempt at holding her -to calm her down and comfort her, until she had refused to rest at all, opting to let exhaustion to gnaw at her from the inside out.

The Arendelle royal family had never been the same after the Queen’s death.

#helsa #hansla #hanselsa #iceburns #queen elsa #elsa #prince hans #hans #fanfic #angst #because I'm feeling angsty #rewrite #frozen

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allyvampirelass29 · 4 years

Text

Beautiful Wickedness

A NOS4A2 Fanfiction By: Allyssa J. Watkins

Ally lay next to Charles, as the silver morning crept into the overhead canopy, setting the room alight with a soft glow. There was so much they weren't saying, as they laid there, close enough to touch, and a part of her wanted to forget it all........ her team-up with Victoria, her ghastly meeting with the vampire children, their deathly duel on the St. Nick Parkway, and just hold her husband, cling to his beautiful body, until it all melted away like snow........

Charles frowned as that mischievous hand touched his face, trying not to admire how comely her black lace nightdress stood out stark against her white skin. Skin that was right now beckoning to him....... He looked at her stubbornly, fighting his attraction, wary as to just what new hellish plot her sweet touch might conjure for him. You're a scheming minx, Wife, and yet I do so long, even still, to be seduced by you.

"Good Morning, Mrs. Manx," He whispered softly, allowing her to stroke his cheek, drunk with the ache in her touch, wondering if the same hunger lingered on her soft lips. "Are you going to kill me today, Wife? Or shall we linger abed for a bit longer?"

"Charles......." Ally whispered back, anguished, perishing in the thought, and he grabbed her tightly, as she hugged his body to hers, hiding her face in his bared chest.

"If I may be granted the privilege in choosing the weapon of my demise........ This sweet suffocation is a rather fine way to go......." He snickered, feeling her arms wrap tighter around him, her cheek pressed flush to his muscular chest, the slight quiver in her lips, making him wish they were overtaking his right now. So much fuss and fret, so many furious words hurled, this damnable business with Vic, poisoning their happy honeymoon days. But laying here, grasping her, feeling her, both of them desperate to be closer to each other. This was what he'd craved....... What he was so afraid to lose.

"Or perhaps I would prefer to die by a kiss," He simpered, his breath hot, his voice almost a growl and he wrenched her up his body, drowning her in an angry and tender kiss, tasting that ache, that pain of love, those gentle tears.........

"Ally........"

Ally burst into tears as she kissed him back passionately, letting her body say the words she could not, and Charles seized her thigh, punishing her with his affection, feeling her let go.......

"Charles- I could never- I won't let her k-kill-" Ally sobbed harder as she spoke between kisses, her voice broken and desolate, and Manx pulled at her curls to get more control over her lips, and to shield his heart from the pangs of those hopeless sobs.

"Nobody cries in Christmasland, Ally Manx," He breathed, his lips still brushing against hers, and he rested his fingernails on her wet cheek, watching the tears stream steady from those summertime eyes. "You're breaking the rules, My Sweet, and my poor heart. Unhappiness is against the law, or did you forget? Kill me with your kiss, Allyssa, yes, but do be so kind as to make it quick."

"I'll kiss you, Loveliest Husband, but I won't kill you........ Ally's eyes welled with raw emotion, piercing agony, profound joy, her lip still quivering. "I love you more than-"

"Don't-" Charles reprimanded sharply, pressing a trembling razor sharp nail against her wet lips, to silence her, his black eyes welling with anguish. "Don't you dare say it, Allyssa, if you don't mean it, don't induct that slow acting poison we call hope, through my veins. If you hate me, SCREAM IT, strike me, cut me with your precious pen, but don't you tell me you love me, if it's no longer true!!!!"

"Charles!!!!" Ally cried out in another desolate sob, and Charlie hastily lowered his hand to let her speak, still clutching hold of her like she was a fast fading dream. "I LOVE YOU!!!! Of course, I love you, and I know it would be easier for us both, if I didn't, but I don't care!!!! I will LOVE you, even if it kills me........"

Charles felt his chest shudder, the infernal tears stinging his eyes, pouring out of him, laced with the pain, and the poisonous hope, and he cursed them, feeling like he was dying, because he knew it was true. Through the many horrors and heartache, forcing her to hurt whomever he chose, authoring mayhem with her hand, in the midst of a still raging war for the Found Children of Christmasland, somehow the devil and a lost angel, the pure and the soulless had fallen in love.

His vulnerability turned brittle and cold, like ice that could shatter against her warmth.

"I told you....... to fear the far more tender hands. You didn't listen."

Charlie's glistening claws snapped around her curly head, closing tight, yanking her upright, and he waited for the struggle that never came, she didn't even cry out, as he delicately drew his sharp pinky over her full, tremulous lip. He paused with a snarl, and then rested his head atop hers, sinking his cheek into the silky, pillowed curls there, his voice a wounded rasp, as he held her still.

"Do you have ANY idea......... how HARD I tried not to love you........"

"Do you......... love me?" She asked breathlessly, trembling in his forceful hold, but she didn't fight him, and he sighed in defeat, his eyes murderous, his claws still firmly cradling his porcelain doll's head.

"More than Christmas......." His windstorm rage withered into a whisper, trading away his secret, his eyes flashing with something fearfully fond, pressing a kiss into her halo of curls. Damn this perfect creature. "I will confess, I had no designs for this to be a happy marriage, Mrs. Manx. Before I said, I do, tricked you into signing away your life, your hand, on that majestic Christmas Eve, and watched your eyes dance, glistening in the cascading glow of white lights, your beauty purely blinding, as I slid the lie onto your finger......... and let the trap close around you, before that profound moment, I had thought there existed no such thing as a happy marriage. Only fools enjoy such a suffocating union, under the thumb of a woman, as their dreams die slowly with them. What is a wedding, truly, but a man's funeral!?" He snarled coldly, his lip furled, and then slowly, his claws retracted.

"And then you happened, Allyssa Jolene, stole your way into my hardened heart, husband and wife fighting on opposite sides, and still sharing the same bed, as much devoured by the other's passions as ever........ How preposterous! Sickness, health, and all that humbug, but even quarreling with you in conflict is explicit bliss.

He let her go roughly, but did not release her from the intensity of his gaze, eying her with an especially derisive arched brow. "What now, Ally Manx? How does this fated love story end? We have proved beyond doubts and shadows that we cannot kill each other, and yet a problem called Vic McQueen persists, putting us ultimately at odds. I want to kill her, and she wants to kill me, while you seem rather reluctant to let either wish be granted, languishing between........" His smirk crept across his lips, especially smug. "And yet, you're not truly on either side, are you, My Dearest Love? If she knew that you were here, that you had betrayed her, by coming to me, succumbed to one last late night tryst in our marriage bed no less, she'd hate you forever. She'd never trust you again. Oh is there anything more fickle than a woman?

"I know, I shouldn't have come, but I-I couldn't resist seeing you, Charles, touching you, kissing you!!! I need you....... It doesn't have to be this way!!! You can end this, right now........."

Charlie's black eyes snapped, as she hugged his waist, and nestled her curly head into his shoulder, her eyes squeezed shut. So demure, my clever temptress....... But the honeymoon....... is long over.

Ally struggled against him as he seized both of her hands, entwining their fingers, attempting to hold her in place, as he forced her to lay back down, pressing her under him as he moved on top of her, snickering to himself, knowing she wasn't fighting very hard.

"The time for dealing and truces has long passed, My Love, this ends in blood. I AM going to end this", he purred, releasing his talons from one of her hands, to stroke her spilt curls on his pillow, as she looked back with big, sad, green eyes. "And when I do........ Your amusing little girl gang will be finished, and you will never go against me again once you've beheld what I've done to her."

He grinned even more charming, kissing her deeply, but the threat lingered in the heat of his passion, so coldly, that she shivered beneath him.

"I love you, Charles, but I won't let you kill her. I-I have to stop you, save you from yourself, so we can be together."

He kissed her angrily, his tooth catching on her lip, and then grabbed hold of her face to stop her, before she could kiss him back, his voice especially sinister.

"I will kill her....... even if it means sacrificing your love."

"Charles, NO! You cannot mean that!" She cried out in protest, her sweet eyes horrified, and he whisked his razor tipped nails across her dove white cheek.

"I do," He quipped cleverly, toying with the ring on her hand, feeling her close it into a fist, fearing he'd meant to rip it from her delicate little finger. Oh no, Wife....... You WILL wear my ring, and you will come back to me. Once I kill that petulant little bitch, you will have no choice, but to BEHAVE.

"Charles, I beg you-"

"AND if you do manage by some unforeseen twist of fate to leave here........" He finished coolly, cutting off her impassioned pleas. "You will never be free of me......." He leaned in closer, breathing in deeply, brushing his nose against hers, breathing heavily on her lips as he spoke. "I will find you," He whispered sing song, stroking her forehead. "You are my wife til death do us part, and lucky you, for I.......... am immortal."

He chuckled and expected her to continue pleading, struggling, reasoning, but instead she did the one thing he never saw coming........ Ally slowly lowered her curly head, and kissed just so where his wisps of silky chest hair began, her voice so full of desire, his hold loosened completely.

"What makes you think........ I want to be free of you.......?"

Charles' lips parted, euphoric, practically purring as he rolled onto his back, pulling her on top of him, clasping the back of her head, nails in curls, kissing her, devouring her lips with an insatiable hunger.

She grinned against his lips, kissing him even more ravenously, hair dangling in her eyes, letting her ache, her love for his beautiful wickedness flood from her very being.

"You always did have such a fiery way with words, My Divine," He breathed feverishly, the two of them sharing air, drowning in each other. "And yet...... Your lips hold more of desire's own fire, than your words could even form."

"I would die without your kiss, Charles. Do not perpetrate so cruel a punishment as starving me of it."

Charles smiled at her very boyishly, scrunching the back of her tresses, as their lips met again in a rush of burning heat, and sultry smoulder.

"No, I think I'll feed it to you instead, tempt you with it, until this crusade against me, holds nothing so enticing. Forget her, Ally. Choose me. Let me make love to you, My Snow Queen, with a passion and tenderness so intense, that we shall transcend our naked bodies, and touch the stars. Stay with me, and I will be again your saintly suitor. We will be as we were........ Once upon a December."

Charlie started to hum the tune to which they had fallen in love inside a snowglobe, moving together in perfect mirror images as one, the motion and lines, living poetry.

Ally gazed back at him lovingly, her face flushed in an enthralled daze as Charlie cast his enchantment, and the pure and utter joy shining in her eyes, colouring her crimson cheek was exquisite, creating in him such an ecstasy, as nothing he ever knew any one thing could inspire.

But just as quickly as the lightning had come and struck, so did the tears, and regretful sorrow. "Oh My Darling Charles! What you have thus described is my own blinding Elysium, my perfect inscape of tender caresses and naked skin, but I-I cannot....... As badly I as want to surrender to this beckoning heaven, become one with my beloved husband in all of his beautiful wickedness, and immortal beauty, give myself to him, consummate our love, I must refuse until this business with Vic is finished. Only when I have you all to myself, and you are not wooed by this war with her, can I ever be yours, body and soul."

"Then FINISH IT," Charles rasped, purposefully breaking the spell, tearing himself off her, and yanking her from the bed, his eyes an angry, burning black oblivion."

"Charlie-"

Charlie charged swiftly to the window throwing it open, and rushed back to take her into his arms, as she froze, confused.

"Please Charlie, don't be angered."

"I am not," He said said much softer, kissing the back of her hand, losing his eyes in her black lace bodice. "I am........ Impatient. So finish it, Allyssa, my brave, defiant wife. FINISH it, DAMN IT!!!! Fly back to Vic McQueen, and give it your best shot, raise hell against me, and don't worry," he smirked as she nervously bit her lip. "Our overnight will be our little secret. I won't tell her that you were weak and came to me. Go, and do your worst, Mrs. Manx, and when you fail spectacularly to stop me, to wrest away my children from their happy home, when I kill Vic McQueen, slowly, leisurely, licking up every delicious moment while I make her suffer right in front of you........ Come back to me, give me my hard won prize, and end this ungrateful ugliness." He seethed, pulling her up against his chest, carried, legs dangling, in his strong, muscular arms, and she gripped onto him tight as he hopped feverishly up to the window's ledge.

"Charles, NO, wait, please-!!! DON'T!!!"

"What's the matter, My Dove? Don't you want to....... fly?"

Charles hurled her out the open window, watching as she tumbled into the snow, more a blackbird in that scandalous gown than a snow white dove. She scrambled to get up, and took off running, and he leant against the window frame, shirtless and smirking, waiting for it. Sure enough, once she'd scurried far enough away, she chanced a glance over her shoulder, to look at him one last time......... He met her lonely gaze, and blew a kiss to her almost spitefully. Fly away, little blackbird, but know......... You will never escape this cage.

#charlie manx #charlie manx x oc #nos4a2 #christmasland #paranormal romance #paradise for the lost

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fandomdancer · 4 years

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Implications

Fandom: The X-Files Characters: Jeffrey Spender, C.G.B. Spender Relationships: Jeffrey Spender/Original Female Character (implied) Rating: Teen Summary: Jeffrey Spender walks into his office to find it occupied by the Smoking Man, who does not hesitate to chastise him for letting his focus slip during his last X-Files case. ___________________________________________________ The smell hit him first, the sharp-sweet scent of nicotine, and Spender’s stomach turned over in disgust. He hated the cocky smile and the false innocence of the man sitting in his chair. He hated the confidence of the man’s icy eyes, and his slow, precise way of speaking that Spender was only too glad he hadn’t inherited. Most of all, he hated the longing that sprang to life in his chest, hated feeling the desire of every son: to be worthy in his father’s eyes. He hated his need to achieve some kind of acceptance and respect from the man who had abandoned him and his mother so many years ago.

Hated.

He closed the door and crossed the room, looking down at the floor until he stood in front of his own desk in his own office, obediently waiting to be addressed.

Hated.

“That was an interesting trick,” the man said, amusement and suggestion coloring his voice.

Spender knew the game. “If you were there, why didn’t you stop it?”

“What possible reason would I have had to be there?” The man took a slow drag off of his cigarette. “It would have spoiled your Christmas, I’m sure, to have your father knocking on the door while you were…occupied?”

A flare of white-hot rage pulled Spender’s eyes up and he didn’t miss the widening of the man’s blue eyes, nor his ever-so-slight recoil into the seat. He opened his mouth to yell, to shout, to challenge…and realized he had no idea what to say. The indignance of knowing his father had been there, had possibly seen Teri…had possibly seen him with Teri…and after everything the kitsune had put him through…

He closed his mouth, backing down.

Hated.

“It did my heart good to see your loyalties,” the man said, and Spender fought to understand what he meant. “That creature pretending to be your mother and you, so determined to protect her, reassuring her that you were working with me to find her…”

“That’s what we’re doing, isn’t it?” Spender asked, his voice tight as he switched gears back to the original topic. Interesting trick. The game. He knew the game. He had to play it. He had to take the hits and stay focused on his goal. “Looking for my mother?” He didn’t look away. He didn’t need to; they had made eye contact.

“Of course.” Another puff of the cigarette, the smoke filling the room, the particulates irritating Spender’s eyes and throat. Don’t cough. No weakness. “Your mother is very important to me, Jeffrey.” His innocent, pointed gaze underscored the sincerity of his tone. “I hope you understand that.”

Is that why you left us, you son of a bitch? “I understand.”

The man stood up slowly. “We will resume our efforts to find her now that the holidays are concluded. There is a file here on your desk…” His weathered hand drifted down to rest on a skin-colored folder, an unclear picture pinned to its edge. “More information has been added to it.”

“You…you found information?” Spender couldn’t believe the eagerness in his voice, the hope that had him reaching for the folder before the sentence was even out of his mouth. It didn’t occur to him at first what the man had said, only that there was another clue, another hint as to the true location of his mother.

“I found myself with a bit of time on my hands and a need to fill a void.” The man took a puff and held it as Spender yanked the folder to him, taking in the smiling photo of Cassandra Spender on the front of it, and then flipping it open like a child at Christmas. “With you gone to the mountains, no one was looking for her.”

The disapproval in the tone pulled Spender’s focus, and he looked up to see his father’s face, stern and sharp. Only then did the words sink in. “I thought you were looking for her. Wasn’t that part of the deal?” His voice rose. “She’s my mother. She’s your wife. This case isn’t something you fill time with! This is…”

“Calm yourself, boy!” The soft-spoken voice took on a hard edge that rang in Spender’s ears, stopping him cold. “It’s your job to find her with whatever assistance I can provide you, and in return, you do as I tell you. That was the deal we struck and those are the terms I am honoring.” He took a swift pull on the cigarette. “You would do well to remember your place in this.”

“My place?” The file fell from Spender’s hands as the anger boiled in him again. You nicotine-addled sack of shit, my place should be at your fucking gravestone…

“You’re losing focus!” Despite the anger and ferocity of his voice, the man still managed to casually glide around Spender’s desk, fearlessly coming within range of his son’s balled fists. His eyes slid down Spender to the papers sprayed across the floor, and his brows drew together, his typically well-contained anger breaking loose for a moment. “Pick them up.”

Spender stood, shaking, fighting to relax his hands. If his father realized how close he was to getting a knuckle sandwich, he didn’t show it. He simply lifted the cigarette to his mouth again and didn’t break his gaze. After holding the smoke in his lungs for several seconds, he exhaled straight into Spender’s face. The assault was too much, and Spender flinched, his eyes closing and his head dropping as an involuntary cough worked its way out of his throat.

“Pick. Them. Up.” The iron order floated through the air on velvety wings. Spender had no choice but to kneel at his father’s feet and scrape up the papers covered now in dust and ash.

“I thought it would be wise to indulge you,” the man said. “I see now that was an error. You’re distracted. She has distracted you.”

A cold chill ran down Spender’s spine. Which she did he mean?

“You must keep your attention on your goal, son,” his father continued. “You cannot afford distractions. You’re so close now. The pieces are all falling into place. I know you can see that. Right now is not the time to lose focus.”

Spender looked up at him, tall and looming, the singular white light of the basement haloing his head while smoke curled in the air around him. The dark figure of his nightmares. He hated him. He hated how scared he was of him. He hated that he was hanging on his every word now, every soft purr, every enigmatic smile, every innocent blink. He was in too deep and he knew it.

For my mother.

“Cease your distractions, lest we eliminate them for you.”

Spender stared up at him. “You can’t mean…”

“There are solutions to every problem. And your happiness is important to me. I would hate to see a necessary solution cause you any kind of pain.”

Spender’s stomach rolled and twisted. He didn’t know what his face showed, but his father clearly approved. A soft, almost sweet smile touched the man’s lips before he took another puff. “I’m glad we understand each other. She’s a very lovely girl. Intelligent. We do tend to make good choices in our women. When this is over, I wish the two of you the best.”

Spender didn’t move. He couldn’t. He could only stare, hating, fearing, his hands crumpling the papers on the floor, watching as his father crushed out his cigarette and gracefully strolled out of the room.

#txf #the x-files #the x files #fanfiction #scene from a fanfiction #cgb spender #cigarette smoking man #jeffrey spender #nanowrimo prep #nanowrimo #original female character #amwriting

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danielslilangel · 5 years

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Best friends until the end- Maribat fluff week 4

Not doing the whole week cause I'm bad with commitment 😅 but I love some good fluff and wanted to do a small wedding scene.

Barbara looked out over the crowd of guests before turning her face upwards to smile at her kinda-brother. "Damian has prepared his own vows for today."

When they had first discussed the idea of writing and reciting their own vows, Damien wasn't sure if he'd be able to get through his after hearing Marinette's so they had decided that he would go first to try and make it through the wedding. Seeing her standing at the alter in front of him in her white MDC custom gown, he knew he had made the right decision. She had taken his nickname for her to heart and absolutely looked like the Angel he truly thought she was. Honestly, he wasn't sure he'd be able to get through his own vows now without pulling her into his arms and kissing her senseless. He found himself leaning slightly towards her.

"Damian..."

He blinked at the sound of his name and saw his lovely bride's lips lift into a small smile as she giggled. He felt the heat rise up his neck as he looked out at their guests and realized they were all waiting for him to stop spacing out.

He cleared his throat and took a deep breath, returning his gaze to hers, forgetting about the crumped piece of paper in his pocket. He didn't need it- everything he had to say to her came from his soul. "Marinette, before I met you my life was dark and my heart was cold. For many years I felt alone and that was how I liked it. I didn't think I needed- and I certainly did not want- friends. Then you appeared in Gotham, a being of pure sunshine, and managed to win over every single person you met. You even became Twitter famous because of your ability to make everyone feel happy and cared for."

Their friends and family chuckled as Dick yelled out "Hastag sunshine of Gotham!"

"I tried to avoid getting sucked into your rapidly growing fan club, but it was hopeless. All too fast I found myself wondering when I had begun to think of you as a friend and then suddenly you became my best friend. Even with my icy heart, it was so easy for you to burn through my defenses and make me fall in love with you. Every day I find out something new about you and I cherish every moment we have had together. I know I don't make it easy to love me..."

"You got that right!" Jason yelled from the front row where the wedding party sat. "Ouch," he muttered as Selina flicked his ear, silently promising to do much worse if he ruined the wedding with his chatter.

Damian paused to send his brother a death glare before letting out a breath. He reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair back behind Marinette's ear. "I don't make it easy, but I want to thank you for being stubborn and refusing to let me go. You are the brightest, best thing about my life- my Angel- and I promise that I will spend the rest of our lives together trying to return even a fraction of the hope and love you have brought into my world back to you. I cannot imagine a life without you in it. I love you Marinette."

Barbara smiled and turned to look at her kinda-very-soon-to-be-sister-in-law who was holding back tears of happiness. Marinette was known for her bright smile, but the one currently sitting upon her lips was almost blinding. "Marinette has also prepared her own vows to speak today."

"Coming to Gotham was a very happy accident. When I needed an escape from my life in Paris I had simply closed my eyes and picked a booked a random flight, letting the universe decide tell me where I should be. Even though life in this city is fairly opposite from life in Paris, I found myself drawn in and quickly felt at home. Thinking about our first time meeting, I can definitely say that I never would have thought we'd be here today, but we just kept finding ourselves pushed together by different forces and I could see that you were so much more than the tough guy front you put up when you were around others. The Damian I slowly uncovered was sweet, loyal, romantic, gentle, thoughtful, and compassionate- nothing like what your brothers tried to warn me you were like."

Their guests, especially his brothers, laughed at her last comment. The three of them still didn't quite understand how someone so pure like Marinette could end up with a little terror like Damian.

"I wasn't looking for anything more than friendship, but I quickly found myself falling in love with you Dami. I'd be lying if I said that there was a single moment that I could remember leading me to believe that we were meant to be, but I know that it's true. You are my other half of my soul that I've been missing, my best friend until the end of time. Every day with you is a new adventure and I can't wait to see where life will take us next. I love you Damian."

"The bride and groom will now exchange rings." Barbara gestured for the pair and Chloe quickly deposited them in her open hand before returning to her place as the Maid of Honor. Marinette's band was a rose gold band with small pave diamonds around the outside like a halo and a small robin engraved on the interior of the ring while Damian's band was black tungsten with a ladybug engraved on the inside. "Both of you repeat after me as you present the other with these rings as physical tokens of your love for one another. Let this ring..."

"Let this ring..." The pair recited in unison, holding their left hands out while their right ones slowly brought the bands closer.

"Be a symbol of our commitment to one another ..."

"Be a symbol of our commitment to one another..."

"So that the world may know..."

"That your heart is my own."

"From this day forward..."

"You will never walk alone..."

"Because my arms will forever be your home."

"With this ring..."

"I join my life with yours..."

"And marry you with all that I am and all that I ever will be."

"And marry you with all that I am and all that I ever will be." They slide the rings onto the proper fingers and smile at one another, forgetting that there exists a world beyond the two of them together at this moment.

"Now..." Barbara was cut off from speaking as Damian surged forward, still hand in hand with his bride, and kissed Marinette with far more passion than was proper in a public setting. The pair only pulled themselves apart once she cleared her throat and they realized they had a captivated audience looking on.

"Eep!" Marinette squeeked out, her face turning pink.

"Could I at least finish the ceremony so you two can excuse yourselves?"

Damian straightened his tie and gave her a curt nod, trying to hide his embarrassment.

"By the power vested in me by the city of Gotham, and the country of France, I now pronounce you husband and wife. Damian, you may now kiss your bride."

"Finally," he mumbled as he took a step closer and gently cupped her cheek with his hand. He brought his lips to hers and placed a chaste kiss upon her rosy lips. Before he pulled away, he gave her a look that promised more as soon as he could get her alone.

"Allow me to present to you all Mr. and Mrs. Damian and Marinette D.C. Wayne!"

@maribatfluffweek @maribat-archive

#maribat fluff week #maribat #daminette #maridami #damimari #ml dc crossover #miraclous ladybug #marinette dupein cheng #marinette x damian #my writing

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dragonrajafanfiction · 4 years

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Dragon Dancer IV: The Wife of Chu Zihang

The moon shined bright, surrounding each of the pink blossoms of Chizuru in a bright halo. I leaned against the bark, sitting against one of the hundred year old trees, gazing upwards, letting my mind relax, while little Ru’Yi satisfied her hunger, pulling greedily at my breast, curling her fingers against my skin, gulping milk like a little pig.

I should be grateful. If she didn’t wake up to eat, it got painful to move around. She was too much of a good thing however. Even though I was reluctant to pull her off early, she had no self control. If I didn’t stop her, she would eat too much, burp and spit up everywhere. Right now, I had nowhere to bathe.

So I pulled her away, wiped myself with my shirt and flipped my bra up.

At least the night wasn’t as cold.

The Cherry Blossom park was already getting ready to open the Hanami Matsuri later this month, the same one Chu Zihang and I had visited. It was a moment that existed only in our memory. According to official record, I had been in Paris on assignment with the principal. They didn’t know about my teleporting.

I climbed to my feet, rocking and patting Ru’Yi. I’d appeared just at this spot. This was the picture Johann had sent me as a reference point. A wide cobblestone path lined on both sides with the oldest trees in the park. I’d appeared there and he saw me.

I closed my eyes picturing the bright spring scene. I remembered how wide his eyes were behind his glasses. He didn’t believe what he was seeing. He ran to me, hugged me tight.

I squeezed Ru’Yi to myself in recollection. His hand slipped under my chin. He kissed me. My body grew hot like a furnace. I gasped for breath.

I opened my eyes and the tears slipped down my face. “Johann... I miss you.”

The tears continued to fall as I made my way through the memory. We didn’t hold hands. He stayed close at my side, and only our pinky fingers hooked together. We listened to the traditional music and listened to people recite haikus. Girls took selfies in their yukatas with their friends.

At the end of the path was the large mirror pond that reflected the glory of the flowers, doubling their brilliance against the sky. Johann said that the water reflected on my face, that I had cherry petals in my hair. I reached up and pulled down a flower. I crushed it in my palm and sprinkled it on my head. Then I looked up at someone who wasn’t there.

I froze. Adrenaline coursed like lightning through me. Someone was there.

I lowered one hand to Spider Fang and settled Ru’Yi into the soft grass. I gripped the hilt, unlocking it from its sheath. I’d broken out into a cold sweat, trembling. I shuddered, just like when Chisei had released his Soul Skill earlier that day. There was a powerful enemy very nearby.

Even though there was no one around, my body reacted like there was a knife to my throat.

The tall ancient cherry trees cast shifting shadows and my eyes darted to every movement. I knew there were Soul Skills that used shadows and made someone invisible, but those were relatively rare.

Johann occasionally had me train with him blindfolded to help me hone my other senses. It wasn’t about necessarily having super hearing or being able to smell your opponent’s breath. But more about process of elimination and spotting the anomaly in the surroundings.

My eyes slowly shifted to the pond. It reflected light from the moon in the water and the water was still like a mirror. It reflected the shadow of a person crouched low, his face turned not to me... but to Ru’Yi.

I rotated out from behind the tree, drawing the sword in an upward arc while my fist swung close behind it. Another blade met mine. We exchanged blows four times in quick succession before I consciously realized who this person was.

I recognized him first by the blade he carried, the hunter’s blade, Dictator. My murderous intent receded like a tide and we broke away from each other.

“What were you thinking, trying to snatch Ru’Yi?” I was breathing hard, more out of an angry fear than exhaustion.

“Because I knew if I had her you would have no choice but to come peacefully.” He was smiling at me, but without malice or arrogance. He was dressed in a fine button down shirt, black vest and slacks, like he was going to a dinner party. “Unfortunately, your instincts were a little too good.”

“You were careless.” I shot back.

His smile faded. “I came all the way here for you... for a reason. Things are going to get very bad for Lu Mingfei and I’d rather not have the Academy targeting you.”

“Tell the Academy that my only aim is to find the one who disappeared Chu Zihang! I don’t have the skeleton, I don’t know where Mingfei is, and I don’t know who harmed the principal. Leave me alone!”

“We can’t leave a mentally unstable hybrid just wandering around, Carli.”

I immediately brought my guard up. Caesar came running, extremely fast. While my technique matched his, I couldn’t equal his raw physical strength. He smashed Spider fang to the ground and stepped on it with this foot. I staggered back, stumbling over a tree root.

It was a chance Caesar couldn’t resist. His shadow descended on me.

Tongzi’s edge tore through the fabric of his shirt, knicking his skin in a long curving line. Dictator came up in a belated attempt to block a strike I’d already made.

For a moment, his side was left open. If I wanted, I could have drilled Tongzi straight into his heart with an Alchemy blade that negated a Hybrid’s healing factor and scrambled Dragon blood. Instead, I cut him again and fled, hurrying to retrieve Spider Fang.

But there was no need to hurry.

Caesar stood, raising one hand to his chest, his fingers coming away red.

Caesar had graduated from Cassell College shortly after my marriage to Johann. He was sent to man the helm at the Executive Department in Italy. He’d married Nono and settled down easily into the job. Everyone respected him as a dragonslayer, the killer of Dragon King Norton. Since the Student Union members were so numerous, he had influence over commissioners who were members and stationed in areas all over the world. One could honestly say that he was an Emperor out of Cassell.

And yet, this emperor had been cut twice in quick succession by a junior student 6 years younger.

I swallowed hard, wondering if he was going easy on me the way Mingfei did when we were playing Street Thug together. So I didn’t gloat over this accomplishment. Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival for a reason.

His expression had grown quite a bit more serious. The amusement in his eyes became mixed with irritation. “I wouldn’t be doing this, if Lu Mingfei hadn’t gotten Nono involved.”

“By running with an accused traitor, she risks her own future. I would rather get this over with as soon as possible.”

I took a deep breath. “Then you understand why I have to stay free. Chu Zihang is to me like Nono is to you. Every day he’s missing is painful!”

“Chu Zihang is not real.” He said this slowly, firmly.

“If he’s not real, then how come I can cut you?” Caesar was Chu Zihang’s greatest rival, but what was Caesar without Chu Zihang? While Caesar was in a coma, Johann lamented to me how his skills had gone down without Caesar to push him to greater heights. This Caesar with out Chu Zihang was slower, because the one advantages he had over Caesar was speed!

I shot out like an arrow, bringing the sword down and up, dancing around him, one maneuver seamlessly followed by another.

It was how Johann and I always practiced, a long series of strikes that were like a dance to us. It helped us maintain a sense of an attack range while at the same time, maintaining a sense of staying just out of range of the opponent, looking for a single opening that would land a hit.

A sword master might go seven strikes or ten strikes in a row with much practice. But before I was too pregnant to move, Johann and I had gotten up to twenty five without a break or a breather.

The Caesar I knew was the only one who could stand up to such an aggressive, unrelenting series of attacks. But this wasn’t the Caesar I knew. This was a weak Caesar, a fake Caesar! That’s why Spider Fang stung his knuckles, cut along his wrist, bit his shoulder. He grew increasingly confounded while I settled into the rhythm. My eyes grew colder, more contemptuous.

I’d backed him against the edge of the mirror pond, panting from the effort. “You’re nothing without Chu Zihang to challenge you. No one can challenge you like he did.”

“Except for you. Because you’re his wife?” Caesar smiled, tilting his head. He used Dictator to cut a length from the vest that probably cost a thousand dollars but had been ruined in the fight. He tied it, putting pressure on where I’d cut his wrist.

Did I go too far? I didn’t want to seriously hurt him. “Do you believe me now?” I asked.

“You make a good point. But that doesn’t change your current predicament. The Academy grows increasingly impatient with Mingfei. They’re going to go all out on him. I’d hate for you and your daughter to get caught in the crossfire. If you want to continue your investigation, you can do so from the Gattuso residence.”

“No thank you.”

“You’re out of strength, Carli. Your heart is beating to its maximum capacity. Don’t try and attack me again.”

I suddenly realized that the Soul Skill was sensing was Wind Devil. He knew where I was because he could hear my heartbeat and my breathing. “How long were you watching me?”

“While you wandered the park like a mad woman you mean? Talking to an invisible person?” The mocking light had left his eyes.

My face grew hot. He wasn’t supposed to see that. When I acted that way, I knew I looked crazy. “It’s the only way I can keep his memory alive in a world that has forgotten him. Okay? This place has special meaning to us.”

“If everyone forgot about Nono, would you willingly date someone else? Or be married to someone else, even if no one else believed you? Or would you try to find her no matter what anyone else said?” I asked.

The words seemed to have an effect, but not the one I intended. It was only because I was already keyed up that I saw his hand to his holster, where Desert Eagle rested and I dove to one side rolling behind a tree to escape. But he’d already followed me, kicking out my legs from under me and following me down to the ground. I landed hard on my back, winded.

He pinned me under his weight and pressed his forearm against my throat so hard I thought my windpipe would collapse. His blond hair rested against my forehead and his blue eyes gazed sadly into mine as my lungs heaved but failed to draw in any air.

I had to escape, but without oxygen my muscles and mind grew heavy. I reached for the last resort.

Caesar would have seen my eyes blaze and shine with a yellow light. My pupils would constrict into sharp vertical sickles. My skin itched as scales feathered down my arms.

My hands went from scratching, to clawing with nails sharp as knives.

Power surged through my muscles and I tossed him off me. He went sailing through the air and landing hard, scrambling to his feet. I rushed toward him, howling like a storm wind. His form came at me in my vision. I collided with him, with both hands and feet like an animal bringing him down again.

I heard him scream. My claws had hooked around his ribs.

Blood rage increased dragon blood purity, which also intensified the desire to kill the object of that fury. Shocked, and wondering if I had pierced his heart, I pulled my fingers from his body.

His hands wrapped my neck and he slammed his head into mine so hard my vision exploded into stars. He grabbed my neck again and punched me hard, pummeling me in an effort to bring me down.

I lifted my hand and caught his fist, my claws digging in. I smashed my other hand into the wound I’d created in his chest, funneling all my strength into it. HIs ribs collapsed under the blow and he fell, unable to rise again.

I blinked, dizzy with one too many blows to the head. But I heard him ask, grunting with the pain. “Blood Rage.... where did you learn it? That’s a forbidden technique!”

I leaned against the trunk of a tree, staggering to make my way back to Ru’Yi.

“Chu Zihang taught me.”

#Dragon Raja #Fanfiction #Writing

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vannminner · 4 years

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Where Magic Flows (IV)

A03

FanFiction

Part One: Of the Flame

As the sun set on Arendelle, the last light of day glistened upon the fjords. Waves rippled against the shore. The fishermen retreated from the docks, and the villagers returned to their homes.

At the same time, Elsa arrived in Arendelle. Avoiding a scene and lost time with her sister, she decided to sneak in. Nokk carried her up to the rocks surrounding the palace, and bowed to let her off.

Elsa pat his head. “I will see you again soon.” She promised.

Nokk neighed and crooned against her hand. Then he faded back into the waves.

She turned. Her eyes lifted to view the castle. Rays of light cascaded around the stone walls, creating a halo above their peaks. It was as if a beacon had formed to call Elsa home. She raked in a deep breath and grinned. Whether it was the thought of seeing her sister after weeks apart, or the warmth of the kingdom and its people; Arendelle would always be her home.

Anna must have been waiting at the entry for her. Elsa had barely made it through the doors before she was tackled into a hug. Anna’s arms latched around hers. She held her still and buried her face into Elsa’s hair.

“You are here!” Anna sighed.

She went limp in Elsa’s hold. For more minutes than either felt passing, they simply clung to each other.

“I have missed you.” Anna grinned, and pulled back to see her sister’s face.

Hands went to her hair, fluffing it, and laying each strand flat. “I missed you, too, so much.” Elsa took Anna’s fingers between hers.

She was led towards the main hall. Their hands swung between them.

“Gerda baked fresh bread and made a vegetable stew. Are you hungry?”

“I could eat.” Elsa squeezed Anna closer.

Her ear came to rest against Elsa’s shoulder, and she brought her arms around Elsa’s waist. “I am sorry about last week. Something came up. You know I wouldn’t reschedule if I didn’t have to.”

Smiling, Elsa drew her fingers down Anna’s back. “I understand. Besides, I am here now, and so happy to be with you.”

“You are!” Anna cheered. “You should visit twice next week to make up for it.”

Elsa giggled. “I like the way you think.”

Anna released her before opening the door to the dining hall. Inside, the warmth of a roaring fire soothed against Elsa’s skin. The tables had been set. It was a simple spread with sweet bread and dried meat. It was simple for Arendelle, anyway.

Meals in Northuldra were vastly different. They were usually enjoyed in passing. Only during dinner did most of the village convene together. Additionally, it was the women who hunted, harvested, and then prepared most of their foods. One person saw through their meals from beginning to end, and Elsa found that fascinating.

“Ah! Miss Elsa!” Gerda approached from the kitchen. Her arms held wide in greeting, and Elsa accepted the hug. “You are looking well. Are you eating enough?”

“I am.” Elsa nodded as she was released. “Though, I cannot say I haven’t missed your home cooked meals.”

Gerda grinned. “That’s my good girl. Now, sit tight. You won’t have to waste another minute. I shall leave the two of you time to catch up.”

Gerda’s hand briefly squeezed against Anna’s shoulder before she departed. Both women waited until she had gone, and then sat before their meal.

“So, how are you? How is Arendelle?” Elsa didn’t waste a minute. Her eyes were on Anna as she sipped at her tea.

Something in Elsa’s tone struck Anna as odd. Her sister was rushed. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and her eyes traveled away with them. Even Elsa’s hand corded too tight around her mug. The knuckles bore white, and her smile shown a tad forced.

“I am good. Arendelle is good.” Anna feigned.

She did not have to be a good liar in this scenario; only a better liar than her sister.

“That is good to hear, then.” Elsa teased, and smiled at Anna behind the brim of her cup. “And where is your husband?”

Anna fought the blush coursing across her cheeks.

She and Kristoff had been married three months prior. However, Anna could not calm the butterflies that ran rampant in her chest every time she heard his new title.

“Kristoff will join us shortly.” Anna cleared her throat, hoping not to give too much away. “He was taking care of a few things for me down in the village.”

Biting into a bit of bread, Elsa nodded. “How far our valliant reindeer king has come. Did you just say he was assisting you with royal duties?”

Anna waved her fork at Elsa. “Yes, but don’t tease him! He may stop helping me all together.”

Elsa laughed and shook her head. “No. He wouldn’t.”

“You’re right.” Anna agreed. "He wouldn't."

She felt warm knowing Elsa supported her marriage to Kristoff. Sure, Anna had given her sister more time to get used to the idea; this time around, anyway. Nonetheless, Elsa had blessed the ceremony, and even gave the first toast to the happy couple.

Enjoying the togetherness, the two fell silent for a time. The piles of food between them shortened. And despite all her other concerns, Anna’s eyes continued drifting to Elsa’s. Elsa was keeping something from her. Anna could tell. Her sister was mowing through bread like she was using it to keep her mouth shut.

“So…” Anna sang nonchalantly. “How is the forest? Are Honeymaren and the others doing well?”

Elsa didn’t immediately answer. She took her time to chew her food and swallow before lifting her eyes.

Across from her, Elsa could see Anna’s impatience. Her sister saw right through her; clear through her mask. Anna’s eyes never wavered from hers. All of her attention fixed on Elsa, and Elsa wondered why she even bothered trying to hide things from Anna at all.

“I cannot lie to you, Anna.” She released with a breath. “And it would be untruthful to tell you that everything is fine.”

Anna frowned. She leaned forward over her elbows. “What’s wrong?”

Elsa shrugged and looked away. “There was a disturbance amongst the earth giants.”

“A disturbance?” Anna widened her eyes. “What happened?”

Sitting back into her chair, Elsa replayed the events of the last week for her sister. She told her about the giants’ disappearance, and about the mysterious markings down by the river. Anxiously, she told Anna about Ahtohallan, and how she hadn’t been able to locate any answers yet. Elsa was finishing the wrap-up on her week when Kristoff finally strode into the hall.

He greeted her with a quick wave, and then kissed Anna’s cheek.

“Ladies,” Kristoff sat. “So, what have we been talking about here?"

Anna looked wordlessly at Elsa, wondering if she should share. Elsa merely nodded, and her attention pulled back down to her soup.

“Elsa has been experiencing some complications in the forest. The earth giants departed-”

“-but I am going to call them back.” Elsa quickly defended.

“Of course,” Anna flashed her sister a grin. “I have faith in you, Elsa; we both do. There is no limit to what you can accomplish with your heart, and your powers combined.”

Shaking her head, Elsa cleared her blush as it formed. “See, this is why I miss Arendelle. My Anna-pep-talks always got me through another day.”

“Well, there are more where that came from. I plan to make up for lost time.”

The sister’s shared a smile, and Anna reached across the table to squeeze Elsa’s hand.

The three finished their meals. Their chatter had turned casual, and Kristoff stretched back into his chair.

He fought a yawn. “Shall we, ladies? If we don’t get this game night started, I’m afraid I may fall asleep on this buffet.”

“Don’t you dare.” Anna giggled. “We can’t have that! Why don’t you go prepare the fire in the lounge, and I will ask Gerda to start another pot of tea?”

“I can do that!” Elsa stood from her chair. “Go on, I will meet you both in there.”

“You better get your game face ready!” Anna called, watching as Elsa disappeared into the kitchen.

Kristoff squeezed a hand against Anna’s shoulder. She turned to him with a pale face. Anna was missing her usual light this evening. Sadness clouded her eyes, and the haze rolled in thicker once Elsa left the room.

“I am assuming you have not told her yet?”

Anna shook her head. “No. Elsa is dealing with so much right now. I don’t want to add to her list of things to be worried about.”

“Anna,” Kristoff sighed. “You have to tell her. This illness is dangerous. In the least, you have to warn her about it.”

Looking away, Anna brought her hands into her lap. “I am the Queen of Arendelle now. This is my home, and my responsibility.”

Kristoff touched her chin. With a single finger, he lifted Anna’s eyes to meet his. “Both your sister and I are here to help you, Anna. Having a new title doesn’t change that. Not for you, and not for Elsa. Just as you want to help her, Elsa wants to be there for you as well.”

Anna turned, flattening her cheek against Kristoff’s hand. She felt his fingers brush against the skin of her jaw, and Anna shivered.

“I will talk to her.” She promised.

“Good,” Kristoff nodded with a grin. He leaned forward and placed his lips lightly against his wife’s. “Now, shall we go to the lounge?”

He stood. His hand extended and he held it out for Anna to take.

Anna looked at the hand, but she didn’t move. “Could you give me a minute, please?” She squeezed his fingers before offering him a reassuring nod. “I’ll be there in just a second.”

“Of course, my lady.” Kristoff playfully bowed. “But know, I will start looking through those charades cards you made if you are not there in five minutes.”

Anna rolled her eyes as she watched him go, and her soft laughter faded when the door shut behind him.

Stretching back into her seat, Anna reeled in a deep breath. Very slowly, she came to her feet. Her legs bobbled a bit. Her knees quivered uneasily, and a fog of darkness rushed to her brain. Anna gripped the table for support. With her eyes closed, she allowed the darkness to take over. Her nails scratched into the wood as she fought for balance.

When Anna released a sigh, the dizzy spell faded. As quickly as it had come on, her trance had fallen away.

She shook from the sensation and released the table. Anna nodded to herself. She grit her teeth, and strode from the dining hall with her chin held confidently high.

Hands fought for the spoon at the center of a small tea table. Anna swatted Kristoff away, and clutched the silver to her chest. Excitement filled her body. Yet, before she could yell out her feat, the spoon was pulled from Anna’s grasp. Ice worked it way up the stem of the spoon and it sailed across the room into Elsa’s hand.

“Hey! No magic!” Anna shouted.

“I don’t believe we established those rules. Did we, Kristoff?” Elsa gleamed, dangling the spoon between her two fingers.

“I am not getting involved.” He deadpanned, and Kristoff pushed himself away from the table.

Anna grumbled. “I don’t think I like this game.”

“It’s okay, Anna.” Elsa patted her sister’s knee. “You know, very few people are good at family games; that’s just a fact.”

Anna pushed Elsa’s hand away as she giggled.

“Okay, okay, I asked for that one.” She surrendered. “So, what’s next? Charades? I could go for another round! Oh! Or Kristoff, didn’t you pick up that game from Oaken’s with those dangerous looking dart things?”

Both Elsa and Kristoff began to squirm.

“Actually,” He sang. “It is getting pretty late. I thought I would hit the hay, and let you two ladies stay and chat… give you time to talk about that thing, perhaps…”

“Thing?” Elsa’s eyes widened. “There’s a thing? What thing?”

“It is nothing!” Anna defended. “It’s less than a thing; a small thing. What is that? A thinglet?”

“Well, that’s not exactly true.” Kristoff sighed, and squeezed his wife’s shoulder. “It is most definitely ‘thing’ sized.”

Elsa stood up with her hands wringing at her waist. “I knew it! I knew something was up. I could feel it, but I was too distracted by my own thoughts to read between the lines. There was something you weren’t telling me! And there I was, ranting about my own things! I can be so dense sometimes-”

“Hey, woah, woah, hey!” Anna quickly rose, taking her sister’s arms between two hands. “This isn’t like you; this ranting. It’s okay! I just didn’t want you to worry.”

“Worry me?” Her voice lifted. Elsa tried to step back but Anna’s grip held firm. “This is a serious thing, then?”

Hands suddenly very heavy, Anna allowed them to fall away. She crossed the room on shuffled feet, and her fingers splayed along the window glass.

She sighed against it. “I am afraid it is... pretty serious...”

“Tell me,” Elsa whispered, approaching Anna's side.

Kristoff cleared his throat from his spot by the door. “I will, uh, give you two a minute. It was nice to see you, Elsa.”

She nodded to him. “You too, Kristoff.”

Once he had gone, Elsa withdrew their mother’s shall from hiding. She wrapped it around Anna’s shoulders and listened to her sigh.

Anna crooned into the fabric. “Thank you.” She whispered, and her eyes returned.

“It is your week. I would not forget.”

Elsa watched Anna’s nose bury deep into the silk. She breathed. Her eyes briefly closed.

“Come,” Elsa instructed. “Let’s sit.”

She led Anna back to the couch. Elsa sat first before pulling Anna under her arm. Their heads fell together. Their elbows linked beneath the shall, and Anna squeeze Elsa in a show of relief.

“There is an illness spreading through Arendelle.” Anna finally divulged. “The village children are dying, and there is nothing the doctor nor I can do to stop it.”

“What?” Elsa’s reply came at but a breath.

Anna turned to Elsa with her lips pulled to the side. “I am sorry, Elsa. I am failing you. You put your faith in me to protect Arendelle, but I have let you down.”

“Hey now,” Elsa soothed. She brushed Anna’s fallen hairs from her face. “You are not responsible for this.”

Anna turned her cheek. Her eyes fell to the floor. “Nothing like this happened when you were the queen.”

Elsa shook her head and pulled Anna in closer. “No, perhaps not. I did, however, cast an eternal winter over the kingdom, destroy thousands of crops, and damage the livestock.”

Anna frowned. “Why didn’t I know the rest of that?”

“Because you didn’t need to. I took care of it.” Elsa touched her sister’s nose. “All I am saying is- we are all given our own hands in life. We are all tested in different ways.”

Anna remained silent. Her head fell to Elsa’s chest, and she snuggled into the sound of its beating.

“Illnesses happen.” Elsa continued. “They strike villages all over the world. They run their course and-”

Shaking her head against Elsa’s chest, Anna frowned. “This illness is different. It’s not spreading through the air. It has traveled through our food, or our water... Everyone is worried, and I don’t have any answers for them.”

Elsa hummed. The vibrations carried up and through Anna’s ear.

“What do you need from me?” Elsa asked. “Do you need me to address Arendelle? Should I go to Ahtohallan and try and find you answers?”

Her head rose quickly. Anna’s tired eyes found Elsa’s blues. “You would do that for me?”

“Of course.” Elsa smiled. “We do this together, remember?”

The barest hint of a blush tinted Anna’s cheeks. “I have missed you.” She sighed, and pulled back into her sister’s arms.

Elsa’s ride back to Northuldra was unusually warm. The day’s humidity lingered, causing the air to stick to her skin. Nokk could feel it, too. His footsteps weighed heavy against the earth, yet he galloped along peacefully without complaint.

The two found their solace in the clear night sky.

“I could get used to this.” Elsa whispered to him.

She relaxed back on her hands, and her eyes held high toward the stars.

“It is peaceful.” She smiled.

The calm of the evening was a welcomed change of pace; when compared to all that had transpired back in Arendelle. As it appeared, both Elsa and her sister were facing problems. The only difference was, Anna's problems had carried along a tome of death notices with it.

Elsa's eyes watered at the thought.

When she agreed to stay in Northuldra, Elsa believed she had made the right decision. She knew she had a responsibility to the people and the spirits, but she had a commitment to honor with her sister, as well. Now, she was conflicted. Her heart was being ripped in half. She had a family in Arendelle, but there was family in Northuldra now, too.

"What to do?" She groaned.

The night sky twinkled in reply, and Yelena’s words began to echo through her mind. Elsa's heart expanded in her chest.

“I am one with the wind and sky.” She felt herself calm.

The spirits were guiding her, just as Elsa was guiding herself. Together with this new power, she could serve Arendelle, and still solve the secrets of the forest.

Elsa breathed and allowed herself to be captivated by the stars once more.

With her eyes transfixed above, Elsa did not realize when Nokk suddenly slowed. His head was turning erratically to each side when Elsa pulled herself up.

He sensed something.

“What is it?” She reached for his neck. “What is wrong?”

Nokk brayed, deep and loud. He pulled his weight back onto his rear legs. His front hooves kicked toward the sky, and Elsa fought to catch herself against the reins.

That was when Gale appeared.

Gale poured through the trees with a tempest force. She snaked around the earth before making her way to Elsa. Swirling and spiralling, Gale moved up the Nokk’s legs. She braided into Elsa’s hair and stole her attention.

The Nokk whined fearfully, and he kicked at Gale with his hoof. Elsa reached down to soothe him as Gale quickly darted away.

Elsa's hands replaced around the reins, and her knuckles pinched white.

“Go!” Elsa called to Nokk. “Follow the storm!”

Nokk quickly shook from his fear. He leapt into the air and advanced on Gale at a full-sprint.

Gale lead them through the forest, dodging between the trees. She made tailing her at night a challenge for Elsa. However, she had Nokk, and they both had their instincts.

Unfortunately, those instincts told Elsa where they were headed.

Something was wrong in Northuldra, and Elsa could only hope to arrive as fast as she could manage.

-M.

#chapter 4 #don't be fooled by parts #where magic flows #my writing #elsamaren #frozen 2 #frozen #frozen 2 fanfiction #frozen fanfiction #elsamaren fic #elsa #anna #kristanna #honeymaren #fanfiction

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nonsensicalobsessions · 4 years

Text

A Symphony without Strings, Coda

Author’s Note:

In music, a coda is a passage that brings a piece (or a movement) to an end.

Charles Burkhart suggests that the reason codas are common, even necessary, is that, in the climax of the main body of a piece, a "particularly effortful passage", often an expanded phrase, is often created by "working an idea through to its structural conclusions" and that, after all this momentum is created, a coda is required to "look back" on the main body, allow listeners to "take it all in", and "create a sense of balance."

(Charles Burkhart is an American musicologist, theorist, composer, and pianist. He holds the title of Professor Emeritus in the Aaron Copland School of Music, Queens College, and the Graduate Center, City University of New York.)

The above has been lifted shamelessly, word for word, from Wikipedia. It explains succinctly and gives authenticity to my decision to not give this last* view into Merry and Tom’s life as an epilogue.

I thank every one of you for reading, commenting, reblogging, and privately reaching out to me, letting me know how this idea of mine connected with you. Saying “thank you” is so inadequate, but it is all that I have...

Thank you-- NonsensicalObsessions.

You know the musical drill by now.

Trigger warning: Leukemia

Selection the First: https://youtu.be/6n5YH1Y0rHE OR https://open.spotify.com/track/4iFjfJGjqh6ixgy6vFCjAk?si=3p7hx-6jTeq7vKiA4PHZaQ

Merry celebrated the first official anniversary of her remission by finally giving in to Tom’s quiet but persistent pleas to marry him:

“Tom, you know I love you, and that’s never going to change. I’ve added your name to Liam’s birth certificate, you are legally his father. He is now William Thomas Skye Hiddleston. Why does this mean so much to you?”

“Why do you keep refusing me?” Tom countered, as they walked hand in hand, following Liam who still wanted to feed the ducks, although he had grown so much he was no longer as concerned if they were greedy.

“Because I don’t understand! You have me. You have Liam. What difference does it make?”

“Because I want to make you mine, in every possible way I can. Because I want to tie you to me with another string, my darling. Yes, Liam now carries my name...and I want the world to know Meredith Yvette Skye, renowned musician, conductor, aspiring composer, and leukemia—”

“Stop,” Merry interrupted him sharply, and placed her hand over his mouth. “I’ve told you, Thomas! You simply cannot say things like that! I know what you were going to say, and you just...can’t.”

“Is that what this is all about? You’re afraid to marry me because you’re afraid of a relapse? Merry.” His face was reproachful.

“I don’t want to make you a widower, Tom.”

“Merry. Whatever the future holds, we can’t change a thing...but we can be happy now. In this moment. Darling, please...will you agree to be my bride? Say you’ll be my wife.”

When she didn’t immediately refuse, as she had done countless times before, Tom stopped in front of her, and saw her torn expression. Slowly, he got down on one knee, and pulled out of his pocket the box he kept on his person at all times, in readiness for the moment when he finally wore her down.

“My sweetest Mozart...will you marry me? Please say you’ll honor me, and be my wife.”

The sun caught her hair, short, but still a riot of curls, a much darker red than before, but still created a halo around her head. “Yes, Tom,” she answered with a smile at last. “Yes, I will marry you.”

“Papa? What are you doing?”

Liam watched his father slide a ring onto his mother’s finger, oblivious to the crowd of onlookers that had gathered and were taking photos, cheering and shouting out congratulations.

“Something I should have done a long time ago, son. Are you ready to go home?”

“Uh huh. I ran out of bread. Greedy ducks.”

The three of them walked home, Papa Bear, Liam, and Mama, animatedly discussing what would be for supper.

“We need to text Luke,” Merry sighed.

“Why bother? I’m sure he already knows,” Tom replied cheerfully.

Merry sighed, and reached for her phone, but before she could even reach it, Tom’s began to buzz like a hornet.

“See?”

Merry celebrated the second official anniversary of her remission by holding a small benefit concert in New York for Sloan Kettering, to benefit leukemia research. She hand selected the musicians, and was surprised by the interest generated. She had to find a larger venue twice.

Merry celebrated the third anniversary of her remission by being the soloist for Aiden’s wedding to Catherine Walsh. Aiden never expected to fall in love. In fact, he never had moved out of the small, unusual family home, even as Tom and Merry’s relationship became more solid, her health continued to improve, and she and Tom even wed in an very small, private ceremony. He was simply too bonded to Liam, and Liam to Aiden. Both Merry and Tom would never have countenanced trying to weaken or break their tender connection, and would have fought anyone who would have attempted to do so.

As Liam was now in school, Aiden was free to do as he liked during the school hours, and decided he wanted to pursue teaching at the same school Liam was attending, as there was an opening. Once there, he fell head over heels—literally—when he was knocked over by a choir director who was overloaded with stacks of music.

Liam was too old to be a ring bearer, but just perfect for standing alongside his beloved mentor and handing him the rings at the appointed time. The best man, Tom Hiddleston, thought this was completely appropriate.

Merry celebrated the fourth anniversary of her remission by forcing her beloved husband into taking a much needed vacation. He had been working a crushing schedule for the past year, and she had had enough of being apart from him. While she was very understanding and patient, and wanted to see him take the roles he desired, the projects that meant the most to him, and was fiercely proud of the honors and awards he achieved, she was also very frustrated with seeing how depressed Liam was with his Papa’s continual absences, Tom’s persistent weary appearance on their frequent video calls, and her trying to juggle Tom’s schedule with Liam’s schooling and her occasional guest appearances with different musical groups and working on her own compositions. Tom was aghast when he realized how badly his son was missing him, how thin Merry had become trying to keep everyone happy as well as worrying about everyone but herself, and even how he wasn’t taking the best care of himself in the absence of his doting wife. When he saw how wan Merry was, he actually became frightened and insisted on her scheduling an appointment with Kelly as soon as they left their island retreat. Kelly saw through Merry’s new tan immediately, and ran every test twice.

To Tom’s immeasurable relief, Merry still showed no sign of the leukemia having returned...but he felt Kelly’s eyes on him, mutely judging him for allowing her to become so worn down. A few casual statements about “the price of success” and “the value of family” and he could scarcely lift his head from the shame.

When the appointment was over, Merry teased Tom, “I told you I was fine, worry wart. I was just tired, that’s all.”

“That flu you battled didn’t help. You dropped weight you could ill afford to lose,” Kelly mildly reminded her, and Tom winced imperceptibly, even as he turned to face his wife.

He smiled, and kissed Merry. “You are worth everything to me,” he answered honestly. “It was worth the peace of mind, to have Kelly take a look at you.”

“Merry, why don’t you stop by the music room, and I’ll let everyone who is ambulatory know you’re around for a quick few pieces, if you’re amenable,” smiled Kelly.

“Of course,” agreed Merry. “I’ll go freshen up and meet you there.”

Once she was gone, Kelly dropped the affable expression and simply...looked at Tom.

“Music room? That’s new,” Tom said, hoping to stall the inevitable.

“No, it’s been around for about a year now. You didn’t know about it?”

“Should I have?”

“Considering it was your wife’s idea, she spearheaded the fundraising, organized the purchasing, and wrote the philosophy and goals behind it, I would think so, yes.” Kelly stood and looked at him, her face blank. “I’m disappointed in you, Tom.”

He reared back as if he had been slapped.

“Do you have any idea how lucky you are? How phenomenally blessed? That woman is a walking scientific breakthrough. They are citing her case and will be for years to come. Do you know what the average survival rate was for adults with ALL? Only 25% to 35% of adults were able to live five years or longer. And when she came to you, Tom, she was already at year four...on experimental trial, conceivably her last chance. Do you even remember what poor condition she was in, or have you blocked that out already?”

“I remember,” he answered tonelessly.

“I would almost rather you had forgotten. It would make the condition that she is in now easier to understand.” Kelly sighed. “I know, I know you have amazing opportunities. I know too that she makes it easy for you to forget. But I didn’t think you’d be this complacent. I truly didn’t.”

Tom remained silent, just ran his fingers along the underside of her desk.

“Just stop and think about what success really means, Tom. And what you really need to be happy.” Kelly stopped. “But I’m up on my soapbox again. Come see what your wife has been up to while you’ve been away. I am not denigrating your work. I know you make millions of people happy. That is important. Please don’t think I am unaware of it.”

She guided Tom to an area he had never had a reason to visit, and as he approached, he heard laughter, music, and squealing of children.

“You know Merry, she’s never happy if she can’t be making music,” Tom remembered Aiden saying once.

He walked into an area that looked like a scene from...well, a movie.

The walls were a combination of windows to let in natural light, and whimsical murals of sheet music, with happy, smiling quarter notes, half notes, rests and treble clefs and sharps... there was a piano, and stringed instruments hanging carefully from the walls, with sign up sheets for lessons...headphones with beanbag chairs and recliners, for anyone to just lie back and enjoy listening...Merry was seated in the center, with a cello, and a group of children running the gamut of ages, with a handful of adults, some clearly patients, some visiting family members.

Merry was being hit with a deluge of questions, but as Tom looked about, he saw a plaque on the wall that simply read, “The Music Room” and underneath in a smaller font “Where words fail, music speaks: Hans Christian Andersen”.

Tom deliberately remained in the back of the room. He did not want to be noticed. This was a place where people, young and old alike, came to find some healing in music. His beloved wife had arranged for this temple to be erected, and now, she graced it like the goddess she was. Far be it from him to distract the devout.

He smiled as he heard the clamor for her to play, and she laughed and agreed to play for awhile. He leaned against the glass, angling himself so he could watch her in the reflection as she tuned the cello quickly and began.

Not surprisingly, her first piece was a rollicking jig that set the youngest set dancing if they were strong enough, and those that felt they were either too tired or else too grown up just laughed and clapped along. Tom smiled as he looked at his shoes, wishing for his spoons. Such was the joy she inspired.

Her second was a waltz. He actually turned and caught her eye, surprised. His heart and conscience tugged at him, as he wondered when was the last time he had danced with his wife. He’d forgotten. Listening to her lilting notes, he was drawn with the strong urge to whisk her up and begin dancing with her himself, remembering how he would do so as Liam would laugh and laugh as he did so.

The third was soft, and gentle, but not melancholy. He saw where she deliberately chose selections that would not leave anyone’s spirits feeling lonely, or anxious. A wave of love crashed over his heart. She knew grief, abandonment, and weariness, and was making sure that in this place, she would not add these burdens to her small audience.

“All right, last one,” she said. There was a small outcry of “awww”s and she rested on her cello for a moment as she confided, “I don’t know if you are aware of it, but I was treated here too...just down the hall there. Yes, it’s true,” she added when there were a few that expressed their surprise. Merry was not in the best of shape, maybe, as Tom looked at her with his eyes newly opened with guilt and a strong resolve to make sure she became stronger and sleeker under his loving, watchful gaze...but she was here.

“Like all of you, there were days I felt sick to my soul...so tired, and just over it all...but then I would hear this song, and I would find enough encouragement to pick my head up, and keep on keeping on. I’m going to share it with you, and I hope it helps you when you’re feeling like you need a pick me up. If you know the lyrics, sing along, all right?”

Tom was intrigued. Merry had never mentioned any of this to him...

Before she started, she dragged over a wooden box that held a collection of musical toys, and winking at one of the kids, quickly rigged it into an impromptu...foot powered drum?

Merry, what are you up to?

Once again, he caught her eye, his eyebrow lifted in blatant curiosity. She simply gave him a small grin, and began.

He fell in love, all over again:

Selection the Second: Reader’s Choice: Instrumental--https://youtu.be/rYQLXeDZ3lw OR https://open.spotify.com/track/3eAYt2sZZSyqBM2LllwPJg?si=Px-xv-uPTHyAq7LbiucFwQ

OR Vocals https://youtu.be/xo1VInw-SKc OR https://open.spotify.com/track/37f4ITSlgPX81ad2EvmVQr?si=shhYva9cQUmuIjMWJn_igQ

Like a small boat

On the ocean

Sending big waves

Into motion

Like how a single word

Can make a heart open

I might only have one match

But I can make an explosion

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

This is my fight song

Take back my life song

Prove I'm alright song

My power's turned on

Starting right now I'll be strong

I'll play my fight song

And I don't really care if nobody else believes

'Cause I've still got a lot of fight left in me

Her voice started off alone, quiet but sure, but then another voice picked up, and then another. Her foot was keeping time fiercely with her makeshift drum. Children were jumping and dancing. Adults were standing and swaying, some with their hands over their heads. Some had tears on their faces, others were laughing, still others were singing with triumph written all over their faces. By the end, Tom saw everyone was singing, including Kelly, who was taking turns dancing with different patients and family members. The music was more than just notes, it was a manifestation of the spirit of everyone present, refusing to bow to the odds, defying weakness and pain and suffering.

She turned to Tom once when she sang,

And all those things I didn't say

Wrecking balls inside my brain

I will scream them loud tonight

Can you hear my voice this time?

He saw the memory of the pain in her eyes, all the nights she couldn’t sleep, and her mind must have gone round for round, all the words she wanted to say, but never had, second guessing herself, playing the “what-if” game...he mouthed, “I love you,” to her, and saw a smile fill those same eyes, and promised himself he was going to make sure tonight her eyes held nothing but joy.

When the singing stopped, Merry looked at everyone present and repeated, “Cause I know I’ve still got a lot of fight left in me...and so do you.”

Oh yes, my Mozart. You do. And I’m not going to be complacent anymore.

Selection the Third: https://youtu.be/8L-Bk28Ra6Q OR https://open.spotify.com/track/1iyMfyCRzkcW3x7CGEckgY?si=rIf8VY5BQiislFRKsJ3Z8g

Merry celebrated the fifth anniversary of her remission by participating in the third annual benefit concert for Sloan Kettering. What she had begun to celebrate her second anniversary had grown so huge she was unable to continue it on her own, and gratefully turned the entire thing over to the New York Symphony’s auspices.

It was an extremely emotional experience for her. Not only was it what many saw as a coveted milestone, (although there was a lot of debate as to whether five years was the milestone or ten, to be considered as “cured”), but Merry, absolutely quaking and gripped with stage fright for the first time in her entire life, stepped in front of the New York Symphony Orchestra to conduct her own composition, A Symphony with Strings, in C.

She was repeatedly asked about the quirky title, “Don’t all symphonies have strings?” which led her patiently answering, repeatedly, how “strings” referred to a metaphor about connections, and how certain themes began in the opening, then changed, grew and matured throughout the composition, just as in a relationship.

The fact her main “string” had a name—William Thomas—she kept to herself.

Tom was the only person that asked what she considered the real question:

“Why C major?”

It was after the performance, and the after parties. Merry was lying down on a massive hotel bed, hair (glorious once more) spread across a sinfully decadent pillowcase, a cool cloth across her eyes. Tom had all the lights off, and the drapes open, so the lights of the city skyline were visible. Aiden had Liam with him and Catherine two floors down, so they could enjoy being blissfully, unapologetically nude after enjoying their own after-after party.

“Because I wrote it.”

Merry’s voice was lazy and content.

“That is...as clear as mud.”

“Well, darling husband, I guess if you had written it, it would have been in the key of E...? Or maybe G...” she yawned. Her head was aching as she was coming off all of the champagne she had consumed. “Drink more water,” Tom ordered her as he refreshed the cloth, “and try explaining that one again, please?”

Merry rolled over to her side, arm extended, as she gratefully accepted the facecloth.

“C for Chai, Tom...rather than Earl Grey.”

Merry celebrated the sixth and seventh anniversary of her remission quietly. She and Tom had settled down in a lovely neighborhood in London. Tom had decided he was going to do more theater, and if and when a project came along he simply could not turn down, he did his level best to either take his family along, or else manage his time away so there were plenty of opportunity for visits. Gone were the months and months of time spent apart. No one was happy, and Tom recognized no role, no award, was worth losing so much time with his family. He would never forgive himself if a movie, or a play, caused his family so much grief. Nothing was worth it.

Liam, like his mother, was an extremely talented musician. Merry never pushed Liam beyond his capabilities, nor beyond his passion. She also did not try to teach her son, rather acted as his confidante, advisor, and above all, his doting and loving mother...who still would take no excuses for rudeness or poor behavior.

Aiden and Catherine remained in the States, and it was a painful wrench when the odd little family separated themselves by an ocean. However, between daily video calls, incessant texting, and frequent visits, the pain was eased. Aiden knew he and his family was always welcome at the Hiddleston home, which was really by extension his home. He remained close to Liam, and his role segued into that of a loving older brother, rather than father figure. Liam kept in daily contact, as did Merry. Tom also blew up his phone on a daily basis. Aiden never felt as though he had been cut off or evicted...and when his own family began expanding, Liam was thrilled to finally have little “cousins” to love and boss as often as he could.

Merry never again went back to conducting. She knew in order for her to regain her edge, she would have to put in massive amounts of time and practice. Even six and seven years after her battle with leukemia, she still revisited Sloan Kettering on a regular basis. Every time she bruised, Tom’s face paled, and any illness, weight loss or fatigue meant an immediate trip to the doctor. Merry’s love for music was still keen, and she played the cello, the piano, and the violin more often than she did anything else. After her symphonic debut, she was approached to compose for a variety of reasons, but she refused most of the commissions, choosing to write only when she felt moved to do so. She was just as focused on her music, and as unfocused on anything else that wasn’t her family. She still needed to set multiple alarms at times, and while she didn’t need as many sticky notes around the house as she did as when Tom first met her, both Liam and Tom knew frequent reminders were often a good idea.

Merry celebrated her eighth anniversary by making the conscious decision not to celebrate her remission anniversaries anymore. Rather, she would celebrate every single day as exactly for what they were: gifts she would enjoy and cherish, for the rest of her life, however long it may be. Counting days was restrictive. Who did that?

Encore:

Tom had just won his first Academy Award for Best Actor.

He was frozen in his seat. Cameras around the world saw his stunned expression, how his PR agent and longtime friend, Luke Windsor, physically grabbed and pushed him towards the stage.

He accepted the coveted trophy and hugs from the two presenters, and stood by the microphone.

He licked his lips, the ran his hand through his hair repeatedly.

“Um, wow,” he managed, to applause and laughter.

Finally, he opened his glasses as he took a folded piece of paper form his sharply tailored tuxedo jacket and began:

“In light of my history of speaking of the cuff for long periods of time, you will be happy to know that my long suffering agent, Luke Windsor, stood over me and made me write this out in advance, even as I whined it was unnecessary, because there was no hope of my winning. He timed me and everything...and my son, Liam Hiddleston, is currently tracking me with a stopwatch. Keep me honest, Liam.”

Cameras panned to a handsome young man, who smiled, rolled his eyes as only a preteen can, and made a, “get on with it,” hand motion as he kept his eyes trained on his watch. More laughter erupted throughout the famed theater.

Tom was perfect. He thanked everyone, in his precise and eloquent fashion: the cast, the crew, the writers...he then thanked his mother, and his sisters.

“Doing all right, Liam?” Liam gave him a “thumbs up.”

At this point, Tom tore his notes up, and Luke audibly gasped. “No, Tom. No. Nononono...”

“Liam...I’ve done a lot of things before I saw you for the first time...and while I am proud of them, they don’t hold a candle in my heart compared to that one moment. The best thing I can hope to do with my life is make you proud of your old man, because the best and most important role I’ve ever gotten is being your Papa.” Tom’s voice was becoming markedly thicker, but he was still able to continue speaking. “I am going to stop embarrassing you now...No I’m not. I love you, son.”

Cameras flashed back to Liam, who was blushing, and grinning, even as he kept making his, “keep going,” hand signals, faster now.

“And now...to my beloved Merry. My wife.” Tom took a deep breath. “Darling...words cannot begin to say how much I love you, so I am not even going to try...” Tom’s voice failed him for a moment. “You are always in my heart...I knew this project was going to be challenging, filming half a world away, but I had no idea, I couldn’t know, Mozart, I didn’t...” Tom’s voice failed him again. The silence in the theatre was so complete, the microphone picked up his intake of breath as he tried again. “You made me into a better man, just by being in my life. You showed me what success truly is. You set the standard for grace, courage, and strength...I could go on and on, but our son is letting me know I’ve run out of time, and that’s the crux of it, isn’t it? So, all I can do for now, is this.” He pressed his lips together into a thin line as he looked upwards from the podium, then blew a kiss out into the sea of lights and faces, because the one face he wanted to see was not there. His voice cracked as he concluded, “You have my heart tonight, tomorrow, and for all time. My God, how I love you, Merry. Thank you.”

The theme music for his film that accompanied his exit off the stage seemed less brassy than usual. After the world, let alone the entire auditorium, witnessed Tom Hiddleston break down so profoundly as he professed his love for his wife, it would have seemed somewhat in questionable taste, even for Hollywood.

Luke was pulling his hair as he was waiting for Tom behind the curtain. “Why, Tom? Why did you do it? You had a perfectly good speech...why did you tear it up?”

Tom was wiping his face with a damp cloth someone had handed him. “Because it didn’t begin to say what was in my heart, Luke! It felt wrong! It was wrong!” As he spoke, his eyes kept darting around wildly. “What’s wrong with speaking what was on my heart?”

“Because, my dearest, you kinda made me sound like I was dead,” Merry answered apologetically. She wrapped her arms around her husband, resting her head against his chest as he firmly gathered her into his embrace. “Between Luke grabbing you and pushing you onstage before I could even give you a kiss, and then another person taking my hand and rushing me backstage...I feel as though I missed the overture and the finale!”

“Darling, I had no idea this film was going to stress our family as badly as it did. You never even told me how ill you were with the flu...Kelly just looked at me, and I realized how far I strayed from my promises, to you and Liam both...Christ, Merry, if I’d lost you? No award would ever make up for that. It would all be ashes in my mouth...”

“But you didn’t lose me. You finished an important work, Tom, with an amazing cast, that is all waiting to celebrate with you...now go on, you silly puppy. You worked so hard. Go play. Meet with everyone who is waiting on you.” Merry stood on her tiptoes and kissed her husband on the lips, her eyes shining with love as she patted his chest.

She was unaware their photo was being taken as she did so, his arm around her waist, her hand over his heart, and the captions all were a variation on the theme:

“A tender moment shared by Academy Award Winner Tom Hiddleston and his wife, classically-trained musician Meredith Skye-Hiddleston. Hiddleston sang praises to his wife, affectionately nicknamed ‘Mozart’ in tribute to her many musical talents, in his acceptance speech. Later in the evening, Skye-Hiddleston wryly commented, “There is a reason Tom needs to stick to the notes as they are written. He’s not ready for cadenzas just yet.”

So Merry, Liam, and Papa Bear?

They lived happily ever after.

TAGGING: Lifetime Memberships @hopelessromanticspoonie @yespolkadotkitty @just-the-hiddles @vodka-and-some-sass @winterisakiller @theheartofpenelope

Symphony Season Ticket Holders: @jessiejunebug @alexakeyloveloki @scorpionchild81 @tinchentitri @theoneanna @o-sacra-virgo-laudes-tibi @blacksuitofdoom @mishaandthebrits @wegingerangelican @rjohnson1280 @ms-cellanies @noplacelikehome77 @villainousshakespeare

* simply because Aiden has quite politely asked his side of Chapter 7 be told. We shall see.

Dedicated in loving memory of Christine. Your fight song will never be silenced in my heart...but my God, I miss you so much.

#tom hiddleston #a symphony without strings #tom hiddleston rpf #tom hiddleston x ofc #tom hiddleston angst #tom hiddleston x oc #look Christine I did a thing #Nonsensical Writes

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haddonfieldproject · 4 years

Text

<<PREVIOUS⏺<<CONTENTS>>

1.2.23 HALLOWEEN NIGHT/NOVEMBER 1ST 5:51 AM

Warren County, Illinois

Diego stopped walking and hit the little light on the side of his watch and looked at it. ‪5:51.‬

When will this stupid rain stop? He thought, beginning to walk again.

He hated this part of the walk. The trailer park he lived in with his mom was out in the middle of nowhere, and this time of year, when it was still dark in the early mornings, you couldn't see anything out here. Leighton dropped him off most nights, but he didn't have the heart to have her come pick him up this early. I don’t think we’ve reached that phase of our relationship yet, he smiled to himself.

It's cool, he thought, only three more paychecks and then I can put a down payment on a new ride.

🎃

Gabriel Couture had been dozing. He would never have admitted it to anyone, certainly not his wife and definitely not any other trucker, even though every single one of them had at one time or another caught themselves starting to doze on a long haul. Just like any other time, you only knew you were dozing when you woke up and things were different than when they were just a moment ago.

His favorite program on the radio had just ended and the station was now airing the morning news. A man had been on there talking about some serial killers from Mississippi when all of a sudden he had heard an electronic beeping noise, and now there was a girl on the radio talking about where to go to get the best “tropical tan and bikini wax”.

That means it had been at least thirty seconds that Gabriel had been drowsing behind the wheel.

Very scary, he thought.

He thought of that video in trucking school they had shown him about the distance the truck traveled when you merely took your eyes off the road long enough to shoot a glance at the Qualcomm screen. It was like two football fields or something like that.

The Qualcomm had been the thing responsible for the electronic beeping. A robotic woman's voice came through the speakers, temporarily cutting out the commercial audio on the radio:

“You have....thirty...minutes...left in your legal time to drive. Please make arrangements to pull over.”

Good thing I only got about fifteen minutes left, Gabriel thought and picked up the can of Monster Energy drink that sat in his cup holder. He shook it, hearing a few drops of liquid at the bottom of the can, he put it to his mouth and stuck his tongue out to catch the last precious bit.

It was warm and tasted like piss.

🔪

“Why do you have to live so far out in the middle of fucking nowhere!?” Kyndra groaned, checking her phone for the time.

Brad wasn't listening, he was wiping the inside of the windshield with a Liberty Burger wrapper he had found in the center console of the Mustang. “God damn I can't see shit!” He hissed.

“Well, you're the one who wanted to smoke a damn bowl in the car,” Zoey said, “It's raining like crazy and we couldn't open the window to let the smoke out, what did you think was going to happen?”

“I didn't think it would fog up like this,” Brad said, turning the control on the dash from hot to cold.

“Stop playing with that and watch the road,” Kyndra snapped.

“I'm trying to defrost the window!” He roared back.

“Well it doesn't matter if it's hot or cold air, it's still gonna clear the window,”

“That's not true, it needs hot air!” Brad yelled.

“It's fucking roasting in here,” Kyndra turned the dial back to cold.

“I'm pretty sure you need cold air to clear the window,” Zoey said.

The mustang hydroplaned and this time it seemed like Brad barely caught hold of it. Zoey fell to the side on the backseat and the pipe rolled off her lap and hit the floorboards with a clang. Kyndra screamed.

“My pipe!” Bellowed Brad.

“I got it...” Zoey's muffled voice came from the back.

“Watch the fucking road!” Kyndra yelled. She wiped the windshield with the arm of the sweatshirt Brad had let her borrow.

🎃

Gabriel stretched his neck and caught the sight of the headlights out of his passenger mirror. His first thought was that it had to be a cop by the way they were moving. He had seen plenty of cops on the road that night, most in a big hurry, most with their lights on, and most had passed him. He took his foot off the gas and prepared to be passed by this one now, only it came right up on him and paused.

He could see from the lights it wasn't a cop. It was a sports car of some sort...looked kind of old. It eased closer until it was directly behind his trailer and out of sight from his mirrors. The only thing that made his presence known was the halo of light that now shone in both mirrors emanating from either side of his cab.

Gabe blinked a few times to try and perk up a little.

Stupid tailgaters, he thought.

🔪

Zoey popped up from the backseat. “Got it,” she held up the pipe. “It had rolled under the....shit watch out!”

“I know..I know” Brad said, easing off the gas, his foot turned slightly to the left to cover the brake, but even he knew better than to mash it hard in the rain.

Kyndra put her hand up on the ceiling of the Mustang as the trailer of a semi-truck emerged from the veil of rain to dominate the view beyond their slowly un-fogging windshield.

“I got double lines,” Brad murmured, “When I get the dotted line I'll pass him.”

Kyndra looked at him like he had three eyes, “What? You're not going to fuckin' pass him now! Not in this rain.”

“You said we needed to hurry!” Brad snarled.

“We're already late,” Zoey said, “No reason to kill us.”

“God I fucking hate semitrucks!” Brad moaned.

🎃

“Jeez Lloyd! I can't barely see a dang thing!” Lee whined, he was elbows up on the steering wheel, looking so far ahead through the rain drops, his forehead was nearly touching the glass of the windshield.

Lloyd sat on the passenger seat next to him, calmly counting the cash he had pulled in fistfuls from Raj Gudipati's cash register.

“I know brother,” he said calmly, not looking up, “I've been driving in the shit all night.”

“It looks like it's raining even harder now!” Lee said.

Lloyd ignored him. “Jesus fuck!” he moaned, tossing the cash into the glove compartment. “Seventy eight dollars and sixty four cents! That's all that Indian fucker had on him in the whole register.”

“He probably has to do cash drops every hour like we had to at the restaurant.” Lee said.

“No shit,” Lloyd said, picking up the pack of Marlboros in the center console, pulling one out, and lighting it. “Whole world's going to be computerized before you know it. Computers gonna tell us when to eat, when to shit, when to fuck...you watch!”

Lee goofy-laughed, “I saw a show on TV that said it was a sign of the apocalypse.”

“Damn right,” Lloyd said, taking a drag. He cracked his window a bit to blow the smoke out. The whooshing sound of rain filled the cab, drowning out the music. Some water dripped on his right shoulder so he scooted closer to his brother. “We are in the last days little brother.”

“Amen to that.” Lee replied.

Lloyd turned up the radio to block out the rain.

🔪

I wish he'd just pass me, Gabriel thought.

He knew the person behind him wouldn't because of the double lines, but he didn't care. Nothing made a trucker nervous like some jackass so far up his rear he couldn't see him in the mirrors.

Maybe if I slow down a little, he'll get tired and just go around me. He thought and backed off the gas.

🎃

“God what the fuck!” Brad moaned and slightly leaned on the brake.

“Chill out Brad, it's okay.” Zoey said calmly from the back. She had extended her hand and Kyndra was now holding it.

“What the fuck is he slowing down for?”

“Who cares Brad, just chill, we're turning off up here anyway.” Kyndra said. She closed her eyes, she didn't want to watch anymore.

“We haven't even reached the Superfuel yet!”

Zoey and Brad made eye contact in the rear-view mirror. “Stop,” she mouthed.

Brad took a deep breath and sighed.

🔪

“That's right,” Gabriel chuckled to himself. “Take a little bit of that.”

His speedometer fell from 45 to 30. Any slower and he was going to have to downshift. The headlights behind him peaked out the passenger side and then the driver's side mirror. He was poking out for a peak around him.

He's gonna pass any second. Gabriel thought.

The lights peaked again.

“Awww...you're a Mustang,” Gabriel saw. Probably '77 '78...looked orange, but it was hard to tell in the dark and rain. Could have been red.

Whatever, Gabriel thought, Ford's suck...now just pass me.

Headlights coming toward them caught his eyes. His foot moved to cover the brake.

🎃

Lights seemed to appear all around Diego at once—as if a UFO was landing on top of his head. Diego looked behind him and saw the headlights of a truck coming. He knew in almost a second it was the truck that had pulled in to the Superfuel Deluxe as he had been leaving. He remembered the bluish tint to the headlights. In front of him, coming up the hill were the lights of a tractor-trailer. Diego side stepped off the pavement and into the grass. His shoe sank down into a deep dark puddle with a splash and he felt his shoe fill with water.

Awww man, he thought.

🔪

“I can't take it anymore!” Brad roared and stomped the gas, cutting the steering wheel to the left.

“No Brad!” Zoey roared. Kyndra felt Zoey's hand clench hers and she opened her eyes.

🎃

Lee and Lloyd had seen the truck, and had really thought nothing of it, even though they probably should have. Most every trucker in the area had heard their truck's description by now on their CB Radio and was on the lookout for them.

Lee was just trying to concentrate on keeping in his own lane as the big rig passed, and Lloyd was leaning forward to ash his cigarette when the two headlights of an orange 1978 mint condition Ford Mustang darted out in front of them from behind the trailer.

The truck and the mustang hit each other head on without even braking. Ordinarily a truck that size would have split open a sports-car like a can of tuna-fish, but the Mustang was old, with a big hood and a strong chassis. Instead, the front of the mustang sort of slid underneath the truck, the bumper of which crunched down on top of the windshield. Brad had been leaning forward to be able to see and the steal bumper of Booger's truck exploded his head like a watermelon. Kyndra's legs were cut off at the thighs as the weight of the truck sliced down into the cab like one of those knives in that infomercial Brad was sleeping through only hours before. The top half of Kyndra's body lifted, hit the roof, flipped over her headrest, and fell into the backseat.

Zoey had taken off her seat-belt earlier to find the pipe. Her body flew forward as if shot out of a cannon, crashing through the windshield which diced her up like a wood-chipper, seconds before the weight of the truck pulverized every bone she had in her body above the waist. She had instinctively raised her arm at the last moment to cover her face and her left hand was torn from her body and plopped on the floor in front of the passenger seat, right between her girlfriend's feet.

Neither Lloyd or Lee Chumway had been wearing their seat-belts. Lloyd had been leaning forward, ashing his cigarette, so he had catapulted forward immediately, exiting through the windshield at the same moment the airbag deployed. The airbag caught him at ‪the shins‬ and merely slowed his launch, causing him to bounce off the back windshield of the Mustang, his body rolling about forty yards across the highway, before coming to a rest in the center of the road atop the double yellow lines. Lee's body had shot forward but the airbag deployed, shoving him back into the seat. Unfortunately for him, the force of the collision forced his head to snap back, causing a basalar skull fracture in the back of his head and neck. He slumped over against the driver's side window as blood began to pour from his nose, ears, and eyes.

🔪

The collision occurred directly outside the driver's side door of Gabriel's truck and he instinctively jerked his steering wheel to the right and slammed down on the brake. His tractor wheels locked up, the pilot tire on the passenger side struck a muddy rut on the shoulder of the road. This broke the front axle of the tractor immediately. The trailer did not respond to the sudden drop in speed very well, this on top of the fact that he was running empty...and therefore light.

The trailer hitch compressed into the fifth wheel, the back six wheels came off the ground about eight inches and then bounced like basketballs for nearly six feet before beginning a tilt and skid to the left. This caused enough torque to pull the trailer on it's side, taking the cab with it. Gabriel was pulled over, his head smacked his driver's side window, knocking him unconscious immediately, and shattering his left shoulder and arm.

🎃

Diego didn't have time to react as the trailer slid toward him. He dove to the left, but the roof of the trailer caught him while he was airborne, smacking him like a tennis racket hits a tennis ball. Diego was thrown into the trees, striking a sycamore upside-down about three feet off the ground. He bounced off the massive trunk and landed face down about four feet in front of the tree line in a large patch of standing water. His heart stopped as soon as he had hit the tree and he was dead before he even hit the puddle.

The trailer continued to drag across the road and unto the shoulder, slicing a mile marker sign in two, the jagged stump of the stake that held it into the ground lacerated the fuel tank of the tractor as it followed it's own trailer's skid through the muddy grass. The soft earth broke the truck's speed, bringing it to a stop about ten feet away from Diego's head. Diesel fuel mixed with oil and gasoline from Booger McFarlane's truck and Brad Doyle's mustang ran across the road like a river and pooled around Diego's body which had created a depression in the earth.

Brad Doyle's lighter, with the skulls on it, was perched precariously in his lap, and had amazingly remained that way throughout the entire accident. As a result of basically losing his own head and brain however, his right leg went into a short, but violent spasm about five minutes after the accident, thrusting into the gas pedal, releasing more fuel into the road in a gush. The lighter fell from his lap, slicing through a gash in the floorboards that had opened up when the front end structure of the vehicle had been partially torn from the frame. The lighter struck the asphault below and aresulting spark ignited the trail of fuel underneath the Mustang. A snake of fire raced across the surface of the highway and exploded Diego's body into flames.

This burned only mere moments however, the fire was promptly extinguished by the extreme deluge of rain that continued to pound down on central Illinois. The vehicles had not had time to catch, and soon, everything was silent and still..except for the sounds of the storm.

NEXT>>

#halloween #halloween franchise #michael myers #horror #horror writing #haddonfield #horror film #fan fiction #fan writing #spooky

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beyond-the-mirror · 5 years

Text

Drunk uncle Dante explains: Christmas

So recently I watched a very funny video called Drunk uncle explains Christmas and I couldn’t help but think of uncle Dante trying (and failing miserably) to explain Christmas to a very curious little Nero.

In this context, Dante is visiting his parents’ house for the holidays (Eva and Sparda are still alive in this AU) as well as Vergil and his son Nero.

This was written purely for laughs and giggles, so don’t take it too seriously. By the way, this is the video I'm parodying with this short fic if you want to check it out, although I changed a few things to adapt it better for the purpose of this story. It’s in spanish though, but you can turn the subtitles on. Anyway, hope you enjoy!

..........

It was the night before Christmas. A chilly air ran through the ever so active city of Red Grave, which currently had its streets covered in a soft and pristine layer of snow reflecting all the colorful lights that decorated every corner of the city.

People gathered together in their homes to share a most anticipated reunion with their beloved families, mouth-watering food served on their dinning tables to celebrate the holidays, as well as the numerous wrapped presents hidden underneath the Christmas trees ready to be opened.

And of course, the Sparda household was no exception to these festivities.

Tiny hands wandered around a beautifully decorated tree, its fingers feeling around the decorations that sparked curiosity and wonder in the eyes of little Nero. Tucked between the trees branches, a porcelain star caught Nero’s attention, his little fingers reaching out at the trinket. His attempt was interrupted however, when a very loud snore broke the silence that had covered the living room.

Nero turned around searching for the origin of the sound, finding out that it was his uncle Dante who had fallen asleep on the couch nearby.

“Uncle Dante? Uncle Dante, don’t fall asleep yet!”

As small hands nudged the man’s shoulder, Dante slowly woke from his drunken slumber, having already downed a couple of wine bottles (and probably a whiskey one too), though due to his demonic heritage, he only felt a bit tipsy.

“Ummm, c’mon kid... let your uncle sleep for a little longeeer.”

“But uncle Dante, it’s only seven o’ clock. Dinner will be ready any minute now, and we haven’t even opened the presents!”

“Ughh... fine, you’re lucky you’re adorable as hell.”

Dante stretched and yawned while little Nero sat on the carpet, next to the toy train set his grandpa Sparda had set for him early.

“By the way uncle Dante, can you tell me the story of Christmas? Pleeeaaase? You always have the best stories!”

Dante sat silently until he finally relented thanks to the huge puppy eyes his nephew was giving him. “Alright then. But only because I’m the coolest uncle ever right?”

“Yes! The best one too!” Nero giggled enthusiastically, which always warmed his heart to no extent.

“Ok, fetch me that book over there.”

Nero handed the requested book to his uncle, which he proceeded to open and read out loud, starting with the story.

“Alright. Long, long time ago... in the ancient Egypt-”

Nero giggled once again “Silly uncle Dante! Papa says the story took place in Jerusalem.”

“Ok, ok then. So, Mary was doing housework, ironing some clothes because their housekeeper was fired-”

“Like they did to you uncle?”

Dante sighed “No- I wanted to stay at your grandparent’s house for a few days longer, that’s it!”

“You were kicked out of your office because you owed five months worth of rent, you irresponsible imbecile!” Vergil shouted from the studio where he was currently reading.

“Oh shut up Vergil! At least I know what a condom is!” Dante rudely shouted back at his twin before proceeding with the story. “Then, an angel arrived and his name was Gabe. Gabe told Mary not to be afraid because she will have a baby, who will be named Jesus and who will be the son of God. And Mary was cool with that.”

“Wait uncle Dante, how are children born?”

“Well that’s another fun story for another time, but in Mary’s case it was thanks to the Holy Spirit. Not so ‘holy’ tho, considering he messed with Joseph’s wife.” He snorted while a confused Nero tilted his head to the side. “Okay then, Joseph doubted Mary’s virginity, so he demanded a divorce.”

“What does virginity mean?”

“It’s like a hundred dollars bill. If you keep it, it serves no purpose, but if you use it, it’s gone forever. So make sure to spend it well and at the right time!”

“Ohhh I see.” Poor naive Nero, completely oblivious to what his uncle was talking really talking about. “Also, there were divorces at that time?”

“Yep, they were called ‘stonings’“

Little Nero nodded in complete awe at what he perceived, was his uncle’s great knowledge.

“But of course Mary demanded a divorce first, and exclaimed that she was keeping all the money, the car, as well as-”

“Stop mixing stories you buffoon! That happened to you with Lady!” Vergil’s angry voice once again interrupted the story.

“Stop bringing up my personal matters in front of the kid Verge!”

“Scum!”

“You son of a-!”

“Uncle Dante!” Nero’s innocent voice calmed Dante’s nerves, allowing him to take a deep breath and relax.

“Sorry ‘bout that, now where were we? Oh! Well it was the Holy Spirit, and Joseph wanted to take Mary to Las Vegas for their honeymoon... buuut they didn’t have any money, so they settled for Bethlehem instead.”

“There were honeymoons at the time?”

“Of course! You needed lots of money tho... but one day youuu Lady, wait ‘till I hit the jackpot and then you will see!”

“Get over your problems already!” Another exasperated interruption from his twin, Dante surely wasn’t getting any rest.

“Well then. The couple arrived at a cheap hotel room when suddenly, Mary went into labor. And that’s how sweet baby Jesus was born, our Lord and Savior I suppose.”

“Whoaaa...” Dante couldn’t help but feel proud that he managed to keep his nephew entertained with his fun, albeit inaccurate, stories. “Uncle Dante, was Jesus a good person?”

“Good? He was great actually! He could turn water into wine and stuff!”

“Can I drink wine too?”

“Of course! The bible says so after all.” Dante was about to hand his nephew the unfinished bottle of wine he had kept next to the couch when suddenly-

“IF YOU GIVE WINE TO MY SON I SWEAR ON OUR DEMONIC LINEAGE THAT I WILL MUTILATE YOU BEYOND RECOGNITION!”

“Damn it!” As soon as Vergil’s voice entered his ears, he quickly retracted his hand, taking the bottle of wine and putting it as far away as possible from innocent little Nero who jumped at the immense power and fury in his father’s tone.

“Let’s continue with our story. Thus Mary uploaded Jesus’ baby pics to Twitter and the Fairly OddParents star-faved the pics-”

“Nooo uncle Dante! That’s not how the story goes!” Nero laughed wholeheartedly “Papa told me once. The star was up in the sky and they weren’t the Fairly OddParents, they were the Three Wise Men.”

“Okay okay, three men, got it.”

“Three WISE men. And they were kings!”

“Whatever you say kid.”

“And one was black!”

“A bit racist if you ask me.” Dante rolled his eyes and bit back a laugh before continuing. “So, the star told the three wise kings to follow them for God’s sake, literally, and they arrived at the stable where Jesus had been born with gifts for him. One gifted him gold, the other gifted him myrrh-”

“Wait uncle Dante, what is myrrh?”

“Let’s say... it’s a kind of herb.”

“Like the one papa once found under your bed and stabbed you with his blue floating swords for?”

“It was for medicinal purposes I swear!” Dante nervously responded, flustered by his nephew’s sudden question. “Ahem... and the other dude gifted him incense.”

“Why incense, uncle Dante?”

“They were in a stable! You ever been to one? They smell like crap!”

“What about the massacre of children in Bethlehem? Papa also mentione that.”

“Of course! Hitler was a monster, worse than any demon I ever encountered!”

“Noooo silly uncle Dante! It was King Herod! Hitler was austrian and from a different era.”

“Whoa whoa whoa kid, who’s holding the damn book again?”

“The book is upside down uncle Dante. And that’s not even the Bible, that’s papa’s favorite book.”

Once he gave a closer inspection, Dante realized he had been holding the book upside down indeed. Moreover, once he closed it to look at the cover, he noticed that it had been Vergil’s beloved anthology of William Blake all this time.

Sighing and setting the book aside, Dante turned to his lovely nephew “Look little Nero. The important thing about Christmas is that we are all here gathered as a family. It’s not about the gifts or the turkey, it’s about love, like the one of the family of Jesus, Mary and Joseph. It doesn’t matter where we come from. Joseph raised Jesus with lots of love, and that’s why he became such a good dude and sooo famous.”

Nero smiled warmly at the words, and Dante couldn’t help but ruffle his cute nephew’s soft white locks of hair, making him giggle.

“That means...” Dante continued “that even if you are not a planned child, like you Nero, we still love you all the same.”

“Huh? Not planned?” Nero tilted his head in confusion. “Does that mean... I’m adopted?” Tears were beginning to form at the corner of his baby blue eyes. However, Dante couldn’t even explain the misunderstanding when a loud bang resonated through the entire house.

“DAAANTEEEEE!!!” Vergil had barged out of the studio and into the living room, furious to the point that he had Devil Triggered and with a halo of summoned swords around him.

Needless to say, poor Dante had to run for his life from his rampaging brother, a chase that was soon put to an end after Grandma Eva stepped out and reprimanded both siblings with a rolling pin and a look so stern and powerful that made them both cower in fear and respect. Meanwhile, Grandpa Sparda decided to stay and calm down little Nero, showing him his new train set until the boy was giggling blissfully once again.

Just another normal day at the Sparda household after all.

#devil may cry #dmc dante #dmc nero #dmc vergil #drunk uncle dante #christmas #fanfiction #crackfic #christmas story #lmao what am i even doing

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