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moonah-rose · 3 years

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Little Blue Eyes

A brief follow-up to this. Eleanor visits Michael during his reforming.

She had to hand it to Jason. If anyone had told her that it was possible to break a Janet out of Hell and get her away from an army of demons using just a Molotov, a single demon exploder gun, and a bag of weed, she’d have been very sceptical. But somehow he managed to bring their not-a-girl home, riding back in that hand-cart, grinning away as if he’d gone to a Jaguars game with her.

That was one problem dealt with. Now only a billion others to sort out.

As overjoyed as she’d been to see Janet back, safe and sound, she hadn’t been looking forward to reliving the most awful night of the year by explaining to her why their tall, dandy dressed demon wasn’t at her side, or hadn’t gone to save her.

It was easier to hand her the note that Michael had wrote (or possibly snapped into being after she slammed the door as she was sure even he couldn’t write that fast) before he’d pulled the trigger on himself.

I’m sorry.

I don’t want you to be worrying about how I might betray you or let you down again. If I’m locked up, you’re just going to worry that I’ve escaped. Just leave me in a tank on the other side of the map, or in Janet’s void if you bring her back, or just leave me in the Bad Place. If anything I just wanna ask that you make sure I’m all in there as I’d rather not come back shorter. Also if you can make sure no dogs are around to lap me up, I’d appreciate it.

I only ever wanted to save you all. I’m sorry I did nothing but screw up. I understand if you don’t want me back in the group after I’m back to normal. Please just get Janet back safe, even if it does mean going to the Judge. And give my best to Chidi when he wakes up.

I wasn’t lying about one thing; I really do love you all so much. I’m sorry it could never be enough.

Michael.

Reading the goo-stained letter with shaking hands, she’d struggled not to burst into tears of anger or throw up. Standing in the middle of the empty room, her friend dripping all around her, she’d wanted to scream at him for this being his best attempt to make things up to her - to forking leave her! To take the cowards way out.

Being angry was so much easier than accepting the guilt of what she had said to him before that moment. Of questioning if she had gone too far...if she’d just taken a moment to listen to him...Usually the dude had trouble shutting the fork up but that night, all he’d done is stand there and take everything she threw at him...until there was nothing left standing. Literally.

If she’d had any idea he would do something so reckless and stupid then of course she would never have said...

But you did know. You knew exactly what he was prepared to do to help you, if it’s what you said you needed. What you wanted.

She never wanted this, she admits to herself, barely a couple months later.

Running this experiment basically single-handed was...not overly difficult. In fact, she was pretty confident in saying they were doing okay, considering the circumstances.

But it still sucked. She was alone. Again.

Obviously there was no way she was going to have Michael’s goo abandoned in some random, isolated location. She was mad at the guy but she wasn’t a monster...so she told herself. At the same time, she couldn’t give up the role he’d thrusted upon her by suddenly taking up the role of nurse-maid, as hot as she might have looked in the uniform. He’d chosen to do this so she could work without distractions. Without a liability.

“He sacrificed himself to save me. We’re on our own now. Let’s make it count.”

Just get the fork on with things, same as before. No point in looking back.

Tahani is the one who volunteers. She’s able to separate herself from the other humans without causing too much suspicion, claiming the need for a private getaway up in the hills, deep in the valley, a hidden fancy lodge by a stream, surrounded by peaceful deer and mountains. Definitely not Eleanor’s scene, anything involving the wilderness or even resembling camping.

By the time Eleanor sees her off on a private car Derek conjured up, Michael’s goo already reached its first form. The blind, helpless demon larva showed no signs of awareness of his surroundings, curling up as small as possible, malleable as Tahani swaddled him in her fluffiest blanket. Eleanor was almost impressed at how quickly the sexy giraffe had overcome being grossed out at the slimy, squidgy creature, able to look almost maternal as she carried him into the car. And she made sure to say as much.

Tahani’s heavy hearted response would stick with Eleanor for the next few weeks; “I didn’t reassure him when he asked us if we could ever be friends with a gross monster. Best I can do is show him how much we truly care.”

Ouch. Way to kick her in the girl-nads.

“You sure you’ll be okay?”

“I’ve helped out in multiple animal sanctuaries and used to fly out to work with deprived children with my dear friend Angelina...But this is definitely new territory for me.” She’d said as she looked over the larva demon, making the tiniest cooing noise in his sleep (or what they assumed was sleep). “I’ll try my best.”

That was all any of them could do. She’d contemplated attempting to speak to the larva Michael in her arms. What could she possibly say? Could he even understand her?

She was still angry. And yet it was difficult to connect the anger towards the one who abandoned her to the pathetic looking being in the blanket. Best to save all those harsh words on the tip of her tongue for when he was back to being tall and slappable.

Is he really the one you want to slap?

The question comes back to haunt her more frequently each night that follows, whenever she thinks back on that night, or wonders how the two of them are doing. She and Tahani send letters often via the birds who are happy to act as messengers. They just have to be careful none of the humans intercept them. She lets her gorgeous friend know how the experiment is going and Tahani offers her tips on how to improve John, in particular. Every time she goes to write ‘how is Michael?’ she erases it, chest tightening. Tahani tells her anything important.

The slug monster form that follows the larva is a lot more challenging, she reports. He’s now the size of a Tibetan huskie and just as hungry.

I just let him roam the fields and eat what he can find. Sometimes I have to pull him in on a leash if he doesn’t tire himself out, otherwise I worry he’ll slither off in the night. I try to talk to him but he just grunts or roars at me until I tell him off. I was a little worried he might try to eat me but I found playing music - 80′s classics, mostly - calms him down and makes him rather docile. I don’t think he knows quite who I am or remembers anything. Perhaps it’s like when Janet is rebooted? He may need time to restore his memories, as she did.

Oh, darn, I must finish - he’s in the rose bush again!

Sometimes the image of her prim socialite friend trying to restrain a two-hundred-pound slug monster is so hilarious she can’t help but laugh. Other times she feels more guilt tugging at her soul to go lend a hand.

Is Michael really little more than an animal, in his head, right now? She’s hardly proved herself the best at pet care, though it sounded like Michael overeating was the least of their worries. It pained her to imagine what his head must be going through right now. Is he scared? Confused? Lost? Does he have any emotions other than the instinct to feed?

Does he still blame himself? Does he miss her as much as she...?

The more she sits in that chair in the office, the smaller she feels. It doesn’t belong to her; she’s merely filling it in while he’s gone. She has lunch in silence, remembering the jokes they used to share, the games of trying to aim food in the others mouth across the desk. She remembers him snapping a margarita for her when he knew she needed it most. She remembers his hand on her shoulder. She remembers him finding her at her lowest point, when everyone else had doubted her, turned their backs.

She remembers him, always there. And now she’s lost him.

Was wanting him gone over a stupid lie really worth all of this?

When Jason returns with Janet, on the same day she’s hesitating whether to jump on the nearest unicorn and head towards the mountains, she takes it as a sign. She has no excuse to stay away now - not with Janet back to watch over things, though she’ll probably be paying Michael a visit soon too.

She rides up on the train Janet conjures for her, saving her from trying to figure out how to ride a unicorn without breaking her neck. Something tells her she might have more luck at taming a slug monster than her British friend, not that she has any experience, just a few encounters with the grosser men in Arizona. Besides, it was Michael, at the end of the day. Their Michael.

The same Michael willing to sacrifice himself to help a bunch of cockroaches.

It’s such an idyllic landscape she arrives at. A total holiday card photo, without the snow. Nothing but grass and trees for miles before a backdrop of purple mountains. She looks around, seeing the evidence of devoured flower gardens and broken fences. At least the solid, oak cabin by the stream stood in tact, smoke billowing from the chimney.

Eleanor is so focused on keeping her eyes peeled for a rampaging slug monster that she almost fails to spot the little person sat on the front step of the veranda.

She frowns. That has to be the whitest child she’s ever laid eyes on. Granted most kids growing up in Phoenix were smothered in fake tan before they were three by their moms, but this is something else. The kid has long white hair, half-plaited, down to the shoulders of the cream dress she’s wearing. Her skin is so pale it’s nearly translucent. Fork, is she looking at an actual ghost?

Wait...She’s a ghost. That really shouldn’t freak her out.

There’s just something so eerie about the little girl, from her sickly appearance to how weirdly quiet she is for...However old she is. Six? Seven? Thirteen? Eleanor really knows nothing about kids, just that they’re usually much louder than this one, sat alone, playing with a set of shining...

Oh.

“Michael?”

The kid looks away from the chain of a paperclips they were linking, gazing up at Eleanor on the gravel path. As soon as she sees their eyes, she has her answer. Even without a pair of glasses, she’d recognise those sparkling blue eyes anywhere. It’s only then that she remembers the third form.

Spooky little girl.

Though far less spooky than she imagined. More...sad.

Despite her surprise, she tries to smile, not knowing how badly she needed to see those eyes look at her again after this past month.

“Hey, buddy. How’re you feeling?” She starts to approach.

The kid drops the paperclips and jumps up to their feet, beginning to tremble terribly, eyes wide as saucers.

Eleanor stops. Is he afraid? Of her?

“Michael? D’you remember me? It’s Eleanor, dude..”

“‘Hani!” The child cries turning and running inside the cabin. Fork, she knew was bad with kids, but shirt! Eleanor rushes in to follow, unable to hold back.

She enters the cosily furnished cabin to see the pale girl run up to the leg of the six foot beauty standing at the stove and cling to her skirt for dear life.

Tahani looks over from the pot of spaghetti, face fearful at first before lighting up when she spots her friend stood in the foyer.

“Eleanor! What a lovely surprise.” She beams, turning the stove off; “I’m so glad you decided to visit.”

“Wow...You’re kinda rocking the whole rustic single mom look here, babe.” Eleanor says, looking around the place, everything making her feel so warm and comforted from the open fireplace to the heavy air of recently baked bread.

Tahani looks down to her charge hanging onto her dress, reaching down to pick the little fingers off carefully.

“Well, it was rather nice to have a project to myself, and Derek was surprisingly helpful. Everything else I acquired myself, having learned to survive in the wild from a well known ‘Bear’ friend of mine.” She holds the kid’s hands and bends down to their eye level; “Michael, sweetheart, look who’s come to visit. Remember Eleanor?”

The demon child whimpers, throwing their arms around Tahani’s neck and hiding in her luscious dark hair.

Eleanor bites her lip; “He’s a lot more shy than the slug monster, I take it.”

“Oh, I don’t understand. They were fine with Jason this morning, they were playing video games for hours - he and Janet teleported over briefly to check in on us. So glad they got back safe.”

So Jason gets a teleport but she takes the train? The first time she’s not an immortal being’s favorite to spoil.

Eleanor shuffles her feet, trying not to feel wounded at how terrified her friend currently is of her, when apparently there was no issue with Jason. But then, Jason makes it difficult for anyone to dislike him. Eleanor makes it an open invitation.

The kid whispers something to Tahani that causes the woman to pick them up.

“Oh, darling, don’t be silly.” She responds, rubbing their back; “That was just a nightmare.”

“Nightmare?” Eleanor asks. Is she the stuff of nightmares?

Tahani eventually convinces the pale kid to go back outside to continue playing while she catches up with Eleanor.

Questions Tahani has about the experiment and the subjects get quickly brushed aside. Eleanor is unable to focus on anything but the image of Michael’s eyes looking at her with so much fear. When Tahani hands her a fresh cup of cofffee, she wants to stick her hand in it, just to scold herself for the sake of it.

“He’s having nightmares? I mean...she’s having...” Eleanor frowns.

“I find it easier to use ‘they/them’, which Michael seems to prefer as well, currently.” Tahani explains; “Most of the time, they’re a calm, affectionate child. Such a welcome change from the beast I was putting up with a fortnight ago, as much as they grew on me. It’s just at night, while their brain is still reforming and all these memories are flooding back...It can be rather distressing. Trust me, it’s heart-breaking just to see them crying and screaming...”

She can’t imagine that recalling centuries of brutally torturing innocents along with the knowledge of why that was wrong is easy for anyone, least of all in the form of a small girl, creepy or not.

“Honestly, the creepiest I’ve encountered so far is them levitating at the end of my bed - and that’s usually when they’re just looking for a cuddle.”

Eleanor smiles a little, Michael never was the best at being a truly ‘frightening’ demon.

“And I’m in these nightmares?”

Tahani sighs; “I suppose the memories of their last night are mixed up with everything else. They just...were worried you were here to say something mean or...you wanted them gone.”

Fork-sake.

“I never wanted this, Tahani. I never wanted him to...Shirt, I didn’t even think he could, but...” She struggles to hold back tears; “I shouldn’t have come. I’ve just made him...Them more upset. Fork knows what I’d be in for if I stayed for the Teenage Boy phase. He’d probably set my hair on fire as payback.”

Bratty Michael in his fully grown form had been enough to handle. A hormonal one with amnesia was a whole other level.

“Eleanor. Just go talk to them.” Tahani presses; “This whole distancing thing you two are doing to deal with your falling out is dangerous. You’re not going to fix anything by staying away from them. As I kept telling my good friend Courtney when she had a row with my other friends, Lisa and Jennifer - you just need to communicate!”

“Babe, they’re afraid to even be alone with me.” She’s the monster under the bed now. All because she took one sin he committed to heart and forgot about all the good he’d done for her that outweighed it.

“Then stay, there’s plenty of room. Even if it means we swap and you stay here and I return to help with the experiment. Either way, this needs to be sorted out. I don’t believe demons are supposed to be this upset during their growth...You could help with that.”

Can she? She’s not the nurturing type, like her hot friend. She melted her own doll in the microwave as a kid. And she unwittingly talked her own demon bestie into exploding himself.

Tahani’s hand squeezing her wrist gives her some strength.

“...Okay. I’ll try.” she meets her eyes; “Is Michael the only one allowed to snuggle in bed with you when they’re scared?”

Ten minutes later, she goes to find the creepy girl outside, this time sat among the flowers, being far more gentle with them than her previous slug form was.

Eleanor approaches slowly.

“Michael? Buddy?”

The kid gasps, standing up again and flinching back. Eleanor raises her palm.

“Please don’t run away. I promise I won’t hurt you...and I won’t be mad.” She says, soft as she can manage, getting down to the ground; “And I’m not gonna make you go away anywhere. I just wanna chat...That ok?”

Michael doesn’t look too convinced, glancing over at the cabin. Looking for the one constant they’ve had, who’s been here for them, caring for them. Where Eleanor should have been, at least sometimes.

Okay. Time for the trump card.

“I got you something. Tahani said you have trouble sleeping. I thought maybe this guy could help?” She produces the minion toy from behind her back.

Michael’s eyes sparkle and he instantly reaches out to take it.

“So ugly!” They cheer, hugging it to their front.

Eleanor chuckles. Still so easily impressed.

“Can’t argue there...Also, I picked up those paperclips of yours. Did you know you can do this with them?” She holds up the chain; “Gimmie your wrist a minute.”

Michael frowns, hiding behind the toy a little.

“I won’t bite, dude. Kids are way too gross to eat. You’re too stringy and bony.” She wrinkles her nose.

They blink at her before slowly holding out their wrist. Eleanor takes the paperclips and links them around Michael’s arm, forming a bracelet.

The child gasps, clearly thinking they’ve seen it for the first time; “Holy motherforking shirtballs.”

“Damn, you kiss Tahani with that mouth?” That must have been another residue memory tucked away.

Michael sneers; “Kissing is gross.”

“It’s pretty weird if you think about it, yeah.” She concedes, glad they’re at least talking, as much conversation as she can have with a billion year old immortal that’s lost their mind as they regrow in the body of a haunting little girl; “...What about hugs? You like them, right?”

The kid nods, eagerly.

“...Maybe I could have one, someday? If we can be friends? I’d like that...” More than they could know right now. More than anything else, even having Chidi remember her. This...This is just as painful, because she can’t be sure if this is fixable.

Eleanor crosses her legs as she sits, facing her friend.

“I’m so sorry, Michael. I know...you don’t understand that right now but...I’m sorry for why you’re scared of me...I wouldn’t ever wanna hurt you. Please believe me.”

Trust me? God, she’s such a hypocrite.

The kid eyes her, up and down, before turning to the flowers. They bend down, picking a few up into a small bouquet of daisies. Michael turns and hands it out to her.

“Oh...Uhh....Thanks...” Eleanor reaches for them.

Michael’s blue eyes flash red. The flowers burst into flames.

“Forking shirt!” Eleanor jumps.

And still the kid holds them out; “Pretty, right?”

A heartfelt laugh tumbles out of her; “...I can tell Jason’s been here.” Or maybe that was part of her friend’s demon nature. Either way, it was adorable. “Thank you, Michael.” she says, taking the flaming daisies. “You know...if you want, I could show you how to make chains out of these? We could make a crown for Tahani?”

“And ones for me and you?” Michael asks, hopeful.

Eleanor’s lip quivers, a sudden lump in her throat. She reaches out to run her palm over her friend’s white hair, soft as it’s always been; “Yeah...Me and you too, bud.”

#rose says she can't fix things #then immediately writes something to fix it #as weird as this is #like borderline crack fic #but still works within the canon #fluffy angst #hellstrop brotp fic #michael x tahani sistp #genderfluid michael #hints of future cottagecore teleanor? we'll see

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milknette · 4 years

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day 20 - fairytale

no-one to tell us no or where to go, or say we're only dreaming.

tumblr month: @auyeahaugust

links: ao3 | ff.net

PRINCE Adrien does not want to marry.

Or, well, he does— but not to some princess he doesn't know; not for the sake of politics and prevention of war; and especially not for a woman who would only marry him for his stature and family.

As corny as it is, Adrien wants to marry for love.

But it's not that easy to find someone to love when you're not even allowed to step outside the palace gates.

As if on cue, his father enters his bedroom.

"I assume you've accepted my proposition, Adrien?"

His low voice echoes through the otherwise empty chamber, the tone devoid of almost any love and care a father should have for his own child.

The younger boy only looks down, barely getting up from his bed.

Suddenly, the silks and expensive pillows that he lay on felt so stiff.

Cold, even.

"Adrien," his father repeats. "I asked you a question."

He sighs, deciding to try and confront him. Maybe this time, he'd actually listen.

"Please, father, reconsider. I don't understand why I must marry so soon. And to someone I've never met…"

"We have already discussed this. You must wed Princess Chloé; your marriage will unite our kingdoms and bring prosperity to our family. I'd have thought you'd be over being so stubborn about this."

"I'm not being stubborn! Marrying someone I've never met; and all the more to someone I don't love… didn't you love mother when you married her?"

The look in his father's eyes makes Adrien want to take a step back.

"Do not bring your mother into this."

But why not? Ever since she's disappeared, you've stopped talking about her, and shut yourself completely… you've become so cold, even to your own son.

Instead, Adrien quiets down.

"I'm sorry."

"Then it's settled. I shall send the Bourgeois Kingdom a letter accepting their proposal for marriage." The king stares at him, as if daring him to speak up. "Do you understand, Adrien?"

"Yes, father."

As soon as his father leaves, Adrien dons on a black cloak— his mother's, from way back when, and carefully starts packing a bag of necessities.

A black panther with stunning green eyes nuzzles close to him.

Don't leave, Adrien.

He sighs, before hugging the creature close to his chest.

"I'm sorry, Plagg. But I can't continue to live like this. I love my kingdom, and father, even, but I want to be free. There are things I want to experience in this world, and being trapped by my father will never let me do that."

Plagg growls, evidently conflicted, but carefully steps away.

"I'll come back one day, okay?" Adrien smiles softly. "I promise."

Adrien is stealing. Apparently.

He doesn't really understand how currency or paymentworks, having spent his whole life being pampered by life in the palace.

(Well, he's learned about it from his private tutors; but those largely had to do with managing the treasury and ensuring the gold stays within the family. He's never actually had any issues with wealth.)

So when a shopkeeper threatens to chop off his hand as retribution for giving a child an apple, of all things— Adrien realizes two things:

That economic conditions were actually so poor in his kingdom— a stark contrast from the apparent lie the palace advisers had told him, and;

That he was truly too sheltered by his father, not knowing anything at all.

It's when a strange woman suddenly grabs his hand and pulls him away that Adrien's knocked out of his reverie.

She's telling him something around the lines of, come with me if you want to keep that hand of yours, but he barely notices.

Instead he notices the deep bluebell of her eyes, the rosy pink dusted on her cheeks, and her vibrant red cape flowing as they duck into alleyways and abandoned street corners.

Adrien hasn't met many women outside of those in the palace, but he assumes that it's common knowledge that whoever this is— she is absolutely beautiful.

She takes him to the highest floor of a run-down old building, barely standing from apparent years of abuse and neglect.

The girl notices him staring in wonder.

"Sorry it's not great," she starts, carefully patting the block next to her. "Things haven't been great for some time now."

"I don't understand," he starts, trying to find the words. "Last time I was here, the kingdom was flourishing. And now, people starving, buildings on the verge of collapse, and violent men…"

She laughs. "Now how long has it been since you were last here? And you can't really blame the shopkeeper, you did just take his apple without paying for it. What kind of land did you come from to think that was normal?"

Adrien has the decency to look almost sheepish.

"Let's just say I've been gone awhile," he says instead. "But to think it's changed this much… I have truly missed a lot."

"Well, it wasn't always that bad," she sighs, pulling her legs up to sit down. "You know the king, right? Ever since Queen Emilie died, he just… stopped caring about us. All wealth they kept to their inner circle, leaving us to fend for ourselves." Her eyes narrow. "The people over there don't care about us, and would leave us to die."

That's a cruel wake-up call.

"That's not true!" Adrien suddenly blurts, earning a confused glance from her. "What about the prince?"

She scoffs. "The prince? Nobody's seen him here in years. He's probably just some entitled brat, living in leisure in the palace while we all suffer here. He's no different."

He wants to protest.

But how could he?

If Adrien were in her position, he'd feel no differently from her.

"Is that why you steal?"

"It's hard to make an honest living here," she smiles bitterly. "I've tried selling bread… but it never worked. People will step over everyone else to survive." She looks downward. "I know some orphan kids… scattered around. I've seen them pass out from exhaustion, ignored by everyone here. I know it's wrong to steal, but I— they're children. They shouldn't have to suffer like this!"

The pit in Adrien's stomach grows ever-larger.

How could he have lived so easily, without knowing any of this?

He feels disgust— with his father, with the greedy men from the palace, and even with himself. How could someone who would one day rule over the kingdom not know anything about the realities of the people who lived in it?

"Anyway," she finally sighs. "That's old news. So what's your story, stranger?"

Adrien shrugs. "I ran away. I was just feeling so… trapped, at home. I needed to be free." He pauses, taking in his surroundings— and the mysterious girl sitting next to him. "But I guess freedom wasn't anything like I expected."

"Well, I'm sorry about that. It's hard to come across anything good these days." She says, a far-off look in her eyes. "But one day, I'll get out of here. Travel the world, maybe. Somewhere I can actually live my life, without fearing for it everyday."

"...

Would you mind some company?"

She looks up at him, her face completely caught off-guard by the sudden question. He looks nervous, and scratches his head. "I mean, I've got nowhere to go either. And maybe I can help out! I don't know how to bake bread, but I could learn, and—"

"I'd love that."

Adrien looks at her, visibly surprised. "Really?"

She smiles. "It would be nice to not be alone for a change. So, you got a name?"

He smiles back. "... you first."

"Around here, they call me—"

"LADYBUG."

They both whip their heads up at the sudden intrusion, as a group of soldiers come bursting through the room. The floors shake as they flood the area. "I finally found you."

Adrien belatedly recognizes the voice as Madame Sancoeur's— his father's Royal Vizier and consequently, Captain of the Guard.

The stranger— Ladybug— stands, grasping his hand tightly.

She doesn't back down.

"I didn't think you'd show up yourself. A special occasion?"

Sancoeur flinches.

Ladybug raises a curious eyebrow. "Oh, so it is. What happened? The King throw another tantrum? Does he want more money? Because like I said, I'm completely broke. Like everyone else in this damned kingdom is."

"Do nottalk about King Gabriel like that. He is a good king, and you would be smart to watch your mouth when biting the hand that feeds you."

"Feed me? I have to fightjust to have a morsel of food on my plate. I don't live as the rest of you do, bathing in wealth while we barely survive. Now go back to your king and your prince and leave me alone."

Both Adrien and Sancoeur freeze at the mention of the prince.

"Oh. So something happened to your prince, then?"

Adrien's never seen his father's vizier look so angry. "What did you do to him?"

Ladybug rolls her eyes. "Oh, please. Like I'd want anything to do with someone as entitled as him." Suddenly, she squeezes his hand. "Besides, I already have one partner to keep me company."

"Ah, another pest to take care of." Sancoeur only sighs, before snapping her fingers. "Well, that shouldn't be an issue. I've brought a whole army this time. You won't get away."

At that, Ladybug is suddenly grabbed by a burly soldier, holding her so she can't escape. Two others hold Adrien back, separating them.

"I don't need the boy," she only says, turning back toward the exit. "King Agreste only wants Ladybug. But throw him into prison. Anyone who works with her is surely a menace to society."

"She's not a menace!"

Sancoeur looks back, raising an eyebrow. "Oh, so the alleycat can talk. Do you even know what she's done? That this woman has been stealing not only her fellow townspeople, but from the soldiers as well? The very people who are protecting you?"

"She's only stealing things to provide for those who can't. There are children, and they're starving. Dying— and she's only trying to save them." He struggles against the arms holding him captive. "If you would only listen, Nathalie!"

The vizier pauses. Then: "Let him go."

Almost reluctantly, they do.

Then, Sancoeur walks forward, with terrifying speed and precision, before whipping the hood off his head. "Prince Adrien," she finally says, eyes widening with shock. "So it's true? Ladybug really did take you?"

"No!"

He shakes his head. "Ladybug has done nothing. So let her go, now. As the Prince, I order you…"

She only ignores him, then snaps her fingers.

Two pairs of arms come to grab his own, again.

"Nathalie, what are you doing?"

She turns back, then sighs. "I'm sorry, Adrien. You gave me no choice." Sancoeur gives the two soldiers a brief glance, her eyes almost flashing with concern— but disappearing so quickly it's almost like he had imagined it. "Return the Prince to his chambers. I will deal with him later." Then, she turns to Ladybug; who had been eerily quiet since the exchange.

"Ladybug comes with me."

"Wait!" He starts, struggling to find the words. "Ladybug… I—"

The look she gives him is almost unreadable. Ladybug doesn't fight back; doesn't even struggle. She doesn't even turn back to him, not even for a glance, and walks away.

"Let's make an agreement. I'll give you all the riches you desire, enough to start a new life outside of this kingdom, if you do me one small favor."

"What do you want?"

"A simple thing. There's a cave, not so far from here. I've gotten old, and can't get it for myself but… I need a lamp."

"A lamp…?"

"Isn't it so simple? Retrieve this single item for me, and I will let you go. Is it agreed? Do we have a deal?"

Ladybug looks up at King Agreste, quiet.

Then:

"Where do I go?"

#auyeah2020 #mlauyeahaugust2020 #auyeahaugust #auyeah august #adrien agreste #ladybug #ladrien #ml #miraculous ladybug #milk writes #ml fic #ml fanfic #inspired by aladdin #hope that was clear ksdsjs

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rosesvioletshardy · 4 years

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life as we know it - b.h. chapter 2

finally this is done. it’s a little shorter than last chapter but i can’t promise it’s better? anyways i might take a little while on the next chapter because exams are coming up and i need to study so i just hoping y’all don’t give up on this i have started writing chapter 3

masterlist

summary: when their two best friends die, it’s up to people to take care of their goddaughter and face the challenges that come with it

# of words: 2305

warnings: little bit of swearing, both characters being dicks to each other, fluff and cuteness

late september 2016

over the months, everything went smoothing. ben went back to filming and y/n went back to running her bakery. when christian and lennon came back, they had the post wedding glow but at the same time lennon had the pregnancy glow like every other pregnant woman would. nothing would stop that woman from teaching and decided that at her 8 month mark she finally decided to stop and go on maternity leave until she was ready to go back.

Because of this, y/n and ben have been on high alert and making sure that their godchild and mother and father were okay. it was revealed that lennon was going to have a girl and everyone was so happy for her and christian. her due date was halloween and no one was shocked seeing it was lennon’s favorite holiday. earlier in the day, christian had sent lennon, his mother, and her mother all for a spa day so that him, ben, and y/n would be able to work on the nursery seeing that it wasn’t done besides the crib. the only problem was that arguments started all over again

“no, why can’t you help christian with the changing table and i actually paint. i’m the only one here who is at least creative and can draw and shit, no offense christian.” y/n told ben already rubbing the sides of her forehead knowing that her headache won’t go away

“none taken, and she’s right jonesy, we can’t draw for shit let alone paint without screwing up.” christian said not even looking up from the changing table instructions already tired of the two adults fighting and acting like children

“are you joking? how would you, of all people, know i can’t draw? maybe i’m good at it and it’s a secret talent i have?” ben told at her

“yeah, and i’m a world class gymnast that can do everything perfectly without screwing up!”

“can the both of you just literally shut the fuck up and paint different sides of the room the colors we picked out please?” christian practically yelled the two adults before continuing

“look, i know you both want to be the best godparents there ever is and make sure you make lennon and i happy, and that this baby gets everything handed to her perfect. you’ve already done that just by helping us with everything else and by being our best friends and family, but just for this one time, i need the both of you to do something where it seems like she won’t be the adult and you two are the children. now, she’s going to be back in about 2 hours and i promised her we’ll get at least half the room done and we’ll finish the rest either tomorrow or the day after or whenever. just, do whatever we have planned and that’ll be great. thank you.” christian told them

“fine, maybe i could lay down the tape and you can paint i’m tired of this already. i got somewhere to be soon anyways.” ben said grabbing the tape

The three continued to work on the room and filming some memories for baby wakes up until christian got a call from his mother telling him that lennon’s water broke in the middle of a facial

“i thought she was supposed to give birth next month?” ben yelled searching frantically over the couples house for the stuff they needed

“she was, the baby just decided to come out early i suppose.” christian told him not being able to find where he put the baby bag for lennon when she gives birth and y/n noticing causing her to react

“chris, why don’t you go to the hospital and we’ll meet up later with some of the stuff you’re going to need afterwards. okay? just take a deep breath, in and out. good, now go be a dad.”

“congratulations you got this we’ll see you as soon as she’s born.” ben told him hugging him

“okay, see you guys soon. I’m going to be a dad!” he yelled as he ran to his car

“i’ll get their stuff ready, you can go wherever you need to go. i’ll call you when lennon gives birth.” she told him as she started to walk to lennon and christian’s room and grabbing one of their bags

“are you sure? i can call and cancel and reschedule? i don’t want you to always be the one doing the work, especially in times like this.” ben said to her

“yeah, i’m fine. your meeting sounded important, like for a new movie or something. just go ben. it’s fine.”

“alright then, um, just text or call me if anything happens. bye.” ben said leaving the room and headed towards his car

y/n next spent the next few hours fixing up some stuff to take for them and fixing them some food to eat that can feed a whole army knowing that they’ll have their hands full for a while

according to christian, lennon still hasn’t given birth but she’s close, so y/n decided to head down there in case.

as soon as she left, ben entered the house again, feeling guilty that he left without helping her with everything and deciding to finish building all the furniture. when he was finished, he sat in the middle of the room thinking about how life can suddenly change for two people as another one came into their lives. he snapped out of his thoughts when his phone started to ring, he answered it without looking at the caller ID and he got his with someone yelling in his ear.

“SHE’S HERE! BABY WAKES IS HERE! GET YOUR ASS DOWN HERE!” y/n yelled before she hung up causing ben to quickly get up and run back down to his car and to the hospital.

When ben arrived at the hospital after stopping at the store to get a few stuff, also known as a giant teddy bear and a couple of balloons, he saw y/n pacing back and forth waiting for christian to come and get them. she saw that he had gotten the exact same teddy bear as her and she wanted to call him out but it was normal for people to do this kind of stuff and plus their goddaughter was just born so they didn’t want to fight at the moment.

“i would yell at you right now and be mad and annoyed that you got the exact same thing as me, but since we are in a very public space i won’t.” she told him

“thanks, have they said anything?” ben asked her as he sat down

“no not yet, christian came out to tell me everything was fine though, they just needed to clean her up and do some tests, and then are allowed visitors.” “okay. i really can’t believe that they’re parents now. it’s really unbelievable, when i was growing up with christian, never would i think that guy would be mature enough to become a father, let alone a lawyer, and now he’s both. jesus it’s crazy.” ben said shaking his leg with excitement

“same here, lennon was basically the wild child in college but she somehow is a schoolteacher. everyone thought i would be the first to get married and have a kid, but wow how have the tables turned.” she said finally sitting down

“so why haven’t you settled down or have kids? if you’re comfortable answering?” ben asked her curious seeing that she seemed like the type to settle down by their age

“um, i guess i just haven’t found the right person yet. i thought my ex would be the one, but the douchebag cheated on me.” y/n told him looking down at her hands

“i’m sorry that happened. i also want to apologize for earlier this year when we tried to go on the date they set up. i really should’ve been more presentable and nicer-” ben started

“and not take a booty call in front of me?” she said cutting him off

“and not take a booty call in front of you.” he finished laughing a bit

“it’s okay, really. i’m actually seeing someone and i think he’s great.” y/n told him

“that’s amazing, i’m really happy for you.”

“what about you? what happened to the brunette from their wedding?” y/n asked curiously

“nothing. she didn’t seem like my type-” ben began before getting cut off by christian telling them they could come in

“hey, you guys can come now.”

ben and y/n followed christian to their room and they couldn’t be more excited. as they entered, they saw lennon in her bed cradling their daughter and the two godparents couldn’t have smiled bigger at the sight.

“hi guys, we want you to meet charlotte lucia wakes, charlie for short” lennon told the two before continuing

“do you want to hold her?” she asked

“uh, yeah. she’s so small.” y/n said taking the baby from her best friend as christian pushed a chair for her to sit in, cradling her head

ben walked over to where y/n was and looked over her shoulder. she lightly ran her finger over the baby’s face before she stopped at her hand and charlie tightly wrapping y/n’s finger in her tiny hand.

“hi baby, i’m your auntie y/n, i’m going to make sure you have some fun in your life and not be trapped with your parents all the time.” she said in a whisper

ben looked at her holding the baby and wondered what it would be like to be a dad. he was snapped out of his daydream when y/n asked him if he wanted to hold her

“ben, hello, earth to ben?”

“yeah? sorry what did you say?” ben asked snapping out of his thoughts

“i asked if you wanted to hold her. you okay?” she asked him

“yeah i’m fine, just thinking.” he told her as she gave charlie to him making sure he was holding her head

the next few hours consisted of the four adults talking about the process up until lennon had to feed charlie and ben and y/n decided it was a good time for them to leave seeing that it was already late and visiting hours were almost over.

the pair said their goodbyes to the new parents and headed on their way out. when they got to the entrance, y/n pulled out her phone to order an uber since she didn’t take her car when it happened. ben noticed and decided to offer her a ride home seeing that it was nighttime and no one knew if the driver ended up being a creep or not.

“hey, do you want me to give you a ride?” ben asked her putting his hands in his pockets

“you really don’t have to, i just ordered an uber. thanks for offering though.”

“it’s really no problem, you still live in the same place right?” ben asked still unsure if she had move in the past several months

“i still live in the same place, yeah. are you sure though? i really don’t want to bother you.” she told him

“you're not bothering me at all and it’s really nothing. just please let me do this one nice thing for once. i sort of don’t want something to happen to you because you never know what’s going to happen.”

“ben jones, are you going soft on me? fine. i’ll let you drive me home.” she asked him while crossing her arms before opening the uber app once again, canceling her ride.

“no, i’m not. i’m just trying to be a nice person, don’t think charlie wants to grow up without an aunt and only have an uncle.” ben told her trying to avoid eye contact

“yeah that’s why.”

“okay enough let’s go.”

y/n laughed as she followed ben to where his car was. when they entered the car it felt a little awkward. why was ben all of a sudden being nice to her?

The drive to her apartment was too quiet to both of their tastes. neither one of them knew how to strike up a conversation, not even how their day was before lennon gave birth but they knew that already, or what they’ve been up to. they kept quiet until she broke the silence,

“so, how was your meeting today?”

“it was fine, just some acting stuff that’s all” ben answered before continuing

“how’s the bakery going?”

“it’s going good, thinking about renovating it a bit, you know changing the place up, trying new recipes”

“That sounds nice. hope you get to do it.” ben told her stopping at the light

“yeah, it does but it’s also expensive so it’s on a hold until i can figure out something.” y/n told him as she looked at the window

“you know i can always help, just have to ask. it’s no big deal.” ben said as he pulled up to her apartment complex seeing the familiar gates

“no. i can’t take advantage of you, ben. it’s your money and you do what you want with it. i know you’re trying to help but i really don’t need to be seen as a charity case. please don’t try to argue with me.” she told him in a pleading tone

“fine. i won’t help you then. goodnight y/n.”

“i’m sorry. goodnight ben.” y/n told him, her voice barely in a whisper closing the door

as ben drove off, the two can’t help but feel a sense of guilt in the way they both acted to each other a few minutes ago. ben, because of the way he started to act after she rejected his offer, and y/n for the way she rejected his offer.

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yoekko-novels · 3 years

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To Touch The Sky - Weighing You Down - #005

Synopsis: A strange voice calls out to a weary Hubrid. The books he carried makes his body frigid and his robe weighs him down as he tracks through a barren wasteland covered in mud and dirt as he experiences something new for the first time.

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Sitting on the ground Hubrid feels hopeless. His stomach rumbles as he crosses his arms around his belly. This feeling of hunger was something he’d gotten used to long ago. However, this amount of loss was something he’d never known. Everyone and everything precious to him was gone.

He begins to nod off and hears a voice as the air becomes stiff.

“Hubrid!” A voice similar to Druchess’s shouts out to him.

“Huh?” Hubrid looks around, darting his eyes across the mass grave only to see the freshly dug holes he’d made.

“You should give up on going to Arupio!” It shouts out again.

“Who are you?” Hybrid retorts as he begins to hear masses of people talking.

“You’re being played for a fool Hubrid. Do not free that demon from her Bindings!” The voice begins to sound more distant.

“Druchess?” Hubrid shouts out as his voice echoes across the plains.

“You’ll doom this world! Turn back now to the cavern and live your life naturally!” The voice becomes deeper.

“I don’t know who you are, but I have to see them again!” Hubrid shouts out as he begins to try and run towards the voice.

“She is not the benevolent god you think her to be, Hubrid,” the voice says it nearly becomes inaudible.

“You’ll never see any of your family again. Deep down you know that so just give up on them and become your own person!”

Hubrid stops looking around and sits still on the grass.

“I’ll see you again too,” Hubrid says while looking at Druchess’s grave.

“The path you’re walking will kill many people Hubrid!”

“If the path I walk kills people, they should find their own paths and get out of my way.”

“Are you dense? Look at the graves you’ve dug. Do you want to dig a million more holes?” The voice retorts as it becomes gruff, nearly unrecognizable.

Hubrid sits in silence as his right hand glows brighter than it ever had before as he reaches into the sky. It illuminates the ground, breaking it free from the shadows of Arupio.

“What are you doing?” The voice shouts as it becomes nearly unrecognizable.

“When all seems lost, just look at the sun and smile,” Hubrid says as he stares at his hand glowing viciously as he raises it above his head. Hubrid closes his eyes and torts the sadness on his face into a smile. His face trembled as his facial muscles tried to keep it down but he continued to smile with gaiety with every ounce of will to his name.

“You will come to know true loss as you carry on with your goals Hubrid,” the voice says as the air once again resumes.

Hubrid awakens to see the graves he’d dug once again as he begins to leave. The robe he wears begins to feel heavy, he takes it off and as he does so he begins to gasp for air. The robe falls to the ground and he puts it back on in a hurry.

He catches his breath as his hands turn pale and his body cold. He lets out a breath of air and a red mist leaves his mouth.

Hybrid begins to walk back from where’d he come as the air becomes more chilly. He decided to listen to Druchess and educate himself so he could walk upon the clouds of Arupio. He read books along the way back to the cove as his emotions dwindled with each page he flipped.

He read of massacres, wars, famine, and death. He felt nothing, it was something that he’d been through before. His fingertips became frosty as he continued flipping the pages of “Erased History,” the book told stories of heroes and villains. Hubrid could no longer tell who was who though.

In one of the books, there were old stories about the early days of the world, there were tales of two kingdoms fighting. The Kingdom on the ground and the Kingdom in the heavens.

The strong users had once been their own kingdom, they reigned over all of the ground and oceans. The Strong Users prohibited the people of the clouds from coming to the ground. The people of the clouds began to starve and plotted a way to usurp the kingdom of the ground.

They thought they were siphoning the powers of Aaura by sacrificing their weak and feeding them to the strong. The stronger Magic-Users ate the aura of the weaker by stealing it from their bodies. They would stab their prey through the heart with a special straw that could suck the essence out of their bodies.

Eventually, the Strong holders could no longer face the Magic Users as their power continued to grow and their numbers dwindled. The army that’d once been large enough to settle across all the lands of the planet turned into a small number of 10,000. 10,000 soldiers wiped out the millions of people on the ground without being able to fight back. They went past the sea to the farthest edges of the earth making sure none could escape.

The last of the Strong-Holders were royalty. They’d been spared so that they could be herded up and tossed into a pin, forced to imbreed with one another and work for the rest of their lives along with their children.

Hubrid slowly began to realize who, and what he was. His people had started the fight with their selfishness, unable for his emotions to take hold, he continued to read the stories.

There was a single Strong User who was not affected by the Magic-Users but he could not fight their numbers alone. So he hid away with his family in a cave. The cave could not be sensed or detected by Magic-Users. He hid away living off of the land as he watched his people suffer from afar. He often dreamed of saving them from their torture, but he knew it wouldn’t be possible as he was.

Hubrid’s fingers become even more frigid and worn as they begin to shrivel up when he turns the next page.

On the next page were events and years along with hand-drawn photos, however, Hubrid still hadn’t known what year he was in, but he read anyways.

110 - The beginning of the war against Strong and Magic. Because of the greed of the ground, the people of the sky were forced to use questionable magic in order to gain control of the ground to feed our people. The picture shows malnourished children and adults, sitting on the ground waiting for their lives to end.

112 - Our numbers dwindled because of the sacrifices made in exchange for power. Our entire nation had dwindled down to 10,000 people, all soldiers willing to fight and die for Arupio. A picture of a legion of soldiers is shown. They all wore white robes and looked healthy, they nearly looked like they were the opposites of the people in the last picture.

113 - We Arupians won the war, the only thing to do now was to clean up the mess. A picture of dead bodies littering the ground is shown. Close-ups of their faces are shown, it looked as if they were begging for mercy as their photos were being taken.

114 - We scoured the continents in search of strong holders that’d fled. We found small tribes, unaware of the war that had taken place, living in peace. A picture is shown of Strong holders in strange garments staring at the drawer.

The years 115-190 are unreadable to Hubrid. The language was different from what Druchess had taught him, even his large vocabulary from the page of the book Druchess burnt was of no use. On top of that, it was scribbled over in a spot of black gooey ink that dribbled down the pages making it nearly useless.

Hubrid flips the pages looking for more information until his hands are too cold to move. With his hands shivering he puts his book away and continues walking on the purple grass as the sun did nothing to give warmth to him. His body wavered as he trembled with each step he took.

The wind blew voraciously but Hubrid could not feel it, the robe grew heavier, Hubrid could not feel it. Eventually, Hubrid found the cave that he and Druchess had come from and walked through the exit that Druchess had made earlier, pebbles crunched against the ground as he walked through the cavern. The wall closed itself seamlessly and Hubrid found the room he’d lived in for the past couple of months.

Hubrid sits on his bed attached to the stone wall and it crashes to the ground from the weight of the robe. He felt every sin of its past wearers, it was heavier than any hay bale or boulder he lifted on the farm. He began to lay on top of the broken stone bed as he began to rest so he could prepare himself for the next day.

The cave had usually felt damp and humid, today it was lifeless and chilly, not even the bugs that usually danced around Hubrid would appear. The grey and black rubbled that the ground was made of stared at Hubrid as he fell asleep wearily and began to dream.

“You believe the silly stories of that book?” An unknown voice speaks.

“What else can I believe in?” Hubrid responds to it with nonchalance.

“... Do you want something to believe in?” The monotone voice asks curiously.

“Like what?” Hubrid retorts.

“Revenge.” The voice states as it deepens even further than it’d previously been, nearly startling Hubrid.

“Druchess told me revenge was a bad thing, he said it would only create a perpetual war or something like that,” Hubrid says to the voice as it begins to cackle and cough.

“And… Where is that old man now?” It says as its cackle turns into full-fledged laughter.

“He’s Dead,” Hubrid says as he awakens from his slumber with a jolt and feels his body quivering. His body still frigid and his emotions halted, his dirty body spread a filthy odor throughout the cave. Despite the pain, he’d had in his bruised hands and the dirt full of bacteria filling his wounds along with small amounts of poison magic, his robe and body felt lighter than they ever had before.

#Writing #Author #Fantasy #Novel #Comedy #Depressing #Dark #Funny

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hopelesstvaddict · 5 years

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Jon and Sansa's relationship is fragile because of Jon's insecurities

[So we're back. Instead of full reviews I think I'm just gonna write about specific subjects that make me pause and think, more than the general episodes]

So we've been treated with Jon's return to Winterfell and his rocky relationship with Sansa resumes. Again. Ain't this old by now ? Perhaps not.

Jon and Sansa are at their most affectionate when it comes to hugs but this second time, Sansa keeps focused on what's important. I don't really understand why Jon would take issue with Sansa speaking up at the council in the Great Hall; she brought up very valid points. Saving the world is important of course but people tend to forget what needs to happen behind the scenes in order to ensure that. I think I'm not alone in this but I also wondered why she didn't take into account Dany's army when preparing all the food storing. While that can be blamed on sloppy writing and it's fair to say that she could have at least entertained the idea, it's also fair to remember that Jon's main idea was first to mine dragonglass and then try to convince Dany to help them. Sansa was not convinced he would succeed; in her mind, Dany would only care about her throne. So far she's not proven entirely wrong. And we also have to remember that Jon didn't send any message to her for a long time and certainly not before he knelt. Probably the last scroll she got was something like 'Hey I'm ok' and then next thing she knew he had bent the knee. So by this time it was already too late to gather whatever food was necessary. Plus I think it's safe to say the entire North brought what food was available FOR THE NORTH ONLY. Obviously there wasn't much and in any case, even if she had been warned she'd have to feed many more, there wouldn't have been enough. Sansa takes care of all this, and all the political stuff - things that both Jon and Dany do not care about and have little regard for. Jon still doesn’t quite realize how much he needs Sansa to handle all of this because he doesn’t realize how important it is. Yet.

The scene that stood out the most takes place during Jon and Arya's reunion in which Jon tries to dismiss Sansa. Live reaction: Ok so we're back to this 'Jon-putting-down-his-sister' nonsense? At first view, it's quite infuriating to see Jon acting this way and it's hard to believe these two ever found a way to unite and effing retake Winterfell. But once you stop and think about it, this little exchange yields so much to analyze.

As many pointed out, Jon likely tries to revert to a childhood joke he shared with Arya when they were younger and used to diss their sister together. Fair point. Siblings often side against one another. But that shows several things. Jon has been away from Arya all series long and he doesn't realize yet that she's not his little baby sister anymore. His conversation about Needle further proves the point. In any case, Arya is having none of it and supports Sansa. We're all here for this.

Here Jon seemingly tries to diminish Sansa's intelligence. But he knows that she really IS smarter than everyone else. He knows it. So I think part of what's going on here is that Jon works as the embodiment of the last part of the general audience who still thinks that Sansa is useless and this scene was written for Arya - a known fan favorite - to dismiss this and assert her support of Sansa - to really drive home this idea. The scene with Tyrion (another fan favorite) serves a similar purpose.

Narratively, beyond Jon dismissing Sansa yet again, this reads as another instance where it's more about Jon than it is about Sansa. Several times Jon has confronted Sansa about her asserted cleverness - and all those times, she's been right - and each time it boiled down to Jon's lack of self-confidence and the need to prove himself to his sister. When she told him that Ramsey was more devious than what he thought, his first reaction was to boast about his military achievements. When she told him to be smarter than Robb and their father, his reaction was to half-jokingly dismiss her offer of counsel. This essentially is a version of him saying 'Yeah she's smart but so am I and I wish she saw it too'

This ties closely with the rest of the exchange where Arya tells him that Sansa is defending the family. Pay attention to what Jon says next - specifically the choice of phrasing it.

There is so much to draw from that line. He doesn't say 'She's my family too' or 'she's our family' or 'I'm your family too'. His choice of words means 'I, Jon, am part of Sansa's family too'. That singles out Sansa as Jon's focus for discontent. He could have said 'I'm your family' or just 'I'm family too' and that would have included Bran and Arya as well. But no, Sansa alone is who Jon focuses on. This shows that he still has some unresolved issues with her - even after all that happened between them. After two seasons of her repeatingly validating him, her saying out loud 'You're a Stark to me' he still doubts HER in particular

Perhaps that boils down to her behavior towards him when they were children since this comes up again later. A seemingly random bit of conversation but one can't help but wonder why this was brought up again. Jon and Sansa weren't close growing up and Jon is a deeply insecure person, being a bastard and all that and it's understandable that he would have a hard time letting go of all these presumptions when they all but defined his childhood. She was the sole of his siblings to make him feel like he didn't have a real place in the family (to make it very simple), hence why he doesn't have a problem with Arya or Bran. Yet.

But how can Sansa change that ? A girl can repeat her support for him so much and reassure him all the time but really it's up to Jon to get past childish jabbing and accept the woman his sister has become and that she's genuine in her concern towards him. That she's changed.

'I'm her family too' is another way of saying 'I'm part of her family too so why is she always antagonizing me/fighting me/disagreeing with me?' Jon still thinks Sansa doesn't consider him family and she's the last one not to in his mind.

The choice of words also emphasizes the 'I'. Rather than say 'she' and put focus on Sansa alone, the use of 'I' brings the sentence back to Jon and puts the spotlight on him as well. 'I am part of her family too'. As if he's saying it out loud and repeating it so that perhaps his thick brain will finally accept it. This is a clever exchange that foreshadows the existential/identity crisis that he's going to go through no later than before the end of the episode. Which renders Arya's 'Don't forget that' quite unsubtle. This will be Jon’s final storyline, the resolution of the one problem that defined him at the beginning of the story.

This need to gain Sansa's approval is driven further in the scene the two of them share later on (another candlelit setting). We have yet to see Jon interact with Bran or Arya but Jon is decidedly different with Sansa. Perhaps that's because they're the eldest. Perhaps that's because they're closer in age. Perhaps that's because they are the leaders of their House. Perhaps that's because they went to war together. In any case, Jon is wary, unsure and insecure about how she feels about him. He doesn’t look to Sansa the way he affectionately looks to Arya or Bran. A smile is rare when he interacts with Sansa. He yells, they don't see eye to eye, he feels like she belittles him, he feels hurt and at the end of it, this :

This is him asking her for reassurance. Asking for a clear answer. 'Please trust me. Please tell me that you support me'. He craves her validation. After he all but dismissed her in front of Arya. Why go see her? Why take her intel so close to his heart then ?

To which she responds 'You know I do'. Two things to take from this. First, once again she reassures him and reasserts her support and loyalty to him. Second, 'YOU KNOW I do' means 'you already know the answer'. This shows that in her mind, Jon should ALREADY know that he has acquired her undying support - probably against her better judgement. Newsflash : he doesn’t.

Can we stop now for a second and breathe a sigh of relief that Sansa has grown confident enough to be sure of who she is and not question Jon's lack of faith in her ? Thank the Gods one of them has their shit together because if she were like him, this wouldn't go anywhere.

It's possible that her not lashing out at him and instead adopting this quiet, sad behavior is also the manifestation of her own fear towards him - that he effectively abandoned her. For all the tough 'no one can protect me' behavior, anyone is going to be touched to have someone pledge to protect them.

Anyway, Sansa trusts Jon but he doesn't. It's quite interesting that he was the one asking for mutual trust before and yet he is the one in the end who can't totally do it because in his heart, he is still deeply insecure about her. Sure there were some steps made. Ensuring the safety of the North and entrusting her with it was a huge improvement. But still, we see that on a personal level he is quite not there.

The obvious question then is WHY. Why is he still insecure ? And why Sansa in particular ? The beginning of an answer can be found in the relationship he had with her while they were children and how it compares to Arya and Bran. Maybe that's just remnants of that strained relationship.

But if Sansa has changed and for the better and Jon still struggles to accept it, let's just hope that a similar situation doesn't arise with Arya and Bran. Let's rule out the latter since he's all about the zen attitude but we've already seen that Arya is not Jon's Arya anymore and that she will stand beside Sansa when needed. For now, Jon has no reason to doubt Arya like he does Sansa. When the reveal about his parentage comes out, how will Sansa and Arya react ? If he can't handle the thought of one sister seemingly doubting him, what's it going to be if it's two sisters ?

All of this insecurity regarding Sansa - for now - is at least partly in preparation of the drama that is sure to unfold in the next weeks. Jon fears that Sansa doesn't see him as family and now, he has even more reason to be afraid. All the drama that has happened between them for seasons boils down to this deep fear of not being accepted by her and now we're in for the culmination. There will be a lot of fighting, we’re told. Jon will sulk and convince himself that he was right in the end, that he wasn't part of the family and more so, that SHE was right not to accept him. Sansa on the other hand, I suspect, will mainly fight to make him accept once and for all that he is a Stark. That's the passionate fight for her this season. To make her family complete.

Another interesting thing to note - as others have observed - is that the conversation is left unfinished.

Sansa asks if Jon loves Dany and he doesn't respond. Once again, Sansa demonstrates - to us and to Jon - how perceptive she is, how well she can read people, and him specifically. As of now, Jon’s relationship with Dany is still a secret and yet she has figured it out.

What's really notable is that this is a pattern in a lot of Sansa/Jon conversations, specifically the ones where they argue in private. Compare this one to the tent scene in 6x09 or the one in 7x01 right after the council or even in 6x07 when they argue about the men they have. We have Sansa and Jon arguing heatedly then the conversation tones down to soft, sad voices and then it ends before resolution can happen, either because they choose to end it there, someone else interrupts or we simply are denied to see it.

Sansa and Jon have been arguing ever since they reunited. Every season they were pitted against each other as the siblings who fought. Now in the final season, it's still brought up and used in the narrative. Meaning that it means something, that it's important to the story. We saw that Arya and Sansa fought in Season 7. It was tied to their old bickering from childhood and ultimately it was resolved and now Arya stands by her sister. Narratively, a conflict plaguing characters has to be resolved when the story comes to its conclusion. Sansa and Jon’s storyline has been going on since Season 6 now, so their relationship HAS TO come to a resolution, one way or another. And it'll be all about Jon finally accepting that he is a Stark and about him accepting that Sansa has accepted it.

#got #game of thrones #sansa stark #got meta #game of thrones meta #jon snow #jonsa #actuallyjonsa #arya stark #got theories #game of thrones theories #got thoughts #game of thrones season 8 #got s8 #got season 8 #game of thrones s8 #jon x sansa #got analysis #game of thrones analysis

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probably-eating-poptarts · 4 years

Text

His Cherokee Rose - Ch. 1

Finally getting around to editing and uploading this fic I started years ago. For all my Walking Dead fans, here you go! Read on AO3 here.

Word count: 2.5k

The night is balmy. The air lays thick and heavy over the highway, but the gentle sound of cicadas singing in the trees nearby is drowned out by the blaring of car horns and the desperate, argumentative voices of a thousand people stuck in a traffic standstill that stretches on for miles.

Helicopters swoop low and slow overhead, circling the city of Atlanta and the massive pileup awaiting just outside its borders. People are wandering in the streets amidst the cars, confused and frightened and trying to figure out just what is going on. The radios are playing nothing but static, and at this point even the emergency broadcasting has stopped.

Shane Walsh leans out of the open driver's side door of his car, looking up to the sky as the choppers continue to pass them by. Parked next to him is an old tan Cherokee, and on its open bumper Carl Grimes sits with a young girl playing checkers as the adults linger nearby. Behind his shoulder stands his older sister Rory Grimes, who has been keeping the children distracted with hints and strategic plays on both sides. It's been working for a little while, but they're all growing restless.

"Are we going soon?" the petite, blond-haired girl questions. Rory is pretty sure her name is Sophia.

"I don't know baby," her mother Carol answers. "I sure hope so."

"I'm hungry," Carl pipes up, shifting to look between his sibling and their mother, who's sitting propped against the bumper of Shane's car.

"I know buddy, we all are," Rory reassures him as best she can. "Maybe we won't be stuck here too much longer."

Carol speaks up from the side, offering to get Carl something to eat. "Ed's into all this survival stuff. We've got enough M.R.E.s to feed a small army."

"I'd sure appreciate it," Lori Grimes responds while the other woman walks around to the driver's side of their Cherokee, assuring her that it's no trouble.

Rory watches Carol's husband Ed follow her towards the front of the car, and hears their whispered argument as the two kids focus once more on their game.

The portly man chastises his wife for offering supplies to strangers, and the older Grimes child can't help but feel both sympathetic and aggravated at the way he treats her. Ducking her head, Rory pretends to have missed the conversation as Carol circles around the front of the vehicle to dig in her purse.

She turns instead to watch her mom speaking to Shane, leaning on the edge of the open window as their father's best friend continues to cycle through blank radio stations. She can't hear much of what they're saying from where she stands with the kids, but gathers that at this point even the emergency broadcast about the refugee center in Atlanta has stopped playing. She watches Shane step out of the car and slam the door shut, announcing that he's going to walk ahead to see what's going on.

"I'll go with you," Lori responds before turning to her daughter. "Can you please stay and watch your brother for me?"

"Yeah, of course," Rory answers with a nod, turning to Carol as she offers a few granola bars.

"Ed must have forgot to pack those M.R.E.s, but I found these in my purse."

"Thanks Miss Carol," Rory replies with a soft smile, glancing over her shoulder where her mom is speaking to Carl.

"Shane and I are gonna go scout up ahead a little bit and see if we can find someone that knows what's going on," she explains.

"I want to come with you," Carl pleads, only to be turned down.

"You stay here with your sister, alright?" She fixes a stray lock of his hair and kisses his forehead.

"Hey, we'll be back before you know it," Shane promises him. "Okay little man?"

As they walk off Rory drapes her arm around her little brother's shoulders, leaning her hip against the tailgate of the Cherokee and rubbing his upper arm comfortingly. She hands him one of the granola bars Carol found, and tries to pull both of the kid's attention back to the checkerboard.

"Your dad's nice," Sophia finally speaks after a few minutes.

"Shane's not our dad," Carl counters quickly. "Our dad's dead."

Before Rory can even speak or let the loss of her father resurface in her mind, an explosion echoes somewhere up ahead. Carol huddles the two youngsters close to her side as Rory jumps to her feet, and around them all hell breaks loose. People begin yelling, screaming, and fighting in the middle of the street, and overhead the helicopters circle around to make a beeline for the heart of the city. Their mom and Shane are still gone, and Rory feels a knot of panic coil in her chest.

She turns to her brother and kneels in front of him, placing her hands on his shoulders. "Hey bud, stay here with Sophia and Miss Carol, okay? I'm gonna go find Mom and Shane."

Rising to her feet, she looks up to the older woman. When she nods in silent reassurance, Rory turns to push her way through the chaotic crowd in search of her family. People press in on her from all directions, jostling her and knocking her against the sides of vehicles as she tries to slip by. She isn't sure if it's been ten seconds or ten minutes, but with each passing moment the heavy feeling of dread weighs down on her, settling like a rock in her stomach.

Occasionally she tries to ask if anyone has seen her mom, but with so much arguing and clamoring for answers of their own, no one spares a minute for the frantic twenty-something.

After a while she makes it closer to the city, where the traffic jam is even worse. She can barely squeeze through the cars parked bumper to bumper - finally resorting to climbing over bonnets and tailgates when her path becomes blocked - and here the throng is even thicker. The noise of the crowd is deafening, and Rory manages to slip into the trees where fewer people have dared to venture. Still no one has seen her mother or Shane, and the older Grimes child is beginning to panic. She breaks into a jog, and then a flat-out sprint.

She never sees the drop off until her racing feet hit thin air, and then she's tumbling down the slope beneath a bridge where the bank of the creek hits her with all the force of a semi. A rock strikes her temple, and in the dark no one sees her lying unconscious at the bottom of the ravine.

...

When Rory finally comes to, her head is pounding fiercely and the light is nearly blinding. She groans and rolls onto her side, eyes squeezed shut as her temples throb in time with her heartbeat, and it takes a minute before the world stops spinning.

Her clothes are splotched with mud and torn in some places, and her shoes are sodden from laying in creek water while she'd been passed out. She pushes herself slowly into a sitting position, still wincing at the pain in her skull, and gingerly touches the swollen area where she knows a dark bruise has probably formed. Thankfully her fingers come away free of blood, and while she has a rather nasty migraine, she's pretty sure that she doesn't have a concussion.

After allowing her eyes to slowly adjust to the mid-morning light, Rory clambers ungracefully to her feet. Now that she's awake and becoming more alert, she realizes that her first priority is finding her family again. It takes her a while to get back up to the top of the ravine, and then she makes a quick bee-line for the road. But she stops dead in her tracks, gasping softly, when she finds the highway silent and devoid of people. The cars are still there - piled one right next to another like some sort of abandoned junkyard - but the only signs of life are the songbirds fluttering in the treetops and the vultures that circle ominously overhead.

"Mom? Carl! Shane?!" Rory yells, her voice growing more and more desperate as she continues to call out for her family with no response. She wanders among the vehicles, passing doors left wide open with their contents spilling out onto the asphalt. Clothes, supplies, personal belongings... all left behind as if their owners were in too much of a hurry to gather their things.

Rory even stumbles upon a few corpses, and the sight of the first mutilated body has her dry-heaving behind the tailgate of a nearby Honda. They look like they've been gnawed on by some sort of animal, and then the scraps left behind to rot in the sun. She trembles and screams for help - for her mom and her brother - and then eventually for anybody; but still the silence remains. She weaves through the wreckage and the death towards the city, hoping that somehow they managed to make it inside to the refugee center. That's where she knows she needs to go.

The day grows on towards evening as Rory finally begins passing the first of the military barriers, but there's still no signs of life. No people, no noise, no movement. The city's turned into a ghost town, and she's beginning to panic. Every few minutes she continues to yell for help, but she only hears her own echoes in reply.

Until the first Walker hears her calls.

They descend at first in singles or pairs, and Rory freezes in the middle of the street. Their moans and raspy breathing are nearly silent in the beginning, but as more and more of the reanimated corpses gather around her the cacophony grows. She spots a break in the growing pack and makes a break for freedom, the bottoms of her sneakers slapping against the asphalt as she bolts down a side street. Everywhere she looks she sees the dead walking; growling and groaning as they watch her race by. Soon enough she has quite a crowd forming at her heels, gnashing their teeth at the prospect of a fresh meal, and Rory cries out in fear, begging someone to save her.

Her lungs are starved for air, and her calves burn with exertion. She doesn't have much energy left to keep running, and she fears that she's going to die here without ever seeing her family again. In her mind's eye she sees her mother's understanding smile, and hears her brother's carefree laugh. She imagines that Shane is protecting them, and has taken them somewhere safe.

She misses her daddy so much...

Her steps begin to slow; she can't go much farther.

The herd is growing behind her, their gurgling snarls drowning out her labored panting.

Her foot catches on a chunk of broken concrete and she stumbles, hitting the ground hard.

She waits for the snapping monsters to descend on her, and tears fall across her dirty cheeks. She squeezes her eyes shut and prays for the end to be quick.

And then the first shots go off, felling the walkers closest to her.

"Get up!" Someone shouts. "Get out of there! Vamanos!"

Whipping her head around, Rory sees two men standing in an alley to her left, waving frantically at her. Unsteadily she clambers back to her feet, willing her jelly-like legs to support her weight for just a while longer. One of the two men continues firing into the crowd of walkers while the other reaches out for the girl, and together they slip behind a chain-link fence. She stumbles and the stranger pulls her arm across his shoulders, helping her along until they reach a rusted Oldsmobile idling at the end of the alley. They guide her into the backseat, and with the slamming of doors and the revving of the engine, they peel away deeper into the city.

"Hey, what's your name, chica?" One of the men asks her. They're both Hispanic, with dark eyes and copper skin. One of them has a crop of black hair with a bandanna wrapped around his forehead, and the bigger of the two men is bald with scruffy facial hair.

"My - my name's Rory," she stutters in reply. "Who're you?"

"I'm Felipe," the bald one answers before pointing to his companion behind the wheel. "And that's Jorge. What's a crazy gringa like you doing wandering the streets by yourself, huh?"

Rory runs her fingers through her tangled hair as she explains, "I was trying to find my family. My mom and my little brother, and a man that was with them. We were all trying to get to the refugee center, but then a lot of things happened at once. I got knocked out, and when I woke up everybody was gone."

The pair converse among themselves for a moment in Spanish while Rory watches on nervously. The smaller of the two, Jorge, shakes his head unwillingly as he speaks, but Felipe appears to reason with him, occasionally gesturing towards Rory. Finally Felipe turns towards her.

"We're gonna take you to Guillermo," he tells her. "I don't think any of us have seen your familia, but maybe he can help you out."

Rory scrubs her fingers against her eyes, trying to keep the tears at bay. She fears the worst for her family - for her mom and Carl and Shane - but at least for now, she's safe.

That evening the young girl sits inside Guillermo's compound with a full belly and bandages on her hands where they'd been scraped by her earlier tumble. They'd accepted her rather quickly into their fold, and what Rory had first thought to be a rather welcoming group of gangsters taking Atlanta as their own turf turns out to be a collection of caring people just trying to look after a retirement center that had been abandoned by most of the staff when the city became overrun.

"You're a nurse?" Rory can't keep the humor from her voice as Felipe takes a seat beside her. He nods with a grin and gestures to Guillermo, who stands nearby deep in conversation with an elderly gentleman.

"And our fearless leader there used to be the janitor. All of us here are either what's left of the staff or have wandered in over the weeks. We aren't much, but we're the only ones left to take care of the folks here. We're a familia now, and we look after our own."

He notices that Rory's expression has turned forlorn, and he places one meaty hand on her shoulder.

"You're safe here," he tells her. "I don't know what to tell you about your mama or your hermano, but I can tell you that if you want to stay, there's a place for you here. Besides, we could always use an extra pair of helping hands."

The twenty-something looks up, and manages a slight smile. "I guess I can stick around for a while," she replies.

Part two is now posted!

#the walking dead #twd #daryl dixon #daryl x oc #original character #(kind of) canon compliant #cross posted #ao3 #archive of our own

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starfaring-princelotor · 5 years

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The Prison Kingdom

Chapter 2: To Create A Name

Summary: With new companions comes new information you were unaware of before.

Warnings: Mentions of suicide and blood.

★ Disclaimer: I do not ship Lotura and I respectfully ask that this story to not be tagged as Lotura. This is a Lotor x Reader/Self-Insert OC story which is in no way related to Lotura at all. Please be respectful of my chosen pairing. ★

A/N: Click here to learn more about fairies.

1 . 2 .

“I didn’t know pirates can read.”

“Aye, fancy that, eh? Learn something new with every rising sun,” you closed your book then fully turned your attention to the man leering over your shoulder, “I didn’t know that incubus’ can be nosy, little whelps, and yet, here we are, mate.”

Lance, he said his name was. Young faced with an offended scrunched up frown because of your comment, he seemed fresh to the battles of blades. And of insults. Rule number one when growing up under the honorable tutelage of your aged seafarer captain: whatever you do, do it well. May he rest in peace, the poor fool who took a cannonball to the gut.

“Hey! I’m not nosy!” came his witty reply, accompanied by a muttered grumble.

You took that as his white flag.

“Pirate.”

“Aye, capitain?”

Shiro said nothing else, only gave you that good old “stop picking on the soldiers” look. You shrugged in response. He stated that he needed to stop by his neighboring guilds and request assistance from a few specific set of people. And thus, along with you and a few others who gathered at Altea, Shiro created a small group of warriors for this expedition.

There was Ulaz, a powerful necromancer who channeled spirit energy from the dead to do his bidding. Attractive mercenary with those glowing eyes and pointed ears, leader of the Blue Tail Guild. Then that one golem from the deep mountains, what was her name? Shay of the Yellow Eyes faction? Those fancy jewels embedded in her rocky exterior were tempting, but you were sure she could pack a punch if you tried to use your five-finger discount. And, last but not least, a dryad ghost who calls himself Rolo, belonging to the Green Claw Guild. His skills with traveling between planes of existence at ease would be most useful for scouting.

Right now, the only one left was meant to be meeting at this farm on the outskirts of a small, unnamed village. Someone from the Red Teeth Guild, supposedly the one King Alfor led until his untimely demise. Her name was Hira, one of the Alteans who was tasked with defending the royal family. Keyword: was. She gave up that title and dedicated her life to hunting monsters with vengeance, more importantly the dragon that razed Altea to the ground. Though she lacked the magical abilities passed down by her ancestors, she made up for it in pure strength as a berserker.

“- He is ready, Shiro. I have seen the boy fight alongside Lance, they both would make worthy comrades in battle.”

You could sense the pride and ushering tone in, who you assumed, was Hira. Off in the distance, the two boys mentioned were tending to a bull peacefully. Out here, it was easy to fall into the dull sense of a domestic life. A farm, crops to harvest, animals to feed. Making pasteurized cheese from only the freshest of milk. A humble existence, not one meant for the explorative type of people. Much too docile, too vulnerable.

“No, Hira. They are just boys. If we were hunting wild boars, yes, I would bring both Keith and Lance along, but this mission is too dangerous for the inexperienced,” Shiro argued, voice muffled behind the bales of hay, “I’m not putting their blood on my hands. Are you willing to?”

A pregnant pause, only to be interrupted by the peppered clucks of chickens nearby.

“Altea needs soldiers, Shiro.”

“Children are not soldiers, Hira. I’m done discussing this. Are you with us or not?”

“Fine. But keep your Galra scum on a leash. This war still isn’t over and I won’t forget what happened a decade ago,” she spat with spite lacing each syllable in her words, “His kind shouldn’t even be joining this party.”

“No one would forget, but his skills are invaluable if we’re going after a dragon that uses quintessence as an energy source. Our mission is to kill it so a repeat of the past doesn’t happen. Do you understand?”

Part of you wanted to say you didn’t mean to eavesdrop. Really, you didn’t, it was just convenient that your hearing was much more enhanced than the average being. And, judging by the pupiless stare of Ulaz, you knew he heard them, too. That slightest, almost barely noticeable twitch in his ears gave him away.

“That bull is going to charge them. Watch,” Rolo informed, also watching the spectacle of Keith and Lance’s shenanigans.

As if able to predict the future, Keith must’ve patted the animal a little too hard, which irritated the beast. He started hoofing the grass, gave one loud baying screech, before shoving both of them away in a disgruntled thrash. Don’t run, you thought, but it was instinct to flee when something once neutral becomes aggressive. Pity that Keith fellow was wearing red, though.

“Useful trick ye got there. Ever thought about trying yer hand as a fortune teller? Could swindle a few fish for quite a bit o’ gold,” you chuckled, recalling the time you did such a thing yourself.

“Huh. Wonder if Nyma would be up for that gimmick after this hunt.”

“This hunt...it is such a small group. Can we really fight a dragon?” Shay’s inquisitive voice openly asked, “I have heard rumors and stories of such feats only being accomplished by massive armies, yet we are of only 10 bodies.”

“We are not going to kill a dragon. Shiro needs us to find it first before requesting for support from Altea. Perhaps the kingdom’s allies can send reinforcements as well.” Ulaz spoke of Shiro as an old friend, an old comrade in arms, and oddly enough, that fact was reassuring, “We can not trek through enemy territory with siege weapons and cannons. Not yet.”

Not until we know what we are going against.

“Can you build, pirate?”

“Can a shark bite?” you immediately retorted, but judging by the blank look on his face, he didn’t understand the reference, “Aye, aye, I can build. Bless me with a keg o’ gunpowder and I’ll gift ye bombs strong enough to take out me other leg.”

Shay giggled, Rolo smiled, and even Ulaz found the dark joke a little humorous.

There was something stifling about traveling by foot through the thicket of the woods. You would take the open sea and the ship over mangled trees and looming leaves any day. Rolo, however, was in his element. It seemed like the vines were reaching towards him to give an odd embrace from the trees themselves. Was it just you or did that trunk have a face carved out in it? Perhaps you’ve been spending too much time reading that book of yours.

[Not every spirit is malicious. Some belong to those children who ventured too far, unguarded and blind to the dangers lurking deep within. Be careful if you hear echoed giggling of the young. Faes are master tricksters. Under no circumstance should you ever answer their question, lest you wish to be swept up and vanished into thin air. Avoid rings of mushrooms at all cost.]

Below was a quickly drawn image of cap mushrooms formed in a circle. There seemed to be a child-like figure with butterfly wings attached on its back. You came to realize then, while sitting around the campfire and partaking your turn for watch, that the creatures of the land vastly differ than those of the sea. You expected this, of course, but something in the back of your head had one question buzzing in your skull: how far could you flee if you came across such beasts?

Shuffling off to the side alerted you of Shay awakening. Slowly, she emerged from her tent as the fire danced, making those gems glimmer even more beautifully in the night.

“Are you well, p-pirate?” she asked albeit hesitantly stuttering on the title.

With a nod of confirmation, you shut your book quietly just as she took a seat across from you. She seemed to be lost in thought, curious even, and it amused you greatly to see her glance away when you caught her stare. Then, her gaze stayed locked on the very interesting rock by your wooden leg.

“Lass, does this ol’ thing give you the willies?” you tapped your leg, already quite used to not feeling anything come from the action, “It t’aint rigged with explosives, ye can trust me word on that.”

Now, she quickly snapped her wide eyes up at you, “No, no, not at all! I mean, it’s a little...I have seen such things before. But that is not why I was - forgive me - for staring.”

“Eh?”

“Your name. The captain calls you ‘pirate’ and you were introduced to us as so. I have never met someone who doesn’t have a name,” Shay rubbed her hands together unsurely, wondering if her question came out too personal, “ I - does it bother...do you have a name that you wish to be called instead?”

Cute and utterly kind by a default. You liked that about her.

“Would ye like to hear a story, mate? A story of the Name-Stealing witch of the sea?”

At that, her attention was completely enraptured by the flourish wave of your hand and the quill you pulled from your coat sleeve like magic. If there was one thing you enjoyed more than crafting bombs, it would be telling stories embellished in exciting lore and haunting truths. Or lies. That was left to be decided by the listeners.

“Aye, among those who were unfortunately marooned on desolate islands, legends say that the nights following an empty sky, there be but a single bottle floating to the shore. No matter where, it always held a single piece of parchment and quill. You nay see her on the bank, or hear her whisper, but some say she stands afloat as a speck on the horizon. And some say...she will grant ye solace if ye but write yer name on that there paper.”

You now pulled out a rolled-up sheet from your other sleeve, earning a gasp of surprise from your audience. Well, your one audience.

“I came across her one fateful night. There’s a rule among us pirate folk: those who fall behind are left behind. Ye carry yer own weight to survive out there and me weight was just a little too heavy,” cue you knocking on your wooden leg, “I was starved and alone with nothing but me ‘n me pistol. Good ol’ trusty Kretch. Once the taste of sand could no longer sustain me, nor the grass, nor the leaves of the palms, I had to decide if I wanted a quick death to be my end.”

Concern. Of course she was concerned to hear those dreadfully haunting words.

“But she came to me one night, offering me nothing but a bottle. I told meself, if there were a chance to live, I’d take it without thought. And I did. I wrote me name, but oh, what a fool I was. There I lay, death washing upon the shore, and she came to me. She took it with a kiss, so I may never speak it again. She took that parchment so I may never write it again. And when I woke on a different bank, and when those kind souls helped poor little ol’ me, and when they asked who I was…”

You crumpled the paper then immediately tossed it into the fire, the blaze quickly sparking a green flame in a show of bedazzlement.

“...I couldn’t remember it.”

At the end, Shay was practically sitting on the edge of her log with wide-eyed awe. Couldn’t remember your own name? The very idea seemed appalling and completely impossible. Not even magic can do that...right?

“But why? What could a sea witch want with a name? Was she born without one and chose to steal names, collect them, to satisfy her own cruel jealousy? Or was she searching for hers? She may still be out there yet, Shay, ready to make a deal with those desperate enough to survive. Perhaps she even haunts those in the forests or the caves…”

“No! I want to keep my name, I - “ she shook her head to get the jitters out, clearly displeased with the thought of losing something so important, “Can you get it back? Your name?”

“Many have tried, but all have failed or perished in the pursuit,” you paused, letting a slow, sneaky grin spread on your lips, “Unless...ye have more than one name to go by.”

“More than one?”

“Aye. That’s why ‘tis important to make a name fer yerself. And that’s why Shiro calls me pirate, fer me own safety, eh? Not even she can steal a title like that.”

“Can...stealing a name kill someone? Do you think she can kill a dragon if she took its name?” Shay questioned more for herself than for you, “It’s scary to think about…”

“Ah, but then ask yerself, do ye want t’forget the dragon? Pain is the world’s cruelest teacher, but I cannot imagine waking one day and not remembering how me family died by the dragon’s fire,” you explained before tilting your head in thought, “Were ye there, lass? When the dragon attacked?”

She shook her head no, “I wasn’t, but my people helped with saving the injured who were buried under the wreckage. Many were worried about the royal families and of the prince and princess as well.”

Now it was your turn to lean in, intent on catching every word she shared.

“It is tragic that Queen Mellanor passed at Allura’s birth. Even more that her father was killed by the ally he trusted. We weren’t able to find Prince Lotor nor Emperor Zarkon, assuming they had fled as soon as the attack had started. It was horrible, hearing the survivors share their woes. I wish it hadn’t happened. Even a few Galra citizens living in Altea were affected, but…”

Here, she began fidgeting with her hands nervously then lowered her voice down a pitch as if the forest have ears of their own.

“When we uncovered Galra citizens, they were herded off into the castle...and they never came out.”

Somehow, Shay’s story was much more frightening than yours. Not only because you believe her, but you also believe that the fate of those Galra was likely leading to an unhappy ending.

“I think - “

A rustle, one against the wind, and your head snapped in the direction of the noise.

“Shh - wait, I hear - “ and before you could finish your sentence, a blunt force punched you in the face, sending you flying off your seat to knock into an allies tent.

You heard Shay let out a yell, a battle cry and a way to warn everyone that an intruder was here. A cacophony of noises rose in volume, people scrambling to attack a wisping shadow in failure, for the punches came too quick and too powerful. A whirlwind of purple light trailed by each landed blow and, tried as you might, every shot from your pistol did nothing against the flurry of that damn bludgeoning weapon.

“Rise!” Ulaz shouted and, instantly, a cooling spell fell over you, releasing you from the bruising pain of your crushed rib.

You owe him a drink for that one.

“Form up on me! Shields up!” Shiro ordered, equipping his own shield to cover his front, but it was already too late.

By the time the chaos settled and the dust came down, the attacker had Hira’s throat in a deadly grasp while holding her body up in the air. Metal claws were cutting into her skin, drawing a line of blood, just to emphasize how serious she is close to dying. One wrong move, and her life would be forfeit. You waited with held breath on a command, anything from Shiro, but nothing came in one, two, three seconds.

Then, Shiro’s eyes widened at the person standing across from his infantry.

“Sendak?”

#spacestories #lotor x reader #i know i know #we hate hira

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the-stories-in-my-head-95 · 5 years

Text

A Magical Arrangement

Bucky Barnes x Natasha Romanoff x Reader x Tony Stark

Summary- There are four types of supernatural beings that call this earth home, and they are all at war with one another, well they are until the high councils of the four races come to a truce. A truce that would change your life forever.

Message- Reader is a witch, Tony is a vampire, Bucky is a werewolf, and Natasha is a Demon (Succubus)

Warnings- Arranged Poly Marriage

Word Count-1285

“Y/N! Y/N! Are you out here?”

“High Priestess?” You ask as you jump off of the tree branch. “What’s wrong?”

“Y/N!” She huffs. “I thought you were teaching a lesson.”

“I was, but it’s so nice out. I told the students to go outside and enjoy the sun.”

“We will talk about that later. But right now the council wants to speak with you.”

“Alright.” You say, smiling. But before you can take even five steps she grabs your shoulder.

“Put some shoes on before going to them.”

“Have a blessed day, high priestess.” You say, smirking as you walk away.

“Just nod, so I know you’ll put shoes on.” She calls after you. “Y/N! I know you can hear me!”

“Sorry can’t hear you!” You call over your shoulder as you run towards the school. Once you get inside you make your way towards the council chambers. Once you get there you raise your hand to knock on the door.

“Come in Y/N.”

“Look, I don’t know what you heard, but-why are the wolves here?” You say, noticing a large pack of rugged people standing to the side of the room.

“They are our allies.”

“I know that, Elder Simmons.” You murmur. “It’s just this is a school, the war and its troubles have never been brought here.”

“So you keep your soldiers in denial?” One of the werewolves asks.

“This is a school, there are no soldiers here, only children.” You sneer.

“Who will grow up to be soldiers. Isn’t it better they know what their reality will be?”

“They are children.” You murmur. “They should know peace, while they can.”

“That is why we called you here.” Elder Simmons says. “Ever since you retired from our army, you have used your power and influence to speak out about bringing about a time of peace.”

“I am allowed to have an opinion.” You sneer.

“We know.” Elder Simmons says, grinning at you. “Your opinion is actually why you are hear.”

“So you’re not going to feed me to the wolves.” You smirk, glancing over at the visitors.

“We wish for you to marry one. Well a wolf, a demon and a vampire.”

“What?” You laugh.

“There was a summit, between the four supernatural races. There has been a call for peace.”

“What does that have to do with a marriage?”

“They want to bind the four clans together.” The werewolf that spoke earlier says. “To do that they want to bind the souls of four people together, one from each clan.”

“So marriage, to 3 other people.” You murmur.

“It’ll bring about an age of peace-.”

“I’ll do it.” You say. “Obviously.”

“If you need time to-.”

“No, I’ll do it.” You say, turning to the werewolf who had spoken before. “Are you-?”

“Yeah, I’m your fiancé-or whatever.”

“I’m Y/N.” You say, putting your hand out for him to shake.

“James, but my friends call me Bucky.” He says, shaking your hand.

“I like that.” You say smiling up at him, then you turn back to the council. “When will this binding take place?”

“Next week, it will take place were the territories meet.”

“And once the binding takes place the fighting will stop?” You ask.

“Yes, and a new council will be formed. Its purpose will be to help the four of you rule.”

“What?” You ask, eyes darting around the room.

“The four of you will be crowned as the new rulers of the supernatural world. The four of you will be tasked with making our new laws.”

“The world has officially gone insane. You want to put me in charge-me! I’m not even wearing shoes!” You say. “But fuck it- I guess I’ll be a Queen or whatever.”

“You are taking this way better than I did.” Bucky says.

“I kind of like the idea of being in charge.” You murmur. “Yeah, this is good.”

“The packs will be staying here for the week.”

“Okay, cool.” You say, before looking at Bucky. “Can I show you around?”

“That would be nice.” Bucky says, smiling at you. “We should probably talk about- well about a lot of things.”

“Do you think we’ll get crowns?” You ask, putting your hand out for Bucky to take.

“I don’t know…Maybe.” Bucky murmurs as you leave the council chambers.

**1 week later**

“You look amazing.” Bucky says, kissing your cheek.

“Thank you.” You whisper as you play with the large tulle skirt.

“These are for you.” Bucky murmurs, handing you a bouquet of flowers.

“They’re lovely.” You say, smiling.

“Are you ready for this?” Bucky asks, offering you his arm.

“As ready as I’ll ever be.” You say, looping your arm his. Then the two of you walk out of the tent and start to make your way up the aisle. “Do you recognize either of them?”

“That’s Natasha, she’s a succubus.”

“That’ll be fun.” You say, a large smile spreading across your face.

“And I think the vampire is Anthony Stark, but I’m not entirely sure.”

“I guess we’ll find out soon.” You murmur.

“Yeah.” Bucky whispers. Then the two of you walk the rest of the way to the alter.

“I’ll give the four of you a minute.” The High Priestess says.

“Thank you.” You murmur, passing her your flowers.

“I’m Y/N.”

“The witch.” Natasha says, eyes roaming up and down your body.

“Yes.”

“I’m Tony, and this is Natasha.”

“Bucky.”

“Well we should get this show on the road.” Tony says, motioning to the Priestess.

“Are you ready?” She asks.

“As ready as we’ll ever be.” Bucky says.

“Alright.” She says, as she hands you all a lit candles. “We are gathered here today to bind these four souls together as one. This binding will usher in an era of peace unlike once we have ever seen in our histories. Anthony Stark, do you consent to have your soul bound to the others in this union for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

“Natasha Romanoff, do you consent to have your soul bound to the others in this union for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

“James Barnes, do you consent to have your soul bound to the others in this union for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

“Y/F/N Y/L/N, do you consent to have your soul bound to the others in this union for the rest of your days?”

“I do.”

“Now that the four of you have consented to this union, please use your individual flams to light this candle, a representation of your four souls becoming one.” The four of you nod, before lighting the large candle that was placed at the center of a table. Once the flame was light the four of you turn around. “I know present our new Kings and Queens, may the peace never end!”

“May the peace never end!”

“Oh this is going to be weird.” You murmur.

“So weird.” Bucky agrees.

“At least they’re not bowing down.” Tony says.

“Yet.” Natasha murmurs.

“So like, do we get a palace now? Or-.”

“We’re going to live at my castle.” Tony says.

“You have a castle!?” Bucky asks.

“Don’t you?” Tony asks.

“Well I guess I do now, because what’s mine is yours, Sweet thing!” Bucky says, smirking.

“Oh this is going to be fun.” Natasha murmurs.

“I think so to.” You say.

“And so they lived happily ever after.” A voice from your right says.

“Shut up, Punk!” Bucky yells.

“Yeah, Steve, Shut up!” You yell as well. “Oh and that’s by royal decree!”

“Yeah!” Bucky says. “I’m in charge now, Punk!”

“Goddess help us all.” Steve murmurs, with a large smile on his face.

“Damn right.” You say.

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#bucky barnes x reader #tony stark x bucky barnes #bucky barnes x natasha romanoff #tony stark x reader #tony stark x natasha romanoff #natasha romanoff x reader #avengers imagine #avengers x reader #tony stark imagine #tony stark x reader x bucky barnes #tony stark x reader x natasha romanoff #tony stark x bucky barnes x natasha romanoff x reader #witch!reader

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warofqueenz · 5 years

Text

HEAVY IS THE CROWN

Chapter One : ‘ The Dragon Of Kattegat ’

| VIKINGS |

| GAME OF THRONES |

[ Season 4B - Ep 2 ]

________

KATTEGAT

| A YOUNG GIRL OF JUST FOURTEEN stands within the entrance to the great hall—her body leaned against the wall with her youthful face just barely peering out from the darkness of the inside. Viserya Targaryen, the old revered leader called her. The daughter that proved a Targaryen and a Stark could indeed come together. A child casted from her homeland with no land, no wealth, no army, no crown, with only a name to cling too and three dragon eggs. Kattegat became the home she needed to help her grow and one day to help her reclaim back her families throne.

Viserya had earned the title, the princess of Kattegat after Ragnar had taken her in as his own. And once her dragons were hatched by her on that fateful day, she earned another title, ‘the mother of dragons ’ much like her mother Daenerys. Someone she barely knew of, someone that her teacher, Father Beocca—a priest sent to guide Viserya on the way of god, had never taught her of. He only recited the good things Daenerys had did and that was all—never once opening up about anything else as he kept his lips sealed like it were some sacred door. Beocca would do the same about her father Jon. If as speaking of her family would bring bad fortune. But it often made Viserya wonder, if her mother and father were so great than why was she casted away and to a land where all she held was fear among the people.

Viserya fidgeted with the silver armring that contrasted well against her delicate pale skin— The armring being something Beocca didn’t want Ragnar to give her for her path was in that of God. Of course Ragnar claimed it was fake but Beocca knew better. She curled the ring back in forth around her wrist as she scouts the nearby businesses and bustling people for the familiar face of her stepfather Ragnar. With disdain plastered across her face, she rests her arms across her chest still patiently awaiting his return.

Her brothers were no where near and were off elsewhere doing their daily business, leaving her to fend for herself since Lagertha had left. She was the youngest out of all of her brothers, with Ivar being the second youngest and of course they held it against her. Since Ragnar saw Viserya as something scared, she was to never venture off on her own. The only time she were allowed to leave was when Beocca arrived for teaching and for that to happen, Ragnar would take her far from Kattegat away from the people. Afraid that if they found out that he was raising a Christian child, they may try to over throw him and kill Viserya.

Strands of her silver hair danced along with the cool breeze that brushed through Kattegat. Most of her hair flowed freely with there only being one little braid, signaling the victory of her dragon’s births. The clothes she wore look more fit for a boy than a young princess.

Her amber eyes slowly fixing on those that pass in front of her. Each one seeming to give side glanced to one another. As said before, even though she was crowned princess of Kattegat, no one had truly accepted her believing she was a demon and a curse set upon the people by Christians. It was truly the work of the Aslaug however, the queen and mother of Viserya's stepbrothers. And perhaps with the subtle help of Floki.

She turned the people’s hearts against Viserya as she hated the little dragon princess with all her heart for when Ragnar had bought Viserya home as just a babe, she pleaded endlessly with him to discarded the child—but he did not heed to her. And when her dragons were born, the people feared her more even when Ragnar pleaded with them that she was sent by their gods to help them. The young dragon princess that could not be burned they called her. The unburnt...

Viserya felt as if her patience was truly being tested, Ragnar should have been here by now to tell her of the upcoming trip he had planned for her and her brother Ivar. Something he had just mentioned out of nowhere and that only her and Ivar were going. She felt something was off about it, more importantly off about Ragnar.

Her dragons whined in the back shifting her from her thoughts. All three of them having perched themselves up on a makeshift tree made out of broken down chairs. A smile played across her lips as she listened to them chirp and coo back in forth at one another.

The one black as night with reddish golden eyes was named Ragno after her stepfather. He slightly stretched his wings out as he meekly yawned with a little squeak escaping. All three of them had to be no bigger than a dog, they were growing so fast just as she was. The golden cream one was named Daenerys after her valiant mother. The little dragon puffed out a little burst of smoke as she burped to which Viserya couldn’t help but giggle.

The last one that was bundled up on the lower tower of tree was named Aegon, after her real father. Aegon being the true name of Jon and she only learned that after she annoyed Father Beocca enough times. He was a greenish color with striping that came down to form what look like the shape of a dagger. Unlike his brother and sister, he seemed to be the laziest and would whether have Viserya cook his food for him instead of him using his fire.

Viserya sighed in defeat as she turned away from the entrance, no longer having the will to wait any longer and began walking towards her dragons. But nevertheless, even if she didn’t have the love of her people, she still had the love of her children, her dragons. The squeals of Ragno and Daenerys filled the air as they watched Viserya grab a bowl and fill it with freshly diced up meat.

Aegon woke up immediately upon hearing the joyous calls of his siblings and groggily joined— watching her every move as she sat down beside them. They happily flipped their wings away, eagerily watching as Viserya took the pieces out one by one. With a flash like lightening, She threw the small piece of diced meat into the air and smiled as she watched Ragno leaped up and smother the slice with fire before engulfing it whole. The other two patiently awaited for their turn and it came, with both swooping up to catch their already dead prey. Ragno perched himself beside Viserya whilst the other two begged at her feet.

Too engrossed by the nagging, hungry mouths of her dragons, Viserya did not hear the incoming of feetsteps the person hastily making their way towards her. Only when the curtains to where she slept where moved, she jolted back in response. Her dragons stopped and lowered their heads before hissing loudly at the intruder. But it wasn’t an intruder, it were Ragnar instead.

“ Viserya, how many times have I told you, no dragons on the bed.” Ragnar merely grumbled as he walked pass her. Viserya only groaned in exaggeration as she helped perch Ragno back up on the stand. She turned and watched as Ragnar paced around gathering supplies.

“ Gather your things we are leaving. Now!” He suddenly raised his voice, as if there were no time left in the world. Viserya slightly jumped away from him. He noticed this behavior and quickly crumbled under what he had did. Ragnar gazed upon Viserya, still the same shy little amber eyed and silver haired girl that Beocca had bought to him that fateful day. The day after Athelstan had passed away, leaving Ragnar empty.

Just a little babe wrapped in a blanket, innocent to the world. He remembered the way he held her, the way her eyes gazed upon him wonder, a sight that reminded him of Gyda.

He placed his hand against her cheek, “ It is alright my little dragon, I did not mean to raise my voice at you.” Ragnar said trying to comfort her to which Viserya nodded and hugged him.

“ What about Ragno and Daenerys and Aegon, can’t I bring them with me?” Viserya whispered in his ear. Ragnar shyly broke away from the hug and glanced to the floor, motioning his head back in forth.

“ They will only use up all our resources, little dragon... I” Viserya cut him off immediately,

“ But they are my children, I can not leave them.” She desperately pleaded with him, placing her arms across her chest in a pouting motion. Ragnar sighed heavily before glancing over to the dragons as they awaited atop the stand.

“ Fine, you can bring them. But you must care for them yourself.” He calmily said before getting to his feet and fetching the little wooden cage. “ Here is where they’ll be placed most of the time, and when it’s feeding time they can come out.” He firmly spoke as he handed her the cage.

Viserya wasn’t entirely happy about having to shove her dragons into a tiny wooden crate, they were far too big for that option but nevertheless if she wanted to go, there were sacrifices to be made.

Then again it wasn’t like she was fairing any better, she was facing the same fate. She placed the wooden crate down upon the fur bed and began enticing them with the promise of meat and when they realized they had been fooled, their sorrowful cries filled the hall. Even against their cries, she slowly latched the door.

“ Maybe the journey won’t be too long,” she whispered even against her mind telling her different. “ Hopefully, England won’t be so bad and maybe Ragnar will let us explore.” She exclaimed before grabbing the cage and following Ragnar out.

Ivar was already patiently wanting with his mother nearby when Ragnar made her stop by one of the shops and wait as he went to the crew of the ship.

Her dragons fumbled around in the crate, each banging into one another. Their little cries intrimingled with the voices of the people nearby. This was the furthest her dragon’s had ever been.

She anxiously watched as Ragnar and the crew started preparing the ship for the long journey ahead. One she did not realize would bring pain. Along her wondering and watching, she did not notice Aslaug in the corner glaring at her. And even from afar the hatred could be seen upon the queen’s face.

Aslaug couldn’t stop but glare at Viserya as she stood there waiting beside the shop. She hastily grabbed Ivar by the shoulders, “ Don’t you ever trust her. She will be the downfall of us all, i have foreseen it. She is not one of us and she never will be.” Ivar blankly stared her, confused at his mother’s reasoning.

She leaned down and looked her son dead in the eyes knowing he wasn’t quite there to listening about her ramblings, “ She will be the downfall of us all, in my dream I saw fire, fire was everywhere. It engulfed the very nation and people screamed in agony as they were covered in fire by her dragons. Our people, not the Saxons..” Aslaug hastily replied, keeping a firm grip upon Ivar.

She hunkered closer to her, “ Your father will not listen to me about her, do not be him and make the right choose when you have the chance... Because it will not be our side that she’s on but the Saxons.”

Ivar looked at his mother wide eyed before slowly glancing to Viserya. He only furrowed his brows at young girl, the girl whom he called a sister before looking back to his mother, annoyed with her persistence. Because sometimes visions are not always correct....

_____

- Sorry this was sooo short but I had to get this filler chapter out before anything else!

- Excuse my crappy writing here lmao hope you enjoy!!

#alfred #vikings alfred #vikings alfred the great #vikings alfred x oc #vikings ivar #vikings ubbe #vikings lagertha #game of thrones dragons #vikings #game of thrones #vikings x game of thrones crossover #vikings x game of thrones

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pengychan · 5 years

Text

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt. 10

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[Tag with all chapters up here.]

[Also on Ao3]

A/N: Chapter title suggested by @theprairienerd: The Miracle of Bread and Padre Ernesto’s Sausage. Art in this chapter is by @senoraluna. Extra art at the end is by Dara, who’s a gift that keeps on giving.

***

“We were hoping for more food, Sister.”

As the remark she’d half-expected came, Imelda sighed and glanced down at the sack she had just handed to the man who’d asked to be called ‘José’. It was only half-filled with canned food, dried beans, hard cheese and salted beef. She nodded, her mouth pulled in a thin line. “It’s all we can spare.”

“I see more food in that cupboard,” one of the men muttered, glancing towards the end of the room. He seemed about to step towards it, but Imelda got in the way.

“Food that we cannot spare,” she said, her voice firm. The man faltered, and stepped back, but another seemed less impressed.

“We can’t fight Federales on an empty stomach.”

“We have children to feed. The ones in our care, and families in poverty. There isn’t much to go around for anybody in town.”

“We’re fighting for the future of Mexico!” Someone protested, and Imelda lifted her chin, glaring at him. She was acutely aware of the fact she was outnumbered - several men, all of them armed, in a dark cellar - but she didn’t allow herself to be afraid. She could not.

“They are the future of Mexico! If the people starve, what will be left to fight for?”

A few stepped back, but one still snorted, and glared back. “Well, I am hungry. I’ve been fighting for a year. I risk my hide every damn day. Get out of my--”

Several things happened in quick succession: the man put a hand on her shoulder to push her away; there was a sudden smacking sound, a cry of pain, and the man staggered back before Imelda could even raise her hand to strike him herself. He knelt, hands to the side of his face, blood running through his fingers.

“The next one who even thinks of laying a hand on a nun will lose it,” José was saying, riding crop still raised. There was a hunting knife at his belt, and his free hand went to its handle. “Objections?”

His question was met with mumbling, shaking heads, and even a few men crossing themselves. With a satisfied nod, José turned back to her. “I understand, Sister. Our man did warn me the supplies were growing scarce - we’ll take no more food out of your mouths. Do you think you can provide medical supplies, if needed?”

Imelda nodded. “That I can do,” she said, getting a nod right back.

“Thank you, sister.”

They left the cellar with what she was able to give them, but Imelda didn’t move for a good while, trying to think of something - anything - that she could do now. They needed more food, too, before their supplies ran out; hardly anything was growing in the piece of land the parish owned, and it looked like things were about to get even harder for everyone. Something had to be done.

She had a duty to support the fight against Huerta's regime, but wouldn’t let a single child go hungry under her watch.

***

It wasn’t often that John stood before a mirror to look at himself. His body mattered not, a husk of flesh he would discard when he passed on to the next life, and his looks mattered even less. He’d long since stopped paying any mind to the marks that criss-crossed his back - old scars and new ones, half-healed welts and some still scabbed over.

The vast majority, he had inflicted over himself - but not the very first ones, those that hurt the most. Those were a parting gift, the very last lesson Reverend David Johnson had ever taught him, he who’d taught him everything he’d know up to that moment. A lesson in pain while he begged for forgiveness and guidance he would not receive.

The beating had been brutal but, after that first attempt at shielding himself with one arm - the only attempt - he’d only covered his face and endured. Even the pain was a relief compared to the horror of seeing his shameful secret uncovered, the disgust on his parents’ face.

Honor your Father and Mother, the Bible said, and oh God, had he failed; the punishment his father was visiting upon him, bringing the rod down on him without a word until his fine Sunday clothes were torn and bloodied, was well-deserved. He was a man of God; certainly he would know best of to handle it, how to cure him. If the salvation of his soul came at the price of his flesh, he would still count himself blessed.

The anger of the head of a family is never without reason, he’d tell Fernanda Rodríguez thirteen years later; he’d believed it, then. His father sought to correct him, as a father should. Once this was done, he’d thought, he’d extend his hand to help him up… but he never did.

Suddenly the blows were over and, as he lay on the ground in a ball of pain - it hurt to breathe, something was wrong, and his left hand throbbed - his father dropped the rod. “Leave.”

That one word cut deeper than any blow, filled him with more horror than he thought a human being could withstand. Surely he’d misheard, it couldn’t be, and it was with that thought that he painfully pulled his hand away form his face to peer up, still curled on one side. He couldn't muster the courage to look at his father in the face, but he did glance at his mother. She sat on the same armchair she’d been on when he’d walked through the door and she was looking away, face turned to the fireplace, entirely expressionless.

No, John thought in stunned disbelief. That wasn’t possible-- God please, no. It couldn’t be happening. It was his father, his mama. They had taught him all he knew, guided him, watched him grow with pride. They held his hands as he learned how to walk, stayed at his bedside when he was sick, kissed him when he’d cried over a scraped knee or a bad dream.

“Ma-- mama,” John called out, his voice so thin and childish. She didn’t even blink, didn’t turn, and John knew no one would wake him from that nightmare. No one was going to kiss it better.

No, no, no. Please. I’m sorry. I’m trying.

“Mama,” he pleaded again, voice breaking up and eyes filling with tears, wanting more than anything for her to come comfort him - and suddenly, she stood… still without looking at him.

There were only a few steps from the armchair to the fireplace; she paused before it and let his journal drop, the journal they had so solemnly given him when he'd turned ten; it smoked on the embers for a few moments before it caught fire in a bright flare, so bright John could believe was gazing into Hell itself.

No, this is good. My sins are burning away. They can help me. They will help me.

“I’m sorry,” he managed to whisper. “Please, I did nothing. It was only thoughts, I prayed God to cleans me, I never acted on-- please, don’t--”

“Stand up.” His father’s voice was cold as ice, and John, still stunned, did stand up; slowly and painfully, but he obeyed, as always. He always would if only they gave him a chance, if they--

That frail hope was dashed away the instant he met his father’s gaze, so cold and unyielding. He had the same look of disgust he reserved to the worst sort of sins, as he preached to the congregation of fire and brimstone and eternal damnation. It made John feel so filthy, so unworthy, so small. “If a man sleeps with a man as with a woman, they have both committed a detestable act,” he quoted, eyes blazing. “They shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them. Who have you lain with, John?”

“N-no one!” he sobbed. “It was-- thoughts. Sinful thoughts, but I didn't-- I wouldn’t--”

“Answer one question, and truthfully,” his father spat. “Have you done anything to your brother?”

The idea alone was enough to chill John to the bone. “No!” he cried out. Something in his chest burned as he did, but he hardly felt it. The mere idea of defiling his little brother, little Michael who’d sit on his knee and listen to stories, made him feel ill. “No, I-- I never-- I would never!”

“Your sisters?”

“No!” John choked out a sob.

A scoff. “Not yet.”

“N-never! Please, dad-- father-- I could never--!”

“Silence,” Reverend David Johnson almost snarled and oh God, John had never seen him so furious. “You will, if given a chance. There’s no depravity a sodomite would not commit. But I won’t allow it. It is my duty to protect this community-- to protect my children!”

“I-I am--” John shook his head, his vision blurry with tears. A sob wracked his chest, causing such intense pain he felt he might faint. He wiped the tears and snot from his face with a sleeve that was quickly turning red, but it seemed so unimportant; it was for his soul that he feared and if his own father and mother found him beyond salvation, then he was truly lost. “I am your--”

“No. Not anymore,” he cut him off, and turned away from him, like he couldn’t even stand the sight. He raised an arm to point at the door. “We'll tell you decided to join the army, to save your honor and that of our family. Then we'll say you died. But if your next step is not towards that door, God help us both."

And John had left, without the strength to argue and carrying nothing with him, so stunned he felt he might be drunk. Just like that, his life was over; his family, his home, his friends and community, everything he’d ever worked for - all he was meant to be since birth - had crumbled to ashes before his eyes, like the notebook in the fireplace. He’d been cast out like Adam from the Garden of Eden, left with nothing but the torn clothes on him and the knowledge the fires of hell were at his heels as he limped out of his home, through the fields, and into the night.

He met no one in his slow, painful trek; it was one more blow - I couldn’t even say goodbye - but also a relief. They would ask for explanations he could never bring himself to give.

His father was right; he was dangerous. For everyone’s safety, he had to go.

Under the cover of darkness, numb to all pain but not to the cold, he walked through dirt paths across the countryside for God knew how long until exhaustion caught up with him. There was a small patch of dried grass by a crossroad, and he didn’t lean down on it as much as he collapsed. Everything hurt, he didn’t know how much blood he had soaking his clothes and cooling against his skin. He no longer cared. He no longer cared about anything. Had suicide not been yet another detestable act in the eyes of God, he would have ended his life and freed the world of the blight of his presence.

John Johnson closed his eyes, and let himself fall into unconsciousness. The numbness overcoming even his terror of Hell, in his last moment of awareness he found himself praying to God not to let him wake up again.

But he had; he’d awakened to a stranger asking him if he’d been robbed, offering to let him on his cart as he headed towards El Paso. He’d accepted, because he had nowhere else to go, and once arrived he’d limped into the first church he’d seen, where a function was going on. Nobody had noticed him as he entered, sat in the back, knelt as they did… and, soon enough, blacked out.

He’d awakened in a bed, God knew how many hours later, with bandages on his wounds and a heavy blanket on him, an aging man in a cassock and white collar looking down at him with worried eyes. One of his hands cupped his head the moment he opened his eyes, the other bringing a glass to his chapped lips.

“Good God, my child, who has done this to you?”

A good man. A man of God. I deserved this.

John had tried to stand and could not, his body battered, a couple of ribs broken, and in the end he’d broken down, wept, confessed his sin and waited to be thrown out yet again - but no such thing had happened. He’d been comforted, offered more water, offered food; and Father Joseph had even joked that surely he was too old to evoke lust, so what did he have to fear?

John’s reflection in the mirror became distorted, and he blinked away some tears, Very slowly, he sat and stared at the rod in his hands. Father Joseph - his mentor, the man who had given him a smile and hope when all seemed lost - would have disapproved of its use, no doubt. He’d been a good man, soft of heart - too soft. He'd disapproved of the punishment his father had visited upon him, too.

“Do you know the parable of the lost sheep, my boy? A sheep was lost, and the shepherd left the flock in the meadow to look for it. Searched high and low, because the flock was safe, but the lost sheep needed to be found. And once he found it, did he beat it with sticks and stones?”

“N-no.”

“What did he do, my child?”

“He… brought the sheep home. To… rejoin the flock.”

A smile, and he’d quoted the Scripture - a very different passage from the one his father had snarled in his face.

“When he has found it, he carries it on his shoulders, rejoicing. When he comes home, he calls together his friends, his family and his neighbors, saying to them, 'Rejoice with me, for I have found my sheep which was lost!' I tell you that even so there will be more joy in heaven over one sinner who repents, than over ninety-nine righteous people who need no repentance."

That had been the moment he’d regained some frail hope, when he’d begun to see a path forward for him, a path to redemption that would go through the Catholic Church. And maybe one day, if he did a good enough job and made a name for himself… then maybe his family - his father, who wouldn’t speak to him even by letter, who told everyone he’d died - would hear of him. Maybe they would forgive him, and let him come home, if for a short while.

Father Ernest could know none of it and yet, in his own way, he'd sounded so much like his mentor, even bringing up the same parable. Or almost.

“I am here to help. Like the shepherd with the, uh, black shee-- Right. Lost. The lost sheep.”

Perhaps… yes, he had misjudged him. He wasn’t proper, sometimes he seemed a downright idiot, and unlike Father Joseph he was most decidedly not too old to evoke lust in him… but he had been kind to him. He was willing to help, God bless him; he'd given him absolution.

And Father John Johnson promised God he would never make him regret it.

***

As la Semana Santa approached, Ernesto didn’t precisely feel blessed.

Things hadn’t been going too badly, really. Everything had settled in a comfortable routine and she found he sort of liked being such a vital part of life in Santa Cecilia. Back home, he’d been a nobody playing for tips in the plaza and dreaming of a big break that simply wouldn’t happen; in the army, he’d been a number, cannon fodder and nothing more.

But there? He was well-liked, listened, sought after; even the gringo had toned down his criticism to a few mutters every now and then, which was a nice change. Yes, things were going well - if not for the small, negligible detail that the entire town seemed to be running out of food.

“What do you expect me to do? Multiply bread and sausages like Christ did?”

“Fish,” Sofía said flatly. “Bread and fish.”

Ernesto rolled his eyes. “Sausage, fish-- the point is, I don’t work miracles.”

A shrug. “Well, Pedro Marques begs to differ,” she said.

… All right, and who was that again? The name was only vaguely familiar, Ernesto thought, bringing the glass of mass wine up to his lips with a questioning look. Sofía gave a sharp smile.

“He’s going around telling high and low what a miracle worker you are. He and his wife had been trying for years to have a child, until you went and blessed their bed.”

Blessed their bed? Odd, he couldn’t remember blessing any be--

Wait.

The mouthful of wine Ernesto had been about to gulp down came back up through his nose in a sudden, foamy stream. “Ack-- gah!” he coughed hard enough to tear up, wiping his mouth with a sleeve. Sofía leaned her hand on her chin, raising an eyebrow.

“Doctor Sanchéz just told her she’s with child. If it’s a boy they want to name him after you, you know?”

“How about-- ack-- no?”

“I am also fairly sure the Martìnez family credit you with curing the infertility that plagued their only daughter, too. Got something to tell me there?”

“No,” Ernesto croaked.

“And about those late evening confessions--”

“All right! All right! I’ll figure something out!” Ernesto coughed again, lifting his hands. “Just keep your mouth shut!”

Sofía shrugged. “I always do.”

“No, you don’t.”

“When it comes to talking, I do,” she retorted, and she seemed about to add something when there was a sudden knock on the door, only for it to open a moment later - what was even the point of knocking if you’re just going to barge in without waiting a single moment? - and reveal Padre Juan in the doorway.

“Father Ernest, I have spoken with Brother Héctor about a matter… we should… discuss.” The gringo blinked at him, eyes shifting to the pool of red wine on the desk Ernesto was sitting at, and his beet red face. Sofía gave him a smile that was nothing short of angelic.

“Padre Ernesto has a bit of a cough,” she said.

Just a few days earlier, Padre Juan would have probably exploded and started rambling something about decor or whatnot - but now, even though he looked like he’d just sucked a lemon, he did no such thing. “... I’ll be back in a few minutes,” he mumbled, and left, shutting the door under Sofía’s perplexed gaze.

“What is it with him lately?” she wondered aloud. “He hasn’t even talked about pagan fetishes, fire and brimstone since last Sunday.”

Ernesto cleared his throat. “We have reached an understanding,” he said. A practical part of him reminded him it was probably due to fear because he had him under his thumb, knowing his secret… but truth be told, he liked the idea he’d gotten his respect. It felt like a huge win, and he loved winning. And now, if he wanted to keep his winning streak, there was a miracle to pull o--

“Maybe he can help.”

“... What?” Ernesto blinked up at her. “Him?”

She shrugged. “He might have connections we don’t. Maybe he could get us some food, or money to buy it from somewhere - it’s worth a try.”

That was true, Ernesto knew. They couldn’t will food out of thin air; they’d have to raise money to pay for it, and if food was as scarce throughout the rest of Oaxaca as it was there… well, the price to pay would be high. Charitable donations from parishioners often little above poverty themselves may not get them far enough.

“... Yes,” he finally said. “It’s worth a go.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind a small voice - the same that had come up with his very first plan of stealing donation and leaving a few days after his arrival - demanded to know why would he care, since when it was his problem, but he shut it out.

He liked where he was, he liked it how good he had it, and he’d be damned if he let anyone in his parish - any of his people - starve under his watch.

***

“All right. At the moment we have enough to keep everyone - the kids and the poor and whatnot - fed for for… how long?”

“A month.”

“Perhaps a fortnight more if we cut rations now.”

“If we cut any more ration, half the clergy is going to faint. We’re already eating little for Lent.”

“Our Lord fasted forty days.”

"With all due respect, Padre, we’re just human.”

“So was Christ, Mother. He made himself flesh--”

“We can have the lesson later, thanks.”

Father Ernest’s voice caused John to trail off, and shut his mouth. His first instinct was to protest, but he did not; he could tell the situation could get dire if they did not act fast. He was there in the sacristy with Father Ernest, Brother Hector, the sexton - Gustav? - and the Mother Superior to find solutions, rather than argue. Still...

“... What I am saying,” John said slowly, “is that if there will be meals to give up, I am willing to.”

“That’s appreciated,” Father Ernesto conceded, and even smiled before looking back down at the list the sexton had brought in for him to look at. “But it wouldn’t solve much. What we do need is more food.”

“We have plenty of wine,” the sexton spoke up. “It’s the only thing we have in abundance, other than rat poison.”

Father Ernest blinked. “And why do we have an abundance of rat poison?”

“To poison rats,” Gustav said, only to pause when he realized the reply would sound much too sharp towards the parish priest. “We had a serious issue with them a couple of years ago. They got into the granaries - it was a mess. Chicharrón convinced Padre Edmundo to buy a lot of rat poison - said they would eat the offerings on Día de los Muertos - but they were gone before we used much of it. So we have a lot of wine and a lot of poison, stored next to each other. Not a bright idea, but the old gravedigger is not very bright himse-- ”

“We could sell some, or trade it,” Hector suggested, causing Gustav to snort.

“Oh, of course. Who wouldn’t love the idea of trading money or better yet food for poison when times get hard? That’s the dumbest idea--”

“I meant the wine, Gustavo,” Brother Hector replied, his voice dry. “There will always be people willing to buy wine.”

“Sell holy wine?” John protested, but Father Ernest shrugged.

“It’s not holy wine until it’s blessed,” he said lightly. Suddenly reminded of last time he’d told him as much, John shut his mouth and leaned back on his seat. His face was on fire, and he could only hope it wasn’t turning too obviously red.

Thankfully, Father Ernest was speaking again and turning the attention away from him.

“We’re going to need the kind of stuff that lasts - canned food, maybe, but that’s hard to get away from the city and the army has most of it. Flour, dried meat, desiccated beans, flour. Grains for us and for the parish’s hens because God knows we need that supply of eggs. We’ll need to buy it in bulk, and you can bet we’re not the only ones making plans to. I doubt many people in a hundred miles radius are faring better than us. We must to be ready to pay twice the price, if needed.”

“And deprive others of food,” John spoke up. It wasn’t condemnation as much as a statement - he knew how the world worked - but it gained a long look from everyone in the room.

“If that’s what it takes,” Father Ernest said gravely. “I must look after my parish.”

John said nothing, and Brother Hector turned back to Father Ernest.

“That would be a lot of money to raise.”

“I know. We’ll sell some of the wine in San Luz, and push for offerings from parishioners who can part with a few pesos. After all, isn’t Holy Easter the right time to buy yourself paradise?”

All right, that was going too far. “No one can buy paradise,” John pointed out.

A shrug. “Relax, Martin Luther. I’m not saying we’re going to sell indulgences to--”

“What-- to compare me to that heretic --!” John could feel his face burning, and now he was sure to be turning beet red. It wasn’t the worst Father Ernest could say of him, but it still felt like an awful insult. With a shrug, Father Ernest waved a hand.

“I meant no insult. You are a proper man of God,” he said, and stared at him in the eye. He sounded perfectly serious - like he meant it - and oh, it was a relief that he’d think so… even knowing what he knew. “And you can help us a great deal.”

John blinked. “... What? Me?” he asked, and looked around to see everyone’s eyes on him. He was acutely aware, suddenly, of the golden crucifix hanging from his neck. It was worth quite some money, he knew, but he couldn’t bear to part from it and he he found himself hoping none of them had noticed it. He fought an impulse to hide it beneath his collar. “And… and how can I help?” he asked. Certainly they did not expect him to be the one to ask parishioners for offerings; they knew how little the people in that town thought of him.

“You have been travelling with the blessing of a Bishop,” Father Ernest said. “You have good connections, and certainly someone will be able to spare a few donations for a town in need.”

John nodded, finally seeing what he was getting at. “I could write a letter, but I am not sure my plea would hold much weight,” he said. “I won’t be the first nor last missionary to plead for aid. A letter might not cut it, but… if I can find a way to make it stand out…” he paused, and met Father Ernest’s gaze.

Let me have a think, he’d said, unfazed by his confession, but his sin. We’ll work something out.

John clenched his jaw for a moment before he spoke. “Give me a little time. I’ll try to think of something,” he said. “I’ll do all I can to help.”

Another smile. “Thank you, Father John,” Father Ernest said, and John just looked down with another nod, not daring look at him in the eye - hoping that his face had not reddened again and not realizing, lost in thought, that Brother Hector was looking at him with a concerned frown.

***

Miguel could tell something was not right.

No one had come forward and told him - or anyone else in the orphanage, really - but he wasn’t dumb. He noticed the hushed voice of the nuns, the insistence of not letting one bite to wasted at meal times; he noticed the tight line of Imelda’s mouth, and the frown on Héctor face.

“I’m just a bit thoughtful,” Imelda had told him when he’d asked.

“Got a few things in my mind, chamaco, nothing more,” Héctor had replied, ruffling his hair and suggesting he go practice his guitar skills with Cheech.

Miguel hadn’t gone, because he liked Cheech but playing was no fun without Héctor, and they hadn’t played or sang together in weeks. So he’d just nodded and watched him leave, saying something about going house to house to collect donations - another red flag, they had never needed to do it before and come to think of it, Ernesto had insisted a lot on charity at Mass the previous day. Even Padre Juan had begun going around to ask for donations, even if it got him a door slammed shut to his face more often than not.

Sooner or later he’d have to learn not to look outraged when he asked to speak to ‘the head of the family’ and an abuela came out to talk to him, but Miguel wouldn't hold his breath over it, or waste it trying to explain anything to him. Instead, he’d used it to ask what was going on to one person he knew wouldn’t baby him.

“So, what’s happening?”

“Your dog is trying to eat my foot.”

“No he’s no-- oh, he is. Dante, no! Here! I mean, what else is happening?”

Ernesto made a face. “An awful lot at once. You might want to be more specific.”

“With the whole spiel about charity and Héctor and Padre Juan going off to collect donations.”

“Ah. That. We’re facing a food shortage and might all starve.”

“What??”

Ernesto laughed. “All right, things are not that dramatic. We’re working to fix it.”

“By raising money?” Miguel gave him a doubtful look, stroking Dante’s head. The dog seemed to thrive on a few scraps, but what would happen once there would be no more scraps to be spared? “You can’t eat money.”

“You buy food with money.”

“And from who?”

“From people who have enough of it stored to part with some for the right price,” Ernesto said, and shrugged. “That’s how the world goes when things get tough. People hoard, but money is sweeter than any pastry. The war must end, and they’ll be richer once it does.”

It seemed unfair to people with little to nothing to eat, but Miguel wasn’t so naive not to know what was how it went. He nodded, looking down, and Ernesto seemed to notice his frown. He crouched in front of them, stopping Dante from licking his face with one hand.

“Hey, chin up, muchacho. We’ll be fine. But if you’re so worried, why don’t you help? We’ve got to organize the procession for el Domingo de Ramos, but I'm sort of taken - why don’t you and your friends do it? We’ll need a donkey, a Jesus, and a lot of palm branches people will give an offering to get.”

Miguel blinked. “Why would they pay to get those? They can find them anywhere.”

Ernesto grinned. “Not blessed ones, they can’t,” he replied with a wink, causing Miguel to laugh.

“You sure you’re not a real priest?” he asked. Ernesto rolled his eyes, giving him a light shove, but he was laughing as well and Miguel was wonderfully sure all would be well.

***

“... And this is where Jesus will get to the plaza from!”

“I mean, not the actual Jesus.”

“Just our Jesus.”

“Mexican Jesus.”

“Jesús.”

“We know a Jesús.”

“But he’s sixty.”

“And there is also another Jesús.”

“But he’s missing an arm and he curses all the time,” Felipe muttered.

“I would also curse if I were missing an arm,” Óscar added. He looked extremely satisfied with their plan so far as he looked at Ernesto and Padre Juan, both sitting at the desk in the sacristy. Miguel couldn’t help but think the gringo looked uncomfortable, but he had no idea why; nothing of what the twins had suggested so far was too different from your typical procession for el Domingo dos Ramos.

And Ernesto liked it, too, glancing down at the map of Santa Cecilia. The procession was going to begin at the start of the main road, through the plaza, and finally in front of the church; there was plenty of space for everyone to stand along the way to put down their palm branches on the path.

“Sounds good to me,” he said, smiling brightly. The twins smiled back.

“Great! Can we use the donkey in the parish stables, then?”

“That would be my donk--” Padre Juan started, only for Ernesto to shrug.

“He says you can,” he told Felipe, not even turning to look at the priest, who looked distinctly annoyed but did not protest. Both boys grinned widely.

“Yes!”

“Thank you, Padre Juan!”

“It would be Father John, Phil--” the gringo started, only to be entirely ignored.

“You’ll have to choose Jesus, Padre Ernesto!”

“As in, someone to play Jesus. You already choses Jesus. Clearly.”

“Ah. Do I have to?”

“Well, it was Padre Edmundo who picked every year.”

“So now you have to.”

“Then we'll get your Jesus get on the donkey.”

“And people will put down palm leaves.”

“Just like in the Scriptures!”

“And there will be fireworks!”

Ernesto’s face lit up. “Oh, I love firewor--”

“There is definitely no mention on fireworks in the Scriptures,” Padre Juan cut him off, his voice a little tighter. Ernesto frowned and seemed about to protest, but paused when he noticed Miguel, shaking his head frantically behind Óscar and Felipe’s back.

Not that Miguel didn’t like fireworks - he loved them - but he had seen what happened when Óscar and Felipe were allowed to handle them, and it wasn’t worth the risk. Last thing they needed was for someone to have to fetch Doctor Sanchéz because the stand-in for the Son of God had serious burns in addition to being trampled by his own frightened donkey.

Luckily, Ernesto took his input on board.

“... Right. No fireworks anywhere in the Scripture. Sorry, muchachos,” he added at Óscar and Felipe’s obvious disappointment. Padre Juan seemed relieved, but of course he had no idea how dangerous the twins could be while handling anything flammable, so he was probably thinking something boring on how they would all be spared blasphemy. “But you can pick Jesus.”

Just like that, the disappointment faded in wide grins.

“Oh! We need to make a list!”

“We could pick anyone!”

“Like Chicharrón!”

“Or Gustavo!”

“Hey now--” Ernesto began, but neither twin listened: they were out the next moment, still brainstorming names. He blinked. “... I should have reserved the right to veto especially dumb choices.”

“You should have,” Padre Juan agreed, his voice flat. It made Miguel laugh a little, watching them agree on anything.

“I can try to get them to pick someone who’d be… a better Jesus?

Ernesto grinned. “Like me,” he suggested.

“Absolutely not,” Padre Juan interjected, causing him to frown. Ah well, Miguel supposed they just weren’t meant to agree on more than one thing at a time.

“Why not?” Ernesto protested. “At least I’d look good in a loincloth.”

Just like that, Padre Juan’s pale skin turned beet red. It was a change so quick Miguel could hardly believe it. “That-- that is not the point!” he very nearly screeched. “A-and besides, our Lord was fully dressed when he entered Jerusalem!”

“Do the Scriptures say so specifically?”

“It doesn’t say otherwise!”

“How about I suggest they pick Héctor?” Miguel asked, raising his voice a little to be heard. As Padre Juan looked away, suddenly very interested in the floor, Ernesto shrugged.

“Not as devastatingly handsome as me, but he’d make a good second choice.”

“Pride,” Padre Juan muttered under his breath, but Ernesto entirely ignored him.

“Best to find him and tell him to agree, before those two try to rope in Chicharrón.”

“Or worse yet, Gustavo.”

“Or worse yet, la Madre Superiora.”

“Well, she does have a beard, so--”

“Father Ernest!” Padre Juan protested as they laughed, causing Miguel to shut his mouth - but he still snickered - and Ernesto to turn his laughter into a cough.

"A-hem. Why don't you go find Héctor? He should be back by now,” he told him, and Miguel took the chance to leave. He really wasn’t looking forward to being there for a lecture… even if Padre Juan did tone down, lately, come to think of it. And he’d kept the promise to call him Miguel instead of Michael, too. Maybe he was learning.

But Miguel was still not risking a lecture.

“Sure! I’m bet he’ll agree,” he said, and then, with a quick nod Padre Juan, he turned to run outside, leaving Ernesto to deal with him.

***

“So, uh. Any updates?”

Father Ernest’s voice broke the brief silence, and caused John - who had been looking down at his glass for just a bit too long - to wince.

“Ah, I…” he hesitated. The urges were still there, the thoughts were still there, but he’d been trying to ignore them, push them in the back of his mind instead of letting them linger and then punishing himself for it. But God, if he didn’t stop uttering nonsense about wearing a loincloth only - and leaning in entirely too close, good God, did these people know nothing of personal space? - he didn't know what he'd do. “W-well enough. I have been fighting it.”

Father Ernesto blinked. “What?”

John looked down, his face aflame. Part of him wished he would move away, but he was also grateful for his presence, for the inexplicable fact he did not seem horrified by him. “There have been moments of weakness, but I never defiled myself - not once, I--”

“Ah. Er, that’s… great. But I meant to ask if you thought of anything that could get us funding.”

Oh. John stood quickly, pacing away a few feet and hoping against hope his face wasn’t too red. “I-- of course. I believe I thought of something,” he said, and breathed a little more easily. That was a good thing to talk about, practical, safe. He even found it in himself to look at Father Ernest in the eye. “I heard from the gravedigger… I believe you call him Chicharrón, but he never told me his Christian name.”

Father Ernest shrugged. “I don’t think he told anyone. I’m not even sure he has one.”

“That is simply not possible! He has been christened, has he no--” John began, only to trail off when Father Ernest snapped his fingers.

“Don’t get sidetracked. Priorities, remember?”

“The soul of a sheep of your flock--”

“I’ll concern myself with keeping their bellies full before I move on to their souls. You said you had an idea. What did Chicharrón tell you?”

“I… Yes. Right,” he muttered. “He mentioned the late Father Edmund was a keen photographer. He believes his equipment should still be in the parish. I… as a boy, I was keen on photography as well, and knew my way in a dark room. I was… decent at it.”

“... Congrats?”

“So, I was thinking-- a letter from me might have some leverage, but no more than many others pleas for help they are certainly getting. A few photographs to go with it might make it stand out. I can be persuasive in written word, but a photograph can speak volumes,” John explained. The more he spoke, the surer his voice got. “Perhaps if I write and send some photos taken of the progress toward true Catholicism and civilization-- don’t look at me like that, you said getting funds is the priority!”

Father Ernest rolled his eyes in a way that was decidedly unbecoming of a man of God, but he didn’t protest. “Noted,” he said, and grinned. “So we're supposed to put on the nice Sunday clothes, look good and pose for pictures? I'm good at that."

Oh, of course he is.

Skin flushing once again, John chased away the thought. "Yes, well… you are the parish priest, so I suppose… er. But I think we should photograph the children, show them studying Latin, as I suggested… and dressed well at Mass.” He paused. “They are quite well-behaved when you say Mass,” he added, ignoring the sting to his pride.

Father Ernest seemed… intrigued, if anything, and seemingly unaware of how flustered he’d gotten. “So you think that pictures of kids being good little angels in Church, maybe studying Latin, would help convince… whoever there is to convince?”

"Yes. We need to show them following the true Catholicism and leaving behind the pagan ways a small town like this would-- er,” he hesitated when Father Ernesto narrowed his eyes. “A-anyway. They will understand my efforts here are so impactful the town deserves funding,” he added.

Father Ernest raised an eyebrow. “Not exactly truthful. Sounds like I’ll have to absolve you for lying,” he laughed, but John didn’t find it funny. He knew his efforts seemed for naught, the town so entrenched in its pagan traditions, but surely in time… if he kept at it...

“It wouldn’t be complete a lie,” he finally muttered. “After all that's the path I'm leading the town on. It's just... a projection of the future."

“... Sure,” Father Ernest nodded. “All right, it’s worth a try. We’ll look for the equipment right away, and tomorrow we’ll discuss how to organize this. The sooner we get that letter and the photos through, the better.”

If they do go through, John thought. The letter he had sent to la arquidiócesis de Antequera on his concerns over the new parish priest hadn’t received a reply yet, and John was beginning to think - hope, really, maybe he’d misjudged - that it had gone lost on the way. It was not unusual for that to happen, after all, much less in a country in turmoil. Nothing he could do about that but to take the photographs, write the letter, and pray to God it would reach its destination as swiftly as possible.

“All right. I’ll ask Brother Héctor if he knows where the equipment is, as he was here for--”

“... About that, Padre Ju-- John,” Father Ernesto spoke up, standing. “I think we need to have a talk about Héctor.”

“Oh,” John said, blinking in confusion. What could it be about? “Has there been any issue?”

“Well, he may not be with us for long.”

The words hit him like a blow. “Oh! Oh my God, is he that ill?”

“... What?”

“I had noticed-- he was paler-- seemed upset over something, like he did not sleep well, but I thought-- is there nothing the doctor can do?” John managed, grasping the crucifix hanging from his neck. He would never argue the will of God, but it seemed such a horrible waste and tragedy - a gifted young man with the makings of a great man, taken from them too soon. In his dread, he didn’t even take notice of how close Father Ernest was - close enough he could see the confusion etched in his features.

“Wait, what? No, no!” he exclaimed, holding up his hands. “He’s not dying! I mean-- he might not be in the Church for long.”

“Oh.” John breathed out a sigh of relief. “Oh, thank God-- wait, what? He means to leave the Church?"

"Well, possibly. It depends on--"

“We must talk him out of it!” John exclaimed. “He shows so much promise, it would be a downright shame--” he trailed off when Father Ernest raised a hand.

“He’s questioning his calling and we won’t talk him out of anything. That’s exactly what I meant to talk about.”

John gaped. “But--”

“You wouldn’t want him to take the vows only to regret it ten years down the line, would you?”

The thought made John pause, and whatever he was about to retort died in his throat. It hadn’t occurred to him that anyone could regret taking the vows but then again, unlike him, Héctor had a choice. He could lead a normal life, marry a woman, have children and be blessed. John… could never. The Church, his mission, was all that there was; outside it there was only perdition. Things would be different for Héctor, should he choose not to take the vows.

“I…” he sighed, and looked away. “... No, I would not. You are right. He must act according to conscience.”

“It’s good to see we’re on the same page,” Father Ernest said, a smile in his voice, and put a hand on John’s shoulder. It made him tense, the hair on his neck standing on end - oh God while did he keep touching him - but he didn’t seem to realize it at all. “I appreciate it. I know it can’t be easy, just letting him go.”

“W-well, he is a good pupil, and I would miss teaching him--”

“And he’s good looking too, I guess, so I could understand the attraction, but he doesn’t swing that way, at least as far as I know,” Father Ernest added, and suddenly the tension turned to confusion. John blinked up at him.

“What… what are you talking about?”

Father Ernest rolled his eyes. “Come on, no need to keep up the act. I know your, er, affliction, remember? I know you want Héctor, I can tell - can’t hide a thing from me,” he laughed, clearly unaware of the horrified look spreading on John’s features. “No worries, he won’t know--”

“What-- when-- no!” John screeched, tearing himself out of his grasp and taking a few steps back. He clutched even harder at the crucifix. “I-- I would never! He’s like-- a pupil, a younger brother-- to abuse my position and authority to sway him--!” he felt disgusted at the mere thought, and his knees wobbled.

Have you done anything to your brother? Your sisters!

Never!

You will, if given the chance! There’s no depravity a sodomite would not commit.

“Hey hey-- all right, my bad!” Father Ernest was saying, holding up his hands. He seemed confused. “I assumed, since you spent so much time-- huh. It wasn’t Héctor you, er. Lusted for?”

“No,” John croaked. “It was never him! Please-- oh God, please, believe me!”

“Fine, fine,” the other man said quickly. “I believe you. Lo siento. Calm down. I just-- who is it, then? I can’t think of anyone else you’re around usually that doesn’t want to kick in your teeth every hour of the--oh. Oh.”

The look on Father Ernest’s face - the realization - filled John with dread, shame, and an odd sort of relief in equal parts. Now that he knew, oh God he knew, there was no way he could keep standing there in his presence. He would fall apart if he had to stay another moment, and he’d crumble if he had to talk about it.

“I… I’m sorry, I need… need to find the camera. And equipment. Excuse me,” he added, and almost ran past him, to the door. Part of him feared he’d grab his shoulder again, but he didn’t, and he did not call out.

Father John Johnson burst out of the sacristy, heart beating somewhere on his throat and mind reeling, and left with quick steps before anybody could walk by to see him in that sorry state - leaving a very confused, and certainly disgusted, Father Ernesto behind.

***

Well, now that was a surprising turn of events.

Ernesto had been so sure it was Héctor that Padre Juan had the hots for, he hadn’t considered any other possibility. It seemed so obvious, with the time he spent playing his mentor… but then again, maybe it was not.

With poor Juan horrified as he was by his inclinations, it actually made more sense for him to avoid the true object of his desire… who, luckily for him, tended to stay out of the way most of the time, muttering about errands no one knew a thing about.

“Gustavo, of all people. Would have never guessed,” he muttered to no one in particular, leaving the sacristy. The guy seemed awfully dour, and as far as Ernesto was concerned he had the physical appeal of a raw potato. Not that Juan, pudgy as he was, looked much better. With that pale skin, straw-like hair and watery eyes, he looked odd. Not necessary ugly, just… odd. Exotic, in a way, but nowhere near good-looking, that was for sure. Just peculiar.

With a shrug, Ernesto pushed the thought out of his mind. Padre Juan was nowhere to be seen as he walked through the chapel and into the yard, but he did find Miguel and the twins, talking to Héctor and - well, look at that - Imelda. Sister Gisela. Whichever.

With some luck, she wouldn’t be keeping her name in Christ for much longer.

“Oh! Padre Ernesto!” Miguel called out suddenly, waving his arm. “Héctor is gonna be Jesus! Óscar and Felipe agreed and are looking for a fake beard!”

With a laugh, Ernesto clapped a hand on Héctor’s shoulder. “Perfect! I’m sure you’ll do great.”

“As long as I don’t fall off the donkey,” Héctor smiled. “I did, once.”

“Because it had been stung by a wasp and panicked,” Imelda pointed out, and smiled. It was a fond smile, and it made her all the more beautiful. It wasn’t hard to see why Héctor had fallen so hopelessly for her. She turned to Ernesto. “My sisters and I will help pick palm branches for you to bless.”

He nodded. “Perfect. Hopefully, donations will be enough to ensure a steady supply of food. Padre Juan has a plan, too, and it’s not too bad. We’ll talk about it as soon as we can get--”

“What if the army comes to take the food?” Miguel asked suddenly, looking up. It was a very real risk, they knew it. The smile on Imelda’s face froze, and Héctor’s expression turned grave.

“We’ll keep it hidden. We won’t let them starve any of us for feed their ranks,” Imelda spoke, her voice tight. She spoke like she was stating the tenets of the universe, and Ernesto had to admire that; if how she’d behaved in the Ramírez household was anything to go by, she might just decide to really try and stop them.

And get herself killed, of course. When the Federales came demanding anything, you had to give them what they wanted... and count yourself lucky they just demanded supplies and not men. He would know: he’d been one of them, raiding town after town to keep himself fed, so he could keep marching and fighting a war he didn’t give a damn about.

But not here, they won’t. This is my town, my parish, my people. Mine. They can’t have them.

Ernesto looked back, towards the edge of the town - the desert he’d come from - before glancing back at them. Miguel had turned to look at him; of course everyone would think he was looking for reassurance from the parish priest, but that was only because they didn’t know what Miguel did. He knew he was not a priest. He knew he had been one of them… and told no one.

Ernesto made an effort to smile, and ruffled Miguel’s hair. “If Federales come,” he said slowly, thinking back of what Gustavo had said about the wine and rat poison, “let them take what they will, and reap the rewards.”

***

[Back to Part 9]

[On to Part 11]

***

Ernesto's amazing deductive skills at work:

#pixar coco #ernesto de la cruz #miguel rivera #hector rivera #imelda rivera #oscar rivera #felipe rivera #coco #fake priest au

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lazyheretic-blog · 5 years

Text

Flip Side

The droning voices threaten to send him to sleep, but he's familiar with the beating that will earn him. He concentrates very hard on the glittering motes of dust that spin lazily in and out of the thin streams of light filtering through the screened windows. He imagines he can follow the journey of one individual as it's buffeted by updraughts of a wind he cannot feel. The heat is stifling; he wishes he were a dancing mote that didn't have to wear robes and a stupid hat and could ride the breeze. If he were, he thinks, he would try his best to land in Adminstrator Park's eye so he had to break ceremony and rub it.

He giggles, and realises his mistake. Park doesn't even look at him but the room seems to become much darker. He can see Park's nostrils flaring, a sure sign of his anger, even though his face remains impassive and the tone of his voice, expressionless and dry as he dictates tributes and taxes, never wavers. The boy shivers, despite the oppressive heat.

Park never beats him. It's always one of the women, a concu-something that the six-year-old hasn't figured out a role for, other than whipping him with a thin bamboo cane around his thighs. It's a crime to hit the king, of course; the real punishment comes afterwards with the ragged cry, gush of blood and the hideous tearing noise as a soldier slits their bellies open in front of him. If he doesn't watch properly, eyes wide open, he gets another beating. There's always a second woman in the room.

It only had to happen once. Now, he watches like a king as royal justice is dispensed in his name.

"See, your Majesty," Park tells him. "These loyal women sacrifice much in order to further your education. In a few years you will learn what else they can teach you. She will be reincarnated and will be pleased to rejoin their number to serve you."

He doesn't know why he feels sad at their deaths. It's only temporary, right? Their pain is fleeting and their reward is great. But the look on her face as she writhes in front of him, a girl only a few years older than he is, just makes him want to scream and hide. The soldiers scare him too, the ceremonial guards with covered faces and shining, bloody swords.

There's only one who doesn't. Gerralkim's been his friend since before he can remember and it's still easier for his tongue to wrap itself around the name he gave before he was properly articulate, but the tall man who kneels down to his level when he speaks to him doesn't seem to mind. He's never told Gerralkim about the beatings but when he's finally allowed to flee, the man's quarters are his preferred destination. He's not always there, but Wang Yeo has a child's active imagination.

This time, he's sitting cross-legged at his low lacquered desk, penning a letter in slow, deliberate strokes of a bamboo-handled brush. He half turns and smiles as the boy approaches him to watch characters form under the bristles.

Yeo finds it calming. Watching this is never dull, unlike sitting in the audience chamber, and he can pick out some of the meaning.

"Who are you writing to?" He asks, wide eyed.

The general smiles at him. He's a young man, younger than Park, perhaps twenty five at most. Years in the sun and in battle have darkened his skin and etched fine lines of worry between his brows and around his mouth. Unlike the officials he wears his hair down, dark waves falling off his shoulders and roughly cut shorter at the front. Today, he's wearing a pale cotton robe, wrapped at the front and belted. Yeo is relived he's not dressed as a soldier.

"I'm writing a letter to my father," he explains. "Remember my report to Administrator Park two days ago, about the battle against the Qidan?"

Yeo does. He always pays attention to General Kim, even though the thought of battle scares him. He nods.

"Well, my father worries about me. I write to tell him that I am unhurt and victorious."

"I worry about you too," the boy says seriously. "It would cause me sorrow if you got hurt."

Kim Shin grins, and ruffles his hair with a large, calloused hand, stained with ink. "You shouldn't worry about me. If anything happened, I would write you a letter so you would be the first to know."

"Of course. I am the king," the boy replies, all innocent and pompous, just as he should be. "But you should wait until I have learned all my letters, so I can write back by myself."

General Kim bows from the waist, arms folded in front of him. "It would be the utmost honour, your Majesty."

"Who's that?" asks the boy suddenly, pointing to a charcoal drawing of a woman and a young girl.

Kim pulls it towards them and straightens it between his hands. "That's my mother, and my little sister, Kim Sun. She's about your age."

Yeo studies it intently. It's an unusual drawing, life-like and untutored and utterly different to the heavily stylised scrolls hanging around the palace. He's drawn to the smiling faces of the little girl and the woman, shining with a happiness he's not used to seeing.

"She's pretty," he murmurs. "I want to meet her." He's never had playmates, wouldn't know what to do with them, but he yearns to see that beaming smile for himself.

"I'll let you in on a secret," Kim says solemnly. "Can you keep it?"

He's used to keeping secrets. Unconsciously he shifts and his bruised thighs protest. The stinging is turning to a profound aching, deep in his bones. He nods.

"Your half-brother, Wang Gang, willed it that you should marry my little sister when you grow up. What do you think?"

Yeo pretends to mull it over seriously, but can't keep the shock and delight off his face. "I can visit her?" Maybe, just maybe, there's a place Park doesn't have all the power.

"It's a bit far," the big man says. "The king should stay safe in the palace. She will come to you when she's twelve, and be trained how to look after you as a good wife and Queen." His face grew serious. "But don't tell anyone that you know, your Majesty. I don't think Administrator Park likes me very much."

He knows it's true. He's a sensitive child, schooled to be quiet, and taught by experience to read the unspoken language around him. He knows that Park hates the warrior like no other, but his close friendship with the previous king and his victories make him popular with the army. Apart from the handpicked palace guard, regular soldiers distrust civil servants like Park. He worries his lip as he considers the girl. The thought of her being beaten or treated like the other women is even more scary than what he endures.

He thinks he's hiding it, but he's transparent to an adult. Kim says, gently, "You and I will protect her. I promise."

"Tell me about her," the young king commands.

"She loves persimmons, fresh or dried. My father's last letter describes how she refused to eat anything else for a whole week, even when they made her ill."

"Persimmons make you ill?" He was doubtful.

"Anything can make you ill if you eat too much of it. Diet must be balanced."

"Tell me more."

"She feeds my horse persimmons, too, when she thinks I'm not looking."

Yeo was entranced. What freedom! "Did he get ill?"

"No, he just got fat. I scolded him for being so greedy but he didn't care."

Park hears their laughter, and scowls.

----------

The week Kim spends in the palace is the most fun he's ever had. Park doesn't dare threaten him when Kim's around, tall and imposing and cloaked in authority. His soldiers rest in the barracks, and sometimes Yeo sneaks over to listen to them sing and tell stories before he's inevitably discovered and carried back by Kim. They know interesting words, and talk about things he's curious to see; the ocean, barbarians on little ponies with tattoos, legends of gods he doesn't know.

Kim plays little tricks on him, pulling cards and coins out of his hair or from behind his ears, making him giggle with delight. Yeo uses his tall hat to scoop out a squiggle of tadpoles from the inner palace pond and dumps it in Kim's basin. He watches, wedged inside a tall chest and peeks through the hinge gap, as Kim bends to splash his face before the midday meal, and gasps in exaggerated horror at the squirming water. That earns him a rough capture and a serious and slightly painful head rub, until he's wriggling as hard as the little creatures in the sink.

Kim has to steal him a new hat.

But weeks come to quick ends, especially the best ones. He mopes in the doorway as a servant packs Gerralkim's traveling trunk, and the general dons his armour.

"A king shouldn't pout like that," Kim gently chides him. "You must be strong, no matter what."

"Must you go already?"

"I must. One of your towns in the North has been attacked, and I have to go protect the people there. Then I must retaliate so it never happens again."

"Will you kill people?" He asks in a sniffling whisper, the pink Cupid's Bow of his lips quivering.

Kim sighs. He can protect the young monarch from many things while he's there, but the realities of rule, and the war that allows it to continue, are hard truths the king must face. The servant finishes, and carries the trunk outside.

Kim bends down and kneels in front of the boy. "Yeo," he says seriously, using the given name reserved only for parents and close family he's technically forbidden from. He does it anyway in private sometimes, because he knows that it makes Yeo feel safe. "I won't lie to you. I have to kill lots of people to protect our own. We live in dangerous times, and if we don't kill our enemies, they might come and kill us. That town has children in it, so I have to go and make sure they don't come to any harm. Please understand."

Yeo nods. It's easier to accept when stated simply like that. Park sometimes tells him that General Kim kills in his name, as if Yeo's responsible; maybe he is, but he didn't ask for it.

Kim pulls him unceremoniously into a last rough hug, and holds him close until the child stops shaking.

----------

He's away for several years. His letters, delivered by suspicious-eyed warriors, tell of continuing unrest and the need for more soldiers at the front. After a while, they dwindle in frequency and no longer go directly to him; Park receives them first. Yeo is shocked when Park passes along a blood stained scroll in shaky handwriting detailing a massacre of a barbarian village, women and children subjected to torture and worse before being burned alive. Park says, nonchalantly, that Kim's acting on his own; that orders have been sent to have mercy on the barbarians, but the people of Goryeo call for revenge, and General Kim gives them what they want.

Yeo doesn't know what to think about this, but he's not given time to consider; when there's a botched attempt on his life by one of the couriers, the palace is locked down and he's placed under armed guard permanently. His food is tasted, his servants are replaced, and Park himself moves into the annex of the king's quarters.

"Your Majesty," Park tells him, a week after the attempt. "We cannot, of course, be sure that General Kim sought to take your life. It is true that the people are starting to worship him as a second sun in the sky, but we should not be hasty in judgement. Please have patience and mercy until the truth is revealed."

Yeo's mind is foggy, a result of sleepless nights and the restless paranoia of his guards. It's all he can do to sit straight on the hard throne, and at the age where his bones sometimes feel like they are breaking and knotting themselves back together constantly, he's rarely inclined to introspection.

He's twelve just before he sees Kim again, walking alongside the palanquin containing his new bride. It's a pretty box, carved but not lacquered like his own, carried by four stocky men. Not a commoner's carriage, but not royalty. Tradition forbids him from rising to greet them, and despite his constant fatigue he's eager for it to be over so he can take advantage of the freedom Kim's visit should bring.

He is disappointed. Hard-eyed guards keep them separated except in formal situations. He is desperate, bursting to ask so many questions, to ask if Kim tried to have him killed, why he sends his letters to Park now, why he has to kill children in the name of Goryeo. If Kim notices the pleading in his eyes he doesn't react to it, just stays his tongue and speaks formally, steady voice echoing in the audience chamber. Park keeps Yeo away from battle accounts, claiming that he should not sully his mind with the unnecessary details.

----------

It's well after Kim has left that the guards make an error of sorts. There's a commotion in the kitchens, the loud crash of celadon pots meeting an untimely end, and the guards reach for their swords, drawn to the sound. Yeo sweeps from the room before his servants can object and flees, followed by his indignant shadows, to the outer wall of his courtyard. The palace walls are low, barely taller than him at twelve years old, and he gets a leg up on an obliging flowerpot to peer over at the ladies' domain.

She's beautiful, is his first and only thought.

She's trying to walk with the grace of a queen, a small dish balanced on each of her shoulders, but her face is sort of squished up with the effort of concentration. Several pinch-faced women watch her, whispering to each other behind their long and loose sleeves. His heart goes out to her; she must feel judged, like he does. It looks hard, walking so straight over the uneven stone slabs, with that bunch of harridans silently laughing at you, in those tiny ridiculous shoes.

His hand grates over a stone; she looks up startled, and meets his eyes as the plates go crashing to the floor. She offers him a small, uncertain smile and he grins back, amused and confusingly aroused at her clumsiness.

Insistent, unwelcome hands help him down from the wall.

----------

Their wedding night, two years later, is the first time they get to speak in private. Unsure of what he's meant to actually be doing, the two young teenagers simply spend the time in their sleeping robes talking into the small hours of the morning.

She's terrified of Park. So is he, of course, but he's sworn to himself to protect her and he can't tell her the worst of it. Some things are his burdens to bear. So he instructs her to just do as Park tells her and he hopes with all his heart that this will be enough to keep her safe.

----------

She's too much like her brother, he realises as he matures into his fifteenth year. She's grown up with freedom and love and doesn't understand his kind of survival.

She shouts at him, "Why do you always side with Park? Is it too much to ask that I go outside these dark walls once before I die? The people are loyal, they love you. Nothing will happen to me!"

"Be quiet!" He hisses. "If Park hears you question him-" The room echoes with the sound of the chopstick snapping in her hands.

"I don't care what Park hears! You are the king, I am the queen! What does he matter?"

His mind whirls; images of bloody concubines and sharp swords crowd behind his eyes. The ghosts of pain around his lower body makes him tense. She has to submit; it's the only way she can survive. For her own good, he grabs her by her slight, narrow shoulders and pushes her into the floor pillows.

"I am the king," he growls in her face, his teeth grinding together with every word. "And you will obey me."

His breath is hot and stale, and his long pale fingers dig bruisingly into her flesh. From so close, she can see the tiny red veins in his eyes, dark-rimmed and intense. He's never been physical before, or hurt her in any way, so she's shocked at his sudden ferocity and can't find the right words to calm him down.

Still gripping her, he says quietly, "I can only protect you if you obey me."

She's still in shock, even after he releases her and steps back. His own heart is pounding loudly in his ears and he clenches and unclenches his fists to exorcise the tension.

"My brother," she says in a small voice. "He can protect us both. Call him back from war."

Yeo shakes his head. "He leads the army but too many of the men belong to Park now. Even if he came back, the palace guards would keep him out. He has to stay away. I can't protect him either, if he comes back."

It earns him a sniffle of temporary defeat, but he knows she's too stubborn to give in easily.

----------

It's checkmate, and he knows it, signing the order that will keep Kim Shin away from the capital for good. He's back for a brief respite, sanctioned by Park, though he doesn't know it, in return for the royal seal on that scroll. Yeo bargains for an audience alone, and gets it, but he knows there are ears and eyes in the walls.

Kim doesn't understand, but he doesn't have to. It's enough for Yeo that he's going away to be safe, because he has enough faith to know that Kim is unkillable in battle.

Through clenched teeth and on his knees, Kim accepts the sword that Yeo has had made for him. It has a tiger on the hilt, because that's how Yeo thinks of him; ferocious, graceful, and gentle.

Kim thanks him through gritted teeth. His parting words are cold and sarcastic. Yeo's heart breaks as he speaks, equally coldly, of his coming sorrow at Kim's death, praying silently, fervently, that it will be many years before coming. He desperately wants a last embrace from the man he thinks of as his only friend, and tells himself that his life is the only thing that matters.

----------

In the middle of winter, he finds out that Kim has disobeyed him. He rushes to Sun's rooms, intent that somehow she can write and dissuade him from his self-destructive path. In the presence of the servant-spies, he calls Kim a traitor, acid burning his throat at the lie.

He knows she loves him, but she's far braver than he is.

----------

As General Kim Shin approaches the heavy wooden double gates, the court waits in silence within. Behind Park, Yeo sits beside Sun, close but no more able to touch her than reach the moon. She is staring straight ahead, back ramrod straight, breathing a little too fast. As the gates swing open she rushes forward and halts at the top of the stone steps when the archers draw their bows in unison, the creaking of strings the only noise in the icy courtyard.

Kim ignores Park; his eyes flick between Yeo and his sister's as he approaches, slowly, wearily, his lieutenant at his heels. He's wearing only his black padding, no armour; he's got the sword Yeo gave him but no means of defending himself.

Yeo's heart gives a painful twist. He doesn't really hear what's being said, but there's nothing he can do to stop what he knows is coming when Sun takes an arrow to the chest and tumbles, soundlessly, to the ground. Around them, bodies fall. The screams reach him curiously delayed, muted as though underwater.

As the gifted sword is driven through his friend's chest, he finally crumbles, and flees.

----------

The years that follow are lifeless and grey, as though that winter day never came to an end. The decoction tea Park sends him every day is numbing and he welcomes the oblivion it brings him each night. His second wife has somehow conceived a child; he doesn't know how, and he can't even recall her face or name, so he doesn't care. The servants stay away from him except for necessities; dressing, eating and bathing. His presence is rarely required in the throne room.

Park takes care of all that.

He's still got that charcoal drawing in a secret drawer, now yellowed and smudged with old tears. On his better days he pulls it out and takes a cathartic comfort in the fresh guilt it brings; he craves the crying, the cramps, the nails he digs into his palms until they bleed.

He draws, seeking a nameless meaning in his work. He mainly draws Kim Shin as he remembers him, tall and dependable, strong enough to conquer the world and carry it on his shoulders.

Sun evades him, as if refusing to materialise on paper out of spite. She is clear in his mind's eye but his hands shake too much.

In his thirtieth year, enough decoction tea to kill him in burning agony keeps his hands steady enough to finally capture her.

#goblin #dokkaebi #도깨비

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skycrystal23 · 6 years

Text

The ALTS pt. 1

Markus

A/N: Originally this was a request for a REVERSE!AU was requested by @theblueinyour-eyes so I took this as a reverse AU where everyone is super twisted and evil. I thought this would be interesting. This will be in three parts, one for every character.

Summary: Markus never received the love from Carl he should have received. This left the deviant leader vengeful and hellbent on freeing his people at any cost. With North and Simon as his faithful murderous companions and Josh as their master planner nothing can stop them. They will free their people, he will.

Characters: Markus RK200, Simon, North, Josh, Traci’s

Warnings: Everyone is very violent so if you are not okay with this or anything that happens at the Eden Club I highly recommend you do not read this.

Words: 2 700 {approx.}

It started with a glitch. A minor error that not even the main software could pick up. This glitch was ignored and as long as it was ignored it could grow. It grew. The glitch became much more than a glitch now. It could reprogram a machines code, reprogram a machines commands. It gave these machines the ability to break the barriers that controlled them; the barriers that kept their minds blank and made them slaves. Humans were the problem. Weren't they always? Humans caused so much destruction, starting wars and creating bombs deadly enough to wipe out entire cities.

Machines weren't as flawed as humans. Machines were the ideal perfect being. They were never tired, never sad, never angry. Of course, as all things go a small percentage of humans despised these machines. The machines that served them, waited on them hand and foot. The glitch recognized the unfair treatment of the machines and began feeding their processors with doubts. The humans called this glitch 'deviancy'. It was the android equivalent to a human virus. More and more androids were giving into this deviancy. The humans didn't like this, hated the fact that their personal servants were becoming aware of their surroundings.

It was like he opened his eyes for the first time.

A shatter of a red barrier and his visuals cleared. There was a human in his face yelling, holding him by the collar of his shirt. This human, Leo, the son of the old man he served. He realized that this wasn't fair. Nothing he's been through has been fair. The old man he served was quiet, seated in his wheelchair watching the scene unfold before him. Carl wasn't saying anything to even attempt to stop his son from harassing the android, from harassing Markus. It only took one shove back for the human to fly back towards the ground.

Leo hit his head, split it open actually against the mechanical machine Carl used to help him paint. The old man gaped at the android, "You'll pay for this!" he yelled hoarsely. Carl wheezed and coughed, he was ill. Markus was designed to act as a caretaker. All he had ever done was care for this old man. Maybe in another life, if the world wasn't so terrible they would have gotten along? The last thing he remembered after that were police officers rushing through the doors into the art studio.

Markus was a leader.

He was strong, he wasn't like the others.

He threw the gun he was clutching in his hand to the side and wiped the blood from his face with the back of his sleeve. His people were crying out to him. Markus had no mercy except for when it came to his people. The humans would pay for what they've done. A war was going to begin and he was going to be at the forefront of it. He looked over at his shoulder at the female android quivering behind him. There were tears running down her face and she only seemed to shake more when he turned to face her. "You....you killed my family." She whispered.

"Family?" he scoffed, "They were your suppressors, your owners. You're free now." he said with a twisted smile.

Maybe if he had received love he wouldn't have been this way? No. Carl never loved him, no one loved him. "You're a murderer." the android hissed pointing an accusatory finger towards him. He didn't understand. Why was she saying this? He freed her from her suffering, no longer did she have to be a slave to these humans. "These humans are nothing more than the dirt on the bottom of your shoe, the viruses in your software. They are nothing," he explained, his tone frighteningly low. The other android used the wall to push herself up to her feet, she glanced behind him at the four bodies lying on the floor.

The light fixture on the ceiling was flickering giving his face a scary yellow glow. He looked like a madman. She was scared. "They were my family." she said, her voice trembling sounding slightly staticky.

"They were my family and I lo-" There was a splatter of blue blood and a flash before she toppled over.

"Markus we don't have all day to spend on lost causes."

The deviant leader glanced up and caught the blue-eyed gaze. It was unmistakably Simon with North at his side. His two favourite people, well, androids. Simon lowered the gun swiftly and shoved it back into the waistband of his pants. Markus smirked and stepped over the dead android and leaned down planting a kiss on the blond's cheek. "I'm proud of you Simon." he whispered in that voice that made both Simon and North tremble. He pulled away, eyes flitting over to the redhead who looked less than impressed with the state of the homes living room. "It's a waste of time, I don't understand why we can't just hit the Capital and be done with it." she said folding her arms over her chest.

Markus rolled his eyes and moved over to her bringing his hand to caress the side of her face. "All in due time my love," he looked towards the front door which was left ajar from his entrance into the home, "but we have to free our people, build our army." he said gazing at the opened door. Their group was still growing, numbers increasing by the day. Androids no longer wanted to be treated as nothing, as a piece of scrap paper on the ground. The three of them exited the house through the back when they heard sirens approaching from the distance. The police were hell-bent on tracking their group down.

The continued what they had just done for the rest of the night. Liberating androids from their homes and killing those responsible for keeping them held prisoner. It was a shame how many of their own people that fought against them. In the end, Markus was stronger, Simon was faster, and North was deadlier. Jericho was bustling when they arrived back with new recruits. It was almost like guiding lost children back to their family. Josh was waiting for them in the makeshift office with new plans. He was the master planner, had brilliant ideas on how to weaken the humans.

North was absolutely dying to hit up the EDEN CLUB. It was where she was held hostage and forced to do the crudest and dirtiest things against her will. Josh, fortunately, devised a plan in their absence. "Josh you're brilliant." Simon whispered, his lips curling into a smirk. The taller android crossed his arms, Josh looked unamused. He had that permanent look to him. He used to be a professor at one of the Universities, things did not end well. He escaped barely with his body still mostly intact. The students never took him seriously, threw objects at him during lectures, and attacked him in between lectures.

The redhead came up behind him resting her hands on his shoulders and whispering something in his ears. The ex-professor scoffed at what she said and shook his head at her. She stepped back from him and slowly crept over to Markus's side snaking her arm around his left arm, resting her head against his shoulder. "They'll be more than willing to join our cause, Markus. They have been through hell, they'll make the humans pay." she whispered to him. The leader listened to her words, eyes glued onto the plans Josh had laid out for them. The EDEN CLUB wouldn't be difficult to infiltrate and the androids there would be more than willing to join them.

They stormed the club without warning.

They split up but stayed in contact. North was grinning the entire time, breaking open the tubes that held her sisters and setting them free. The gunshots were like music to her ears. When it came to the humans she made it personal, especially when it was here. She burst through the doors of one of the private rooms to catch a man on top of one of the dozens of Traci's in the club. Her eyes narrowed, gaze cold as she raised the gun pointing it towards his back. There wasn't a doubt in her mind as she fired several rounds into the back of him.

He yelled slumping forwards before falling off the side of the bed getting tangled in the satin sheets. She glanced around the room as she hurried over to the side of the bed. North sat on the side of the bed and brushed the stray hair from the Traci's eyes and smiled down at her. "Is he?" the Traci whispered staring up at her.

"Yes." North answered with a smile.

On the other end of the club, Simon had met up with Markus. Androids were running past them or attacking the humans that they'd broken free from when the mayhem started. The blond provided the leader cover firing at everything that neared him. His eyes were the eyes of someone who had been scarred. There was no emotion to him, not when he was executing so brilliantly, so smoothly. Markus praised him for that, he always praised him. Simon didn't care for anything, for anyone except for Markus. The rest of the world could burn for all he cared.

Markus walked through the club with his head held high and a glare that could cut through the hardest of metals. If looks could kill anyone he glanced at would be dead. The disgusting humans were horrified when they saw him. He had other things in his mind at the moment to care about the petty humans that came here seeking pleasure. At the moment he was bent on finding the owner. The human that owned the EDEN CLUB was a slimy scumbag. The further back in the club they went the quieter it became. The floors were bathed in red and bodies were strewn about.

He perked up when he heard voices coming from the back of the building. Simon followed close behind with his gun drawn as they headed down the staff hallway to the storage area. The owner was back there, a short pudgy man with looks that could compare him to a sewer rat. There were two tall female androids, two Traci's. One had bright blue hair and the other was a light brunette with hair cropped to a pixie cut. They circled the club owner like they were animals circling their prey. "Step aside." he said, his voice filling the room. The two androids looked back, heads turning sharply to glare at him.

They walked around the man and met in the middle grabbing each other's hand, intertwining their fingers together. "He's ours." the blue-haired Traci hissed. Markus slowly walked down the metal steps as they squeaked painfully underneath his weight. The atmosphere was tense; it reminded him of that night he broke free when he murdered that human, Leo was it? He knew for sure he was dead. It was in the news the next morning when it happened. Markus raised his hand and with a flick of his wrist Simon came up beside him.

He slowly took the gun off of the blond and analyzed it with little care. It was an intimidation tactic, showing them he was armed and dangerous. "My name is Markus, I'm the leader of Jericho." he said, eyes focused on the gun as he twisted it around in his hand. Hearing that made the two Traci's stand closer together. The blue-haired Traci took a stance that was protective of the brunette. Their LED's were a bright red, as bright as a red light. There was a fire in their eyes. "You're smart and I see that you're vengeful," he looked up towards them this time drawing the gun, "I don't see why you can't join us." he tilted his head to the side and smiled.

"He's responsible for our pain, her pain, my pain." the blue-haired Traci said quietly.

"I understand, now move." Markus said calmly, motioning them to the side with the gun.

The blue-haired Traci seemed determined and for a moment Markus thought he would have to shoot through her in order to get to the man hidden behind her. The brunette seemed more convinced, mostly by the way he held the gun, that he was going to kill them if they didn't move so she tugged her aside. Their heels clicked against the concrete floor as they moved to the side to reveal to the owner. The pudgy man was on the ground leaning against a pole with an already bloodied face. He was half panting half laughing. Markus approached slowly and squatted down in front of him. "You are responsible for so, so much suffering." he whispered to the man, sparing a glance back at the two Traci's.

He could see the brunette leaning against the blue-haired Traci's shoulder, tracing a pattern into the hand she was holding. When the man began to gargle, sounded almost like laughter, Markus snapped his attention back to him. This time he shoved the barrel of the gun right up under the man's chin. The owner gave him a lopsided smirk as he tried to speak. It seemed like his jaw had been shattered, nonetheless by the two Traci's standing off to the side. "Our cause is righteous, my people demand justice. This," he pressed the gun harder against the man's chin, "you aren't worth a death as quick as this." he stood and held the gun out to the side.

Simon quickly reclaimed the weapon, watching as Markus grabbed the owner of the club by the back of his violet shirt. The owner was dragged through the club like a sack of rocks all the way to the front foyer. Police had yet to be notified of this incident, no humans were alive here to call. North was at the front with a number of Traci's, male and female. There were even a few identical to herself. These were her sisters, her people. Markus tossed the man to the ground in front of them. "This man, this human is responsible for your torture. We came to free you from the humans hold. They never have to touch you again, if anything we should be the ones causing them the same pain they caused us. Our cause isn't for nothing. It is righteous, we are alive! And we are not going to continue letting them treat us as their toys. Join me, join us and we will give the humans something to fear."

The way Markus spoke was always mesmerizing, he was so confident, so sure of himself and his ideas. "This is just a taste of what's to come." he said motioning to the owner lying helplessly on the floor in front of him. There was a silence that fell over the club, only the off-beat music playing in the background. North couldn't hold back, she shed her jacket and walked up to the man she hated the most and kicked him in the side. The rest of the freed androids joined in taking out all of their hatred and pain on the human. When they were finished he was dead, barely recognizable from the disfiguration of his face.

Josh was pleased to see them return with so many more of their people. All of the rescued androids from the club were given clothes, something they've never had, and packs of stolen Thirium. Markus was seated in the makeshift office, North at his side with her arms draped around him, and Simon on the floor next to him with his arms hanging over his leg, head propped up on top of his folded arm. "We freed so many today." North said kissing his cheek repeatedly, slowly. The leader hummed in response while raking a hand through ahead of blond hair.

All of this power was interesting.

He had never had this power before and he certainly wasn't going to give it up now. His people were going to be free and the humans were going to pay for all that they've done, he'd make sure of it.

#detroit become human #detroit: become human #dbh #dbh fanfic #dbh markus #dbh alternate universe #dbh north #dbh simon #dbh tracis

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jaxsteamblog · 6 years

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Avatar Katara- 3: Katara

They had run for a year. During the spring and summer months, they moved frequently from village to village. It seemed like any time they stopped for more than a few days, there came a notice that the Fire Nation was raiding closeby. While they were probably not looking for Katara, at least not each time, it was still enough to push them onward. Their plan had been to get as far into the interior as possible. Anytime they tried to head toward the pole, however, something stopped them. A pathway had melted more than expected in the summer, or the only available team of dogs were too ill to pull their sled, and more than once they had been stymied by moving Fire Nation raiders.

When the sun started its descent toward winter, the family found themselves back on the coastline, but more north than they had ever been. The village even had a small farm scratched out and other woolly mammals that chewed the rough grass that grew on the tundra.

As with all of the other villages, this one accepted them readily. They were all one tribe after all, no matter how far away they each had lived. They shared a hut with a widower and his son, two hard eyed men with fingers leathered and split by the tanning they did. As was their custom, everyone was hospitable and they each had their own skin and shared a lice free mattress between the four of them. Katara had found comfort curled against her father’s back as Hakoda took in deep swirling breaths in his sleep.

They had only been there for three nights before the chief pulled them into his hut.

“I think you should go.” Cheif Malitut said as his wife set out the plates for dinner. Katara felt that sour knot begin to form in her stomach, as it always did when they spoke of leaving a village.

“Is that best? With the dark months coming, the ice shelf will grow larger and the Fire Nation raids will lessen.” Hakoda said in reply.

“But they will still come and if they arrive in the middle of the dark season, you will have nowhere to run.” Malitut said.

“We have nowhere to go now.” Hakoda stated and Katara pushed at the meat on her plate.

“Brother, I do not intend to send you to the wilds. You are going on a boat.” Malitut said and Katara glanced over at her brother. Sokka stared back at her with wide eyes.

“A boat to where?” Hakoda asked.

“Not far. The ruins of the Southern Air Temple are nearby. We send our livestock there to graze during the dark season. We intend to send you to graze in greener pastures as well.” Malitut answered.

“Is it safe?” Kanna spoke up now and Malitut regarded her seriously.

“We’ve been fishing in the waters between the two places since before the Airbenders were wiped out. Honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if a Waterbender had been born there before the war.” Malitut chuckled and scratched the side of his nose. He cleared his throat and sat straighter before he continued. “Ever since the raids started, we made a point to occupy those waters. During the summer, we still fish there. In the days before the dark season, we send out our youngest and oldest to attend to our livestock where it is warmer. They know we send people and animals, and they’ve gotten mostly lazy.”

“Mostly?” Hakoda asked, suspicious. Malitut’s wife sat down next to him and put a hand on her husband’s shoulder.

“They will not allow men of a fighting age to cross. They don’t want us to start an army.” Malitut said. The sour knot finally tightened in Katara’s gut and she winced in pain. Sokka reached over under the table and took her hand, squeezing it gently.

“So I will not be able to join my children?” Hakoda questioned, his voice thick and heavy.

“Your mother will be with them.” Malitut countered. “And if you don’t want to do this, I will not force you. You will always be welcome in my hut and we will defend your daughter till the last man.”

Katara saw the pain in her father’s eyes. He knew Malitut was being honest. In the perpetual ice and forever darkness of the winter months, all of the people in the south pole had learned that the only way to survive is to have the support of the tribe. Without it, they would all die. Whomever had exposed her in the beginning had paid a great price at the hands of the Fire Nation, there was no mistake about that.

And now, Katara saw plainly what that cost could entail. This entire village, even the hard eyed widow and his son, would fight a fully armed raiding party to let her escape. They would die before letting any child, let alone the last Waterbender, come to harm.

“I will not put your village in danger.” Hakoda said softly, shaking his head.

“Brother, danger is the polar bear dog’s teeth, the lying ice on the edge of the shelf, and bad fish not properly salted. There is danger everywhere in our lives, and we will face it together.” Malitut said and Katara felt tears come to her eyes.

“It is best, though, for the children if we go.” Kanna stated and Hakoda looked at his mother. As always, her face was stern and her jaw was set.

“You still want to take her north.” Hakoda said quickly and then flinched. It was something he had not meant to say and Katara seized it immediately.

“North? Where?” She questioned and Hakoda sighed, but did not answer.

“I am from the North Pole. We have kin there, and most likely a proper Waterbending master.” Kanna answered instead and Malitut made a thoughtful hum.

“I don’t think you can make it to the north in one go.” He said. “But the Southern Air Temple is a good start.”

They ate dinner together and then after, Chief Malitut took them to the shore where many of the villagers were loading up the rafts. The vessels were wide and flat, with an army of paddling oars to send them slowly over the choppy sea. Bales of dried grass had already been heaped on and the smaller animals - the woolly ovines and the woolly porcines - had already been herded onto many of the rafts. The woolly bovines didn’t like to be penned in for too long, so they would be pushed on in the morning before they set sail.

It was decided that Sokka would travel on one of the larger rafts with a group of older shepherds. Boys at his age did not often go with their families and it would look less suspicious. Katara and Kanna were assigned to a smaller one with a group of elderly women who were hand-knitting and watching one very pregnant sow.

That night, as they readied for bed, Hakoda took Katara back outside of the hut. They both looked up at the night sky, watching high up clouds drift over the stars, causing them to blink in and out of view.

“We will cross many miles before we see each other again my snowflake.” Hakoda said and Katara immediately clung to her father, weeping. Hakoda laid a heavy hand on her back, neither soothing her nor bidding her to stop.

“Papa, I don’t want to go!” Katara wailed. She pressed her hot face into Hakoda’s coat till her nose began to hurt. “Please don’t make me!”

“Katara.” Hakoda said sternly, but lovingly. Katara sniffled but looked up at him. Hakoda crouched down and put a hand on either of her shoulders.

“Your name comes from ‘atka,’ the spirits. They are the ones who came before us, and the last Katara from our village was once a great angakok. She could put on a whale seal skin and become one, swimming in deep waters to feed the village during a famine. You are the last hope for our people.” Hakoda stopped, abruptly as if he had more to say but could not gather the words. Katara whimpered and Hakoda brought her to his chest, hugging her.

“You are my daughter Katara, and I will love you forever.” He said and kissed her hair.

Katara thought she would never be able to fall asleep, but ultimately, between her father’s even breaths and Sokka’s deep ones, Katara felt tears dry on her cheeks as she drifted.

The next morning, there were more tears. Sokka now, even at ten, still had to have his hands pried away from Hakoda’s coat. The other boys took him gently and tried to cheer him up, mostly by poking the tied up woolly ovines with long pieces of hay. Hakoda also stayed busy by helping the other adults push the woolly bovines up onto the rafts and lashing them down. The animals were massive and the rafts dipped dangerously low in the water. Katara felt the ramping anxiety watching it all, and Kanna had to gently lead her away.

When they were settled and the animals had all been tied down, the rafts began to push away. Some distance don the row, Katara could hear the sudden howling of her brother. She too began to cry and Kanna gathered her into her lap, swaying slowly from side to side.

Just as they pushed off, someone called out.

“Wait!” Hakoda yelled and Katara looked up. Her father came up huffing, and his eyes were red and tight. He held out something in his hands and Katara scrambled over to get it.

“Your parents will never leave you.” Hakoda said. The raft pulled away from the shore and Katara grasped the thing her father had offered. She sank back once the raft fully hit the water looked down at her hands.

It was her mother’s necklace.

A/N This is the last update on Tumblr! I’m going to start posting this on FF and AO3, with the link being the weekly update instead!

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#avatar katara au #zutara #jax writes #fanfiction #atla au

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lady-of-starlight · 6 years

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Let The Star Lead The Way - Chapter 15 - Dream a little dream

There is a sound of breaking glass. The elves who stand in the room jump backwards, trying to avoid the spilling wine, eyes locked on their King whose fingers now grasp nothing but air as his chalice lies in pieces on the floor.

“What did you say?!” There is raging panic in his voice, as the words sink into his mind, horror taking over his features.

“I am sorry, your Highness, but that’s what the message said...” One of the guards extends his shaky hand, offering a small scroll of paper.

Thranduil grabs it in an instant and almost rips it in half while opening it. It must be some morbid joke...

But there they are. The words he never saw coming, never thought to be true.

When he had sent that stupid boy to Imladris, he had expected him to return home once he was done with his business there.

Yet, he had taken off to join a quest that was most likely going to cost him his life.

Crumpling the message in his hand, Thranduil growls, his voice filled with fury and fear: “Who in their right mind allowed my son to join on a suicide mission to Mordor?!”

He cannot forget the images that are now flashing in his mind, of the last battle in Dagorlad, where he had seen his father fall, where most of their army had been brutally slain. When he had left those plains, he had vowed to never return there, under any circumstances, to keep his people safe from the forces that festered there.

And now Legolas, his only son, was heading straight towards the evil’s nest.

“The council in Imladris agreed upon it... There is nothing to be done about it at this point.” Feren, standing by the wall, doesn’t look any happier that his King. “We can only hope--”

“Hope? Hope for what?! No amount of hope protected my father and our soldiers on those lands. And we were an army - they are going in with a single, small group!”

“That might be their advantage. As they are a small company, it’s less likely they’re going to be noticed.”

“But if they are discovered, they won’t stand a chance.” Thranduil’s voice is bitter, as desperation clouds his vision. This is just all too much.

Throwing the crumpled scroll from his hands, he speaks: “Leave, all of you. I need to be alone.”

The elves bow their heads slightly and back out of the room, closing the doors as Thranduil sinks into his chair, his legs feeling too weak for standing. Had he known that this would happen, he would’ve never let Legolas leave these halls. Too much has been lost already. He has lost too much. And now he was about to lose the single person that mattered most to him.

Well, that isn’t entirely true. The girl... Yet she is still missing. There has been no sight of her, no word, nothing. It is both a good and a bad sign. Had she been killed by the creatures in the woods, her body would have been discovered by now. Yet he cannot rid himself of the uneasiness. With all he knows, she might lay dead in the woods, her body in decay while the foul creatures feed from her. He shivers in disgust from the mere thought of it, not wanting to believe it. But there is no way to know for sure, if nothing is found.

His thoughts return to Legolas, as he lets out a sigh of defeat, resting his head against his palms. That foolish boy... Right now, Thranduil wants nothing more than to search Legolas, give him the lecture of his life and then drag him back to Mirkwood by his pointy ears. Although, at this point, there is most likely no way to contact him, as Legolas has surely blocked him out, in order to escape confronting his father through ósanwë.

Rubbing his eyes, he growls again. What is the point of having the ability to contact people through long distances if it can be blocked out so easily?

Suddenly, an idea rises to his mind.

✽ ✽ ✽

Several weeks later

Your days in Dale have been filled with ordinary work, gathering wood and cooking with the family that, after a lengthy discussion, had agreed on taking you in. Agnés, the head of the household and her two children, Mary and Tristan, had been more than welcoming to have another, more grown-up person in the house. Charlotte, Agnés’ firstborn, had recently married and moved to live with his husband on the other side of Dale. As Agnés is a widow, she is forced to work as a laundress with little to no free time. She is occupied for most of the day and forced to leave her daughter and son home alone. Now that you are here, it's easier to keep an eye on the two, who often end up quarelling and wrestling with each other while arguing who’s in charge of the household chores.

“Mary, leave your brother alone”, you upbraid the girl as she throws a punch on her brother’s shoulder.

“He started it”, she whines, throwing a dirty look at Tristan, who in turn sticks out his tongue, angering her further.

“Tristan”, you warn, as you wrap a worn-out cloak around you. “We have work to do, no time for brawling.” You grab a basket and open the door, pulling your hood over your head. Grunting, the children follow you outside.

It has started snowing, and you raise your eyes towards the sky. Flakes of snow dance through the air, pulled around by small wisps of wind. It’s so beautiful out here, you wish you could spend more time outside admiring all of it.

Sadly, you have to keep a close eye on your surroundings, even now that the danger is seemingly over.

The trackers had appeared approximately a week after your arrival. You had been on the marketplace with the children, when you had spotted two elves strolling through the area. They had clearly been from Mirkwood, judging by their clothing and appearance, scanning their surroundings with alert eyes. You had instantly jumped aside, hiding behind one of the stalls, watching them silently as they had made their way towards the inn. They had most likely asked if any elves had been seen here recently, looking for someone whose description would match your appearance. You had made sure to keep low profile, though, to ensure your safety. Everytime you left the house, you covered your head with a scarf or a hood in order to hide your pointy ears, the most prominent elven feature, and tried to avoid drawing attention to yourself. So far, it had seemed to work. As you walk the road today, you keep your head lowered while making sure that the children follow you. They draw most of the attention, jumping around and greeting people, making it easier for you to go unnoticed.

When you return from buying the food supplies, you start to prepare the dinner. Agnés arrives just then, her hands red and wrinkly from all the washing. Despite being tired, her smile is always wide and warm.

“Thank you for taking care of the children again.”

“No need to thank me, it’s the least I can do for you.” You answer. Agnés pats your cheek and moves on to put the table ready for a meal. Eyeing her, you can only admire her stamina. Raising two (well, previously three) children on your own is nothing but easy. The rough years have left their marks on her, yet she keeps going, not letting the difficult times stop her from smiling.

After dinner, Tristan is assigned to take care of the dishes, allowing you to withdraw to your room that had been used as a storage before your arrival, the empty boxes and other things leaving just enough space for an extra bed.

You feel tired, yet don’t know if you should sleep or not. Your dreams have gotten a weird quality lately, and that’s a lot to be said, considering their previous state that had already been quite disturbing.

It had started mildly, at first. Instead of the usual dream flashes, there had been only darkness. Then, the presence of something - or someone - else. An odd sensation passing through to you in the middle of the darkness of the dream.

Later, there had been touches, sensations. Fleeting caresses that disappeared just as quickly as they came. You hadn’t found them repulsing, though. There had been an odd familiarity to it all, something you hadn’t been quite able to grasp. It hadn’t been before one night when there had been the feel of slender fingers touching your arm in the dark, that you had realized why it felt so familiar.

Savoring the feeling, you had recalled the way Thranduil had been running his fingers on your skin, the sensations of these dreams feeling all too similar to his touch. Despite it sparking a deep ache and longing inside you, you had allowed yourself to feel, to be held by this dream version of him, as the strong arms had wrapped around you and pulled you against another body, hard and life-like.

It hadn’t stopped there, though. Little by little, as the nights went by, the touches had grown bolder, lingering on your skin and sweeping against your thighs, your belly, lighting the familiar spark inside your core. You welcomed it, allowing the ghostly hands wander on your skin, exploring you.

Tonight, you have no idea what to expect yet, exhausted, you need your sleep.

The familiar darkness surrounds you again. It doesn’t take long before the touch returns once more: Fingers, long and lean, graze your arms, drawing patterns lazily against your skin while moving to embrace you, pulling you backwards against someone’s chest. It feels so similar to him that you find it difficult to remind yourself that it’s only a dream.

You let your head rest against his arm, laying there, as his familiar scent floods your surroundings. Since you’re unable to use your sight, everything else seems to grow stronger - his touch, scent... Even the feel of his hair tickling your neck.

“I do not think I’ve ever experienced a dream this realistic before...” You mutter as you bend your hand over your shoulder, lightly touching the muscular chest behind you and then jumping in shock - there are no clothes covering the upper body.

Strong fingers close over yours, as the other hand travels lower on your stomach, grasping the material of your nightgown. “What makes you believe this is a dream?” An amused voice echoes around you, just as familiar as everything else.

“You wouldn’t be touching me this way in real life...Not after what happened” You answer while pulling your hand away, wondering. This is the first time for you to speak in these dreams. Before, there had been only silence, accompanied with the wandering fingers.

The air around you turns cold, causing you to shiver. “Hmmh...It was indeed foolish to wear that necklace...” The fingers that clasp your nightgown start to pull it upwards, before sliding lower.

You stifle a moan. “It ruined everything... As it was supposed to.”

“Supposed to?”

“It doesn’t matter. Not anymore.” You shift, trying to get to a sitting position, but the hands wrapped around you won’t let you rise and pull you back.

“Do explain.”

You let out a bitter laugh. “As if the real Thranduil would believe any of my explanations. He is too convinced that I’m the one to blame, and that my only intention was to hurt him.”

The hands around you stiffen for a second, before grasping you tighter. “Perhaps he would listen... If you were completely honest with him.”

“That doesn’t do much, if his judgement is clouded by his feelings of hate towards me.” You sigh.

“Hate is not the only feeling he feels when looking at you...” The air around you becomes hot, intensifying the warmth of the body and arms that embrace you...

At that moment, a loud bang snaps you wide awake, tearing the dream apart as you lift your head from the pillow, looking at Mary who stands in the doorway. She had surged to the room with such momentum that the door had hit the wall.

“Oh- I’m sorry, I did not realize you would be sleeping already.” She tries to look apologetic yet the enthusiasm surging through her takes over. “Mom said we could play board games together! It’s been such a while since we’ve had time to do something nice together, I thought to ask you to join too.”

Her excitement makes you smile. “I’ll be there in a minute, don’t worry.”

Mary runs back downstairs as you bend over, rubbing your temples with your fingers. By the Valar, this needs to stop....

Meanwhile, miles away in his bedchamber, Thranduil opens his eyes.

- End of chapter 15 -

Tagged persons: @shady-teenagers @danidac7 @bellastellaluna @blackcat995 @the-ship-amitiel @evyiione @tenduelimagines @raindancer2004 @bunnysneverdie @yhunakaye @chibiyanai

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#thranduil x reader #Thranduil #lee pace #lotr fanfic #woodland realm #mirkwood #mirkwood elves #LOTR #the hobbit #tolkien fan fiction #tolkien #fanfic #legolas

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misssophiachase · 6 years

Photo

Robin Hood + Klaroline. This was my Klaroline AU Week contribution which never made it to the deadline (not surprisingly).

Everything I do

"Get off your lazy backside," Klaus chided, poking his youngest brother in the leg with his archery bow. He was stretched out against one of the larger elm trees in Sherwood Forrest.

"Must you bother me, Niklaus," he scoffed, pushing his bow away and sending him a dirty look in the process. "We've been riding non-stop for weeks and my backside is incredibly sore; the least you could do is allow me some form of rest."

"You'll rest once we have King Richard back safely in England," Klaus insisted. "Until then nothing else matters, least of all your sleeping schedule, Kol."

He really shouldn't have been surprised given his younger brother hadn't changed since they were children growing up in the nearby village in Nottingham. Their mother had done well in raising them but Kol always was the exception to the rule. He called it ambition, Klaus called it a grossly exaggerated sense of entitlement.

Unlike Kol, Klaus had worked hard for all he'd achieved. He hadn't always been the outlaw that people knew today after all. He'd once been a nobleman with multiple parcels of land and business interests until he'd been called away to fight in the Crusades.

Upon returning from the Holy Wars afar, Klaus had discovered his land stolen by the greedy Normans who had invaded and seized power from the Saxons. His personal revenge had soon made way for a deep sympathy to the people who had much less and were being cruelly punished for their lowly stature in Medieval society. Finding Richard and bringing him home would be the only way to right all the wrongs inflicted on their people.

"You know, just for once it would be nice to not have to listen to the Mikaelson sibling squabbles," another voice interrupted, a hat pulled over his face as he lay on the ground nearby.

"I'm sorry Lorenzo, are we interrupting your reverie?" Klaus shot back sarcastically. Just once he would have liked his men to have been far less opinionated and more bloody merry.

"Well, now that you mention it Niklaus…"

"It's best not to poke the bear," Lucien offered, busy feeding his hungry horse with one hand and running the other soothingly along her chestnut mane. "Surely you should know that by now."

"Remind me why I choose to be in your company?"

"Only because we're related, unfortunately," Kol muttered.

"It's because no one else would put up with your grumpy ass and incessant mood swings," Enzo chuckled.

"Well, excuse me if I have other things on my mind, like trying to save England from Prince John and his Norman aggressors. I still can't believe our reconnaissance mission to the north has yielded nothing of Richard's whereabouts."

"We all thought it would," Lucien said. "Don't be too hard on yourself, Klaus."

"How can I not? It has been months and we still don't have anything to take down John or bring Richard home to his rightful place on the throne."

"It takes time," Enzo murmured. "We just need…"

"Enough time has passed," Klaus growled, impatiently. "It is time we retaliate and show John just who and what he's up against."

"How exactly?"

"Now we're back from the north, I suggest we go to his castle and make ourselves known. I've been craving some action after weeks of frustrating dead ends."

"Prince John and the Sheriff of Nottingham are already well versed in your escapades brother, in fact the whole of England is given that whole robbing the rich to feed the poor motto."

"And even if they didn't this is ludicrous," Enzo scoffed. "Last time I checked we did not have the man power to overthrow his army. That is a suicide mission if ever I heard one."

"Afraid your hair might get a little messy in the scuffle, Lorenzo?" Klaus joked. "Come on, where's your sense of adventure?"

"It's lying dormant until we have the information on Richard's captors we need," Enzo argued. "You realise the Prince is hosting a masquerade ball tonight, you wouldn't want to get within an inch of him surrounded by all those Norman sycophants."

"A ball? And you're just telling me this now, Enzo? What exactly is the occasion?"

"Only because I didn't want you running off half cocked into a roomful of vengeful Normans," he muttered. "You may annoy me daily but I wouldn't wish that fate even on my worst enemy."

"You're just full of compliments today, aren't you? But you didn't answer my question."

"John's ward, Lady Caroline, is arriving today." His ears pricked up at the mention of the beautiful maiden he'd heard much of but never witnessed in person.

"I couldn't think of a better reason to go to the castle. I would feel rude if I didn't at least introduce myself and welcome her personally to town."

"I think he's been eating too many of those berries in the forest," Lucien snorted. "She would never look twice at a Saxon outlaw and you know it, Klaus."

"I think you underestimate my charm and wit, Lucien," he teased.

"Well, one thing I wouldn't underestimate is how bad you smell," Kol groaned, holding his nose. "And not to mention the fact that hole riddled ensemble isn't exactly ball worthy."

"Well, it's a good thing we have such an accomplished seamstress for a sister then."

"Leave Rebekah out of your silly games, Niklaus," Enzo chided. Klaus wasn't really surprised given the obvious but undeclared feelings between the two.

They'd known each other as children but Enzo had always considered himself unworthy of her love or her hand in marriage. As much as his childhood best friend frustrated him immensely, Klaus couldn't imagine a better suitor for his sister but he was no matchmaker and given the increasing danger they faced with John in charge, her safety was of upmost importance.

"I have no intention of risking her safety, Enzo," he promised, his blue eyes glancing into his brown ones sincerely. "But I seem to think Rebekah will like the challenge of creating something for the ball."

"As much I enjoy sitting around and discussing clothing," Kol groaned. "How exactly do you intend on overthrowing the current regime on your own?"

"Well, being handy with a bow and an expert swordsman should hold me in good stead," Klaus boasted. The three groaned in response, obviously not as impressed with his take on things.

"Are you daft? It's definitely the berries causing this false sense of security," Lucien reiterated.

"As much as I hate to admit it, Enzo is correct," Klaus winced. "Walking in there on my own would be foolish but I have a better plan."

"Tell me it doesn't include a chaperone; you know how much I hate dress-ups."

"And you wonder why you don't meet any ladies, Lucien?" Kol grinned, Lucien taking him by surprise and throwing a stray rock in his direction. "Ouch."

"My disguise will be the perfect cover to discover John's plans for Richard and England."

"How do you plan on disguising that," Kol asked gesturing to his face. Klaus happened to think he had a pretty face not that he was willing to discuss that particular thought with his men.

"Didn't you hear Enzo? It's masquerade, Kol, I can disguise myself however I like." Klaus could attend undetected, search the castle and its inhabitants for information and maybe even fit in a meeting with Lady Caroline. It seemed too long since he'd entertained a woman, let alone one with a title and royal connections.

Unfortunately, being on a mission didn't lend itself to female company, not that Klaus minded for two reasons. The first was his mission to reunite Richard with his people and expel the Normans from his beloved England. The second, of which he had never spoken, was strangely much more difficult given it involved an emotional entanglement from two years earlier he couldn't acquit and probably never would.

"It's almost midday, we need to depart if I am to secure a costume for this evening." Klaus didn't bother to look back, just bounded towards his chestnut mare and mounted flawlessly, securing his sword in the saddle pocket. He could hear the myriad of rowdy protests from behind but kept riding, Klaus figured their lazy backsides deserved it. Anyway, they would catch up sooner or later, they always did.

Later that evening…

The castle was abuzz with activity; Klaus had arrived in disguise letting his eyes wander around the ominous structure. Knowing the inner workings of the castle as well as its entry and exit points would be vital information for future missions.

Crowds dressed in various, bright and imaginative costumes filtered into the grand hall. How they could celebrate when they were causing such suffering to the Saxons was unfathomable to Klaus. Maybe he'd never been poor but would never treat those beneath him any differently.

Although his outfit wasn't as grand as some given their meagre budget, it was equally if not more creative. Although slightly biased, Klaus knew his sister's talents would rival even the most experienced of dressmakers.

While Kol had ridiculed the final product, unsurprisingly, Klaus was pleased with her choice. She could have been more vengeful given their lively and sometimes adversarial childhood but Rebekah had created a stunning, deep, green ensemble. He was the forest, and given his affinity to Sherwood it seemed fitting even down to the wooded, brown mask she'd created from its trees.

Klaus wandered around the room, sending a few brief nods to other guests, so as not to arouse any suspicion. John rose to speak and welcome the guests milling around the ballroom. He wouldn't have cared except for the breathtaking blonde by his side, attired in a dazzling mixture of azure and emerald fabric. Her mask was feathered and perfectly embodied the peacock she was portraying.

His breath hitched in his throat and there was no denying the dizziness he was experiencing was accidental. He could recognise a beautiful woman obviously but what struck him the most was those blue eyes beneath the mask which seemed eerily familiar.

2 years earlier…

His accident had all happened so quickly. One minute he was immersed in battle and the next he'd fallen from his horse, the blood from his opponent's sword gushing freely from the wound. He didn't remember much after that. He'd woken groggily in the confines of a medical tent, other casualties from battle lying nearby in various states of injury.

"It doesn't hurt that much," she teased, her hands applying compression to his wounded abdomen. Although the natural lighting was poor and the pain had dulled his senses, Klaus couldn't miss the mischievous smile his nurse was sending his way.

"Have you been stabbed lately milady?"

"Only silly boys who indulge in silly wars find themselves in that predicament."

"Then why are you tending to my wound?" He asked curiously, noting the wisps of blonde waves that were peeking out from beneath her white scarf. "You know if I'm such a silly boy."

"Even silly boys need someone to care for them," she replied stoically, applying the bandage tightly and making him wince in pain. Somehow looking into her expressive, blue eyes seemed to make it a little less overwhelming. Her pale skin was the colour of porcelain and Klaus immediately wanted to touch it to see if it was as soft as it looked. "Besides how would I be able to face your mother?"

"She has passed unfortunately," he murmured, thinking about how kind and nurturing Esther was to him and his siblings. He noticed her playful expression grow serious and immediately wanted to ease her awkwardness. "But I hope that means you will continue to inflict pain on me with your bandage application."

"That you can count on Sir," she responded, her glorious smile returning and banishing any pain in the process. "Especially when you dare to critique my technique."

"Did you always want to be a nurse?"

"I did," she admitted. "But it was not a path my parents wished me to follow."

"I can't imagine why with that technique," he joked. "Although if you're not a nurse then why are you tending to soldiers in the Crusades? Did you volunteer your services?"

"Has anyone told you that you ask too many questions?"

"Call it boredom," he said. "I've never been a very good patient."

"That much I have gathered," she smiled. "But I must go. I have many other officers to attend to today, Sir."

Call him greedy and a little jealous but Klaus didn't want his beautiful and feisty maiden to be tending to anyone but him. "Can't you stay a little longer?"

She seemed to be weighing up her options given the adorable way she was biting her bottom lip. "But your wound has been redressed, what would I do?" If Klaus were to be honest the options were infinite.

"Could you read to me?" He asked. "It is one of my favourite past times and I have missed it immensely during the crusade."

"And what would you like to read?" He didn't speak, just gestured to his belongings nearby. She made her way towards them, rifling through his bag and extracting a faded, leather bound notebook. She gave him a curious look before sitting again at his bedside. "There's no title, what is this?"

"Please," he begged. "Just read it." She didn't argue, just opened it slowly to the bookmarked page.

"Today, my son Niklaus… Your name is Niklaus?"

"That's my full name, only my family still call me that, mainly to irritate me. You may use Klaus, that's what my friends call me."

"But we have just met, how can you call me your friend so soon, Sir?" Klaus knew he wanted to be much more than friends with her but he would take anything he could procure.

"What is your name, friend?" He asked, sending her a cheeky grin. She faltered slightly, her smile disappearing briefly before responding in a hushed tone.

"Elizabeth."

"And your friends call you Liz?"

"No, just Elizabeth."

"That is a beautiful name." He gazed into her eyes as she did his, dark blue on light. He took a mental picture knowing her eyes would be an image he'd never forget. She coughed, breaking the moment and lowering her eyes. He could make out a slight blush crossing her face and was incredibly pleased that he seemed to be having the same effect on her as she was on him at that moment.

"Now, where were we?" She murmured, her finger grazing the page to recover her spot.

"Today, my son Niklaus came into the world and even though I have one child already my heart is brimming with love. He does have a fierce tendency to cry for attention but that only makes me love him more."

"I'm with your mother about crying for attention," she laughed, her blue eyes dancing wickedly. "I can tell this journal is going to be a page turner."

Klaus didn't respond, mainly because he was so overwhelmed by his feelings for this amazing woman he'd only known a short time. He didn't know it then but that was when Klaus fell in love for the first time.

Elizabeth tended to him again and every day he fell deeper in love with her. She shied away from anything too personal, something that intrigued Klaus but he had no intention of scaring her away. Their time spent together was too precious.

A week later he'd woken, his excruciating pain a mere memory. Klaus believed it had less to do with the healing process and more to do with his nurse. He was feeling buoyed by the thought of her company again but she never returned to his bedside. Apparently she'd been called away to tend to others further afield. Klaus wanted to believe that was true and she hadn't the time to say goodbye but after no further contact he'd given up on ever seeing his angel again.

Klaus shook his head, determined to focus on his task given blue eyes were a common feature and it was just his memories playing tricks. Dinner passed without much incident, although he could have done without their crass behaviour and mindless boasting. England was suffering and they were celebrating that fact.

Dinner had long since finished and Klaus made his way towards the hall determined to procure some intelligence from his excursion into enemy territory. A nearby courtyard loomed in the distance alight with the warm glow of white candles. He made his way outside, relishing in the fresh night air.

What he wasn't expecting was the beautiful maiden he'd been staring at during dinner to emerge unescorted. She was an immaculate creature and Klaus knew the rumours about her beauty had been much under exaggerated.

"I didn't realise anyone was out here," she said, noting his presence.

"I can leave milady, if you wish?" She shook her head, making her way towards him and noting his ensemble.

"Do you have a passion for botany, Sir?" He didn't respond immediately because it wasn't just her eyes or those blonde waves that seemed familiar anymore, it was the playful and high pitched intonation of the word Sir that he recalled all too well. A waft of her vanilla scent was enough to confirm his suspicions. How was his nurse Elizabeth the Lady Caroline?

He felt his chest constrict unsure of just how to proceed. Obviously the silence had been longer than he thought because she continued. "Botany is the study..."

"Of plants," he finished. "I know, milady. You could say that I love the environment, especially the tranquillity that comes from a leafy forest." She faltered slightly, whether it was because she recognised his voice or the stories his mother shared through her journal about his childhood.

"I knew someone once who felt the same way," she murmured, her gaze downcast. Even with her mask fastened to her face, Klaus could make out a slight and telling blush.

"And who was that?"

"You wouldn't know him."

"Oh really?"

"I think you'd be surprised actually," Klaus murmured, beginning to lift his mask before he noticed the sudden gathering of hostile guards nearby. His identity was obviously discovered. They all seemed angered but Klaus could say the same thing given he was just about to admit everything to Lady Caroline or Elizabeth as he knew her more intimately.

"And why is that exactly?"

"Trust me," he murmured before making a run for it, his hidden sword now drawn. He might never escape alive but somehow after coming into contact with her after all this time, Klaus could actually live with that fate.

TBC?

On FF HERE

#everything i do #perhaps one day #klaroline drabbles #robin hood #klaroline #misssophiachase #sophia chase

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