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Death & Dowries

Summary: The Iron Bank of Braavos will always have its due. But dowries make things…complicated and the pride of men knows no bounds. A bargain is struck between a Keyholder of the Iron Bank and Tywin Lannister and the life of an adventurous woman is suddenly uprooted as she is made the newest Lady of Casterly Rock. But the wedding of King Joffrey Baratheon and Lady Margaery Tyrell brings a familiar face to King’s Landing and a Braavosi woman always has a backup plan.

Pairing: Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand/F!Reader, (arranged) Tywin Lannister/F!Reader, Oberyn Martell/Ellaria Sand

WARNINGS: Spousal abuse, death, murder, lite smut, my over-use of italics, mentions of child birth and babies (please DO NOT read if any of this will upset you)

Word Count: 12.1k (heavy sigh)

(banner by my love @starlight-starwrites )

A/N: The italics denote the “present” time. Circa Season 7 Episode 7. I’m going to throw a lot of ASOIAF lore at you so, if you have ANY questions, please just ask!

You can read this on Ao3, if you prefer!

She had hoped to never step foot into this wretched city again. But Cersei had called and she knew she must answer to keep the unstable queen from looking too closely. And, of course, she wanted to see a dragon.

What she did not expect to see was a familiar shade of yellow and orange while a recognizable laugh rang in the tense air. She froze at the entrance and her handmaiden smacked into her back. “I am so sorry, my lady,” she whispered.

The sudden noise drew attention and soon Oberyn and Ellaria were standing from their seats, kind eyes locked on her.

Westeros was nothing that her father had promised when he set her on the ship and sent her away from home. It was supposed to be exciting and new and beautiful and everything she wanted in a home. Instead, she had been gifted a cold castle filled with portraits of a woman who she was supposed to be replacing and an old man for a betrothed.

But even the Keyholders of the Iron Bank of Braavos knew of Tywin Lannister. "He is a powerful man. You will be well-cared for and loved by the people you govern, my sweet," her father said, his smile not quite touching his eyes. "That is all I want for you."

It was a lie. A pretty lie, but a lie all the same. Her father and a handful of other Keyholders all had daughters of the marrying age and had created a terrible, unspoken game between them. Everything had a price. Especially to the men and women who controlled the keys to the Iron Bank.

Dowries for their daughters were boasted and bartered. Whomever paid the most, bragged that their line was as coveted as a princess.

It was all ridiculous. A stupid game. Especially for people who usually wanted to protect their coin.

Y/N was thankful she had no sisters so that they would not be subjected to this prick-measuring game, too.

Whispers had spread through Braavos when her father had set her betrothal.

It was a dowry worthy of four princesses of old, surely.

But Tywin Lannister would not see a single coin.

An almost flawless plan, Y/N thought. Her father would pay half of the Iron Throne's debts to the Bank in exchange for Y/N becoming the new Lady of Casterly Rock. For as large as her dowry was, Y/N was only slightly amused at how small her wedding festivities were when she arrived at King’s Landing. A handful of people, mostly Lannisters and their bannermen, and the three handmaidens she had brought with her from Braavos. The furnishings were fine and the food was almost salted correctly but it was small. Tywin wrapped her in a crimson red cloak and kissed her with unmoving lips and she had become Lady Y/N Lannister, a lion of the rock.

And that was it. Little fanfare and her life was completely uprooted. And as the days continued to pass, she doubted she would ever find a bit of happiness in her new station.

She had to keep herself from yawning as Tywin rutted above her, grunting like an old boar. But he finished soon enough and rolled off of her and grabbed his robe. As soon as it was fastened around his waist, he strode out of her chambers without a look back.

The door opened soon after and her small horde of handmaidens quickly entered, already bringing her a steaming pot of tea and a balm for her skin where her lord husband always clutched too tight.

She had given up on telling him it hurt after the first fortnight and considered herself at least a little lucky that the old man still knew how to move his hips.

“How do you fare, my lady?” One handmaiden asked in the lilting tongue of the Braavosi dialect of High Valyrian. She quickly pressed a cup of tea into Y/N’s hands.

“Better, now that you are all here with me.”

One took to changing the bed coverings and another helped her stand and quickly began to wash her skin with steaming water scented with roses. The tea was bitter on her tongue but she quickly drank it and let another handmaiden take the empty cup from her hand as soon as it was finished.

“Have the kitchen maids asked what the tea is again?”

“Not since we told them it was a magical potion to guarantee a boy and that it was filled with the blood of a calf and ash from the Doom.” One of them smiled, remembering how the nosey maids nearly fainted at the sound of their lie. It was an ingenious ruse, if she was being honest. Y/N knew that most of the servants in Casterly Rock reported to Tywin about her movements and the company she kept. Thinking she was a witch who relied on bloodmagic easily discounted anything they whispered to her lord husband. And it also kept them from truly investigating her tea—not that anyone on this stupid continent would be able to name it anyway. The root her handmaids boiled for her every time Tywin visited her chamber was not anything magical or arcane.

It was an old recipe from the famed pleasure houses of Braavos—to prevent pregnancy. And it was working remarkably well. The maester had confirmed her fertility so she knew Tywin was probably doubting his own ability as the months continued to trickle by and she was yet to become pregnant. The thought made her laugh. As did the truth that Tywin would never get he had anticipated with the betrothal agreement he had signed with her father. She had decided that as soon as he had sneered at her on their wedding night and said, “I suppose you will do,” before taking what he needed from her body without care for her at all. And whenever he visited her bed, his hands were always too tight, too rough and would not relent even when tears pricked at her eyes and slid down her cheeks. He never stopped. He never cared. Even when his dislike of her as a person evolved to curling his hands into her arms and leaving her with swollen eyes and tender skin. He always made sure they were alone when he raised his hands to her, but he seemed fond of doing so whenever she ever disagreed with him.

She knew that other Keyholders thought her father foolish for her hefty dowry—a steep price to pay for pride. But her mother once said that while blood will open the door, clout will get you a seat at the table.

Her father had the gold to spare, she supposed. And she always wanted a kingdom of her own.

Now…now one was finally within her grasp. Even if it came with such a poor consort. That was what she told herself, anyway.

Just as she was dressed for the day, her chamber door opened again and a servant strode in, eyes darting around the gaggle of women as if searching for something to report. His mouth opened and he informed them all that Lord Tywin had been called to the Riverlands and left her in charge of Casterly Rock. She had heard whispers of the War of the Five Kings from high and lowborn alike. It was a shame that she was kept so far from the action she was so accustomed to at least witnessing with a spyglass from her chamber windows. The Keyholders often had a stake in the wars fought around Westeros and Essos. Having allies in positions of power meant they were in positions of power—and funding their successes meant that they had bargaining chips in collecting debts. Plus interest.

She almost smiled. Finally, a bit of intrigue.

Y/N took her seat under the canopy after dismissing her handmaidens and guards, telling them to treat themselves to a well-earned drink at a nearby inn as she noticed the incoming crowd of Dothraki, ‘escorted’ by a band of knights. She only let her eyes move to see Oberyn and Ellaria, the Dornish envoy, for a moment. Their reaction to her arrival had been just as unexpected as their presence. Dangerous. Dangerous.

This whole game was dangerous. And now the King in the North and the Dragon Queen had called for a temporary armistice for some strange reason.

“They tell me that the Westerlands have been flourishing.”

The voice at her side almost had her jumping. It was Tyrion, looking far more bristled than the last time she had seen him, when he had been carted away to the Black Cells. “Yes, well. Apparently I’m quite suited for the task.”

Tyrion’s answering smile was small and he nodded just once. “Yes, I suppose my father would have taught you well-”

“He had nothing to do with it.”

Casterly Rock was a delight to have to herself. Even the servants who would whisper her movements into her lord husband’s ear seemed to breathe a sigh of relief when each raven stated Tywin would be away from his seat of power for another fortnight and then another and another. When the Westerlands were being raided by Northmen, led by the adorably pugnacious King Robb Stark, she was happy to open the gates to allow some of the children and ladies of sworn houses to take shelter in the fortress and to give food and water to the knights and bannermen who made camp outside their walls before setting off toward battle.

She arranged marriages between houses and presided over small disagreements brought before her to settle. It reminded her of the time she spent with her dearest friend Bellegere at her famed pleasure house in Braavos and how Bellegere managed each and every bit of everything under her roof and made it all seem so effortless.

That was her kingdom.

And now Casterly Rock was Y/N’s, and she would let no one take it from her.

No one.

“You are happy, my lady,” one of her handmaidens said as they retired for the night. It had been two moons since Tywin had left her to play at war. “I have not seen you this happy since before we left Braavos.”

Y/N hummed and let her wipe the day’s dirt from her skin with a roll of silk dampened with cold cream. “I suppose I should start finding some sort of happiness, no?” She sighed. “Are you happy here?”

Her handmaidens nodded, varying degrees of smiles on their faces. “You know that we had no happiness in Braavos. You have given us hope, just as you have given these strange people hope, too.” They helped her into her sleeping gown and Y/N remembered the places she had plucked her handmaidens from. Cruel noble homes, cruel lowborn homes, temples with dark corners, merchant shops filled with bright tapestries, pleasure houses. Each of them found a new place beside Y/N. And she found friends with them, security and safety.

“We can find a home here,” Y/N whispered to each of them before bidding them goodnight. And she hoped it was true. She needed it to be true.

When the raven came, telling her to come to King’s Landing, she was hesitant to pack her trunks and arrange for the castellan to oversee the governance of Casterly Rock. But she had duties. And, despite knowing she was actively keeping herself from completing one of them, she knew she could not refuse Tywin Lannister. Especially after the Realm (or at least part of it) was hailing him as a hero for breaking the siege on King’s Landing and managing to gain the allegiance of the Reach—such a stupid name for a kingdom—for the Crown. So, she had her trunks packed with her fine gowns and made sure the guests she had allowed to stay in Casterly Rock would be looked after before having the traveling party readied for the trek across the continent. One of the knights, a man who reeked of strongwine and needed to trim his beard, spoke animatedly about the battles Tywin won across the Westerlands and Riverlands on behalf of his grandson, Joffrey. “For the betterment of the Realm,” the knight would finish each story. She doubted it. But she pretended to listen anyway. Y/N truly did not care to listen to the finite details or commit most of them to memory. What she did, however, notice was the distinct smell of piss and soured bread as soon as her wheelhouse and travelling party crested the hill just outside the city gates after several weeks of being confined to the wheelhouse or stuffy inn rooms.

“My lady,” one of her handmaiden’s muttered, “we are going to suffocate.”

Y/N patted her hand with a sigh before spilling a bit of perfume onto each of their kerchiefs to hold under their noses. “Perhaps they will have a garden where we can escape the stench.”

When they arrived at the Red Keep—and such an unimaginative name—she was almost pleased to see that most of the royal family and quite a few courtiers and servants had come to welcome them. Cersei, a face she knew well from the many portraits in the halls of Casterly Rock, only offered a quick sneer and an insincere, “welcome, Lady Lannister, to King’s Landing,” before she quickly left. Joffrey, the brat-boy-king if the whispers were true, looked suspiciously like his mother and also offered a sneer. Tommen was far kinder and offered to show her to her chambers but she declined, knowing that having a prince show her around like a servant would only gain her more ire from the queen dowager.

And then that left…

“Lady Stark,” Y/N said, stepping to the redhead’s side. Yes, she knew of Sansa Stark. The sad little Northern girl who saw her father’s head put on a spike—and apparently one of her brothers was one of the Five Kings running around causing amuck. How fun.

The younger girl curtseyed and murmured a soft hello. “I hope you find the capitol pleasing, my lady.”

She hummed and reached out to take Sansa’s and, wrapping it into the crook of her arm. “I doubt I will. But I shall like it if we were to become friends.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered across Y/N’s face and then to the small hoard of handmaidens behind her. “Whatever you wish, my lady.”

Weeks trickled by and Y/N found herself actually enjoying the company of the little wolf pup. She detested the Lannisters and had a quick but sweet wit when she was not in the company of Cersei or Joffrey who seemed to terrify her to no end. Y/N found it funny that Cersei assumed she would report anything and everything Sansa did while in her company. “What would you have her do other than enjoy a bit of tea and some lemon cakes? It is not as if you have given her duties beyond looking pretty.” Her handmaidens even told her that Cersei requested they report back anything they heard Sansa say.

“The poor girl,” they mused. “She is alone here.”

“Yes,” Y/N agreed, “and so are we.” And they were. They were still whispered about by servants and courtiers alike, their movements watched like a mummers’ performance and then hissed into the queen or the new Hand of the King’s ears. The only time they found themselves truly alone was when they were in the company of the Tyrells. Margaery and Olenna were gratuitous social climbers but at least they were smart and she did not feel the need to continue to play the dutiful Lady Lannister in their presence. They had no real love for the Lannisters aside from realizing that the golden lions were the true power in this stupid kingdom and knowing that they needed to at least have a few of them on their side. And Sansa seemed a little relaxed in their presence as well. After her betrothal to Joffrey was broken in favor of Margaery and the Tyrell gold, the young redhead was a tiny bit more…unclenched, especially after being pressed to detail the abuse she survived at the hands of the brat king. Y/N remembered gently wiping the tears away from Sansa’s cheeks after they left the Tyrells. Sansa had recounted her abuse at the hands of Joffrey and his mother. “It is over now, little pup. He shall not harm you again. I promise you that.”

Sansa only nodded and was still very guarded and it was smart to be so but Y/N was happy to see her smile a little more freely.

The smiles stopped when Tywin announced that Sansa was to wed Tyrion.

The girl cried and cried and cried. But only when they were alone and the lemon cakes she’d taken from the kitchen were only crumbs. Shae, Sansa’s handmaiden, always lingered after being dismissed. Y/N was sure she was another spy—but not for Cersei. But it did not matter. What mattered was the crying wolf pup in her arms.

“I can’t do it. I can’t,” Sansa cried, tears wetting Y/N’s dress.

Y/N could only shush her sobs, knowing that Tywin always had his due—well, almost always. “I will make sure you are safe, pup. I promise you that.”

Y/N stood, as she was expected to do, when Cersei entered the Dragon Pit and curtseyed as Cersei moved in front of her to take her own seat. The air was tense. Everyone was staring at each other, measuring threats with bated breath.

Y/N had been surprised to see Theon Greyjoy present—after all, it had been a Greyjoy fleet that had destroyed the ship that was carrying little Princess Myrcella back to the Red Keep from Sunspear. It had been a Greyjoy that had given the final push for Cersei to descend into her carefully curated madness. But, then again, Cersei had a Greyjoy of her own, too. Verbal volleys were made and Y/N might have enjoyed listening to the traded barbs but she continued to feel someone’s gaze on the side of her face.

She knew who was looking at her—it did not take any stretch of imagination or serious thought.

She knew.

And a dragon roared overhead.

“Take this, pup.” Y/N curled Sansa’s shaking fingers around the small bottle with an even smaller smile.

“What is it?” Sansa was beautiful in her golden wedding dress—beautiful and sad. Handmaidens had just finished twisting her hair into the ridiculous braids Cersei was so fond of and then scattered when Y/N and her flock of Braavosi women arrived. They had taken to dashing away when the Braavosi women arrived after Y/N had all but screamed at them when they would not let Sansa have a moment alone after news of the tactlessly named Red Wedding had reached King’s Landing. Her entire family—gone. Y/N would not see the little pup suffer for another moment.

It had earned her a busted lip and a sore wrist from her dear husband.

“It is a gift.” Y/N patted Sansa’s hand. “One drop will give you a night’s reprieve from your husband. The entire bottle will give your husband…a reprieve of his breath.”

Sansa turned and turned and turned the bottle in her hand. “Poison?”

“Yes, pup. And it is merely a precaution. I would not have you fear for your life in your marital bed.”

“Do you think Tyrion would hurt me?”

“He is the gentlest of his siblings, but it is never unwise to have a dagger up your sleeve.” Y/N stood and took Sansa’s hands in hers after watching her carefully tuck the bottle away into the folds of her dress. “Come, I am allowed to escort you to the Sept.”

“We’ve been here for some time,” Cersei said through gritted teeth.

“My apologies.”

Y/N almost snorted at the complete lack of care in the Dragon Queen’s tone as she addressed Cersei for the first time but held a finger under her nose, attempting to hide her smile instead. But Oberyn did openly laugh, only stopping when Ellaria placed a hand on his thigh. When Y/N looked at them, eyes drawn to the pair like a moth to the flame, their smiles grew.

The sound around her died to a low roar. Y/N knew she should be paying attention—the meeting had been called with the premise of saving the Realm—but all she could see was them.

“I am not some lowborn trollop, husband. I will not be seen in anything other than the color that denotes my station.” Y/N stared down at the garish red and gold dress that her husband’s servants had placed on the featherbed just a few moments ago.

“Your station is cemented as my wife—Lady Lannister. You will wear your house’s colors and you will never fight me on something so frivolous again.”

“Oh? And what am I allowed to fight you on?” She retorted, feeling her upper lip curl in a sneer. “If not my clothes, what else? You have decided every bit of my life since I have arrived. Am I not allowed one bit of my home?”

Tywin reached out and struck her across the face. Pain bloomed from her eye to her jaw, throbbing in time with her hammering heart. “You would do well to hold your tongue. I have had enough of listening to your ungrateful words. You are the Lady of Casterly Rock—not a sniveling brat. You will wear this gown and I will not hear another word of it. Am I understood?”

Y/N only nodded, hand cradling her cheek and then Tywin swept from the room.

Silence washed over her like a wave in the big room. She stared down at the red dress. Gold lace lined the sleeves and there was even more of the gaudy lace around the neck—it would probably reach just below her chin.

It was a collar. Soft and expensive. But a collar, she realized.

“My lady?” She turned to see one of her handmaidens stepping in, a frazzled look on her face. “Are you ready for us to help you prepare for the wedding?” The girl’s eyes searched her face as if knowing something was wrong. “My lady?” She asked again when Y/N did not answer.

Y/N sucked in a breath and nodded. “Yes. And I believe we are running late.” She removed her dressing gown and let them start to tie her into the hideous gown. It itched. It did not move like the soft silks of Braavos. It was stiff and uncomfortable. It felt like a cage.

Perhaps that is what it was—a cage and a collar.

But she said nothing as she met Tywin outside his chambers and allowed him to grasp her hand and tuck it into the crux of his arm as he escorted her to the Sept. She said nothing as she took her place in the crowd. She said nothing as the stupid vows were exchanged and Joffrey named Margaery as his queen. She said nothing as she was led out to the grounds for the wedding feast. But she plotted. And her cheek throbbed.

She was seated on the raised dais at Tywin’s side but found herself slightly and strangely comforted by the fact that Sansa was within eyesight. When Tywin left her side to speak with someone—and she truly wasn’t listening nor cared who it was—Y/N quickly stood and walked to Sansa’s side, taking Tyrion’s vacated seat.

“How are you, pup?”

Sansa almost smiled. “Alive.”

“And that is half the battle, no?” She reached out and touched the girl’s hands. “Has he been kind?” Her head tilted just so to indicate Tyrion.

Sansa nodded. “I have no use of your gift yet.” They both sighed and looked out over the crowd. “Weddings are supposed to be happy occasions.”

“Yes, I suppose they are. But we have yet to attend one that is capable of making us smile.” She sighed again and looked back at Sansa, eyes catching the pretty, purple necklace around her throat. The jewels glinted…

“Careful with those, my love,” her mother chided as she pulled the little vials from her daughter’s childish fingers.

“What are they, Mama?”

“It was a gift,” Sansa said, providing an answer for the unasked question.

“From whom?”

“Lord Baelish.”

Y/N hummed and twisted one of the jewels between her fingers before letting it drop back against Sansa’s throat.

Y/N listened to Jon Snow blather on about saving the Realm, about how an army who doesn’t leave corpses was coming and could not be bargained with. Cersei had a few quips of her own and Y/N pondered if she truly needed to have shut herself into a wheelhouse for weeks to travel here just to listen to Cersei complain and foreign monarchs hardly disguise their contempt. But then Sandor Clegane emerged from the underground tunnel with a large crate on his back and the Dragon Pit grew quiet.

He set it down and…nothing happened, even as he removed the lid.

But then he circled back and kicked it over. With a scream, a creature emerged and ran at Cersei. Bone and dried skin and glowing blue eyes. That was all it was.

That and the terrifying scream.

“You look exquisite, child,” Lady Olenna said as she approached Sansa. “The wind has bit at you though.” Olenna glanced at Y/N in acknowledgement, bowing her head just a fraction before focusing on Sansa again, tugging at the ends of her pretty red hair. “I haven’t had the opportunity to tell you how sorry I was to hear about your brother. War is war, but killing a man at a wedding? Horrid. What sort of monster would do such a thing?” An aged finger traced against Sansa’s cheek. “As if men need more reasons to fear marriage.”

Y/N snorted into her chalice of wine and earned a wink from Olenna over Sansa’s head. But it was the next movement that truly caught Y/N’s attention. Olenna fiddled with Sansa’s necklace before inviting her and Tyrion to Highgarden just as the lion in question approached. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, it is time to enjoy this food I paid for.”

Y/N pulled Sansa back into conversation as Olenna departed and noted that one of the strange little gems was now missing from the necklace. What was Olenna planning? Whatever it was, it was sure to be more entertaining than the pretention of this wedding feast. She stood and had Sansa do the same. “Come, pup. It is time we acted like Lannisters, no?” She linked their arms together and led them toward the obnoxiously decorated grounds filled with more food and entertainment.

They both found little enjoyment in the contortionists or the musicians who insisted on playing and replaying The Rains of Castamere on a variety of instruments. But the food was mostly seasoned well.

“Tyrion tells me that a Dornish Prince is in attendance. He’s traveled all over Essos, perhaps he has been to Braavos?” Sansa asked as Y/N found her some lemon cakes and they sequestered themselves away in a dark corner while Y/N sipped on a bit of sweet wine.

“Oh? It would be nice to hear of my home from someone who knows it.” She almost smiled. “I must take you across the Narrow Sea, introduce you to my home. And maybe I can know Winterfell, too.”

Sansa’s smile was small but genuine. “I would like that.”

“But tell me, what is this prince’s name? Perhaps I’ve met him when my lord husband was parading around.”

Sansa wiped the crumbs from her face. “Prince Oberyn Martell.”

Jon Snow was a bigger idiot than Sansa had ever said he was in her missives. Openly proclaiming that he had sworn the North and bent the knee to the Dragon Queen while trying to broker a tentative agreement with an unstable lion was very, very stupid. He could have, should have lied and just agreed to the terms Cersei had laid out, keeping her in the dark about his true allegiance.

But no.

Apparently he had more Stark in him than sense.

Everyone had separated after Cersei had stormed away and Y/N found herself walking toward one of the few places she hadn’t seen anyone retreat to but then-

“Mama!”

Y/N turned and caught the child that had leapt into the air, knowing his mother would catch him.

A soft murmur of her name had her freezing.

He looked so similar. Barely anything had changed since the last time she had seen him, all too briefly nearly a decade ago. The same self-assured gait. The same sparkle in his eyes. The same charming half-smile that had her mirroring the expression without a thought.

“Hello, little Titan.”

And with the next breath she was younger, visiting her friend Bellegere on her mother’s fine barge, evading her duties for the day. “You are not who I was expecting,” came a voice behind her.

Y/N turned and arched a brow at the young man looking in the doorway. “Nor was I expecting you.” He was either lost or an esteemed guest if he had found his way to Bellegere’s private rooms. With his fine clothes and self-assured smile, Y/N wagered he was the latter. “Who are you?”

He introduced himself with a growing smile and kissed her on the back of the hand before turning her hand over and pressing another kiss to her palm. And the first time in months, Y/N giggled.

The prince was eventually greeted by Bellegere’s mother and he was just as flirtatious with her but did not seem too preoccupied with bedding the famous courtesan as many of her other clients had been lately. In between meetings with the captains of the Second Sons mercenary company, Oberyn was found frequently upon the barge—and Y/N always found herself invited, too. Whether it was by Bellegere or Oberyn, they always seemed eager to pull her away from her duties again and again.

Bellegere had been calm, as she always was with her mother’s clients (Bellegere knew she would one day be the Black Pearl of Braavos and took her training very seriously), but Y/N saw how the Dornish prince had her smiling into her hand after whispering something into her ear, a far cry from the demure tilting of her lips her clients usually coaxed from her while buying her attention and company.

Anyone who could make Bellegere, with all her practiced manners and carefully curated gestures, smile like that was truly a force to be reckoned with. But even when he was on Bellegere’s arm, he took care to include Y/N in their conversations, wanting her opinion. “I like the sound of your voice, little Titan.”

And that wretched, silly nickname. While he called Bellegere by her name, or “my Pearl,” he called Y/N his “little Titan,” a play on how Braavos was known for the hulking statue of a titan at its gates. She was not sure if she loved it or loathed it.

“Have you two been introduced?” Sansa’s question pulled Y/N from her reverie.

“Yes,” Oberyn answered for her with a wink. “We met years ago in Braavos.” It was an understatement. Every time the Second Sons were within a handful of leagues of Braavos, Oberyn made it a point to visit Y/N and Bellegere. There was nothing overtly carnal within their relationship. In fact, they all seemed to be closer friends than anything else. Bellegere was free to be herself in his presence and Y/N was, too. Oberyn was always happy to be their escort around the city and pay for their attentions as if he were any other client, but largely they spent their time laughing and speaking of the world beyond Braavos. He disappeared a few years later only to return to Braavos, older and angrier, to meet with Illyrio Mopatis on business he could not discuss with them. But he had been just as kind with them as he always had been—always a dutiful friend. The last time she had seen him, he had whispered about the death of his sister and her babies, of how she was cruelly killed while trying to protect her children.

It would not be until Y/N reached King’s Landing that she learned that it was believed that Tywin gave the order for his loyal dog, Gregor Clegane, to kill the Princess and her babes.

If Y/N had known that, she would have taken Bellegere’s offer of working on her barge instead of allowing her father to barter her away to Tywin. She never would have betrayed Oberyn like that if she had known. Truly.

But it was too late.

Y/N noticed the beautiful woman at Oberyn side. Surely there were songs sung about her gentle eyes. “But I have not met your lovely companion, my prince.”

Oberyn’s smile widened and he took the woman’s hand and pulled her forward just a bit, obviously filled with pride to have her at his side. “This is Ellaria Sand, my paramour.”

Ellaria curtseyed, “my lady.”

Y/N returned the gesture. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Ellaria.”

The woman glanced at Oberyn with a smile. “It seems you are one of the few who share that sentiment.”

Y/N waved it away. “The Westerosi have strange conceptions of honor and status.” She made sure to pat Sansa’s hand. “But there are a few who make it bearable.”

But then a noise drew all of their attention. It started with Queen Margaery screaming, “he’s choking!”

Joffrey heaved with stuttering breaths before collapsing. And the pieces were falling into place.

“You idiots! Help your king!” Olenna shouted. She was a good actress.

Movement at the corner of her eye caught her attention and she watched a poorly dressed fool grab at Sansa’s arm and try to lead her away. Without moving her head, Y/N reached out and snatched Sansa’s hand. “Stay, pup. You know not what you do.”

Sansa’s blue eyes flittered between the Fool and the Lion on her arm and then pulled out of the man’s grip.

Satisfied, Y/N turned to watch Cersei scream and scream and scream as her firstborn turned purple in her arms and Tyrion was carted away by a pair of white cloaks. What a pretty painting that would be. She took another sip of wine.

“It is almost as if you were avoiding me, Little Titan.” He still smiled as if no time had passed since their last meeting. But the easy expression faded as he looked down to the small boy in her hold.

Slowly, Y/N set her son down and brushed a bit of dirt from his cherubic cheek. “This is my son, Morgan Lannister.”

Oberyn’s hand shook as he reached out a hand toward the dark haired boy. “Pleased to meet you, little lord.”

Morgan smiled up at Oberyn, bright-eyed, as Oberyn’s finger traced over his brow. “You are Prince Oberyn Nymeros Martell! Mama tells me stories about you—about your adventures across the Narrow Sea. And how you slew a mountain!”

“The Mountain, my dear boy,” his mother gently corrected.

“Hardly appropriate bedtime stories,” Ellaria chuckled.

“He likes to know when the hero prevails.”

Little Tommen looked so small when he sat on the throne. He was so…kind. So little. That stupid chair was too rough for his gentle soul. But she clapped when he was proclaimed king and smiled when his bright eyes caught hers, a nervous smile on his lips.

“He will be a fair king,” she heard someone whisper as the clapping and cheering continued. “Kind.”

He would be ruled by Tywin. Y/N knew it to be true. The young king was far easier to manipulate—and perhaps Olenna was anticipating that detail, too. Hm. Olenna versus Tywin in a battle of wills. That would be interesting to watch.

“You are contemplative, Little Titan.”

Y/N smiled at the sound of Oberyn’s voice whispering in her ear. They had frequently sought out each other’s company for the last handful of days, meeting in the sunny gardens to reminisce about their time together in Braavos and learning of their adventures during their time apart. Ellaria had proven to be a true, steadfast friend and Y/N was grateful to know her and hear her stories of her childhood at Hellholt in Dorne. And she wanted to hear what Oberyn thought of this newest pretentious display of power but her eyes darted to see Maester Pycelle and Lord Varys far too close for her liking. While she could rely on knowing where the various servants and Westerosi handmaidens to always whisper the ludicrous stories she had concocted into Tywin and Cersei’s ears, she was not sure how to handle the two men who were arguably more intelligent. “We have a new king,” was all she said. “Long may he reign.”

Oberyn’s nose wrinkled for a moment, confused by her response, but nodded as he noticed Pycelle glance in their direction. “Yes, long may he reign.”

She wanted so badly to simply speak with him. She was alone in the capital. Tywin had dismissed her handmaidens and sent them back to Casterly Rock, replacing them with women from the Westerlands who had once been Princess Myrcella’s maids. He was making sure she was alone. Y/N rolled her shoulders as she watched Tywin approach her. He held out his hand for her to take and she dutifully placed her hand in his, letting him guide her up the small set up steps and dais toward the ugly throne. Tommen’s face broke into a smile as she approached and curtseyed. “Lady Lannister.”

“Your Grace,” she replied. “May the Seven bless your reign,” she repeated the words she had heard droned over and over, knowing the little king found comfort in them even if she thought it ridiculous.

“Thank you, my lady.”

Tywin squeezed her arm and she bit back a wince as he led her away. His grip only tightened the further away they were from the mass of celebrators and they only slowed to a stop for a moment, in a dark corner of the hall for him to hiss in her ear, “you will retire to your chambers, immediately.”

Over his shoulder, Y/N spotted Oberyn slipping into the hall, his dark eyes narrowed at the scene. “Of course, my lord.”

But his grip only tightened. “I will not have you making a spectacle of yourself and my house’s name.” Tywin’s long fingers finally pulled away from her skin and he signaled for two white cloaks to flank her on each side. “Make sure she is waiting for me. Do not let her leave the Tower of the Hand until I have come for her. Am I understood?”

Y/N could only gape at her husband as two pairs of unfamiliar, armored hands grasped at her arms and started to pull her away.

And when she was all but shoved into her chambers in the cold tower, Y/N knew she would be facing the old lion’s wrath.

Time trickled by slowly. The tower she had been told to call home was quiet. No servants. No handmaidens (she would not be surprised if they had been told to vacate that morning). No lower-ranking Lannisters begging for a bit of attention.

She was alone.

And she waited.

A glance outside her chamber’s window let her know that the two guards were still standing sentinel at the entry to the tower. Maybe she had become a character from one of those songs children were so fond of—a princess in a tower, waiting for a knight to rescue her.

But she was not a princess.

She was a daughter of Braavos. And she was tired of waiting for something to happen to her, for continuing to allow things to happen. She was going to make it happen.

“My lady, I am so sorry,” an out of breath handmaiden sprinted to her side and looked down at the little lord. “He ran off when I turned for just a moment.”

Y/N looked down at Morgan who offered a guilty smile. “I missed you, mama.”

“I was only gone for a moment, little one,” Y/N murmured before pressing a kiss to his cheek and winking at the handmaiden, letting her know there was no harm done. Her son was hard to contain on the best of days. “We have talked about being patient, no? I will never leave you alone for long.”

“But Septon Martyn said you were…umm…” his little face scrunched up, searching for words. “I forget.”

“That’s okay, little one. You’ll remember later.”

“But did you see a dragon?” He nearly screeched, dark eyes lighting up.

“I did. And it was beautiful.” She bent and set him back on his little feet. “But you have to promise mama something, yes? You have to stay with Septon Martyn and Tyanna until I am finished.”

Morgan’s bottom lip jutted out and his gaze moved to Oberyn who was looking down at him with an intense fondness that made her sigh. And Ellaria was at his side, a gentle and curious affection in her gaze. “But what if I want to stay with Prince Oberyn?”

Y/N knew to protect her head even before she passed the first stone step. Down, down, down she fell, limbs smacking against the stairs and bannisters until she came to an abrupt stop on the cold ground. The ceiling swam as she finally opened her eyes.

Within a handful of pained breaths, blood coating her teeth and tongue, she watched Tywin loom over her. He had leisurely walked down the winding stairs, uncaring of how he had tried to kill her just moments ago. But perhaps he knew she would survive. This was simply a warning.

“You are a disgrace. You are my wife. I will not be made a fool of any longer. You will not be seen dallying with some Dornish tart prince or his whore. You will not cavort around as if you truly belong here. You do not. You have not earned your place yet.”

“What do you want?” She asked, tongue heavy in her mouth and blood coating her throat. “What do you want?”

“What was promised to me. I do not know what potion you’ve conjured or trick you have conceived, but I will be given an heir. Or I will have your head on a pike.” His thin lips curled into a sneer, the closest she had ever seen to him smile, before he stepped over her crumpled form and out into the sunlight.

And she let herself wallow for just a moment, only until the ceiling stopped spinning and then she rolled onto her side with a wince and grunted as she pushed herself up onto unsteady feet.

“If you want an heir, I’ll produce an heir.” The vow was snarled into the quiet air of the tower.

Y/N watched little Morgan toddle away, his hand firmly clasped in the handmaiden’s, babbling excitedly about dragons and princes. And then her eyes once again found Oberyn and Ellaria, both also watching the little lord walk away.

“He looks like you,” Ellaria said with a smile.

“Yes. A small blessing, I suppose.” She watched Oberyn’s smile widen and he unsuccessfully hid it behind his hand.

A sudden movement caught their gaze and they realized that Cersei had come back, apparently ready to parley with the Dragon Queen.

A cold cloth was pressed to the swelling of her cheek.

“How cruel, to hurt someone so beautiful.”

The scent of the pleasure house was almost comforting; filled with expensive perfumes and burning incense, it was a welcome reprieve from the stench of the city. But all Y/N truly cared about was how soft Ellaria’s touch was and how gentle the other woman was, even after Y/N had bodily climbed in through the window of their room and collapsed onto the floor.

In a strange stroke of luck, the pair had not been entertaining themselves with another person’s (or multiple people) talents and time. And perhaps she truly did look worse for wear if the pained looks and surprised noises they let out when she lifted her head were any indication.

Ellaria had quickly called for a servant to bring what she needed as Oberyn easily hid Y/N’s crumpled form in their warm bed from any prying eyes.

“I am sorry…” Y/N said, “I am so sorry.”

“Whatever for?” Oberyn asked as he took a seat beside her. Gentle fingers pressed at broken skin at her hairline and he frowned. “You escaped your gilded cage and sought safety with us—there is nothing to apologize for in this instance, Little Titan. You have trusted us. There is no higher honor.”

Ellaria hummed her agreement and continued to clean the cuts and calm the swelling around her face. “But how you managed to evade all those gold and white cloaks is surely a tale to tell.”

Y/N smiled but regretted it when pain bloomed across her entire face and Ellaria tutted as a bit of blood bubbled from a scab. “I do doubt it is anything worthy of repeating. Just a bit of Sweetsleep in some wine and hoping for the best.”

“It took you five days to think of Sweetsleep?” Oberyn teased but there was still a clear undertone of concern in his voice that made her heart clench. They cared.

She had a plan, true. And if they agreed vengeance could belong to all of them. Tywin had taken enough from them. “It took me five days to muster the courage to come to you.”

The simple sentence took the air from the room. Ellaria’s gentle touch paused and Oberyn grasped her hands, careful of the injuries. “Tell us, Little Titan. Tell us what you need.”

Y/N looked to Ellaria first and then Oberyn. “It is my lord-husband.”

“I knew it,” Oberyn said, looking to Ellaria who nodded. “I knew he would. He destroys everything he touches. Everything.”

“And I need to let him think he has—just for a few moons longer.”

“Why? Why wait? I can kill him now and be done with it-”

“I want to kill him,” Y/N said, voice steady. “But I want to take away everything he has created. Everything he has worked for, killed for. I want it all. And you are the only ones who would be able to truly take it from him, the only ones I trust.”

Ellaria and Oberyn looked at each other again before turning back to her. “What is your plan, Little Titan?”

She knew Cersei was lying when she said that she would send the Crown’s forces to aid in the fight against the Night King. But it seemed Jon and Daenerys would take her at her word.

Stupid mistake.

As the small crowd dispersed and Y/N continued to play the dutiful peon with a final curtsey, her mind churned. While Cersei had most of the Westerland armies at the capital, some had been allowed to keep to their posts in their homeland. They were Y/N’s to command. And she knew they would listen.

She would not stay in the capital. She did not care if Cersei had expected her to stay. She did not care if the polite thing would be to at least graciously decline the rooms probably readied for her presence.

She did not care.

Her son was in the city. And a war was coming.

The Dragon Queen and Jon Snow were trustworthy. Y/N did not care if the wrath of Cersei was turned on her after this—she could handle Cersei, if needed. But the Realm needed Dragons if they wanted to survive. Daenerys seemed much more reasonable and willing to listen than Cersei ever did so she would not mind if the petite Valyrian sat on the Iron Throne after the dead were dealt with. But that came first.

The small entourage Y/N had arrived with was waiting dutifully by her wheelhouse, also tired of the city, it seemed.

“My lady,” A soft voice said, gaining her attention.

Y/N turned to see Ellaria waiting patiently just outside the Dragon Pit. “Yes?” She took a moment to glance around and see that they were largely alone. Everyone was too preoccupied with their own retreat to pay them any mind.

“We must speak with you.”

Y/N gave one last look to her son, watching him laugh so easily at something a handmaiden whispered into his ear. For now, he was safe.

Y/N turned and linked her arm through Ellaria’s, once again finding an easy comfort in the other woman’s warmth. “I am all yours for a few moments, my lady.”

“Lady Lannister, what a sight you are!”

Y/N bit back the snarl at Maester Pycelle’s exclamation. Despite tending to her bruising, swelling and broken skin for nearly a fortnight, she still looked a fright. She knew it. But it was another thing for an old man in tattered rags to announce it so loudly.

“It is nothing. A servant spilled a bit of wine near the stairs and I did not see it. A careless mistake.”

Pycelle nodded. “Yes. Careless. But you should thank the Seven that you are still able to fulfill your earthly, wifely duties.”

Y/N felt her hands curl into fists and tucked them behind her back, ignoring the ache the movement caused. “Yes. Duties.”

Tyrion’s trial had finally started and Y/N was expected to attend. She retrieved Sansa from her locked chambers—a stark contrast from the Black Cells where Tyrion was kept—and had escorted her to the Great Hall, half a dozen kingsguard surrounding them. She had only a moment alone with Sansa in her chambers before she knew she would draw suspicion from the guards waiting outside the door. “You will need to lie, pup.”

“But-”

Y/N grasped Sansa’s chin in a loose grip but her eyes were hard. “You will lie, Sansa. Your life depends on it. I can only keep you safe if you do.”

“What would you have me say?”

“That you knew of Tyrion’s hatred of his nephew but you did not think he would go so far as to poison him.”

Sansa’s blue eyes watered but she nodded. “I can do that.”

“Good, pup. Then you shall be just fine.”

The entire Great Hall was packed with spectators and she took a seat toward the front, near the dais as Margaery’s side, and Sansa had been relegated toward the back, being treated like another accused instead of a witness. The whole thing smacked of Cersei’s bias.

But Y/N held her tongue, watching as Tyrion was escorted into the hall in heavy chains, and stood as Tommen did, following the rest of the crowd. Tywin briefly looked at her, a smug look on his face as he saw the black and red gown she wore—the stupid garment had been the only garment in her chambers that morning. He was not subtle.

“I, Tommen of the House Baratheon, first of my name, King of the Andals, First Men, and Rhyonar, lord of the Seven Kingdoms, hereby recuse myself from this trial. Tywin of the House Lannister, Hand of the King, protector of the realm, will serve as judge in my stead. With him, Prince Oberyn of the House Martell, and Lord Mace of the House Tyrell. If found guilty, may the gods punish the accused.”

As Oberyn moved to take his seat, he caught her eye for just a moment—and that look was all she needed to remember to breathe.

As person after person provided “evidence” against Tyrion, Y/N started to wonder if she would ever be able to leave this stupid hall. There was a slight reprieve in her sheer boredom when Sansa was called forward and she gave testimony that Tyrion did not care for Joffrey but she could not be sure if he truly poisoned his nephew. Her blue eyes glanced toward Y/N for her final words, “but I would not be so bold as to completely clear him of guilt or conspiracy.”

And that proved enough for Tywin to dismiss the little pup and let her retake her seat—without the small troupe of guards surrounding her. Sansa had been deemed innocent.

But this farce of trial was far from over. It continued on and on—and even included an appearance from Shae, who was apparently Tyrion’s lover. How quaint. Oberyn easily saw right through her lies and made nearly everyone present squirm with a double entendre. Y/N hid her smile behind her hand and ignored the blood bursting from her healing lip.

But the joy was short lived when Tyrion exclaimed, “I demand a trial by combat.”

Oberyn was waiting in a dark hollow of the dragon pit’s crumbling walls and drew both Ellaria and Y/N into his arms. He kissed Ellaria slowly and then pressed his warm lips against Y/N’s pulse. It sent familiar shivers down her spine.

“You are planning something, Little Titan.”

“As are you, my prince.”

Ellaria sighed. “You two are impossible.”

Y/N ducked her head with a smile. “A fair assessment, my lady, but I do not think you would enjoy us half as much if we were not constantly scheming.”

“You know the lioness will not honor her word,” Oberyn cut in quickly. His grip tightened around them.

“Of course not. She will wait for the Night King to both wipe out her enemies and then try to fight him herself, or attack after the battle is won and their numbers are depleted.” While Cersei thought herself Tywin’s true heir in manners of warfare and plotting, the only true manner she had inherited from her father was her inability to forget a slight. “I will not stand by and wait for the dead to reach Casterly Rock. Not while my son is…” the words died on her tongue.

But Ellaria grasped her hand and squeezed it tight. “You have something to fight for. We all do.”

“Dorne will fight beside you. We will fight for the living.”

“It is for luck,” Y/N said with a small smile. “Even the bravest in Braavos drink it. I have not seen a single man who drank this fall to his opponent.”

“I do not need to drink your potion to kill the Dornishman.” Of course, Ser Gregor Clegane would say something like that. His reputation and his (stupid) moniker of The Mountain might have been well earned but that did not mean Y/N any higher of him. In fact, his inability to think for himself when Tywin gave an order only made him smaller in her eyes.

Easy prey.

But that did not mean she would let Oberyn handle him on his own.

Y/N raised the cup a little higher, pressing a worried expression to her face. “It is more for my nerves, my lord, I assure you. I have heard of your prowess even across the Narrow Sea. But please,” she reached out to place a hand on his arm, a pretty picture of genteel worry, “calm my heart.”

Gregor nearly sneered as he took the cup and drained it in one gulp. “For you, Lady Lannister.”

Y/N reached out to take the cup back with a quick dip of her chin and another smile. “I thank you, Ser Gregor.”

She handed it off to a handmaiden and then let herself be escorted to her seat under the canopy, sitting aside her husband. She watched Oberyn and Ellaria speak to Tyrion under their own canopy, happily drinking wine and eating berries. The confidence they had in Oberyn was palpable—and for good reason. But Y/N never did like to watch an even match.

It was too boring.

Pycelle prattled on about how the gods would decide the fate of the trial by combat and soon the two men were engaged in battle.

Oberyn delighted in each blow and catch of his spear into the Mountain’s hulking form and made sure Gregor knew who his opponent was. “I am the brother of Elia Martell. Do you know why I have come all the way to this stinking shit-pile of a city? For you.” Another catch and parry. “I'm going to hear you confess before you die. You raped my sister. You murdered her. You killed her children. Say it now and we can make this quick.” Another clash of blades. “Say it. You raped her. You murdered her. You killed her children.” Y/N watched Clegane stumble, nearly fall to his knees, as Oberyn landed a kick to his hulking form.

“You murdered her! You killed her children!” Each word out of Oberyn’s mouth grew louder and louder.

Even over the din of the crowd starting to roar, Y/N heard Gregor’s shuddering breath as he struggled to his feet and his grip seemed to loosen on his broadsword.

Oberyn sank the end of his spear into Gregor’s side and quickly gave another, dodging a loose-gripped swipe of The Mountain’s sword at his neck. He stepped back only to watch the giant of a man stumble with a smirk. Oberyn charged at the Mountain to give him one final blow. Blood spurted out of Gregor’s mouth as Oberyn pulled his spear back.

The earth itself seemed to rumble as Gregor finally fell to his knees.

“Wait. Are you dying? No, no, no. You can't die yet,” Oberyn mocked. “You haven't confessed. Say it. Say her name. Elia Martell. You raped her. You killed her children. Elia Martell. Who gave you the order? Who gave you the order?!” Oberyn lifted a hand and pointed toward Tywin.

And for the millionth time since Oberyn had arrived in the city, Y/N had to hide a smile.

“Say her name! You raped her! You murdered her! You killed her children. Say it. Say her name. Say it!”

Y/N did not move her gaze from the ring, uncaring of Tywin’s reaction. She would remember how the crowds gasped and started to murmur. In a single moment, the rumor that had almost been forgotten had been reignited. She was not surprised to learn that Oberyn had declared himself Tyrion’s champion when Gregor was called in for the crown.

And she wanted to make sure Oberyn was given at least a small bit of justice.

But Gregor could not answer. He fell forward, more blood pouring from his mouth, arms shaking to keep him from completely collapsing.

“Tell me!” Oberyn roared. “Tell me!” He leaned down to listen to something The Mountain said, whispered only for him to hear. But when he stood, Oberyn swung his spear and buried it into the Mountain’s head.

Y/N, Ellaria, and Oberyn plotted to move their loyal forces for only a little longer, keeping both the Dragon Queen and Crazed Lioness from overhearing. But soon-

“Mama! Mama!” And for the second time that day, Y/N was nearly leveled by her son throwing himself at her legs.

“We must work on your patience, my love. I was nearly finished.” She hauled the squirming boy into her arms and kissed his cheek. “We shall have supper at the inn but the hill when I am finished, hm? They have that pie you like.”

Morgan happily nodded and squirmed again, wanting to be let down. As his little feet hit the broken stone, he turned to look up at Oberyn and Ellaria, smiling wide. “Hello again, Prince Oberyn!”

Oberyn smiled and leaned down to Morgan’s level before gesturing to Ellaria who smiled fondly down at him. “This is Ellaria Sand, the love of my life.”

Morgan’s little hand reached out to Ellaria and he pressed a quick peck to her fingers, much to her delight. “My lady.” His following bow only continued to earn giggles.

Y/N watched Oberyn as he observed the little scene. His face was serene yet sad. And she knew why.

“You have a viper’s eyes, little lord.”

Morgan preened at the compliment despite not knowing what it meant. “Thank you, Prince Oberyn!”

King’s Landing was a powder keg.

After ‘the gods’ deemed Tyrion innocent, he fled in the night. But Cersei continued to rage and rage and rage, still offering a hefty sum for Tyrion’s head on a platter. Tommen and Margaery were married in another lavish ceremony and the Tyrells continued to press their influence over their city and the new king, only pushing Cersei further toward the edge. Tywin would hold daily meetings with the Small Council and with Lady Olenna, trying to keep the precarious balance of power decidedly in his favor.

And all that distraction proved very fortuitous for Y/N.

“Oh please, please,” she gasped as Oberyn continued to move.

Ellaria chuckled above her before moving Y/N’s mouth back to between her thighs. Y/N had always been very talented with her tongue. It was something Ellaria was happy to learn.

“Patience,” Oberyn said in a breathy huff. “You are always so greedy.”

But Y/N simply buried herself further into the soft patch of curls between Ellaria’s thighs as Oberyn canted his hips just slightly, letting her feel him nearly in her stomach.

They had done this every day—and almost every night—as Tywin was distracted.

Oberyn’s warm, calloused hands curled over Y/N’s thighs, anchoring them around his waist as his pace grew faster and faster. And Ellaria sighed, holding Y/N’s head still as she found her high and coated Y/N’s lips with her release—sticky and sweet.

“Are you nearly done, my love?” Ellaria’s voice was raspy and she did not move from her seat on Y/N’’s mouth, even as she shook with overstimulation. Y/N was greedy—Oberyn had rightly branded her so. And Ellaria tasted so good. “You do have a meeting to attend.”

Oberyn huffed but his pace did increase and the coil in Y/N’s belly wounded tighter and tighter, for the third time that morning, and then finally snapped as Oberyn groaned before leaning forward to press a kiss to Ellaria’s kiss-slick lips. Warmth bloomed and Y/N shook.

Yes. King’s Landing was a powder keg. But it was delicious.

And when Y/N passed the Small Council chamber later that morning she nearly snorted as she heard Tywin say, “You look tired, Prince Oberyn.”

And Oberyn, ever the viper, responded, “yes, my lover and I are trying for another child. I have heard you are trying for another heir, too, no?”

When the next morning came and Tywin left her bed, let him be for a moment before readying herself for the day. She slipped into his chambers and put on her dutiful-wife mask, one she had worn so well for the past handful of moons.

“I will be speaking with the Maesters this morning.”

“Oh?” Tywin responded, buttoning his tunic.

“Yes, I have been feeling poorly and I have missed my last moon blood. I am hoping I will have good news for you soon.”

Tywin was quiet for a moment before he hummed. It almost sounded happy. “You will tell me immediately what they say. Do you understand?”

“Of course, my lord.” She pulled his Hand of the King pin from atop one of his trunks and handed it to him. “I would have Sansa as a ward. King’s Landing has only made her a scared little thing—she will cow in front of the Northmen she’s supposed to rally to your grandson’s cause.”

“And you believe you may shape her into something-”

“Someone who will command respect and is loyal, my lion. Your daughter, for all her charms, was not suited to mold someone as gentle as Sansa. Her children were born with a steel core. Little Sansa needs a gentle, shaping hand.” Y/N slipped her arms around Tywin’s shoulders as he adjusted the pin over his heart. “I know you have an allegiance with Lord Bolton who you have named the Warden of the North in the Starks’ absence. The Northmen’s loyalty to them is tenuous at best. I know you strive for peace. If you could arrange for Sansa and the Boltons to find common ground, I know it would give you a small bit of reprieve to know you no longer had to worry about the North revolting. Again.”

Tywin froze—just for a moment. “Perhaps you aren’t as useless as I had been beginning to suspect.”

Y/N only smiled.

And after having the Maesters confirm that she was with child, she knew Tywin would come to her bed chamber again. She offered him a cup of wine in celebration and watched him drain it as he smirked. And she let him undo the laces of her dress. She let him pull her chemise over her head. She let him press her down into the pillows.

And then he paused. His eyes screwed shut with a pained groan. Tywin fell to the side and Y/N happily climbed over him.

“What…have you done?”

Y/N felt the slash of a smile grow across her face. “I have taken everything from you.” Her hands folded over her stomach. “You have only moments to live. But life grows within me. And your line has ended.” She watched the light fade from his eyes before forcing tears into her own. She let a few trickle down her cheeks for maximum effect before climbing off her husband’s lap and pulling on a dressing robe before dashing to the door and flinging it open. “My husband, please! Please someone help my husband!”

“Does he know?” Oberyn asked quietly as he helped Y/N lift little Morgan into the carriage. The child had fallen asleep at the table, nearly tipping over his prized pie. A day full of excitement had worn him out. He had caught a single glimpse of a dragon as their traveling party departed the city and had animatedly recounted the story to anyone and everyone who would listen. Oberyn and Ellaria had quietly followed.

“He knows his father is a brave, strong man. Who is loyal to his word, devoted to his family, and a hero for the ages.”

“Does he believe it is Tywin?” Oberyn asked, his fingers brushing the dark hair away from his son’s forehead.

“I believe he is smart enough to understand it is not.” She paused. “He is heir to the Lannister seat of power. He will hold everything Tywin worked so hard to build and protect. But the Lannister bloodline has ended. Yours will continue—yours will hold his seat of power until the gods deem this world finished. House Lannister is now your blood—your son.”

“But will he know the truth? Will he ever know me as his father?”

“Of course,” she said with a small smile. “When the time is right, and I know he can keep this secret, he will know your name as his true father. He will know you, love you.”

“And you? What of you?”

“What of me?” She repeated. “What would you need of me?”

Oberyn and Ellaria locked eyes for a moment before their penetrating gazes moved back to her. “We will want you as well.”

“Me?”

“We will always want you.”

Y/N sucked in a breath, trembling for the first time in decades. “Will you ever forgive me?”

Gone were the washes of gaudy crimson fabric and she was once again permitted to drape herself in black. She was a widow now. Perhaps that suited her. And now that Tywin was dead, she saw no reason to stay in King’s Landing. Tywin, before his tragic death of a bad heart, had announced to the court that Y/N was with child. It had only cemented her status as the true ruler of Casterly Rock.

Before she departed, Cersei called her into her chambers for tea. It was the most civil Cersei had ever been toward her and it was still laced with unsubtle threats and verbal barbs.

“The newest Lannister. A new brother,” Cersei mused, her eyes pointedly looking at Y/N’s stomach. “I hope they look like father.”

“I do doubt they will look like Lannisters.”

“Oh?” Cersei said, mouth tilting just so. “Are you so sure?”

“I do not look like a Lannister, your grace. Anyone with eyes can see that.”

“Yes, but the seed is strong-”

“Not strong enough. I assure you. The babe will look like me. After all, it seems you have taken all the luck and used it on your children—all of them, green-eyed and golden-haired. What are the chances? Hm?” Y/N finished her tea and stood. “I thank you for the company, your grace. But it is time for me to leave.” And Y/N turned and left without being dismissed, a smile on her face all the while.

And she left. She left without saying goodbye to Oberyn and Ellaria—her only friends in the city. She left knowing it would hurt them. But trying to find a moment to find them, to explain, would only cast suspicion on the paternity of her child. Because she knew she would not be able to stop herself from falling into their arms one last time.

Sansa gave her a small smile as they both settled into the wheelhouse and soon they were off.

Months slipped by and the pregnancy was largely uneventful.

She had kept her distance when she had heard of the Greyjoy attack on Myrcella’s boat and the princess’ death. She kept all the sword hands she could within the borders of the Westerlands when Cersei seized power from the Tyrells after the mysterious death of Tommen. She declared herself queen and threw Margaery into the Black Cells, threatening to send her head to Olenna if the Reach rebelled. She had played the part of careful, dutiful Lady of the Rock very well. She had kept Cersei’s eye off her kingdom and focused on the threats she perceived from across the Narrow Sea or the North.

Sansa had been a dutiful student. When Lord Bolton asked if Sansa would be willing to marry his son, Ramsey, she accepted, even knowing the boy’s reputation to be cold and cruel. Crueler still after the mysterious and suspicious death of his father.

But he never touched Sansa. No. On their wedding night, Ramsey fell ill and then never woke.

But Sansa was the Lady of Winterfell again—a Stark was in the North.

And it was so easy for the North to rally to her cause and the North rose up in revolt again. It made Y/N laugh.

But soon the baby was coming—far sooner than she had anticipated. With a final scream, it was over. A baby’s cries filled the air and a bloody, squirming infant was placed in her arms, wrapped in black silk.

“A boy, my lady. A healthy boy. Have you thought of a name?”

Y/N felt tears start to gather in her eyes as she looked down at her son—her beautiful son. The spitting image of her—but then his eyes opened. And he had his father’s eyes. Viper eyes. “His name is Morgan.”

Y/N’s lips still burned from the kiss Oberyn and Ellaria left her with before they departed.

And her heart was lighter, too. They had forgiven her—had said there was nothing, truly, to forgive. “You were protecting your child. My child.”

Morgan stirred in her arms as the wheelhouse rode over a bump. “Mama?”

“Yes, my love?”

His viper eyes opened and she smiled, seeing them shine in the low light of the evening. “Will we see Prince Oberyn and Lady Ellaria again?”

Her smile widened. “Yes. I can promise you that.”

Please let me know what you think!

Beautiful people who asked to be tagged: @huliabitch @revolution-starter @starlight-starwrites

#oberyn martell x reader #oberyn martell imagine #oberyn martell x ellaria sand x reader #game of thrones imagine #game of thrones #asoiaf

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madllamamomma · 3 years

Text

The Visitor~ Part 6

Muriel x Rhemi (OC) fanfic

[WARNING: Some topics can be triggering to some readers including, mention of violence, blood/gore, mental health issues, abuse, etc.]

Part 6~

Ghosts~

In the palace, Sir Martin sits quietly in the green chair next to the fire. His daughter should be here any moment. The cracking of the burning wood alway relaxed him, eventually making his eyes heavy… Soon he drifts to sleep.

As he opens his eyes, he finds himself sitting on an old rickety chair that looks like it's about to break at any moment. With an annoyed scoff, his eyes look around, he is in a terribly drabby house, full of holes in the straw roof where the sunlight shines through and mice hide in the walls. He always hated this place--Despised is more like it. He absolutely hated when his dreams would drift him back here to this often empty house. But then, she walks into the room, her hands full with the heavy laundry basket… His hatred drifted away.

She was a beautiful young woman, no older than eighteen, her hair s burgundy brown and curly, pulled back into a handkerchief and her gorgeous teal blue eyes and wearing commoner’s clothes with a dingy apron around her waist. Just like always, she acted like it was just another ordinary day and as cheery as ever.

“Well! Good morning, my little rabbit.” She says with a smile as she sits and folds the laundry.

“..... Morning.” Martin gently replies, unable to keep his eyes off of her.

“Beautiful day, isn’t it?”

He swallows hard and shakes his head. He knows this is just a dream. “Why… Why does this keep happening?”

For a moment she stops folding, and looks up at him with such gleaming and loving eyes, tilting her head and looking at Martin with such concern.

“Why here?.... Why this moment?” He frustratedly mutters. “And not any other moment. Just…. This. One?”

The young woman sighs and lightly shrugs, shaking her head. “... You tell me, little rabbit.”

Martin tries to stand up from his chair, but like always, he is stuck in one place. Angry, he tries and tries but something is keeping him here in this one spot.

“You know that doesn’t help any.” She says sadly. “It never has…”

A deep sigh expels from his lungs again as he finally accepts his situation and his eyes peer back to the young woman, pain in his cold teal eyes. “..... Why didn’t you just stay home that day?” He asks with gritted teeth and folded hands. “I... I told you not to go.”

Tears start to well in her eyes as she looks at him silently, slowly standing to her feet. The house just evaporates, replaying it with a foggy gray atmosphere. “Why didn’t you come with me?” She whispers as her feet lift off the ground.

An eerie high pitch ringing overwhelming his ears as she keeps staring at him as she stops levitating about three feet from the ground. A terrifying crack emanates from her neck as it snaps quickly to the right.

Martin shutters stifling his tears, shutting his eyes tightly and turning his head away from the horror. But suddenly feels himself waking up from the warm licks from Beatrix’s tongue.

------

Fluttering his eyes open, he finds Beatrix in his lap, looking at him slightly concerned. “Little Piegon’s here, Master.” Her scratchy voice mutters in his head.

Martin rubs his tired eyes, and smoothing back his plum and gray hair. “Thank you, Bea.”

Waiting patiently, Martin stares into the fire, in deep thought, wondering why his dreams keep taking him to that dreadful day. If it wasn’t that dream, it was always about Florence and Rhemielia. The night that she and their child were whisked away. All the while he was trapped underneath a pile of fiery debris, and his skin burning his right arm.

---------- Later that day-----

As Rhemi steadily makes her way back to the shop, taking three times as long. Her lack of oxygen is taking its toll on her. “This….. fucking thing!….” She huffs to herself, gasping for air in between her thoughts as she takes a seat on a nearby barrel. “...*huff* Fuck….*huff*.... This…*huff*...*huff*..... Corset!”

After getting adequate rest, she stands to her feet and clasps the small part of her waist feeling the corset digging into the tops of her hip bones.

“... Fuck this dress. Fuck that Oliver guy. Fuck this day...” She grumbles to herself under her breath, attempting to ignore all the wide eyed stares from the citizens she passes, hoping that no one would recognize her. “Fuckthisfuckthisfuckthisfuckthisfuckthisfuckthis….” She grumbles to herself, face beat red. “Fuckfuckfuckfuckfuckfuck.”

Finally, the shop was within her sight as the sun was setting over the city. It took so long to get here! Rhemi thinks to herself, realizing that the lamplighters are hard at work lighting the dark streets. She left the palace around three o’clock, it's probably almost five or so now. If anything came out of this, it’s respect for the poor aristocrats in Charlès who actually wore this stuff on the regular bases! Why would anyone want to wear this stuff everyday? Did Mum really wear this crap? This is awful!

Opening the door to the shop never felt so good. God, I can’t wait to get inside! I am so happy to be home. She rejoiced in her head. Finally home! Three different voices muffled on the other side of the door. Rhemi knew right away who they all belonged to. Then, a horrible thought comes to mind as she turns the key in the lock after taking down the protection spell. ….Oh no….. Oh god!.... What the hell are they gonna say about this abomination??

Then again…. she was so tired at this point, she didn’t really care. The pain of the corset outweighed the pain of her friend's judgement. With as much air as she could fill in her restricted lungs, she bravely opens the door, all three pairs of eyes immediately falling on her.

Asra excitedly starts to greet his friend with a brilliant smile. “Hey! There she is! Welcome…” But then stops as he sees her, his eyes wide, his smile crumples into a shocked snicker.

The lively chattering that filled the room suddenly ceases, the only thing that can be heard is the creaking of the rusty hinges of the shop door as it shuts behind her.

Awkwardly, Rhemi just stands in the doorway as Asra, Faust, Muriel, and Julian just stare at her. None of them could help but stifle their laughs at the overly fluffy dress that she’s wearing.

Julian opens and closes his mouth attempting to formulate a sentence.“That's… errr….. It’s… Ummm-aahhhhh..” He stammers as he rubs his face, searching for a compliment. But of course, Asra stands next to him, covering his smile with his clasped hands and eyes wide, his thoughts very apparent.

Looking silently between them all, realizing that they were trying to be as kind about it as possible. “.... It’s fucking atrocious, isn’t it?” Rhemi finally verbally admits with a half straight face.

“It’s a goddamn travesty is what it is.” Asra spits out as soon as she completes her sentence. All four of them stand there silently all waiting how’d be the first to crack.

Suddenly, all of them sputter into hard laughter at the same time, breaking the terrible silence.

“My god!.... What the hell is this thing anyways??” Julian adds overdramatically gesturing to the hips. “Rhemi-dear, are you wearing ….crinoline??”

“... Crino-What??” Muriel mumbles as he squints his eyes.

“It’s a type of tortuous device placed under dresses that a deranged idiot designed to make your hips look inhumanly large.” She replies nonchalantly as attempts to reach back for the buttons, trying to contort herself to do so. But, try as she might, the poor apprentice couldn’t reach without completely tearing the sleeves. However, as stubborn as she is, she continues to try to reach in hope to get out of this over-tightened corset. All at the same time, Muriel, Asra, and Julian try to figure out the reason why she’s wearing the damn overly extravagant monstrosity.

“....There are… So… many bows….” Muriel mutters as tugs at one to study it, seemingly not liking the texture and his face hilariously cringing hard.

“Oh… I know!….. It’s bad, huh, Muri?”

“Reallllllly bad.”

“Did you lose a bet, Rem?” Asra teases, still laughing his ass off.

“Nooooooo,” A whine emanates from her mouth and her bottom lip pops out. Despite her cute pout, the corner of the lips still twist up into a grin making her slightly look like a duck. Slightly frustrated, but also entertained by her stupid situation, she sighs deeply and slouches as much as she could (given her restrictive outfit).

About having enough of trying, she huffs feeling rather defeated, but still smiles at her friends. “If you three are gonna keep dishing out colorful insults, you might as well help me out of it... I can’t freakin’ breathe!”

“... Yo-... You can’t get out by yourself, Rem??” Muriel snorts, forcefully hiding a very amused smile, trying to politely withhold a bellowing laugh at her situation. “Sorry… It’s not funny.” He mumbles as he presses his lips together even tighter.

“Do you really think I would have come home with this... thing if I could take it off myself?? It took… like…. Five people to get me in this abomination!”

“Are you.... Errr…. Decent underneath all of it?” Julian warily asks, his eye quickly glancing towards Muriel while he wasn’t looking.

“Don’t worry Ilya, you’ve seen more at the beach. I have a shift or… or slip…? -Whatever it’s called under the corset.” Say says lifting up the dreaded skirt showing the many layers of cloth on her body. “Pft! This bitch has so many layers, it puts our wedding cake to shame.”

“Oh god.” Muriel chuckles, his laughter making his broad shoulder shake, not doing a very good job to keep it in.

“Ohhh! Shut your face!” Rhemi playfully smacks her finacè’s stomach. “Now, please! Get me out of this damn thing! I feel like my boobs are suffocating me! Do you guys want me to die from titty asphyxiation?!”

“I’d argue that it wouldn't be a bad demise!” The doctor chuckles with his dubious smile of his.

“Shuddup Ilya!” Rhemi playfully elbows her friend, slightly knocking the wind out of him.

But he continues to laugh and laugh,as he holds his stomach nearly hyperventilating. “..We-.... We’ll write on your tombstone, ...‘Here lies Rhemi… Escaped death once from the plague to die from a common corset.’..”

Asra chortles, nearly crying now as Faust happily hisses, “Rhemi a tent!”

Out of the sea of laughter, Rhemi finds herself feeling more light headed, unable to contain her giggles either. “Hey! Less talkie, more unbutton-ie! I am literally dying over here! I am not joking when I said that I nearly passed out a few times over here. I left around three!”

The mountain man’s face suddenly becomes more serious as she says that, his laughter completely silenced “Wait…. Really?? Are… you ok?”

“I mean… I made it here, didn’t I?” She says with a shrug and a half grin.

A warm grumble rumbles from his lips as he mutters, “That’s not…”

“—Alright, alright, alright! Turn around, ya big baby.” Asra teases her, finally feeling pity for her. “Let’s get you out of this thing… Then we’ll have a bonfire. Haha!”

It took some time, but after some troubleshooting and a bit of magic, the three managed to peel the dress, the extra layers, and the crinoline off, leaving only her tight overbust, and a shift underneath. With surgical hands, Julian and Asra loosened the loops.

Finally, the corset was loosened, Rhemi took in a large breath of fresh air as if she had just made love. “Ahhhhhhhh~ Sooooo much better.”

“Better wait a few minutes before loosening it again.” Julian adds with a serious doctor face. “Don’t want you actually passing out.”

“Tha-that's a thing that can happen??” A very wary Muriels asks.

“Why, yes! If you let it out too quickly, you can pass out… Your blood pressure can drop and leave a person unconscious. Happened a few times to the actors at the theater.”

“That's….. Worrisome.” Muriel says as his eyes fall on his fiancée again, and pointing to the corset. “You never told me these things were hazardous.”

Unable to contain herself, Rhemi takes her lover’s large hand and holds it with both of hers with an empathetic expression. He’s so cute. “Aww! I never wear them this tight, honey! I like the way my corsets look and feel on my body. But this one is garbage!”

“Actually it’s not that bad.” Julian says peeling away the cloth and exposing the boning structure underneath. “.....It’s made out of whale bone! It’s expensive and very strong. It’s just not your size.”

“Oh! Speaking of expensive, that reminds me.” Julian takes out Rhemi’s coin purse and hands it back to her, only a few coins used. “I believe this belongs to you.”

It takes a few moments before she realizes that the doctor never used her money last night, she instantly pouts. “Ilya!! You’re drinks were supposed to be on me you dork!”

“Rhemi-dear, what happened at tea the other day was not your fault!”

You mean ‘what my father said’. She thinks to herself. “But— My father— it wasn’t right what he—”

“—You can’t control what that basta—.. dahhhhhhh errrrrr... I mean…. What he says.”

“... Nice save.” Asra whispers to his lover.

“I never got the chance to tell you how sorry I am. I… I kinda regret inviting him. Tea was just so awkward. It should have been just us, like Nadia planned it.”

Julian wraps his long arms around Rhemi’s shoulders for a friendly hug. “Please don’t apologize. I’ve honestly heard worse.”

“I’m still sorry it happened.”

“Hey, don't worry about it. It’s not worth it.” He then moves his arm and takes a seat in the velvet couch never to Asra, causing them to lazily lean on his shoulder. Slowly, Faust slithers over to Julian and he tries his best not to get chills. “So…. Ahhhh… Ya gonna tell us why you are wearing this….. Errr…. getup?”

“... My father apparently brought his own tailor on board with him… Names Oliver… real piece of freakin’ work!... My father wanted him to give the dress as a present to me. It’s apparently the latest fashion from Charlès… All the noble women wear something like it.”

“..... Sooooo… I assume that he didn’t take it too well that you two aren’t moving to Charlès.” Asra asks, handing her own clothes to her so she could get comfortable.

“Wait, he wanted you both to move??” Julian cluelessly interjects with his left eye wide.

An intense pressure suddenly overtakes Rhemi’s stomach as if gravity doubled on her intestines. How the hell is she supposed to explain what happened today? Not only did her father still want her to leave Vesuvia, but he wants her alone to move and marry someone of nobility in Charlès!

“....Actually, he was very understanding.” She flat out lies before she could stop herself.

Rhemi, what are you doing?? She screams internally. Why are you lying again?!

“... He was of course disappointed, but he was very respectful about it!” She continues as if her mouth had a mind of its own, her body posture scarily calm and believable. “... But it’s best not to mention it to him… He’s still very disappointed. Might spark a nerve with him. Ya know?”

Asra and Julian exchange a surprised look as they hear this. Julian rubs the back of his hand and sighs, “He doesn’t seem to be the understanding type--”

“—Well, he might surprise you.” Rhemi defensively interrupts. “He might be very posh and rigid on the outside…. But I know, deep down he just cares about me.”

Muriel stares down at her with his knowing emerald eyes completely unconvinced as she walks past him to head upstairs to get changed. She dared not look at him for too long. He had a way of making her break. But how could she explain this to him? To…. well, anyone?? Her father didn’t even acknowledge that she was getting married.

No. She just…. Has to fix this before anyone knows. She had to.

———————

After Rhemi got dressed, the four of them all had a nice dinner that Muriel and Asra whipped up. It was chicken souvlaki wrapped in a pita and other greens.

After that, the two couples went their separate ways for the night. Asra and Julian stayed at the shop, while Rhemi and Muriel went back home to the hut.

She feared that he might bring up what she said before dinner, about her father accepting thor decision not to leave. He always knows when she’s bullshitting. That's the problem when you get to know someone so well. It's a sixth sense, knowing something is wrong.

But to her surprise, he stayed quiet. She reads a book on the bed as he whittles next to Inanna by the fire. Eventually, her eye starts to become heavy and she shuts her books and gets into her nightgown. Muriel follows her lead. Soon, all three get comfortable in the bed, taking their normal positions. Rhemi on the left side of the bed, Muriel at the right, and Inanna at the foot. The apprentice always laid on his bare chest snuggling up and getting warm.

“I love you, Muriel.” She whispers.

Muriel yawns, “... I love you too, Rhemi…” Thinking he's drifting off to sleep, she starts to close her eyes as well and feel herself falling asleep. “.... Was he really okay with us not moving?” He finally whispers.

Rhemi's heart drops, but she just stays there silent and still, pretending to be asleep.

The hermit lets out a frustrated sigh, before placing a feather light kiss on her forehead. “.... Please just don’t forget I want you to talk to me.”

….. I know…. She thinks to herself. I want to tell you. But… I’m scared that might make things worse. I’m sorry, Muri. I don’t want to lie to you… But I have to fix this by myself before you know the truth.

Finally, all of them start to drift to sleep, Muriel finds himself in the realm of dreams, his father waiting for him yet again, waiting to show him what he was capable of in the realm of dreams.

All the while Rhemi stays put, in a dreamless state, but finds herself waking up almost every hour from a twinging pain in her temples. She could swear she was hearing distant voices.

———The next morning———

A very groggy Rhemi finally wakes up from the sun peering into the window. Sitting up, in the bed, she realized that Muriel and Inanna were already up and started the day. Glancing over to the table, some fresh flowers and herbs were waiting for her and a note that read, "Get some rest." She couldn’t help but smile despite feeling so terrible. The headaches are getting worse and worse lately. Even when she wakes up, it's like a hammer is knocking on the side of her temples. Luckily, it would dissipate as the day went on, but it was such a nuisance to start off the day like this. At least she didn’t have any dreams last night…

Slowly, she gets up and walks over to the washing washing bowl, trying to get more energized for the day. This was one of her installations when she moved into the hut. It was a little table (taller than most for her sweet Muriel) with a washing bowl, a pitcher and a mirror from the shop. It must have been her mother’s. It was the one thing that didn’t necessarily match the other decor from the shop. Pouring a liberal amount of freshwater, she starts washing her face. The cool water felt nice on her temples. As she glances back up to the mirror to make herself look more alive, she notices someone behind her.

Summoning her magic quickly into her hands, she conjures a defensive spell as she whips around silently. But as soon as she turns around, no one is there. The door is locked, and she can still hear Muriel cutting wood. “.... Must have been my imagination.”

Turning back to the mirror yet again to look at her reflection. But instead of her own face, she sees her eyes bloodshot red and short hair, her expression bleak and sad.

“.... Headache again?” A voice mumbles to her sadistically from the reflection.

“AHHHHH!!!” Shocked, Rhemi yelps a terrified scream, punching the mirror out of instinct. The vision and the pieces of glass shatter into pieces. Immediately, she regretted her reaction. She tucks her hand into her chest in pain, her knuckles bloody, and the mirror is broken. Looking at the shards on the ground, all she can see is her own reflection in the small fragments. What… what the fuck was that?

“RHEMI?!” Muriel cries out from behind the hut.

“.... Shit….” Quickly Rhemi jumps up and carefully takes the mirror off the wall and places it on the floor to make it look like it just fell down. The last thing she wanted was to think that she was losing her mind. Besides, people see things all the time, it doesn’t mean you're crazy… right??

“RHEMI !” Muriel shouts as he bursts in the hut, his large ax still in hand. As soon as he sees the blood, his eyes get even wider and swirling with fear. “Y-... You’re bleeding!”

“Ahhh!” She shouts, waving her hand to keep him away. “Don’t let Nana in here! T-There's glass everywhere!”

Examining the damage, Muriel shakes his head bewildered. “Rem... What happened?”

“... Ohhmygosh!! HaHa! So dumb!... Completely my fault! I was trying to straighten the stupid mirror and I apparently…. It fell off the nail! I… I didn’t catch it in time and it broke, and I screamed.”

He starts to slightly relax, but still looks pretty anxious. “.... You okay?”

“Yeah! I just cut myself a little on the glass is all! Just a little scratch, nothing I can’t fix~!”

Taking a single step inside he sets the ax down outside and reaches his hand for her. “.... Let me at least help—”

“It’s fine, Love!” She says as she conjures her magic to clean the pieces up and place them back into the mirror. “See? No problem!”

Begrudgingly he huffs, and starts to step out of the doorway before pausing. “.... Get dressed. I’ll make breakfast. You just …. sit…. alright?.... Don’t go near anything breakable…. Or sharp.” He grumpily instructs.

She snickers and nods her head. “Okay.”

As soon as the door shuts, her smile falls and she stares at her knuckle so she could heal it. Luckily, it wasn’t very deep, however it was a little long. She sits down at the table, taking a little piece of herb and summoning her magic, she starts mending her skin together. After it was all healed up a very small scar was left. It should dissipate after a while. But she just stares at it for a moment.

“Get it together, Rhemi.” She mumbles to herself as she stands to her feet to get dressed.

There's too much going on today for this bullshit. She had a plan for her father to get on board with her getting married.

--------

After a delicious breakfast, and a few sweet kisses, Muriel and Rhemi part for the day. Making her way to the shop, she concocks the perfect plan.

As expected, the shop was open and ready for business, usually Asra at the counter with a book or a potion, but today the white haired gender bastard was nowhere in sight, and the shop appeared empty.

“Hello??” She calls out. “Asra?? Faust?? You home?”

“Oh! Morning, Rhemi.” He greets from the back next to the stairs.

Realizing his location she strolls to where he was sitting on the ground and she takes off her bag. “.... Good morning. What the heck are you doing back there, ya weirdo?”

“Refusing to accept defeat.” He chuckles, wiping a little bit of sweat on his forehead. In front of him was a large chest oozing with magic and locked up tight. It read, ‘Fragile: Please handle with care’ in a familiar handwriting. In his right hand was the bundle of rusty old keys.

Curious, Rhemi tilts her head and folds her arms. “What is this?”

“Found this…” He grunts as he attempts to force another key into the lock. “... Chest… under the stairs the other day…. And…. I think it belonged to Athena…. *grunt* but no matter what I doooo…” With a heavy sigh, he gives up on that key, pulls it out of the lock and nearly collapses on his elbows. “... The damn thing won’t open. I have tried opening it with magic, I have tried every key in the shop--twice now--Hell! I even tried using a crowbar! But... nothing.”

“Huh….” She mutters. Rhemi kneels down next to her friend and the chest. Both of them stared at it for a moment. “... Well… Obviously it’s got a powerful spell on it. Athena didn’t want anyone in it.”

“Yeah… Even in death, that woman had out magic us.” The two of them giggle together on the floor. Asra draps his arms over his knees and he smiles, his mind wondering into nostalgically territory. “... I miss her.” He mumbles under his breath.

“.... I do too.” The apprentice says with a heavy heart, resting her head on his shoulder. “I…. I wish she could be here… See how much we both grew up…”

"Me too..."

The two stay there for a moment, taking it all in. The sound of the bedroom door closing at the top of the stairs brings them back to reality and Julian’s long legs descend the stairs.

“Oh! Morning, Rhemi-dear!” He says with a chipper tone.

She rolls her eyes at that name, but at this point, she just learned to accept it. “Well good morning to you too…. Someone slept in late…It’s nearly ten o’clock.” She teases.

“HA. Well…. Something kept me up all night..” The doctor glances at Asra with pink staining his cheeks and a cute smirk.

Asra smiles wide, proudly he glances back over to his friend, cheekily placing his finger to his chest. “Tee-hee…. I’m ‘something’.”

Jokingly disgusted, she pushes Asra making him nearly fall over. “EWWW! Grosssssss! You two are terrible!” She laughs.

“Oh… like you and Muriel aren’t disgusting too??”

“I am not responding to that!” She loudly announces as she walks up the stairs, her face turning slightly pink herself. “I’m making some tea, don’t leave just yet Ilya!”

“Ohhhh, well ahhh.. alrighty then! If I… ahh….. If I must.” Julian happily replies as he helps Asra back to his feet. Promptly the white-haired magician presses his lips on his collar bone.

While the teapot starts to heat up, Rhemi realizes that she really didn’t have time to go to the palace or have someone deliver a message for her father. Staring at the spigot and it gives her an idea and is a good reason to flex her magical muscles. Grabbing a large bowl, she fills it with water and closes her eyes. Using all her concentration, she reaches out, searching for her father’s magic. Finally, she feels that strange metallic aura and she opens she can see her reflection being replaced with her father’s.

“Père!” She calls out.

Confused, Martin looks away towards what she could only assume was the door. “..... Miela?” He mutters.

“Good morning, Père~” She sweetly giggles. Something about surprising another magician always made her a little giddy.

Her father turns his head once again, his eyes scanning the room. “I… I hear you Pigeon, but…. Where are you??”

“Down here!” She instructs. “In the water!”

Turning desperately left and right, he shakes his head. “The… water?” Finally he locates her and he stares in astonishment. “Ahhhhh…?”

Beatrix’s hissing and Bartholomew’s voice could be heard in the background. “.... Monsieur, vous allez bien?”

“Oh… yes. Um…. Why don’t you be a good lad and step outside, Bartholmew.”

“....Ahhh…. Oui, Monsieur.” His butler replies soundly utterly confused. "I will leave you alone with your...ah.... tea... then."

Calmly, Martin looks into his tea cup. “... Rhemielia, my child. What are you doing in my tea?”

“Kinda neat isn’t it? Asra taught me this one a while back.”

With a straight face, he slowly blinks, seemingly unimpressed. “.... Hmmmm…. Very… Charming, I suppose… I won’t recommend it in Charlès though. This is how you’d get a bad reputation for being a witch.”

“Oh….” The excitement and glee once again stomped out. But… I kinda am a witch. Awkwardly, she clears her throat, brushing off his words. “Well, ah….anyways, I contacted you this way to ask you something.”

“Oh?”

“I have to do something today next to the palace. Are you busy this afternoon around three o’clock?”

“Hmm… No… I don’t believe I am.” He says while pondering hard and tapping the tea cup.

“Well, how about you meet me there. I think you’d really enjoy it.”

A genuine soft smile takes over the Archimagister’s lips and he takes a seat on a chair. “... I always enjoy being with you, my little pigeon.”

Rhemi grins happily when he says that. He had a habit of making her feel bad sometimes, but he also could make her feel glad that he’s in her life again. Her heart flutters with excitement. She quickly gives him the address, before she could make a little small talk, the tea kettle starts to whistle and the two say their goodbyes for now.

The day went on like it did every Monday. The shop was pretty busy in the late morning and the afternoon. Mostly it was regulars getting their positions, and other things they needed before the rest of the week went on. But for Rhemi the day just dragged on. Today was the last fitting of her wedding dress. Surely, he wouldn’t be so set on her going to Charlès if he saw her in it. The dress was beautiful a-line with a button-up bodice in the back, with illusion sleeves covered in beautiful lace and organza material.

After what felt like an eternity, the time came for her fitting. Before she leaves, she pops her head into the reading room where Asra was looking at his cards by himself. It’s odd, it felt like she could hear the King of Pentacles whispering to him.

As she went for the door, she ran her fingers over the chest feeling Athena’s magic somehow felt so comforting to her. She always had a strong aura. A strange clunk comes from behind her. She glances back to inspect what had made the noise, but the chiming of the clock deters her. Whatever it is, it can wait.

_______________________________

As she reaches the tailor’s shop, she notices her father making his way down the street. His nose was buried into the piece of paper with the address on. Again, no Beatrix. It’s old how empty his shoulders looked without her.

“Père!” Rhemi calls out, waving to him.

Ungluing his eyes from his paper as she calls his name, he grins and waves back.

“How are you today?” His daughter asks sweetly.

“Very good thank you.” He replies looking at his pocket watch. As soon as he picks up his head, he reads the sign, Seamless: Pierre’s Clothing. “Oh…. You do realize I have a tailor already, correct?”

She can't help but chuckle at his unamusement as she opens the door. “I know that. This one is mine... Well, actually it's Nadia's, I'm just borrowing him.”

Martin’s eyes narrow as he enters the shop. The windows are full of outlandish and extravagant dresses and suits, but in the Vesuvian style. The old magician just sneers in revolt. “Ohhh?... Pardon me, my sweet, but I am confused...”

“I’m about to try my wedding dress on.” Martin’s body stiffens like a board and he flutters his eyes in disbelief. Rhemi could feel her cheeks heating up and feeling pressure on her chest. “And….. I uh… I wanted you to be here for my final fitting… Get you more involved… I want you to be apart of my life and--”

“—Sorry." He interrupts placing both of his hands on his cane, sticking his nose up in revolt. "Please don't tell me you were serious when you said you are going to marry that seven foot tall brute—?”

“—Muriel, Père…” Rhemi quickly interjects in disbelief. She could feel her left eyelid twitch from the stress. She just couldn’t believe him. This shit again?? Right here?? RIGHT NOW? Calmly, she folds her hands together trying to keep her patients. “.... My fiance's name is Muriel. It means 'bright' in Rune…. And yes. I am marrying him. He’s kind and genuine and trustworthy and gentle and makes me feel safe and…. And I love him.... He's my soul mate.”

Martin’s icy glare somehow gets colder and she shakes his head and scoffs. “... Hmmmm… love... What good has it ever done...”

“... What do you mean by that?... You said you fell in love with Mum.”

His nostrils flare in frustration. “.... Rhemielia. My child. All I’m trying to say is that you barely know this man. How long have you met him? A year or so ago?”

“Well…. yes… but how long did you know Mum before you married her?”

As soon as he opens his mouth wider about to argue back, Pierre walks in with a cheerful smile. “Ah! Rhemi! So good to see you!! Are you ready to see your lovely gown?”

Martin pats Rhemi’s head and she cringes to herself yet again. “We’ll speak of this later—no need to make a scene, do we now?” He says leaning into her ear and whispering. “In the meantime, go ahead. Go on and play dress up like you used to when you were a child.”

Her eyelid twitches even more as she strains to keep a fake smile on her lips. “I not playing dress—”

“Rhemi!!!!” Suddenly Agrippa and Portia burst through the door with happy smiles, excited for the final fitting. As soon as they both notice Sir Martin, their smiles dwindle slightly, but they still keep their cheery demeanor for the occasion.

For once, Rhemi was happy to change the subject, pretending that her father didn’t say what he did. “Ippa! Pasha!”

“I am sooooo excited!!!”

“Me too! Pierre is ready and— Wait… Where’s Julian?”

“Oh! I’m sorry, Rem. He had an emergency at the clinic…” Portia says finally letting her smile fall.

“That kid from the orphanage….. What's his naaaammmme—?”

“Zachary?”

Agrippa snaps their fingers agreeing with their partner. “Yeah! He broke his arm today.”

“Holy crap!! Not Zack! Is he okay??”

“Oh yeah! He’s getting loads of attention and is making jokes as we speak! Those kids are resilient, he’ll be just fine!”

“As long as he stops climbing tall shit that is.”

“….Well that stinks that Julian can’t be here, but he can help that!... I’m happy you both could make it though!”

Suddenly, Sir Martin clears his throat to interrupt their conversation looking at his pocket watch and tapping it. “Excuse me ladies and….. Sir???”

Agrippa blankly stares at him with a small growing smile. “.... Which one do you think it is?”

Martin stares back trying not look so confused as he really was. But instead of answering, he just clears his throat once more, tucking his pocket watch back into his vest and looking the other way. “... Not all of us have all day to dawdle.”

Taking the hint, the four of them follow Pierre to the back and make their way to the back. Excited, Portia and Rhemi head to the back changing room. Pierre gives them the gown in order for the maid of honor to know how to help with the dress the day of the wedding (bustles and all).

It fits like a glove. Ecstatic and hopelessly excited, Rhemi nearly skips out of the back to show off her beloved dress.

Portia and Agrippa both hold back their tears as she twirls around happily. “Oh, little bean!!” Agrippa mutters sniffling hard.

Rhemi spins around, clapping her face and her eyes start to water up as well and she smiles stupidly. “Ohhhhhh, you two stop!!! You both said you wouldn’t cry!”

“I know, I know! But you are just so….. So—” Portia says, whipping a tear away.

“—Tch. Please…. don’t lie to her.” Martin grumbles his left hand pitching the bridge of his nose.

Portia and Agrippa stare at the Archmagister in utter shock. “Umm... Excuse me?” Portia asks with her brow furrowed. “What exactly do you mean?”

“Well, that dress is all wrong, of course.” He huffs irritatedly, uncrossing his legs and standing to his feet.

Rhemi’s heart starts to sink into her chest. “What’s…. what’s wrong with it?” She asks, looking down and lifting up some of the skirt with her hands, unable to see the defects.

“That dress makes you look like a dirty commoner, Pigeon…. It looks more like a used napkin than a gown, don't you think? And what a dreadful color.”

“But… But I…. I am a commoner. A-and… I don’t like whi-…..” The words die in her throat as her attention diverts to the back of the room.

Somehow a person who came out of nowhere is standing directly behind her father in the back—But it isn’t a customer…. Her sick crimson eyes staring at her with a desperate looking expression. Why is she here?? Am… Am I going insane? As soon as Rhemi closes her eyes again, she vanishes, but it still frightens her.

“...Wh-white..” She finally finishes muttering, still staring in the back where the figure once stood.

It was…. Herself. The ghost of her former self that keeps popping up in her dreams. The same person in her reflection the other day. Her sick bloodshot eyes, yellow tainted skin and the stench of cremated ashes. Clearly, no one else can see her, or smell the terrible scent of death.

Quickly, she’s snapped back to reality as soon as her fathers speaks again and she looks back down at her gown. “....Please…” He scoffs, pitching the bridge of his nose. “...It looks like a rag—and for gods’ sake—Why is it blush?? Virgins are supposed to wear white—“

“——Okaaaaaay! Rhemi let's get you out of your beautiful dress so the poor tailor can finish the hem, okay?” Portia quickly and skillfully interrupts, smacking her hands together with a large fake grin. She nearly pushes Rhemi to the back room to change out of it.

Portia grumbles under head breath, helping her get back into the changing room. “What the fuck is that guy’s—” Words fail her as soon as she notices her friend’s tears in her eyes and the sorrow filled look in her face. “Oh… no, Rem!” Hastily, she hands her a tissue before her makeup runs.

“It just…. So much is happening….. And…. He- ...He thinks it ….lo- looks bad….” Rhemi sniffles, trying to keep the tears from falling, her nose and lips starting to crinkle back. “Is-is it really that bad??”

Portia is quick to embrace her upset friend and hug her tightly. “No, no, no…. He’s wrong, Rem. You look gorgeous! He doesn’t know the hell he’s talking about! I mean, the guy wears an ugly ass cape for god sakes! If anything he’s a walking fashion nightmare! All he’s missing is the stupid puffy pants and a fourteen foot stick up is ass!” Slowly, she pulls away and wipes the tears from her friend's eyes comfortingly. “Please don’t cry, Rhemi. You really do look amazing. Agrippa, Pierre, Nadia, and I would have told you if it didn’t!... Please, don’t let this jerk make you think otherwise.”

“I don’t think he was trying to be a jerk… he was just telling me how he felt… I mean… I asked him what he thought after all…. and….. h-his opinion is v-valid.”

Portia flutters her eyes and shakes her head baffled. Rhemi is usually a pretty good judge of character, yet anytime anyone says anything bad about the Archmagister, she denies it, or makes excuses. “Rhemi….. Why do you keep defending this guy?! All he’s done is been rude and disregards everyone’s feelings.”

Rhemi stifles and quickly wipes her nose with a handkerchief, refusing to look Portia in the eye. “.... H-... He’s my father.”

“Yeah! One that you just mee—” Portia suddenly stops herself, pressing her lips tightly together and slightly shakes her head. Perhaps now isn’t the time. Rhemi isn’t seeing this man for what he is. Thoughtfully she starts to speak again. “...Look… all I’m saying is that no matter who this person is to you, no one should make you cry and make you feel like shit in your wedding dress.”

Rhemi fiddles with her fingers, not very convinced. “B… But what if he’s right?”

The Devorak sister takes a large breath, pushing down the urge to go back and knock the wind out of that plum haired asshole. But as calmly as she could she takes both of her friend’s hands and asks, “Rem. Sweetie. Do you love this dress?”

Sheepishly her friend replies, “... Y-... yes….”

“Does it make you feel all happy and warm inside when you put it on?”

“Uh- huh….”

“Do you feel amazing when you’re in it??”

“Y-... yeah…I do....”

“Then forget what he said! It makes you feel amazing… You cried your beautiful eyes out when you first got into it because you said you felt so amazing. You loved it! You still love it! This is your dress. Please don’t let that man take that away from you.”

Silence takes over the room as Rhemi ponders her friend’s words for a moment and she sniffles. The most concerning thing was seeing her sick past self staring at her from across the room. She’s never seen her outside of the dream realm till now… Perhaps it was her that Rhemi heard the other day in the palace and who she saw in the mirror this morning. Who else could it be??

Portia sighs and loops her arm through Rhemi’s. “Come on. Let’s get ya out so Pierre can finish up, ok?” Rhemi follows her, but doesn’t pick up her eyes, still totally lost in thoughts. In a last attempt, Portia leans her head on her shoulder. “... You really look amazing, Rem.”

Silently Rhemi nods with a fake half grin, finally picking up her gaze to meet her friend. “Thanks, Portia… I’m really glad you are here.” She says placing her head on top of her’s.

“...Haha.. You’re lucky my brother wasn’t here—”

“—Oh gods yeah! He probably would have decked him in the face.”

“Hell! You’re lucky I didn’t!”

“Thank you, Pasha.” Rhemi mutters as stops in her tracks so she could embrace her friend.

“What are maids of honor for?” Portia whispers back, kindly embracing her back.

“Please don’t tell Muri about this….”

“.... I… I promise.”

Eventually, the two get the dress off without disturbing any of the pins on the bottom. The apprentice makes sure her eyes aren’t red in the dressing room before she walks out to meet her father again. The tension in the room was so tangible, so intoxicating.

Portia and Agrippa watched from the tailor door as Rhemi and her father walked towards the palace.

The silence was absolutely dreadful on the way to the palace. Luckily, it was within a short distance and this night would be over with. Rhemi never felt so conflicted before. Everything was so overwhelming lately. All she wanted was for her father to be happy for her. But everything she did seemed to blow up in her face.

As they reach the palace, her father finally realizes that she wasn’t walking towards the shop. “Well…. This is you.” She announces, rather happy to be done with him for the day.

“Oh…” He says a bit bewildered. “.... But I thought I was walking you home.”

“No no no. The palace is right around the corner from Pierre’s. It doesn’t make any sense going all the way across town.”

“Please. I don’t mind.”

“No, Père. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay??” Turning away from him never felt better. She hated to admit it, but he was just exhausting to be around. And after today, she had just enough of it all. “Good night.” She says just turning her so he could hear her.

With a knowing sigh, he places his cane hard into the cobblestone with a clank. “...Is it what I said about the dress.. Isn’t it?” She stops in her tracks but doesn’t look behind her… Maybe he’s going to apologize? “... Rhemielia, dear. Believe me when I say that you are making a huge mistake.” Her fists clenched so hard it almost hurts, her hopes crushed once again. Nope. Of course he wasn’t going to apologize. “... I am telling you that there are better men in Charlès that would put you into the finest of wedding gow—”

“—Have a nice night, Père…” Rhemi mutters trying to hold back the tears. “I’ll... I’ll see you later.”

As Rhemi makes her way down the street and disappears into the crowd. Martin can’t help but remember that night when he lost her. All he could do was just sit there and watch as she was swept away by that dreadful witch. Just like his other dream with the young woman whose neck was snapped. He felt so powerless of movement in these moments.

As he stood there, for one of the first times in years, Martin felt a pull on his chest. A feeling like he might have done something wrong tonight. He hadn’t felt like this since… Well… Since Rhemi’s birthday nearly fifteen years ago now.

He never meant to hurt her. She just… needed to learn a lesson…

“She’ll be fine.” He mutters to himself, shaking off this feeling of regret. “... One day she’ll thank me.”

On the way home, Rhemi made sure she got rid of all her tears before she came back home with Muriel for the night. It's a good thing people usually leave you alone when you're crying. If Muriel notices, she’ll just say that they were good tears from the fitting. All happy tears. Nothing bad happened. It’s all good!… But he knows they’re not.

————Rowdy Raven————

SKKKKIIIIIRRRRT!!!!

“—THAT BASTARD SAID WHAT ABOUT HER DRESS??” Julian shouts standing up from the table in dismay.

The tavern is busy like it usually is. Agrippa, Portia, Julian, and Asra decided to have a drink after today. It was only Monday, but it felt like everyday was an eternity since Sir Martin came into port. Portia had just finished telling her brother and his partner about what had happened at the tailors, and of course they were enraged.

Asra just yanks him back down to his chair. “Shhhh!! Ilya! Would you please calm down! Believe me, I’m just as pissed as you are!”

“If I only had my cricket bat….” Agrippa says, fantasizing while staring at the wall, sipping on their ale. “Fucking asshole…” They say as Portia holds their hand with a sweet reassuring smile.

“Did he really make her cry??” Asra asks soberly.

Portia nods sadly. “It was absolutely heartbreaking. I’ve never seen her look so frustrated and hurt before! But don’t tell Muriel! I promised her I wouldn’t.”

“Why did you tell us then?”

“She only said, Muriel.” She shrugs. “...It’ll just make the poor guy more stressed out anyways. He’s under a lot of pressure as well. This is his wedding too.”

Asra's stomach tied in knots at the thought of his best friend crying. “What the hell is this guy’s problem???”

“You should have heard what he said before she tried on the dress.” Agrippa mumbles before taking a large swing of their ale again.

“What did he say??” Julian and Asra ask at the same time, leaning closer into the table.

“It was something along the lines that he ‘couldn’t believe that she was serious about marrying that ‘seven foot tall brute’... I heard them talking before we opened the door.”

Asra's nose crinkles in and his top half of his lip curls into a snarl. “And what did she say??”

“Oh! She was quick to defend him, and she almost looked angry. But at the same time…. afraid? I dunno—but it's like her father doesn’t realize that Rhemi is her own person now…. She’s not that child that was taken from him years ago.”

“.... Do you think he still sees her as a little kid?”

Portia shrugs, staring at a stain on the wooden table. “.... Maybe?... I feel like he sees her more of something that was his property… Not really another person with feelings.”

Julian slams his fists on the table, “THAT’S. IT!” making everything rattle and clank, nearly spilling a few drinks. He snaches his goblet, jumping to a stand and chugging down the last of his Salty bitters, then throws his glass down to the ground, smashing it into a hundred pieces. “—IMMA KILL ‘EM!”

“Ilya! Sit your drunk ass down and shut up!! You’re not killing anyone!” Portia scolds. “WE four, collectively…. however might just—”

“Pasha!” Asra laughs, tugging his drunken partner back down to his chair again. “That’s a bit extreme don’t you think?? How about we just talk to Rhemi about it.”

“That man is completely toxic.” Julian mumbles, taking Asra’s drink from his hands. “... *Hiccup*....Have you…. Have you noticed that Rhemi isn’t as bright as she normally is?” Julian mutters, sipping the last bit of Asra’s salty bitters since he threw down his own cup.

“.... I have…. and something about all of this bothers me.” Asra says leaning into the table with his arms folded. “....I feel like her father is killing her spirit…. I wonder if he’s always been like this….. And if that's true… it makes me wonder…” he pauses for a movement then shakes his head. “N… Nevermind.”

“What?” Agrippa, Portia, and Julian ask in unison.

“.... *Sigh*.... I might be going too far if I say this.”

“Well now you have to tell us.” Agrippa says with a straight face about to knock back the last bit of ale.

“.... I don’t know…… Sometimes I wonder if she and her mother were really….. ‘Kidnapped’.”

The table suddenly became so eerily quiet, as if they all were thinking the same thing.

✨To be continued…

Sorry for the long wait my trash pandas. But I really needed this break from writing. And I'm really glad I took it. I am so happy with myself right now. I know its still not by best work, but I at least don't hate it. This chapter was supposed a bit longer, but I decided not to shoot myself in the foot this time and just split it.

Thank you for the babies who have been support and encouraging to me when I was at a really low point. I was really sad that last chapter didn't do as well as I was hoped. But I realized that a lot of people are still reading and I need to be humble and be grateful for what I have. Anyways--chapter 7, The King of Pentacles~ should be up soonish. That may be another shorter chapter, but it gonna be a big angsty one. *wink wink*. As always, thanks for reading my hot garbage! <3

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pomegranates-and-blood · 3 years

Text

The Holly And The Ivy

My Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar/Reader, Sigurd/Reader, Sigurd/Margrethe

Summary: “I had this idea where Sigurd (or any of the brothers really) were to marry a Christian, but their marriage is dry and more political than anything, but Ivar is fascinated by her attitude (being opposite of him) and her love for life and simple things. He hears the reader and who she's married to talking about how she loves Christmas and he shuts her down, but Ivar decides to let her pick out a tree from the forest and put it up in the Great Hall and decorate it any way she wants. And the ending would include a kiss under mistletoe? If you can work with it.”

I’m very sorry if I dissapoint you anon, but the story was easier or smoother for me to write as a Modern!AU. I really hope you don’t mind. I can try something in the actual time period still, if you are not happy with au’s.

Word Count: 4.2k

Warnings: Mentions of cheating, passing mentions of abusive relationships (not involving any of the relationsips in the tag btw), angst, my poor attempt at holiday fics or holiday spirit. Also, a part is not smut or explicit but getting closer to it than most of my work, so that too.

A/N: I really hope I don’t dissapoint whoever requested this. Also, I made this way more complicated than it needed to be, bc I always do, and for that I’m also sorry. Hope you like this, thank you for reading!

The title is from a Christmas carol, cause why not lol

Taglist: @1950schick @youbloodymadgenius (I realized you once asked to be tagged on my Vikings works and I forgot, sorry)

“When we are done with this trip we’ll go back home.” Sigurd points out one night as you both say goodnight, in some hotel somewhere in Norway.

“Home?”

“To my mother’s, in a week. Family time and all that.”

Before you are to leave for your own room, you call out, “For Christmas?”

The blond shakes his head, “Yule. You can celebrate your Christmas when we return.”

“That’ll be after the New Year!” You complain softly, offering a smile because you cannot help it.

“I will have to deal with Ivar and my mother, you can deal with this.” Sigurd sentences, the harshness startling you and prompting you to accept the words with a nod.

He mutters a goodnight again, hesitating for a moment on his bedroom door, as if questioning whether he should say sorry or not. You choose to relieve him of that choice, going into your own room and closing the door with a quiet click.

As if it were waiting for the door to close, your phone lights up on your nightstand.

How’s Oslo?

You type a quick response,

You could just ask me if we’ll be attending your mother’s celebrations, you know.

The response takes a while longer, and you cannot help the smile that pulls at your lips.

…Are you?

I expect all those lessons of yours with Floki to come to use. I’m going to need to learn about Yule, apparently.

So I’m supposed to teach you?

Who else?

Your fiancé. Is the reply you get, so fast you think he already knew what your reply was going to be before you even sent it. After a moment, before you can even think on what to answer, another message comes through. Nvm, my brother is useless. I’ll do it.

Your lips pull into a wide and stupid smile, and God, not even the shame at the quick beating of your heart or the warmth that spreads through you could make you be any less thankful for this, if anything. For him.

Thank you. Are you going to be there by Christmas?

This time the answer takes a while longer, and the indication that he is typing appears and disappears a few times.

I don’t know. Before you can ask anything, or send anything, a new message pops up. Princess, this doesn’t get any easier. I don’t know if I can.

Tears rise in your eyes because a part of you knows you’re meant to say goodbye at the end, and every time you are reminded, either by the pain in your own chest or Ivar’s words, that you are on borrowed time; you realize that end is close than you think.

Well, in that case, Merry Christmas, Ivar.

____

You find yourself being driven to that massive and fancy house by your fiancé.

You toy with your engagement ring as the car approaches the house. You know, rationally, that you have nothing to fear. The brothers have never been mean or hurtful -well, most of them haven’t-, and Aslaug has always been courteous and kind and…incredibly performative.

A part of you never ceased to feel like an outsider looking in. Between the pariah that a stupid business practice will be made into Sigurd’s wife, and the silent and soft woman they ignore as if she were another piece of furniture, you’d much rather be the latter.

“Heavy little thing, isn’t it?” Sigurd teases as he turns off the engine, motioning with his head to the rings on your left hand.

You don’t say anything in response, simply getting out of the car in silence. You know he meant well, he always does.

But a part of you that is hopeful and childish and still looks at the snow that starts to fall lightly over the ground as some miracle that means Christmas is upon us…that part of you cannot help but feel bitter about it all. Regretful, or, maybe, resentful.

You never imagined life would be this, engagement -marriage- would be this. You thought of happiness and warmth and fidelity.

Foolish hopes, really. The hopes of a child that watched her parents dance to the light of the Christmas lights, to the music of the soft music her father hummed. Nothing but foolish hopes.

So, when Sigurd steps out and hesitates in offering you his hand, you offer a smile and take his hand in yours, choosing to appreciate that at least the man you will be forced to marry is one you might call a friend, a partner, one day.

It is easy to forget, it is easy to let your heart be light and just enjoy the adorable giggles of Björn and Torvi’s children, the sympathetic smile of Margrethe, the warm and brotherly embrace of Hvitserk.

You are sipping on wine and watching Ubbe throw Asa over his head as she yells for him to throw her higher when a presence stands by your side and a wine glass clinks with your own in silent toast.

“I know you know about Sigurd and me,” Margrethe whispers, “And I want you to know I am sorry. But…I won’t leave him, not until he asks me to.”

If a year ago someone told you that you’d spent Christmas Eve being told by your fiancé’s mistress that she refuses to stop seeing him, you would have assumed the world turned on its head.

It did, but…you still find it in you to love this world that hurts you, this life that tests you.

You offer a smile, “I know you love him. It started as…”

“Gold-digging?” The blonde supplies, a sheepish grimace on her face.

“I wouldn’t be as unkind as to-…”

“You should. That’s what it was,” Her smile loses the edge, and she falters, “At first.”

You accept her words with a nod, and another sip of your wine.

“Then as long as you are discreet, I don’t mind. Keep him happy, Margrethe, he deserves it.”

You start to walk away when she stops you with a call of your name.

“And you don’t? Deserve to be happy, I mean.”

You hesitate, faltering for a few seconds too long. Her blue eyes are big and uncharacteristically honest as they look at you.

“I…”

You take your gaze off hers, because it feels like she will know something she shouldn’t, something you don’t want her to; but your eyes betray you, it seems.

“Oh, him. Well-kept secret, that one,” She states, and when you open your mouth to argue, Margrethe shakes her head, “It’s okay, I don’t…I don’t blame you. Even if I don’t understand at all how that came to be.”

“It’s…”

“Complicated?” The blonde supplies, and you allow yourself a smile, you loosen your shoulders and close your eyes with a deep breath.

“Ivar, he…understands me.”

“But you two are nothing alike,” She states, and at your shrug, concedes, “Maybe that’s why.”

“Maybe,” You offer, and after a breath, because bitter regret at being the thing that keeps her from the man she loves chokes you for a moment, “Margrethe, I…”

“Don’t you even think of apologizing to me,” She laughs, “Gods, woman, you truly are a soft thing, aren’t you?”

“I have the privilege of being it.” You offer with a kind smile, because you’ve seen the scars, because you remember her when she was more fragile.

Margrethe shakes her head, “The burden.” She corrects, and with a soft squeeze of her free hand on your arm, she walks away.

____

It’s on the day before Christmas that the last of the Lothbrok arrives. You walk down the stairs to a very early breakfast, and jump when the front door opens to reveal Ubbe and Ivar.

He came.

“You are up early.” Ubbe comments as he passes you by, dropping a kiss on your cheek.

You greet Ubbe absently, your eyes on his brother. Numbly, you hear him say something about telling Aslaug that Ivar has come home, and quick steps carrying him up the stairs.

Your lips curve into a smile, or at least they try to, “Hi.”

“Hello, Princess,” Ivar greets, what months ago would have been a smirk curving his lips. Now, now it’s more tired and worn than anything. “Just in time for your…Christmas, right?”

You nod, feeling the stupid urge to cry, “Yeah. Means a lot, you know.”

“Well, I could feel you pouting over the phone, love,” His eyes check the stairs before he moves aided by his crutch towards you with a wince of pain -the cold, you remind yourself, the cold making his legs ache-, and once he is before you, a hand that shouldn’t feel as tender as it does cups your cheek and brings your mouth to his. “I couldn’t leave you alone here. You always find ways to embarrass yourself.”

You chuckle, burrowing your head on his chest as you embrace him.

“I may have fucked up a few times,” You concede, eyes closed as you take in his scent, his warmth, “But I’m cute, I get away with a lot of things.”

____

As the timer on your phone dings, you get up from the couch, leaving a warm but strong drink behind, and make your way to the kitchen, ready to take out the sponge cake -no, a voice too alike Ivar corrects you, Bûche de Noël-.

Uneven steps behind you let you know of who walked in behind you, and you turn around with a slight frown on your brows, meaning to ask something before he interrupts you.

“He’s groping and kissing her in front of you, and you say nothing?” Ivar demands, anger shining clearly in his blue eyes.

“Sigurd and Margrethe?” You ask, and shake your head, “Why would I say anything?”

“You know about them.”

“Of course I do. He doesn’t hide it from me, and he shouldn’t hide it from his family. He loves her, and she loves him.”

“You don’t care that he’s humiliating you?” He presses, and you sigh.

“Everyone here knows how things truly are between Sigurd and me.”

Ivar’s mouth curls into a snarl, and cruelty spews from his lips, “Well, if you had let Ragnar know you had no problem letting your husband fuck whoever he wants, you might have been able to marry Björn, like your father wanted.”

You close your eyes, “Don’t be like this.”

“Like what, hm? Like someone that’s watching the woman he-…What am I supposed to be then, hm? What would make you happy?” He accuses, not losing the cruel edge in his voice even if you both know what he stopped himself from admitting. When you don’t answer, Ivar takes a deep and angry breath through his nose, “I’ve always been jealous of my brothers, you know this. Growing up their poor crippled brother is nothing to knowing Sigurd gets you and doesn’t even know what he-…what I’d do to be him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

“Make him be the man you deserve!”

“He’s not the man I want,” You point out before you can keep the words trapped behind your lips. Ivar is inexplicably stunned by your words, it seems, and you lower your gaze. Resting your hands on the counter you drop your shoulders and shake your head, letting go of the previous argument and returning to…peace, or as close to it as one can get with Ivar. “Your brother deserves to be as happy as he can, with the woman he loves. It will not hurt me to see him with her. As long as-…”

“‘As long as it is discreet’, yes, I know. My mother and Ragnar have the same agreement.”

“It works for them, does it not?”

Ivar meets your gaze and doesn’t answer for a few moments, long enough that dread sets in your chest and questions arise in your mind.

Eventually, on the side of his jaw the clear tell of gritted teeth, he replies,

“Not as well as you think.”

“Well, Sigurd and I are friends, we…things will work out. They have to.”

“They have to, of course,” He mocks, moving his head as he rolls his eyes, “Anything to keep Ragnar and your father happy, hm?”

“Ivar…”

His eyes search yours, searching for the answer to a question he has not yet asked,

“I-If I asked you not to do this, if I…if I asked you for more time…” He leaves the words hanging between you, and you blink past helpless tears. He knows the answer, you know the answer.

Thankfully, you don’t have to remind him -and yourself- of the world you live in, of the lives you were meant to live, because the door to the kitchen opens and Aslaug walks through.

You keep your eyes firmly set on the tray before you, even though you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, demanding an answer. When he realizes he will not get one, he grunts, a clenched fist hitting the counter once before he walks away.

“I’m sorry.” You offer the matriarch as she keeps her all-seeing eyes on you, but Aslaug offers a smile. A fake one, but a smile nonetheless.

“The cold gets to Ivar, it makes him irritable. It is not your fault.” She soothes, but the smile you offer her in thanks still trembles. You both know these are lies you are sharing with one another, and though it makes you falter and stumble, Aslaug moves gracefully from one lie to the next.

“I’ll-…” You point behind you, to the living room, but the woman shakes her head.

“Surely you have time to help me with this?” She asks. It feels like walking into a wolf’s den when you nod your head and approach her.

“Of course.”

She watches raptly as you assist her in preparing the Yule Log, and you focus on doing your best to keep your hands from trembling.

“For someone that doesn’t follow the Gods, you know a lot about tradition, girl.”

“I…It was the least I could do, learning about what is important to your family, to Sigurd.” You offer, and whatever she -who always has the look of someone that sees beyond what normal eyes can- can sense in your words makes Aslaug stop.

She turns to you, and surprises you with a hand on your cheek. The woman towards over you, but the gentleness in her touch, the warmth in her eyes, they help you to not feel threatened.

“Still loving the world that hurts you, sweet thing?”

“It’s all I know how to do.”

Aslaug’s smile is almost sad when she looks into your eyes, “To love, yes, I know. Wish I saw that sooner,” You don’t know what to answer to that, so you offer her only a shaky smile and a shrug. Aslaug chuckles gently, “And you love my son, don’t you?”

The terrifying thought that she knows what she’s doing when not saying any names, the realization nothing gets past her and neither did whatever is between you and Ivar, it all settles in your stomach with a dead weight.

Still, whether she asks about Sigurd or Ivar, the answer is the same.

“Yes.”

One as a friend, a partner, a man you can learn to respect and build a life alongside of. The other, as everything you ever wanted, as someone that will always make you wonder about the ‘what if’s.

She shakes off whatever takes a hold of her, and before you can ask what she means, why it pains her, she steps back from you and turns her back to you.

“You know, Ragnar isn’t the only one in this family with an eye for business. I was once in the same position you are now, the heiress to an empire,” Aslaug’s smile seems to thaw as she hands you a refilled glass of wine to match hers. Resting her backside on the counter behind her, she continues, “My parents were able to teach me a few valuable lessons before their death.

She grabs your left hand, stopping you. Her eyes look deeply into yours, but her thumb rolls your engagement ring on your finger.

“Like how to understand when I can’t make any more moves. And when I can change the wording in a deal to make it favor me.

Your lips part, you think to say something, but Aslaug stops you with a smile.

“Let’s hope you’ve learned the same lessons, my dear.”

____

Ubbe is dancing with Asa standing on his feet, and you watch with a smile on your face as the family enjoys time together, and celebrates the holidays in their own way.

A part of you misses the Christmas lights, the decorations you’d help your parents put up when you were a kid. A part of you misses how simple life was back then, how in this time of year you could forget there was a world past the snow drifting down and the warmth of a hearth and a home.

Ivar comes right up to you, but doesn’t sit next to you, choosing to remain standing.

“Grab your coat,” He orders, and at your confused frown, he rolls his eyes and amends, “Please.”

The most insincere please in the history of pleases, but you know you get more than most, so you don’t comment on it.

Still, you have to ask, “Why?”

“I-…a surprise,” He says, and insists you move with a gesture of his head, “Come on.”

You follow him to the small house the Lothbroks have by the pool, a cozy little home of big windows. When Ivar motions for you to go in ahead of him, a part of you is suspicious, but you still skip your way inside and try not to ask questions as to how it is so warm here when it should be vacant.

Ivar turns the lights on, and you find in the middle of the living room a Christmas tree.

The tree is bare, but still lively and familiar.

You turn to Ivar with tears in your eyes, because you cannot help it.

“You did this for me?”

“You love your Christmas,” He mumbles, embarrassed at the reaction his -to some, uncharacteristic- thoughtfulness got out of you. “I figured you deserved to have some of it with you here.”

“Did you buy Christmas lights?” You ask softly, almost moving up and down in the balls of your feet in excitement, eyeing the bags on a chair nearby.

Ivar chuckles, endeared, and nods, “Go ahead, Princess.”

You skip your way to the bags, quickly looking over the goods and already planning on how to decorate it, how to make it look pretty, how to make it yours.

You don’t truly know how long you spend on it, gleefully putting up Christmas lights, and little ornaments. During the whole time you spent excitedly decorating the tree, you can feel Ivar’s eyes on you, and when you look back at him you find him staring with a strange softness in his gaze.

You choose not to think too much on it, and instead ask his opinion on the decorations, that he gives gruffly and with a very poor attempt at making you believe that -either because Christmas grew on him, which you find very unlikely, or because of your own happiness- he isn’t happy to be here.

____

You smile at the warm and twinkling lights, and burrow closer to Ivar’s warmth, refusing to take your eyes off the dancing lights and refusing to put your feet back on the ground.

Refusing to step out of the fantasy that this could be your life.

Ivar shifts his position, and you lift your head from the juncture between his neck and shoulder and meet his eyes in question.

His eyes give away so much, always have, at least to you. And now they reflect the warm sparkle of the Christmas lights, and they reflect hesitation, fear, uncertainty, love.

Before you can ask what is wrong, Ivar leans in, his hand previously around you tangling in your hair as his lips claim yours.

His kiss is always demanding, but this time it holds desperation in the way Ivar begs for your lips to part with his own, it holds an urgency in the way his tongue dances with yours, it holds a ragged edge in the shaky breath that he lets out through his nose, it holds a goodbye in the way he ends the kiss as if forcing himself to pull away from you.

You try getting your breath under control and your voice to be yours again, but he’s so close, and warm, and yours; and all you want to do is kiss him again.

Kiss him again, and make the furrow in his brow, the pain in his eyes, go away. Kiss him again, and pretend you are not living on borrowed time.

So you do.

You kiss him, and take control of the kiss, and make him groan lightly against your mouth when you tug on his hair, and whimper his name against his own when you straddle him and feel him getting hard underneath you.

When your need for breath makes you part from his kiss, Ivar wastes no time trailing fervent kisses down your neck, panting breaths against the hot skin that he kisses and licks and bites.

You moan his name, forgetting everything but the touch of his lips on your skin, forgetting everything but the scent and taste and feel of him.

Either at the sound of your voice or the grind of your hips against his hardening cock, Ivar’s breath stutters and he breathes your name back at you, voice low.

His brow rests against your collarbone as he takes deep breaths, and your fingers toy at the hair that flows down to his shoulders.

“You know…” He murmurs, pressing a kiss that makes you shiver right on the dip between your collarbones, “There’s nothing I want more right now than marking this pretty neck of yours. Leaving you with…” His teeth scrape against your skin, a tease both for you and himself. Ivar does it a few more times, and moves up your neck again. Your breath shudders past your lips, and you tug on his hair to remind him of what he was saying. You always did love hearing him speak. For all the months you spend apart, his voice telling you what he’d do to you, what he’d have you do to him, is all that keeps you warm. Ivar chuckles, but continues, “Leaving you with my mark all over you, where everyone can see, so…so that they don’t doubt you’re mine.

His hands tighten on your waist, before they travel down, caressing your thighs as he sighs.

“But you’re not, are you? And I can’t…I can’t do any of that. I can’t-…”

You interrupt him before his thoughts can get ahead of him, before he can twist himself into knots about the situation you are both in.

“I am yours. Only yours.” You remind him softly, your lips by his ear. You lean back so you can meet his eyes, and seal your promise with a soft kiss over his lips.

Ivar’s eyes search yours when you pull back, with the same look as before. Uncertain, lost, tender and yet almost sad.

“Marry me.” He whispers, keeping his eyes on yours.

“What?” You squeak, eyes wide. He couldn’t have…he knows that…none of this makes any sense.

“Marry me instead of Sigurd,” He insists, and as if remembering the part he forgot, he curses and hurries to fetch something from his pocket. He offers you a simple but beautiful ring, and swallows, “I-I can make you happier than he ever could, I…I love you.

I know you can, you already do.

I love you too.

But you can’t say any of that, because your breaths are shallow and your head is filled with thoughts and…and you need space.

You scramble to stand, to put distance between the two of you. After a few controlled breaths, you return your eyes to Ivar, whose hand has now fallen back to his lap even if he still holds on to the delicate ring.

He grits his teeth, the obvious tell at the side of his jaw, and he seems to want to divert his eyes from you, but he only blinks and keeps certain eyes on you.

“Your father wants you to marry one of Ragnar’s sons, he doesn’t care who. I…have talked with my father, he agrees that if you want to, we can…” He licks his lips in a nervous gesture, “Mother says any backlash from breaking the engagement can be handled.”

“You’ve thought this through.”

“Of course I have, y-you’d be Sigurd’s wife if I didn’t think of something,” A twitch of anger, of uncertainty, of fear, on his face, and then he amends, “You still can be. But I want you to be able to choose.”

Choose me, is what he doesn’t say.

Your heart is lodged in your throat, and you try a few times before you can finally speak,

“Ivar, we haven’t…it’s been only a few months.”

“And it will not work out, that’s what you’re saying?” He huffs, defensive, “It won’t work out if you marry my brother either.”

“I-…this-…”

“Stop thinking of excuses,” He snaps, gritted teeth and hurt written in his eyes, “I’ll handle everything, no matter your answer. Just…just give me an answer, Princess.”

____

It is open ended cause there’s two ends to this, I wanted to leave the choice to you guys! So, follow the link for the epilogue of your choice:

Will you accept the proposal and be bound to Ivar, for better or worse?

Or will you stay with Sigurd, and be content with companionship and friendship?

Hope you liked this, even if it wasn’t very holiday-ey. I wish you all very happy holidays and a great (or decent, after 2020 I’m happy with decent) 2021!!

(Ik it’s like the 13th and I’m gonna be very much around here posting and bothering the whole lot of ya till the holidays and beyond, but holiday fic and all that, ‘twas the perfect time to send good wishes and all. Love ya!)

#ivar the boneless x reader #ivar x reader #ivar the boneless imagine #ivar the boneless #ivar

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punksarahreese · 3 years

Note

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention 🐝

Attention | Bloodletting

✿: feeling so out of it, they need constant attention

Occult!AU; Barely escaping the Rhodes pack after they once again beat her half to death, Sam goes searching for Connor

CW: blood, torture/abuse, talk of death

***

Just a few more steps and then you can rest

You’ve made it this far, keep going

Don’t you dare die in this forest alone

That was only a snippet of what was going through Sam’s head as she dragged herself through the undergrowth of the forest. The werewolf wasn’t sure how long she had been walking for before she had collapsed, her body too weak to support its weight. She couldn’t stop, though, so she just dragged herself across the cold dirt, feeling spruce needles digging harshly into her knees and rocks tearing at her skin. She was still half turned, too exhausted to change back, but her claws came in handy as they allowed her to grip at the dirt for stability. She knew being in wolf form only expended energy but she was also glaringly aware that she probably wouldn’t survive anyway if she changed now. Her human form would be too weak to handle the pain and she could still feel blood seeping from the deep gouge in her side; without her lycanthropy boosting her healing, Sam would be better off dead.

She didn’t have much memory of the past few weeks, the only things she could remember were painful and hard to focus on. Ever since the death of their leader, the pack had gotten violent. With Connor on the run, the werewolves who idolized the late leader of the Rhodes pack had to take their grief and anger out on someone else. Sam was the obvious target, seeing as her insubordinate behaviour was the reason he was dead in the first place.

They had kept her in one of the empty caves, back in chains like she had been merely days before. She was still a new wolf and the treatment didn’t help her adjust, the enchanted silver of her restraints burned at her skin and left her writhing in constant discomfort. She was scarcely fed, thrown only bones and the rare piece of scraps if they were feeling especially kind. Sam was no stranger to their hate, she had never really been accepted since her turning anyway, but this was even worse than she could have imagined. They beat her every day, letting the younger fighters use her as a training dummy just as Cornelius had wanted before he died. At sundown she would be thrown roughly back in her cave, her wounds full of rocks and her body unable to heal because it was so weak. Sam couldn’t do anything but weep, praying to the universe that someone would just put her out of her misery.

This day had been different, though. One of the pups was in charge of putting her back in chains, heaving her limp body across the camp to lock her away again. He didn’t want anything to do with this job, that was clear, and he didn’t make certain that the restraints were tight. He left and it took Sam a few hours to work up the strength and courage to slip her scarred wrists from the loose chains. Knowing this was her only chance, Sam waited until she was sure no one was awake, praying that they didn’t come check on her that evening. It took all her willpower to keep quiet, wanting to cry out with the agony she felt as she hobbled as silently as possible. She was limping, pretty sure one of her ankles was shattered at that point. Still, the second she reached the edge of the camp, Sam took off in a sprint; knowing someone would catch her scent soon enough.

Unsure of where she was or how long she had been running for, the blonde knew she was lost. She hoped that would mean no other wolf would find her, though she didn’t know how in the world she would survive this. The sun had begun to rise slowly to the east, letting her know it must have been about 6 hours since she started running. She was running on fumes, barely able to drag herself without feeling like she would throw up, though it would be only bile by that point. When her weak wrist finally gave out, a sickening crack echoing through the forest as she failed to catch herself, Sam could only whimper. She rolled herself over partially, curling into herself in the mud because she knew this was it. She would die here, alone and in absolute agony, but at least it wouldn’t be by the pack’s hand.

“Connor,” she mumbled weakly into the empty air, “I’m so sorry.”

That was when her vision went dark, surrendering to the promise of peace found in unconsciousness.

***

“Oh dear, you poor thing.”

An accent that she didn’t recognize, childish yet sounding ancient all the same. Sam couldn’t open her eyes, a blinding light casting painful shapes behind her eyelids. This must be the end, she figured, the voice belonging to whatever would end her suffering. She didn’t know if werewolves could even go to Heaven, probably not, but she just hoped Purgatory would be less painful than the alternative.

“Mama won’t…” the voice just barely broke through her haze, “... I can’t leave her…”

Excruciating pain shot through Sam’s body soon after, making her cry out. Well, she assumed she did, though she couldn’t hear herself at all. Every fibre of her being was begging for it to end, pleading with whatever was torturing her to just let her die. Those were the only words in her mind just before she blacked out again.

Please, let me die.

***

Cold hands, hushed voices, the feeling of something pressing into her wounds. It all just brushed at the edge of her consciousness, making Sam feel like she was in a dream. She must be, she figured, but she didn’t dare open her eyes. Waking up would mean being a punching bag all over again, the last thing she wanted to feel again was the razor sharp fangs tearing at her flesh. She couldn't live through her second family turning on her, over and over; she didn’t want to wake up to that ever again.

“Poor pup,” Sam wanted to flinch at the freezing fingers that trailed down her bruised face, “... in such a state.”

There was more conversation, both voices carrying the same accented tone that made her feel in a foreign place. She couldn’t place their words, as if they switch languages mid sentence and her brain couldn’t tell one word from another. Nothing felt real, not even the searing pain when her ankle was snapped back into place with a crunch that shook her whole leg. Nothing felt real, of course it didn’t; she was dead after all.

***

“Hey, c’mon, pup.”

Sam whined, the lights were once again too bright and her eyes refused to open. She didn’t know where she was and the freezing touch was back on her skin again. Clearly she wasn’t dead, not yet, despite what she had previously thought. She had been in and out of consciousness a few times, roused by the same low voice and the promise of painkillers or water.

“You need to drink something,” the voice pressed and a hand was on the back of Sam’s neck, “Would be a shame if dehydration kills you, after all of this.”

She didn’t fight when a glass was pressed to her lips, the hand cradling her head so she didn’t choke. She hadn’t noticed just how thirsty she had been, not until her dry throat was finally met with the water offered to her. It made her cough a little, relieved to have some fluids but it still shocked her body, and that earned her a soft chuckle from her caretaker.

“Careful,” the glass was removed when she had her fill and her head was guided back to the pillow, “Are you ready to join us?”

Sam didn’t answer, she couldn’t, because her head was pounding. She wanted to escape back into the minor peace she found in sleep, the one place away from all her pain and fear. She could only whimper a little when her body was jostled, an apology murmured as something soft was tucked around her.

“Alright, rest then.”

***

“She barely stirs,” her caretaker’s tone was matter-of-fact, “I am surprised. Lycanthropy-induced healing is incredibly agonizing.”

“Ava?” a new voice, an american accent that Sam swore she had heard before; not in this life but in her human one.

“What is it, Darling?”

“Where did she come from?”

“Tia found her,” the reply was gentle, “Half dead in the woods. The child has never been good with death, she begged me to save her. I couldn’t let the pup die, not on our land, so she may rest here until she regains her strength.”

“She is lucky to have you.”

Sam took a shaky inhale, scenting the air as best she could. This was the most alert she had been in days and she finally realized that her caretakers were not of the species she assumed. Well, she wasn't quite sure what she expected, but the scent of a vampire was not it. The other person was just that, human, though she reeked of vampire too. As much as her instincts told her this was the enemy, that she was in danger, she knew that wasn’t true. This vampire had been nothing but caring since she was brought here and she had certainly had a fair amount of chances to kill Sam before then. She was safe here, far safer than anywhere else in that moment.

“She grows stronger each day,” the vampire, Ava, continued, “Could you let the mongrels know, Darling? They may know of her, if they’d come take a look.”

“I will,” the American woman agreed, “Connor said he would drop by later, I’ll ask him then.”

That had Sam’s attention in seconds, unable to stop herself from gasping softly as she spoke for the first time in days, “C-connor?”

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gaiapaia · 3 years

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Kermit and Friends: Roasted

Imagine you're watching a movie about a female talk show host. In the film, an ex co-worker from her past who fell madly in love with her started sending masturbation videos to her email address. The host would then play said videos on her show, with the approval of her former co-worker since he thinks it will bring them closer together.

Fast forward a month or so later, after realizing those masturbation videos didn't have the positive impact on the host as he hoped, the ex co-worker becomes enraged and threatens to chop the host's head off. And THEN, only days later, he calls her show to tell the host she's beautiful over and over again, and invites her out to lunch the next weekend. The host politely accepts.

Ladies and gentleman... this isn't a movie. This is Kermit and Friends.

Eric Riggs made his return to Kermit and Friends this week after we found out he threatened to slice poor Elisa’s head off. His main objective with joining the show was to invite Elisa and Andy Dick out to lunch. Andy was super excited about the invitation, completely forgetting just a month or so before Andy was the one Eric was threatening to kill. Will this lunch actually happen? I guess we’ll have to wait until next week to find out!

Thankfully Elisa had some protection on the show yesterday with her lawyer Dan. After having so many legal and harmful threats sent her way over the last few months, it only made sense for Elisa to lawyer up. However, I don’t think Elisa ever expected that everyone a part of the show would try to steal her lawyer away from Elisa!

It seems like everyone in the Kermit and Friends universe needs or wants a lawyer these days. T-Bob is still fighting his 911 abuse case. Dave Robinson wants to lock his noisy neighbors up. Andy needs a lawyer for all types of things he doesn’t think is appropriate to discuss on the show (God only knows how deep that goes). Barry Boss is looking for a lawyer to sue the Feds. And so on and so forth!

The best part of all this is that Dan isn’t actually a lawyer. No, Dan Jablons is a great actor who once played a lawyer on Curb Your Enthusiasm. Dan was so convincing that he had everyone begging him to represent them yesterday. What a talent! Hopefully we’ll get to see Dan again in the near future.

Elisa was joined by two other very special guests this week: Prodigy Coach Janel Jones and stand-up comedian roaster Alex Hooper.

Janel Jones is a 20 year Army veteran who’s made headlines by raising her son to dominate the stock market game. At the age of 13, her boy managed to hit 6 figures by investing in Tesla options. Pretty impressive!

Since Janel is in the Army and gets deployed in different countries often, she makes the most of her time with her kids when she’s home by developing their skills to be financially independent. Janel has done a heck of a job. If you would like to follow in her amazing footsteps, check out her Parenting a Prodigy course by clicking here.

Alex Hooper is most known for his appearances on America’s Got Talent where he roasted the hosts. If you watch Kermit and Friends regularly, you know how self-deprecating Elisa can be, so of course she loved having a big time roaster like this come on and poke fun at her. Elisa gleefully cracked up at every joke he made towards her. What a sport she is.

Alex was a blast though. His roasting isn’t mean-spirited at all, just lighthearted witty jokes and then he turns into a sweetheart if he senses you’re taking it a little too hard. That said, Alex is a roasting master so he’s not someone you want to trade jabs with. He even wrote a book on roasting called, Roast Yourself To Happiness: A Comedian’s Guide to Finding Joy by Embracing Your Flaws. Click here to order your copy today!

As mentioned, Andy Dick was back on the show this week. He’s still suffering from his broken ankle. If it’s really broken, he’s going to be suffering a long time since Andy just expects it to heal on its own rather than see a doctor.

We found out Andy had to cancel a trip to Las Vegas where he was due to have a meeting with the director of the upcoming film The Birthday Cake, Jimmy Giannopoulos. The thing is, Andy was planning on taking this vacation without his fiancé! You would think a fun trip to Vegas would be even more fun with a beautiful outgoing woman like Elisa by your side, and not to mention what it could do for Elisa’s career if she were a part of these big meetings Andy supposedly had. But alas, karma hit poor Andy with an ankle lock and kept him home, bedridden. What a shame.

While Andy was stuck in bed, he got one of his many roommates, Eric, to show off his paintings. Eric is actually a pleasant artist unlike the other artist Elisa is used to dealing with. If you would like to check out some of Eric’s artwork and possibly buy a piece from him, check out his Instagram by clicking here.

Sigmond once again blessed KAF with his presence, bringing his partner Wappy onto the program. They were supposed to do a duet together but unfortunately Sigmond got cold feet and backed out. Instead, Wappy would do a solo piece that genuinely impressed myself and the entire audience watching. Very talented guy. Check out Wappy and Sigmond’s Soundcloud page by clicking here.

Another special musical guest this week was Rebekah, who was booked by none other than Tall, Dark, and A Handful. She did an absolutely beautiful performance of an original song she wrote called Bygones Be Bygones. You can watch her music video for it by clicking here.

However, not to sound like Gonzo, who is unbelievably infatuated with the person I’m about to mention, but I must say the best musical performance this week came from Mr. Karaoke King himself, Johnny B. He performed a karaoke version of Bobby Darin’s Mack the Knife that had Andy Dick in Heaven as he laid in bed singing along while all of Kermit’s beautiful friends danced to the music. It was a wonderful sight to behold.

You could tell Elisa had a blast during yesterday’s show. When she has fun, everyone has fun. That’s ultimately what the show is for me, so yesterday’s Kermit and Friends episode was perfect. Elisa’s pacing and timing with each guest was flawless, and the show flew by like it was only a half hour long. After Kermit and Friends yesterday, Elisa went on a karaoke bus ride throughout the city with her friends, which you could see on her Instagram stories. The joy on Elisa’s face during those stories, during Kermit and Friends yesterday... that is how I want Elisa’s life to always be. Here’s hoping. 🙏

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lumiolivierlithium · 3 years

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The Good Old Days Chapter Seventeen: Party at Vanessa's

A/N: Oh, you guys. I hammered this chapter out yesterday and good gravy, is it about to be a shit storm. I'm actually really happy with how it turned out and I hope you like it, too. Love you. x

ICYMI:

Chapter Sixteen: Perfect

Chapter Fifteen: Say It

It’s weird as hell being on this side of a party like this. I had no shame. I’ve worked these parties before for the sake of a little extra cash. Granted, those days were behind me, but I still felt for these poor sons of bitches that were enduring verbal abuse for the paycheck. I look back on those days that weren’t too distant and internally cringe. I think back to my last day at the restaurant and nearly throw up. I think of my last customer I ever dealt with and thank God the Old Man got me out of there. I’ll make sure to tip nicely. Although, the staff may not be the only ones in need of my sympathy tonight.

I caught a glimpse of the angel on my left. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think Vanessa was about to throw up. This better not end up a fucking repeat of the night I had to get Veronica out of a mess. I gave her a little nudge, just to snap her out of wherever her head was, “Vanessa? You doing ok?”

“Me?” she chirped, “Yeah. Super. But you know what could make it better?”

“What’s that?” I think I had a feeling where this was going.

Vanessa laced her fingers between mine, “Let’s go get a drink.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she snuck in a quick kiss while no one was looking. I think I’ll keep this one around for a while. Just a little while. Once we got to the bar, she wouldn’t even let me order, “Cuba Libre. Two of them. Big ones. Heavy on the lime juice in one.”

“Yes, ma’am.” I already had a fifty crawling its way out of my pocket.

“Frankie, what the hell?” Vanessa wondered, “It’s an open bar.”

“Trust me,” I shuddered, “I know what it’s like being on the other side of this. He needs it.”

“Ok,” she wrapped herself around my arm.

“Are you sure you’re ok?” I worried, lifting her chin up. As if I didn’t already know what plagued her.

“I’m nervous as hell,” Vanessa confessed, “I just hope they give you a chance. I don’t ever ask them for much.”

“I told you, baby,” I hugged her tight, “We got nothing to worry about. It’s not often the Spanish charms ever fail me. We’ll be fine.”

“God, I hope so.”

“Here you are, Miss Scarlotti,” the bartender smiled politely, sliding the glasses across the bar, “The one on the left is the heavy lime.”

“Thank you,” I grabbed the glasses and slipped him the fifty.

“Oh, no…” he gasped, “I can’t take…”

“I know you can’t,” I settled him, “Consider it a gift from a friend.”

“Thank you.” If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the guy was on the verge of tears, “Thank you so much.”

“You know what?” I took the fifty back, “I can’t do that, man.”

“What the fuck?” Vanessa gasped.

“Hold on,” I put the fifty back. I saw the look on this guy’s face when he saw the fifty come out. I couldn’t do that to him. I shook the guy’s hand, making sure he felt the hundred I put in there, “That should do it a little better.”

And there they were. The waterworks that shouldn’t have to happen, but here we are, “Thank you so much.”

“No problem, man,” I knew exactly where he came from. And if I got out of it, I hoped to all things holy he did, too.

“You know, Frankie,” Vanessa smiled as we walked away from the bar, “That was really sweet of you.”

“That shit sucks,” I admitted, “Believe me. Been there. Done that. You should’ve been there my last day of work before I started working for the Old Man. There was a woman that was absolutely insufferable. Drove me fucking insane. Real pretentious type.”

“Um…” she winced, “Frankie…You might want to look around at where we are…Pretentious types are a stone’s throw here.”

“Yeah,” I bit my tongue, “Sorry. But you know as well as I do you’re not the pretentious type.”

“And clearly,” Vanessa awed, “Neither are you.”

“Too humble for that,” I kissed the top of her head, “We don’t need to go to the roof already, do we?”

“No,” she shook her head, “I think we got this handled. Besides, after the first drink, I should be ok again.”

“Are you sure?”

“Promise.”

“Frankie!” There was my familiarity. There was the excitable squeal I needed to hear tonight. Vanessa’s drink would take care of her nerves and that voice would take care of mine.

“Veronica!” I caught her as she decided to jump into my arms, her legs wrapped around me, “Hi, kiddo. How you feeling?”

“Right as rain,” she cuddled into my shoulder, “I’m so glad you’re here. I fucking hate these things.”

“I can’t blame you,” I put her back on the floor.

“Neither can I,” Vanessa kept her voice down, “But we put up with them, don’t we?”

“Somehow,” Veronica scoffed, “Usually, these parties turn into Vanessa and me finding a cozy perch to watch the shitstorm go down and heckle Waldorf and Statler style, but here you are. And I know damn well you’re going to heckle, too.”

“Oh, you know it.” When I’m amongst them, there’s no fucking way I’m going to be able to keep my mouth totally shut tonight. I’d explode.

“Hey, Veronica,” Vanessa asked, “Have you seen Mom and Dad tonight?”

“Not yet,” Veronica shook her head, “I’ve been avoiding our parents like the plague tonight. I got better shit to worry about.”

“I can’t blame you,” Vanessa agreed.

“But you know what?” Veronica thought, “I could use a drink…Right? Ness…? Please?”

“No,” Vanessa shot her down, “Not after last time.”

“What happened last time?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“She gets sloppy when she’s drunk,” Vanessa threw her under the bus, “The last time she got drunk at a party like this, she cut the skirt of her dress off and threatened everyone and anyone with her heels. When we drink, it’s in a much more lowkey setting, so she doesn’t snap and kill us all.”

“One’s not going to kill me, Vanessa,” Veronica grumbled, her eyes rolling into the back of her head, “I can handle myself.”

“And the next morning,” Vanessa added, “She’s a hungover mess and I have to be the one to take care of her. Not to mention, I’m the one that gets the ass chewing for not keeping a better eye on you. So, no. I’m not getting you a drink.”

“You know, Vanessa,” I awed, pulling her into my arms, “You’re a good sister. You remind me a lot of myself with my brothers.”

“It’s exhausting,” she cuddled into my shoulder. While I held my drink behind her back. I shot a quick look toward Veronica and nodded toward my unattended straw. She knew what I was doing and got herself a good, long drink from it.

“I have no doubt,” I gave Veronica a little wink. One little drink won’t kill her. And I know it’s good.

“Hey, Vanessa,” Veronica licked the last little bit from her lips.

“What?” Vanessa pulled herself together while I got my own drink.

“Marry him.”

And I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t choking on my drink. But I don’t think Vanessa was too far off either, “Jesus Christ, Veronica. We just started dating! We are leaps and bounds away from even giving marriage a thought.”

“I stand by what I said,” Veronica wasn’t budging. At least I know that if we were to get married, I’d adore my sister-in-law. One of them anyway. I still haven’t met Violet, but I have a feeling I’ll meet her sometime tonight, too.

“I don’t know, Vanessa,” I threw an arm around me, “I’ll keep you if you keep me.”

“You’re alright,” Vanessa scored a quick little kiss, “I guess I’ll keep you.”

“You guess?” I teased.

“Yeah.” Oh, I like this one, “Stay close to me.”

“My pleasure.”

“Vanessa,” a small, angry Young Republican came up to us. She looked like she would call INS on me in a heartbeat. I got my citizenship, kariña, “Mom’s looking for you.”

“Yay,” Vanessa winced, “Where is she?”

“She’s over by the piano,” she looked me over, “Um…Excuse me…Shouldn’t you be working?”

And there it was, “Um…”

“And,” she looked down at the glass in my hand, “You’re drinking on the job?”

“Um…”

“I’m sorry,” she scoffed, “Do you not speak English? Vanessa, you speak three languages. Can you tell him?”

Then, things started to click in my head. And I couldn’t wipe the smirk off my face, “Debes ser Violeta, verdad?”

“Si,” Vanessa stared down at the floor, ready to kill her sister. I knew she wasn’t going to like me. And I knew she was going to be like this. I’m not surprised.

“And who are you?” Violet wondered.

Vanessa let out a heavy, exasperated (and possibly embarrassed) sigh, “Frankie, this is my sister Violet. Violet…This is Frankie.”

“Is he…?” Violet didn’t seem too interested, but at the same time, she had a vein sticking out of her forehead, “Mom’s still looking for you, Vanessa.”

“Oh…” Vanessa grumbled, “Ok.”

“Veronica,” Vanessa ordered, “You stay here.”

“Got it,” Veronica wasn’t moving. Thank God. That’s comforting.

“I’ll be right back,” Vanessa promised. I know she will. I wasn’t worried. Although, something about Violet made me a little twitchy.

Especially when she decided to get uncomfortably close and in my face, “Look. I don’t know what you think you’re doing, sniffing around Vanessa. She’s a blue blood and you’re…Not.”

“Ok.” She wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t know. I know I’m not a blue blood and quite frankly, I didn’t care.

“She’s better off without you dragging her down,” Violet assured me with her undeserved sense of righteousness.

“Hey,” I pointed out, “It’s all good. I’m a trust fund baby, too.”

“EXCUSE ME?!” I thought Veronica was going to have a heart attack, “SINCE FUCKING WHEN?!”

“A while now.” At least I’m pretty sure the Old Man would call me a trust fund baby. My brothers call me a sugar baby, but I think there’s a trust fund involved. Especially when along with that trust fund comes not only a shitload of money coming my way, but the controlling stake of New York. Good times.

“Oh,” Violet still didn’t like me. And I was ok with that. I wasn’t heartbroken. I wasn’t after Violet. I was after her sister. She walked away and left Veronica and me to our devices.

“Isn’t she a charmer?” I teased.

“Oh, yeah,” Veronica confirmed, “She’s like hugging a cactus. Violet is ALL our mother. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she reproduced asexually. Dad wasn’t even there. It’s either that or she threw herself in the dryer that also happened to be linked to human cloning somehow and out came Violet. It makes for an interesting Thanksgiving.”

“I’m sure it does,” I shuddered at the very thought of it, “If it makes you feel any better, Veronica, you’re more than welcome to come to my house for Thanksgiving.”

“I love you, Frankie,” she wrapped herself around my arm, “God, I hope my sister marries you. If she doesn’t, fuck, I will.”

“I thought you said we weren’t on the same team.” I made sure I kept my voice down. I don’t know how many people Veronica was out to yet. I wasn’t going to be that asshole.

“We’re not,” Veronica confirmed, “But I’m just saying.”

“I love you, too, Veronica,” I threw an arm around her shoulders. I could get used to this. A beautiful woman that had my heart. A precious little angel with a crooked halo and a bark the size of her bite. I mean, I could take or leave Violet at this point, but this was alright. And along with that angel with the crooked halo, she was going to need the bad influence big brother, too, “Hey…See the guy at the bar? The one that looks like he just got done crying?”

“Yeah,” Veronica followed me, “What about him?”

“Tell him Mr. Franklin sent you,” I explained, “He’ll know who you’re talking about. He’ll score you a drink.”

“Seriously?” she gasped.

“Don’t get sloppy,” I shoved my finger in her face, “And…Don’t tell Vanessa. I don’t need her pissed off at me.”

Without another thought, Veronica’s arms went around my neck, “Thanks, Frankie.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I DO!” Oh, shit…That didn’t sound good. Speaking of Vanessa, she grabbed my hand, “Come with me.”

“Vanessa,” I stumbled behind her, “What’s wrong?”

“The way the aristocracy is run,” she grumbled, dragging me over to an older woman that…Uh-oh…Oh, Vanessa…Please tell me she’s not who I think she is. Please, for the love of God, tell me she’s not who I think she is.

“YOU!” the woman snapped at me. I didn’t make it a habit to call a woman bitch, but did this bitch deserve it. She knew what she did to me. She knew damn well that Shiraz was the year she asked for. She knew there was no difference. She just wanted to be a massive pain in my ass. But in the end, I couldn’t hate her. Because of her, she was the push I needed to call the Old Man. She was the one to put me in that path. And now, I went from nervous to pissed to delightfully petty all in the span of a couple minutes.

“Me,” I beamed, absolutely loving every second of this, “I’m sorry. Do I know you?”

“Why are you in my house?” she scoffed.

“I was invited,” I told her, leaning over to Vanessa, “Es esta tu madre, mi amor?”

“Si, Francisco…” Vanessa bit her lip. Huh…Vanessa’s never called me Francisco before…Is it weird if I kind of like it? Because I kind of like it, “Ella es.”

“Oh, no…” her eyes started glowing, “No, no, no. Vanessa, I know you said you had a boyfriend, but tell me it’s not…Him.”

“Yes, Mom,” Vanessa admitted, taking my hand. And squeezing the shit out of it. Christ, Vanessa, you need to unclench, “This is Frankie. Frankie, this is my mother, Victoria.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” I did my best to kill her with kindness. Because chances are, if I’m nothing but a sweetheart to her, it’ll only piss her off that much more.

“Whatever phase you’re going through, Vanessa,” Victoria growled, glaring a hole through me, “Make it quick. And when you’re ready, I’ll introduce you to someone better. Someone much better.”

“If you say so,” Vanessa grumbled. She grabbed me by my wrist and dragged me behind her yet again, “Ven aca.”

“Vanessa?” I couldn’t keep up with her. Don’t get me wrong. Nothing tickles me more than the bitch from the restaurant having to deal with me after getting the satisfaction of making me quit, but not like this. Not if it puts Vanessa in this kind of position. And she wouldn’t say a word to me. But she did steal a bottle of Cabernet on her way through, “Vanessa? Where are we going?”

“Roof,” she growled. Ok. I see her mother isn’t the only one pissed. Someone set Vanessa off. And if we’re being honest here, I’m a little scared. I’ve never seen Vanessa get this mad before. Upset and damn near in tears? Yeah. I’ve seen that. But this was different. This was downright pissed. And it’s bad enough to where she needs to go to the roof. I thought that would’ve been a me thing, but here we are. After a trek through the house and three flights of stairs, the cool night air hit us both with a panoramic view of the Scarlotti estate. Alright. I can see why Vanessa likes it up here.

“Vanessa…?” I treaded lightly. The last thing I wanted to do was dig her deeper in the hole, “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“I fucking hate when she does this to me,” Vanessa popped the cork on the wine with her teeth. Her being pissed aside, it was kind of hot, “Absolutely fucking hate it.”

“What did she do?” I asked, pulling her down to my lap.

“I can’t be in love,” she took a heavy drink from the bottle. If it’s empty by the time we leave the roof, I won’t be surprised, “I’m not allowed. I’m not allowed to have a little scrap of happiness without her getting her fucking fingers in it. I have to be miserable. Like it’s my goddamn birthright. Do you know what she tried doing?”

“Wha…”

“She tried setting me up, Frankie,” her tirade raged on, “She tried setting me up with some pain in the ass, stuck-up, aristocratic prick and the second I told her I had a boyfriend, she lost her shit. Because she didn’t approve of this. She didn’t heavily screen you or run a background check. She didn’t have any say in it. You were completely and one hundred percent my decision and I couldn’t have been happier with it. Do you know why I decided to spend my trust fund on my education?”

“Because it was yours to spend how you wanted?” I figured, taking a second to appreciate the fact that I was Vanessa’s good decision.

“Because it’s the one fucking thing she can’t take from me,” Vanessa growled, “She tries to take my love life from me, so I’ll be damned if she tries to take knowledge from me, too. She didn’t care where I got in as long as it was ivy league because heaven forbid I’m the stain on the Scarlotti family tapestry.”

“Vanessa,” I wrapped my arms around her, never wanting to let her go, “You are far from the stain on the Scarlotti tapestry. And she can’t take your love life from you either. I won’t let her. And if you think I’d go down without a fight when you’re on the line, your mother is sorely mistaken. Don’t you worry, baby. I will be glad to fight for you if I have to.”

“Thanks, Frankie,” Vanessa laid her head in my shoulder, “I just…I’m so fucking sick of being under someone’s thumb. And under a microscope.”

“I know,” I gave her a gentle kiss, “I know. But your mom seems like a treat.”

“She is,” she rolled her eyes, “I love her. Really, I do. But then, she pulls shit like this and makes it a little more difficult to love her. And in a way, I was kind of blissfully unaware of just how bad she could be until recently.”

“What was recently?” I wondered.

“I met yours,” Vanessa cuddled into me, “I don’t know what it is about your mom, but Sariña is so fucking sweet.”

“Mama’s been through some shit,” I admitted, “But she came out of it on the other side. And that’s what made her so wonderful. I’ve been through some shit, too.”

“And that’s what made you,” she took another hit from the wine bottle, “I know. But damn, that gets hard after a while. I just want to relax for a while. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Well,” I thought it over, “You want to stay up here for the rest of the night?”

“I don’t know…”

But then, in a stroke of genius, I had an idea, “Hold on. Let me go make a quick call. Do you mind if I use your phone?”

“Go ahead.”

“I’ll be right back,” I kissed her forehead and stole a quick drink of her Cabernet. I wasn’t usually the type for wine, but tonight, anything goes. I snuck inside and found the nearest phone I could. It sat in a little nook in the hallway. Come on, you son of a bitch, pick up. I know you’re in the office tonight. Don’t you dare let this go to your answering machine.

“Yeah?” Never in my life have I ever been so relieved to hear his voice.

“Old Man, I need a favor,” I leaned up against the wall, “And a really big one.”

“That’s what I’m here for, kid,” the Old Man assured me, “What’s up?”

“Do we have somewhere nice in Manhattan?” I asked, “Or at least in the near vicinity? Somewhere someone could, say, crash for the night if need be?”

“We got somewhere in Manhattan,” he confirmed, “Why? Not staying with Vanessa tonight?”

“Quite the contrary,” I winced, “Look. Shit with her parents went kind of sideways. She’s pissed off and needs to be away from the house for the rest of the night. I’ll explain everything later. I just need a place where we can lay low for the night.”

“There’s a place on Fifth Street,” the Old Man told me, “It’s a big, beautiful hotel. Drop my name at reception and they’ll treat you well. I’m sorry to hear Vanessa’s parents were assholes.”

“It wasn’t her dad so much,” I didn’t even get to meet her dad, “It’s her mother.”

“Kind of figured,” he cringed, “But let’s not get into that. Go ahead and take your girl somewhere nice for the night.”

“Thanks, Old Man,” I could breathe a hell of a lot easier, “I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Frankie.”

Click.

I like him. He’s alright. And he’s helping me score brownie points with Vanessa. I’m not complaining. I walked back out on the roof and found the Cabernet bottle empty. Along with Vanessa’s legs dangling over the gutters. I made sure to grab her hand, “Jesus Christ, Vanessa. Are you trying to put me in the hospital?”

“No,” Vanessa was perfectly calm about this, “It’s not the first time I’ve done that, Frankie. I’m alright. I promise. What was the phone call all about?”

“Let’s get out of here,” I suggested, “I got a hotel room on Fifth waiting for us.”

Without hesitation, Vanessa bounced onto her feet and threw her arms around my neck. And I knew damn well I was about to have smeared mascara on my jacket, “Thank you, Frankie.”

“You’re welcome,” I held her tight. She didn’t want to be under anyone’s thumb. She didn’t need to be under anyone’s thumb. In a way, we’ve both been held down by what we are. Granted, one of us has a little more affluence than the other, but she couldn’t help that. It’s what she was born into. It’s not like she asked for it. But on our way out, she managed to catch Veronica trying to score another drink.

“Hey, hey!” Vanessa stopped her, slamming the Cuba Libre in her hand, “Who said you could drink tonight, Veronica?”

“Sorry,” Veronica wasn’t going to throw me under the bus. And I loved her for it.

“Hey,” Vanessa fell into me, but not enough to call too much attention, “We’re getting out of here. Do you think you could crash in my room tonight in case someone gets nosy?”

“Of course,” Veronica hugged her sister, “I got you. Go ahead.”

“Thanks, Veronica.” Vanessa melted inside, “We’ll be back by tomorrow morning.”

“Go, Ness,” Veronica demanded, “You need to get the fuck out of here. I get it. Frankie…?”

“I got her, Veronica,” I promised. Whether her mother liked it or not, I’d always have Vanessa. I always got her back.

#the good old days #oc backstory #fan fiction prequel #for the family #switch #mafia au

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golddaggers · 5 years

Text

untouched || chapter one

not mine but god he pulls it off

pairings: alpha!thor x omega!reader, natasha x reader (friendship folks tho i was really tempted to add something more ugh hahaha)

warnings: hmmm, cursing, i suppose (?), lots of knuckles kissing by thor and a lot of background on her, which is not that pretty. well.

a/n: took me long enough to finally finish this hahaha, i always wanted to keep adding stuff and adding and adding. well. i hope it turned out well? lemme know!

word count: 8,7k+

song to this chapter: i wanna be yours by arctic monkeys

The night went by incredibly sweaty and hot, she flipped under the thick sheets, trying to find a better way to sleep. Nonetheless, her mind could only spin around thoughts inspired by that Alpha. Around Thor. She was curious about him, about that thunderstorm smell that made her feel like he's home. Like he’s that childhood place she'd go to hide from the rain.

As soon as the sun sneaks through a rift in the curtains, she stands up, deciding it was useless to dwell much into it. This feeling… It was hormonal, the normal reaction of an Omega towards an Alpha, nature making sure the species would continue. That was it, she pleads with herself.

Shrugging off the navy blue t-shirt she had slept in and the pair of underwear, the girl walked to the small bathroom of the quite big room Natasha had settled her in. It had a full sized bed in middle, its purple sheets, which were reeking off of lavender, messily sprawled all around it, two nightstands by each side, one even had an antique candlestick on, scented candles slowly melting. There was also a small couch by the large windows, framed by carmine curtains. Overall, it sort of reminded her of what a royal bedroom should look like.

The bathroom, however, was simpler. A white, porcelain tub on one corner, the toilet facing it while the sink stood on its left. Under, a nice cabinet, which was the first place she looked for soap and shampoo. A good shower to finally clean herself from the dust that stained her cheeks still. Possibly other bits of her body as well. Regardless of still being early in the evening, as soon as she was established, the girl quickly dozed off, sleeping so soundly and for so many hours that when she woke up, between yaws, she found a tray filled with food on her nightstand to dine.

She sighed, wondering who had been on her room in the middle of the night, despite being perfectly able to feel the faint thunderstorm scent still pungent in the air. There's no way he would have bothered to bring her food personally. Perhaps her nose was lying, still high on that intoxicating odour.

At last, she grabbed everything she needed, a little bit excited to find a razor blade as well. It had been a while she was granted all those luxuries, her poor heritage almost screaming for her not to abuse their hospitality. Honestly, she couldn’t believe her own luck that they hadn’t thrown her out in the spot.

While the water warmed up, she rubbed the soap on her calves, running the blade up to remove the body hair, banging the razor against the tub's surface to properly clean it. With shaved legs, she tasted the water using her feet, groaning when feeling it so warm and delicious, slipping under easily. Her body floats for a minute, in torpor. It was so relaxing she even forgot there was life outside.

After she thanked the heavens again for all that kindness, the woman went on with her shaving, peeling off the hair under her armpits. In the meanwhile, her mind swirled into unsettling thoughts, questioning the reasons why they haven't told her to go away yet. Yes, werewolves are really into all that "you are one of us" thing, but she didn't belong to that pack. She didn't belong anywhere if she was entirely honest.

With the razor lying on the flat surface next to her, the girl went under the water, drenching all of her hair at once. A shower head would be way more effective, but since there was none, not that she was complaining, she'd have to work things out the way they were. Applying a little bit of shampoo on her scalp, she began rubbing, trying to untangle while doing so.

A minute or two in, she dove back inside the tub, trying to take all the white foam. It would take a while to completely rinse it off, though. Groaning in frustration, she allowed her body to float for a while again, going up with a head heavy from the soaked hair. There was a moment of silence, her bottom lip resting between her teeth as she stared at the razor and the spot between her legs, realising she was down one region.

Finally, ignoring altogether the splashing water when she moved, the girl sat on one of the bathtub edges, spreading her legs and gripping the razor blade. Something roared inside her, her brain shooting images of a certain Alpha bent forward, those pink lips swollen from kissing- If it ever came to that, she wanted him to be pleased with what he’d find underneath her clothes.

“Don’t be stupid”, she scolded herself. Not that she was ugly or anything, she was actually kind of nice looking, but that man? She was convinced that if those myth gods from the tales her mother told her as an infant, he would be one of them, with that blond hair and blue eyes, a body so muscular and thick. From all of his features, what intrigued her the most, however, was his scent, the way it undid all worries and broke down all of her guards, it was all new. She’d never felt anything like it.

Of course, in the past, she had come close to many Alphas, one, in the matter, came really close to claiming her. She couldn’t be any older than fifteen when her father tried to ship her off into a marriage with a mid-thirties man. He had mean eyes, his smell annoyed her to the bone. Purely out of luck, her mother was able to intervene, otherwise, she’d be forever stuck to a man she didn’t love. Oh, how she missed her mother.

A small pile of hair puddled where she gently tapped with the razor to remove the excess. It was almost done. Once she finished showering, she would go look for Natasha to ask if there was anything she could do in that house, cleaning, cooking, taking care of animals or the kids. Anything. It was the payment for all the niceness they had given her. It was the least she could do.

As she was about to strip the last part, a noise came from the room, someone fumbling with the knob. The girl slipped into the tub, the razor opening a fairly big cut on her inner thigh, blood gushing while water flooded the tiled floor. Ugh. For a werewolf, she lacked the steadiness and grace of one.

“Little wolf, are you okay?” Thor’s voice filled the room, concern dripping from it. “I smell blood.”

“I-I, uh-” The bathroom door was flung open, electric blue irises scanning her thoroughly. “-I was taking a shower and, well, I am okay. Don’t worry. I mean, not that you are worried.”

“Where are you bleeding from?” He asked, wearily looking away, once he realised how very much naked she was.

“My thigh.” It was so low, she thought he’d miss it. Apparently, he didn’t, his features relaxing as he knelt in the same cabinet she took the things to shower, an aid kit between his hands.

“Get out of there so I can help you.” The demanding tone of his voice almost made her comply without question, though the bashfulness got the best of her. “What is the matter, little wolf?”

“You… You don’t have to do this. I mean, it’s really just a small cut and I’m, well, naked. I’m sure you have seen plenty of naked women, but you haven’t seen me naked, so-” Her rambling urged a chuckle out of him, Thor leaning against the wall as he inspected the mess she’d made. “What is it?”

“You’re adorable.” It made her insides twist, a low gasp slipping. “Come out, little wolf. We need to talk."

"Yeah, I know. Gimme' a minute? I'm almost over. Promise."

"I'll be waiting outside."

After a short nod, she was left alone, slightly dizzy from the heady, intoxicating scent he had left all around the bathroom. It had even her oblivious shame that he had seen her without any clothes on fade away.

Head thrown back, she did her best to speed things along, finally finishing the bath, feeling very refreshed. It was good to have warm water for once. Wrapped around a towel, she marched back into the room, finding Thor on the grey upholstered storage bench. It had totally passed through her senses she'd forgotten to make her bed. By now he was probably thinking that she couldn’t clean up after herself.

"I take you're well settled?"

"Very much, thank you." Struggling to get air into her lungs, she spots the clothes folded and placed on her bed, going over to snatch them. "I, um, I have absolutely no way to pay you back for all of this. I can work for you if you please. There must be something for me to do-"

"Oh, no. I wouldn't accept that." Thor exhales deeply. "Natasha said I shouldn't come over here because you might feel uncomfortable."

If it was anybody else, she probably would. Her efforts to push the memories from yesterday to the depths of her mind were consuming much of her energy so she wouldn't be able to deal with other people so early in the morning. Except him. His presence made her feel at ease, it helped her rather than get in the way.

Her suddenly relaxation doesn’t go unnoticed, a minimum smirk pulling the right corner of his lip up. She gives her back to him, slipping on the set of knickers, loose cotton grey shorts and a mush-green tank top. The lack of a bra made her feel somewhat exposed, but she wouldn't wear the clothes from the day before again. Not ever.

"But I don't make you uncomfortable, do I?" There was a slight urgency underneath his voice. "I can ask her to have this conversation with you if you think it's better."

"No. You are fine." She sat beside him, shoulders grazing lightly. "I'm sorry for the mess."

"Not a problem, little wolf. Sorry for what happened yesterday."

She shrugs.

"It wasn't your fault. I shouldn't be out, so that's on me."

"No, it's not your fault," Thor states eyes widen. There's sympathy swimming on that blue sea. "They have been dealt with, so you don't have to worry."

"Are they…?" The words die out on her mouth.

"Dead? No. But they won't be bothering you or any other Omegas."

"That's good, I guess."

She looks away, focusing on one yellow spot on the white wall, trying her best to refrain the compulsion to plop down on his lap and bury her nose into the crook of his neck, taking all of that petrichor, all of that wet green leaves, all of that thunderstorm. Ever since she could remember, she adored them, the rippling of thunders and bolts of lightning in the sky, so it seemed a little ironic that his scent became her favourite. It was the best she caught, the one that affected her the most.

Throughout the years, she found herself smitten by men, by Alphas. She was still relatively young, so there weren’t many as one might think, but not one of them got to her like Thor. And she didn’t even harbour feelings for him. The girl cursed her own biology for that, concluding that her Heat might be closer than she calculated it to be. That was the only obvious explanation for this sudden spark.

Closing her eyes for a moment, she allowed his taste to swirl carefree across her taste buds, her mind spinning. It was strong. Strong enough to make her dizzy. Her inhibitors pitching low and making her throw her head back, wondering if he was purposely making you feel like that or if it was out of his control. Wondering if he felt the same. If he felt hot. Bothered.

“Thor.” She whimpers, lowly. “I-I…”

“Sorry, little wolf. Just trying to make you feel calm.”

“I’m thankful, but I-I… I won’t…”

Her chest rises and falls in a frantic pace, the girl struggling to breathe normally. It felt like she had run a marathon, sweat hoarding at her hairline. She had no idea when or how things escalated so quickly, still, the will to straddle him, feel the stiffness within his jeans trousers, was way past a will, but become a bruising need.

“I should go.” Thor mumbles, pupils were blown out, a predator gleam beneath the thin blue lines around the black. “We can talk later.”

“N-no… I just need a minute.”

He pulls back for an instant, giving her the space needed and lifting the spell his scent placed on her. The girl pressed her thighs together, clawing the skin of her forearms to focus on reality rather than the bubble suddenly created between them. She couldn’t let it control her, no matter how good he was to her, she needed to pull through the craving.

She gazes up at him, finding the tall figure resting his back against the wall, near the room’s door. The blue of his t-shirt enveloping what she knew were strong muscles caught her eye, it was a point of focus to bring her senses back.

It was scary as hell to feel like this. So out of control.

“I’m really sorry, little wolf.”

“It’s fine, I’m just not used to it. Not this strong.” The smile on his lips is apologetic, blue irises bleeding through the black of the pupils. "What did you want to talk?"

"Your stay." She agrees with a head movement. "Do you have somewhere to go? You're not bitten, but do you have a family?"

"I, well, I live alone. In a tiny room in the city, which I pay off by working at a nursing home. It's a horrible job, but at least I earn enough to survive and the ladies are fairly nice. You don't want to know this stuff, I know. Okay, I'll just stay quiet now."

A bright smile reveals his white, straight teeth underneath. Her breath falters for a split second, forcing her to look away.

"It's okay, you can talk as much as you like."

"No, my father says men don't want to listen to women wailing." It's a shameful whisper, her brain reprimanding herself for being so chatty. From the corner of her eye, she catches Thor shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise. You are not wailing and I am willing to hear you talk." Kneeling, he puts a strand of hair behind her ear, using his index and thumb to grip her chin and make her look up at him. He's lost on those sweet, innocent eyes. "Do you want to stay, little wolf? I will take care of you if want me to."

"You're not…?" She doesn't need to specify for him to understand what she's asking.

"No. I'm not bonded to anyone, but it wouldn't matter. I want to care for you."

The impulse to touch him strikes again, only this time she doesn't fight back, her hand cupping his cheek, the nicely trimmed beard scraping the skin as she rubbed. Thor leans into her caress, rumbling as he does so. She had soft, delicate hands that make filthy thoughts come up to his head, which he had to brush it off before things got out of hand again.

It was true. He wanted to take care of her, his insides were pushing him into taking the responsibility, even though he had met her not much more than twenty-four hours. She just had those puppy eyes that nearly forced him to engulf her in his arms to protect that little wolf from all harm.

"What's your decision, little wolf?" He brings her knuckles to his lips, kissing them lightly and respectfully. "You can go back to your family and to your beloved ones. This is not a prison."

"I know." A low purring sound slips from her as she leans in to press her cheek against his neck. "I want to stay. I don't have anyone else either way. But I’m okay doing work, seriously, I don’t want to feel as if I am taking advantage of your hospitality."

"Hmm, you're not, but you can do whatever you please." It comes out in a harsh gasp, his raspy voice even deeper. "You'll be busy either way. Natasha will come by later to get you ready for your lessons."

"Lessons?"

"You need to learn how to take care of yourself." His tone shifts to something more austere, blue eyes burning her alive. "This pack… I am supposed to watch out for the others, each wolf that swings around."

"Does that mean you are a supreme Alpha?" The realisation that she was in front of the highest class of the werewolf hierarchy sends a fearful chill down her spine. "My mother told me about them when I was a little girl."

Thor snickers at the image of a tiny child with ponytails listening to bedtime stories about wolves. The sense of protection tightens inside him, a strong force washing him entirely. This girl lacked so much in her life it made him guilty he hadn't found her sooner.

"Yes, I am. Been since my father's demise." His voice gets lower when mentioning his father, only to shrug it off and gaze down, sinking into her neck, arms unexpectedly around her waistline. "You smell pretty good."

A soft whimper pushes through as she tangles her fingers in his blond hair, finding out it was even better and smoother than she thought. Carefully, she puts her own arms around the broad shoulders, diving into the hug. It felt good. She, in one of the rarest moments of her life, felt safe.

There was this humming sound coming from his chest as his nose trailed up her neck, taking in her scent, feeling himself get drunk in it. His mind fought to get control back but it couldn't, not when the instincts were this strong. The bud just at the crook of her neck called him out again, how he wanted to bite it.

"Um-" She whispers unsure. "-Thor,"

"Yes?"

"I think someone's coming." With her nose in the air, she recognised the azaleas odour quickly. "Natasha."

"Good nose, little wolf." There's a lingering when he kisses her cheek. "You'll stay then?"

"I will."

Not a little after he reluctantly releases the wrap on her, a gorgeous red haired woman walked inside, carrying a tray with much more food than she had had in a week, which was saying a lot, considering she barely had enough to pay for rent.

Natasha cocked an eyebrow, glaring up from the newest pack addition to her Alpha, wondering to herself how she'd clean up his mess this time. Not that he was much of a womaniser, but he also wasn't the settle down sort of man, which was why she was always comforting the Omegas that fell for him.

Dammit.

"Didn't know you were here, Boss."

"Just checking in with her, Natasha." Thor towers her, one large hand on her shoulder. "She's staying with us after all."

"That's good, Feisty." She winks at the girl still sat on the upholstered storage bench, who smiles shyly, gazing down. "I could've done that for you, you know."

"Yeah, but I wanted to talk to her myself." His shoulders drop. "Get her to meet everybody else and be sure to start training her."

"Train her? You don't seriously think she's got in her to be a fighter, do you?" Natasha's astonishing green eyes were wide. "She's sweet and innocent, Boss, she should be taking care of our children, not in the field, fighting."

"Do as I tell you to do." It comes out so harshly, Romanoff shrinks a little, all of her instincts telling her to bow to her superior when her mind screams to shove a punch on that stupid bloody jaw of his. "I need to go to the city, duty calls. I'll be back for dinner."

"Sure thing, Boss."

As soon as he leaves the room, Natasha huffs, placing the tray on the left nightstand. The other woman had stayed quiet, simply observing them discuss, the pair had such a silent intimacy when talking she could guess they were lovers at some point. Despite knowing it was crazy, everything about the last day was, she felt herself a little jealous.

Smacking her lips, she stood up, going over to pick up an apple, Natasha still watching her, analysing and thinking how she could turn that girl into a warrior. Thor was crazy. Really, completely insane.

"Can I give you a piece of advice?"

"Sure, Ms Natasha."

"Call me Nat, Feisty." With an eye roll, she chuckles. "Don't get involved with Thor."

"Are you two…?"

"No!" There's a burst of laughter all of a sudden. "I'd never… I have my eyes on somebody else."

"Oh."

"What I'm saying is he's a complicated man and I don't want you to get hurt."

Of course. The thrilling that was still pumping across her veins started to die out, his presence no longer speeding up the adrenaline production, her mind snapping back into place, clawing its way back from the pit it had been thrown inside when that thunderstorm walked inside her room.

"Sure. I see."

"Now finish eating and come with me, we have got a lot to do today."

The mansion was far prettier than she remembered it to be from what she saw the day before. It had many rooms, most of them already occupied by the house wolves of all kinds, Alphas, Betas, Omegas… Natasha explained to her that it was Thor’s responsibility to watch out for them, the less favoured, the pack-less ones, to nurture them as long as they needed it. Some left after a couple of months, others after a few years, but there were always some who stayed. Like herself.

It was a lovely morning outside, the sun bathing every living thing. From the tall trees, wildflowers and chirping birds to the moist soil. A summer day indeed, her senses vibrating to the good energy. She enjoyed those the most, especially as a kid, when she could watch the white clouds take different shapes in the blue, clear sky whilst her skin tingled to the radiating heat coming from above.

Circling the house, there was a quite nice backyard, where a couple of people were exercising. Some were doing laps across the green field, some were wrestling in a corner and the rest was just enjoying the good day, sitting in picnic towels to chat. They lived so peacefully in there she couldn’t fathom how could some leave that place.

“Hey, Nat.” One tall, blond man jogged towards the two. “Who’s this one?”

“This is Steve, Feisty,” Natasha says, smiling. “She came here yesterday, the Johnny and Louis situation.” The name of her assaulters makes the girl sway in her steps, suddenly nervous, which doesn’t go unnoticed. “Oh, sweetie, don’t worry, really. Those guys, they didn’t really belong to our pack, they were just doing business for Thor, low-class soldiers.”

“It’s fine.” The woman whispers, still adjusting to the place where she can actually vocalise what she feels. “It’s not your fault, anyway.”

“She looks sweeter than feisty, Nat.” Steve smiles comforting, sustaining the distance to make sure she would calm down and changing the subject. “But I suppose you see it in her.”

“He wants to make her a fighter.” She trails off, not bothering to specify whom she was talking about, Steve already knew, apparently. “Wants the whole training.”

His blue eyes shift between the two, taking a moment to scan the new girl. Much like Natasha, Steve seemed to think she also couldn’t be a warrior, which was starting to make her uncertain. Perhaps they were right. Maybe she didn’t have it in her to be a fighter... But she wanted to learn. She wanted to be able to defend herself so those filthy men couldn’t lay a hand on her ever again.

Of course, she didn’t dare to say something, keeping her eyes down meticulously.

“But has he asked her if she wants to?”

“I do.” It was soft, low sound. “I want to learn.”

“Okay, maybe she is feisty after all.” There’s a bright, beautiful smile on his kind face. “Do you want me to teach her, Nat?”

“On Thursdays, I suppose.” Nat sighs. “You know it’s the day he ships me off to hunt. The others, I’ll be with her. I think it’s best if she sticks with me for now.”

“Alright.” Her ears warm up when he looks at her again, she can catch the Alpha scent reeking from him. Not like Thor’s at all. He was more like old parchments and ink, a fresh new book and, oddly, Tulips. It wasn’t usual for Alphas to have a flowery odour. “It was nice to meet you, Feisty.”

She nods, sheepishly snickering at him before following Natasha through the people, whom the red hair made sure to introduce to her. The slender, gracious girl in the picnic towel was Wanda, she was a lovely Beta who looked out for the much younger children, the newborns Morgan and Harvey were her new concern, although they were the sweetest babies. Their heads smelt like powder and apples.

With a little bit of effort, Natasha got her moving, if it was up to her, she’d stay there the whole afternoon rubbing her nose on those little, soft heads. Despite being an Omega, meaning she knew she was born to be a mother, the desire was never really strong on her. Perhaps it was the fact she never found an Alpha that brought such desires within her.

The path was not over yet, so they kept walking, finding three of the most different men amidst themselves. Bucky was tall, handsome and smelt rough. Like he could single-handed curl a whole human body into a ball and toss it around like a basketball. Tony was shorter, a greyish beard covering his slim cheeks. A little weird, she thought, but he looked nice, his hands were warm when they shook hers. He also radiates confidence. Bruce was the last to be introduced. Opposed to Tony, he had a nervousness going on. It was so strong her nose crinkled to the smell.

Natasha spoke briefly with them, giving them tasks, for what she could discern. That woman should be the supreme Alpha’s right hand in ruling that place. Thor should really trust her, the girl presumes, to entitle her with so many responsibilities. She could see why, nonetheless - Natasha was strong, her presence alone imposes respect to anyone who looks at her, the way her chin is always up and shoulders always squared, no one would dare to cross her.

A couple minutes later, they stopped in front of a closed metal door, to which the red hair promptly opened with a small key that was tucked under her belt. The room behind was astonishingly nice, a large mirror covering the front wall, a fading grey ground with two sets of orange mats precisely apart and a few heavy sandbags in one corner.

While the girl was still in awe, absorbing the new surroundings, Natasha kicked off her shoes and the sweatshirt she had on, getting comfortable to practice. She’d start with focus, some light yoga classes to bring out the awareness and sense, also to warm up the muscles. Perhaps then she’d show her how to throw a powerful punch. Kicks would be nice as well.

The red hair went over stealthily towards the girl, both hands on her shoulders, correcting her stance, which got Feisty startled, her body jerking forward in fear. There was a soft laugh as she spun around to meet the green-eyed gaze from behind.

“Lesson number one? Never let your guard down.”

“Duly noted.”

“The key to being a good fighter is to be aware, Feisty.” It’s a fast movement and before she can tell, Nat pushes her to the ground, resting above her while pinning her hands up above her head. “Each flinch counts to save your life on the field.”

Squirming, she tries to break free, something that proves to be useless because the woman knows how to use her weight to keep her grounded, restrained. It is only when a low, frustrated grunt slips past Feisty’s lips that Romanoff lets her go, coming off of her to a sitting position, gently asking her to do the same, obtaining a religious result from the girl’s instinct to obey.

“Close your eyes.” Joining their hands, Nat watches her lids fall shut, chin still up, a flawless position. “Good. Now tell me. What do you hear?”

There’s a minor hesitation as the girl focuses on what her ears are telling.

“Fighting. There are two men panting, one is more injured because his breath is faltering.” Perhaps teaching her wouldn’t be as hard as she thought, Natasha’s mind wanders. “There are three kids running, one is heavier than the others because the footsteps sound harsher on the mud. Tony is complaining about the sweat and scolding Bruce for not bringing water.”

“Okay. Nice, Feisty. Good ear.” The girl opens her eyes to find her trainer’s features filled with satisfaction. “I’ll need you to focus on your breathing, forget the other sounds, pin yourself to this place, to the lift and fall of your belly. You can close your eyes if you want.”

It was a nice, comforting thing to do. Despite doing heavy work, Nat’s hands were smooth, so she chose to focus on that and the sound of the inflating of her own chest and how the air seeped through her nostrils so loudly. An awareness of her space began growing as the breath deepened, muscles stretching on her back, legs strong to keep her in place.

All the noise went mute, the ones in the room conquering her mind entirely. It also gave room for her to deliberate on how much her life changed in the past twenty-four hours, one day she was sleeping on a thin bed, barely enough to sustain her weight, and the other she was in a mansion, being nourished and welcomed by those wolves who didn’t even know her.

Before she could even settle to what was happening, Natasha lurched at her, dropping her to the ground once more, palm strongly against her sternum. It was a swift, gracious movement, one that many soldiers lacked, possibly giving the upper hand to her in a confrontation. Feisty groans, cursing herself for being distracted.

“I’m sorry.” An apologetic whimper comes through, whinier than it was intended to be. “It’s just so much to take in.”

“I know.” She’s gentle when she answers. “Being good at this doesn’t come naturally.”

“I sure hope it doesn’t.” The joke is greeted with a laugh, Natasha rolling to the right and coming to a sitting position beside her, legs curled so she could hug them tight, cheek pressed on her knee. Her green eyes were nearly liquid. “Who taught you?”

“No one important."

“Do you think I can do it?”

“You can do whatever you want, Feisty.”

“No,” Shaking her head, she toughens her glare, wishing to know her thoughts. “Do you think I can be good at this?”

A wave of guilt washes over the red hair, she never meant to bring such insecurity into that girl. When she questioned her boss as to why he wanted her to be a warrior, it was more in a protective way rather than a diminishing one.

“With training, yes. Of course.” She swallows hard, suddenly serious. “But really, do you want this? Do you want to fight?"

“I want to.” It’s a shy sigh. “I want to be able to stand up for myself, to not let people bully me or treat me like I'm nothing."

"It's not going to be easy, Feisty. You need to seriously commit."

"Ms Natasha-" There's a scowl on that gorgeous face. "-Nat," They giggle together. "I don’t have anywhere else to be. Don’t have any family, never really belonged to a pack. Committing to this place won’t really be hard.”

“How did you end up here? In this town, I mean.”

There is a silent juncture as she thought of the reasons that actually brought her to that city in particular. Honestly, it had been a random place, anywhere would be good as long as her father was far away from her. With her mum’s demise, she knew for sure that he would finally ship her off into the hands of a horrible old Alpha. So she ran, in the middle of a stormy night, clothes soaking wet when she walked inside the bus, not enough money in her pocket to last an entire week.

A tear streamed down, followed by many others. The bitter memories flooding and bringing out the emotions she fought hard every day to keep buried.

“You don’t have to talk about it, Feisty.” Nat nudges her shoulders, pulling her into a side hug. “I was just curious.”

“It’s fine, Nat, really, I just don’t feel comfortable yet to talk about it.” There’s understanding infused in the green of her eyes. “Can we go back to training?”

“Absolutely. Let’s work on your posture.”

She frowns, unsure of what she means. Up until now, she thought there was nothing wrong with it. Romanoff smiles, stretching her hand to guide her so they could stand in the middle of one of the mats, then swivelling around so she could be behind her, one hand over her tummy and the other between her shoulder blades.

“It’s really important to know where you stand and have some balance,” Nat explains. “That has a lot to do with your posture.”

“Really?”

“Absolutely. You need to realise the weight of your body and shift it into your favour, so when you’re punching or kicking someone, you don’t end up with broken bones or distended muscles.” Her breath fans over the nape of Feisty’s neck. “Inhale. Exhale. Deeply.”

More breathing cycles and she starts to realise the energy flowing inside her, the weight each of her limbs represent. No doubt as to why Thor trusts her. Natasha really knows what she’s doing, what she’s teaching. Sure, there is still a long path ahead for her to become somewhat good at it, though she had a feeling that being mentored by Nat would certainly speed things up.

“Curl your hands into fists. That’s it.” Velvet hands instruct her arms to take the correct place, one slightly higher than the other, both beneath her chin. "Bend your knees." A delicate pressure from her own makes the girl bend. "Good. Hold for a moment."

Twitching on the muscles of her thighs makes her sway, Natasha going back behind her to ground her into place. It takes a while before she can do that alone, but as soon as she can, her trainer commands her to throw her first punch, the air whooshing as she does so. "Again". Another. And another. She kept punching the air until the Nat looked pleased with the precision.

Then, after a short break for a sip of water, it was time to finally get it going with the heavy sandbags. The warning that she’d be sore the next day wasn’t necessary. Natasha wrapped the girl’s hands with some white bandage to somehow protect the fingers and knuckles from the damage punching the bags could cause.

“Remember to put your weight into the punch, it’s more your arm than your fist.”

“Okay, I think I got it.”

“It’ll hurt.” The warning comes one second too late, her fist had already met the bag and a sharp pain was spreading quickly. “You did good, don’t worry.”

“But it hurts!” She stutters, a gush of blood pooling on her neck and making it warm. A sign of embarrassment.

“Normal.” A slow massage eases the pain, soothing fingers touching the bruised skin. “What you have to do is pull through the pain, let it flow to the back of your arm, then you won’t feel so much.”

“Okay.”

The practice went on until it was almost two pm and the two women were definitely starving, stomachs growling rebelliously to get some food.

As they made their way back to the huge mansion, Feisty thought about Thor again. How he changed her life so much in so little time. If he hadn’t insisted for her to be trained, she wouldn’t be feeling that satisfied about her accomplishments, she wouldn’t be feeling this powerful, even though all she had learnt, and barely, was to punch a sandbag. It still felt big for her, so she made a mental note to search for him as soon as he gets home and thank him for all of that.

The wet green leaves, petrichor and thunderstorm scent came to her brain quickly, bringing along a huge smile. She was in trouble with that Alpha. Big trouble.

Night fell slowly, a mixture of pink, purple and orange still colouring the sky when she walked inside her bedroom, kicking off her shoes while putting her hair up in a bun, wiping the annoying sweat off of her forehead. It was crazy how hot it still was despite being close to ten pm.

A cold shower would be nice before sleep, she thinks, starting to undress herself, noticing a minor discomfort due to the new activities she had been doing throughout the day. She hadn’t had a minute of rest, because as soon as lunch was over, Natasha took her back to the training room, easing her into the defence techniques. Feisty had been thrown on the ground more times than she could count that afternoon.

When dinner time came, her heart filled with hope and a longing to finally see those comforting blue eyes again, the sweet, but tough face. And to smell him. She came to know most of the scents in the house and not even one matched the effects Thor's had on her, even the Alphas. It felt to her that heady odour had been made for her, to calm and entice her at the same time. However, much to her disappointment, he never came. Never returned home.

Nat’s words thrummed within her head. She knew him for over six years now, that was how long she had been part of his pack, had been his friend. Of course, she was right about him, no matter how strongly Feisty’s gut pushed her into opening up her emotions into caring for Thor. Into opening her emotions up to welcome the Alpha gladly.

Ugh.

Tossing the worn out outfit into a messy pile over the couch by the window, she quickly made her way towards the wardrobe, amazing herself upon finding stacks of new clothes inside it. They had been recently bought because they still had the labels from the shop, she was quick to pick one cute pyjama, loose grey shorts and a carebear white t-shirt. It’d be perfect to sleep on that hot night.

Determined to inspect more of the piece of furniture, she got down on her knees and opened the bottom drawers only to find a variance of knickers and bras, of all colours, shapes and taste. Whoever bought all of those aimed to please her.

There was a moment of analysing before she finally chose one that'd be comfortable for sleeping, nestling it between the soft flannels PJ's. Only then she went to the bathroom, feeling icky from the sweat coating her back, arms and face.

The towel from the morning had been hung on a metal hanger by the door, possibly already dry from the warm temperatures. She snorted, not minding if it was or not, her room felt like an oven, so maybe she should skip the whole wiping the water off of her body.

Once under the cool water, hair bundled at the top of her head, Feisty moaned in pleasure, the water washing away the dirt. Her hands trailed down, rubbing gently the skin, the soap she had squished minutes before bubbling up. Two baths in one day? Heaven, her mind hummed, in full appreciation.

Between toes, under the arms. Bit by bit she cleaned herself up, feeling refreshed each second further into the shower. Once there was nothing else to wipe off, she stepped out, firmly decided to indeed not go for the towel, walking out very much naked.

What she wasn't expecting was to find a majestic man slouched on the couch, long legs wide while he was thrown back, lids heavy. Thor was handsomely asleep. She refrained the urge to trace the creases along his face with the tip of her fingers, abruptly realising how bare she was, the second time of that day he'd barged inside her room while showering.

A chuckle slipped as she got dressed quickly, being extra careful on her steps to not wake him up. He looked so peaceful, gentle. If anything, she wanted to pull him to her chest and undo the knots on his long, blond hair at leisure. Hear a soft moan of appreciation from him.

She sat beside him a few minutes later, just watching him. The soft wrinkles under his eyes, a grown out beard framing the most beautiful set of lips she'd seen, so pink and full. A gentle whimper fell off her lips, a tug at her lower abdomen forcing her legs to clasp together.

The sound startled him awake, electric blue scanning her whole to make sure she was okay. Thor had never experimented that before. Never had such a need to watch out after an Omega, an overwhelming pressure of his instincts.

His hands found their way into cradling her face, pulling her closer to him, thumbs trailing up the cheekbones.

"Are you okay, little wolf?"

"Yeah." She says, lost in the sea of his eyes. "Are you?"

It was naive of her to ask, she realised soon. Of course, he was, despite looking tired, okay. He was mighty, it would take an immense power to even scratch him.

Thor's booming laugh filled the room.

"Yes. I am okay." Soon enough he buried his head in the crook of her neck, taking in her inebriating scent. Not an ounce of shame in his features, like it was something he did on a daily basis. Like they weren't strangers. "You're so sweet, little wolf. Were you worried about me?"

"Y-yes." The vibration of his voice made her stutter. "I wanted to thank you, but you didn’t come for dinner."

The arms wounded around her waistline tightened, protectively inching her closer, in a way that forced her cheek into his strong shoulder, a surprised squeal falling from her lips.

“I don’t want you worrying about me.” His voice pitched low, lips now pressed on the top of her head. “I care for you, not the other way around.”

“Thor…” It’s nothing but a mellow whisper, but something inside him stirs, a grumbling coming from his chest. “I-I… Why do I feel like this?”

“Like what?” The question is more rhetorical than an actual doubt. He knows what she’s on about. If she feels an inch of what he feels when he’s around her then they’re both in trouble.

She sighs, wiggling out of his sheltering hug only to stand on her knees, arms wrapping around his wide shoulders in a motherly way, huddling him against her chest, his face nuzzled on her breasts. Thor didn’t complain, humming instead in a pleasing way.

“Like what, little wolf?” He urges voice muffled on the t-shirt.

"I don't know. I can't explain it. It's just, we met a day ago and your scent is so overwhelming… I've never felt like this before. Never so soon and never so strong."

Thor lets out the air in his lungs in sharp exhale, pushing her away delicately so he could look into the so very much innocent eyes. Her hair fell from her bun framing her face like a painting, or so it was how he saw it.

In a swift action, she was sprawled in his lap, his head once more on her neck. He didn't want to think about it, didn't want to think about how fast and how easy it had been for him to grow addicted to that sweet girl. To the smell that lit a fire within him.

She felt to him as a gift the universe was giving him after so much loss, even if it meant a liability for the powerful undefeatable Thor.

"Did you like it?"

"Uh?" Lids were heavy when Feisty replied, the tips of her fingers swirling around the prominent vein on his bicep.

"The clothes." Thor mumbles. "I bought them for you and had them delivered."

"Oh." A sudden warmness fills her up once she realises he had taken time to worry about that. To think about her. "Yes, I like them. You shouldn't have though."

"Nonsense." Something in his laugh gets her eyes open again. "Has Natasha treated you well?"

"Yes." A spark of excitement washes through her. "She taught me a lot today."

"Did she?"

Feisty nods, grinning genuinely at him, the fond memories of the afternoon flowing behind her eyes, shared laughs and a new intimacy that she never knew she could experience with someone else. More than helping her build fighting skills, Natasha was teaching her what it meant to be somebody’s friend.

They stay sit for a little while, neither willing to break from the torpor their scents lulled them into. Thor's fingers sneaking into her hair, toying with the strands in a soft manner that got her sleepy quicker than it should have, her eyes hefty.

"Nat really tired you out, didn't she, little wolf?"

"Hmmm, yes." She slurs, clinging to his clothes like a baby. "It was nice."

"I'm glad it was."

"She said-" By now, Feisty's half asleep. The heat coming from his body cuddling her like a warm blanket. "-Said I shouldn't get involved with you. You're trouble and you'll break my heart."

Those words sting him, the mere thought of causing pain to her being unbearable. He could hear the wolf inside howling for him to squeeze her further into his embrace, to protect her from any harm. She was his Omega to look after and that was what he was going to do. At all costs.

A soft tug on his collar forces him to gaze down, his insides spiralling from how defenceless that little wolf looked, index finger tracing careless patterns on the skin of his shoulder.

“Will you?” She asks then, one eye open.

“I would never hurt you, little wolf.” Thor’s large hand nestles her face, urging their glares to bore on one another. “Never.”

Nodding slowly, she stares at him a little longer, then hides her face on his neck again, breathing deeply, his exhilarating smell sending her into a gratifying haze. She didn’t know if it was a dream or not, but not a single cell in her body wanted to wake up if it was. Thor felt like home all over again, Natasha’s words were long forgotten now.

Tenderly clutching her into his chest, he got back on his feet, the woman’s legs quick to clasp around his waistline, snuggling her nose further into the crook of his neck, moaning to the strength it got to her. One day she hoped to understand how was it possible that it was so good, not today though. Today she just wanted the thrill it gave her.

When he tried putting her down to the bed, she groaned, tightening her arms around his shoulders, pulling him to lie with her. Sure, she wasn’t as strong as him, she would never be, considering he was a supreme, nonetheless, Feisty wanted to stay skin close to him still. He couldn’t leave her. Not when she felt so good.

“You need to sleep, little wolf,” Thor mumbles, kissing her forehead. “I’ll leave you to it.”

“No.”

“Little wolf…”

“Stay.” There’s demand beneath her voice. “Sleep here with me.”

His nostrils flare as the blue unexpectedly disappear, black pupils back, taking control. She’s not sleepy anymore, all her senses are very much aware to the greedy vibe he’s letting off, the alpha stench that gets her core to itch, empty and craving. For him.

“Can’t do that.” Feisty squirms, clasping her legs together as she reaches for his arm, hand ridiculously small when in comparison to the size of his bicep. “You need space, need to be alone.”

“That’s not what I need.” Her inhibitors were nearing a tenuous line, actions filled with lust and driven by instinct. “Stay.”

“You’re not-”

“I’m not asking you to mount me, Thor.” The sentence erupts a stir within his trousers, a picture taking shape in his brain. “I couldn’t sleep well yesterday, so stay with me. Your smell calms me.”

Low blow, he thinks.

“I can leave anytime you ask me.” It slips smoothly, eyes switching back to glorious blue. She smiles, standing up, and palms softly the stiff abdomen, slipping underneath to find the strong muscles tensing up under. “What are you doing?”

“I like touching you.”

Thor snickers, his own hands finding hers, bringing them both to his face, cheek pressing the mellow skin, scraping it with his beard. Lastly, he kissed her knuckles, exchanging a confident gaze. Anyone close enough could catch the intimacy in the air, regardless of them not ever having had one kiss.

Not necessary. At least not yet.

“You’re always honest like that?”

“No.” Her nose flies to his chest, opening her mouth to fully taste him. “With you, I feel I can though. I am not embarrassed by you.”

“Is that good or bad?”

It’s Feisty’s turn to snicker, looking up at him.

“It’s good, Thor. Means I trust you.”

"How can you?"

A sigh escapes whilst she is again conflicted by the rush of emotions she's feeling. It's a question she lacks an answer, so she shrugs, clutching to him like a puppy, such a warm, tender hug she felt like she would melt inside it.

Thor kisses the top of her head, pushing her to lie down again, she grunts when he pulls away to undress, kicking off his black leather boots and tossing away the shirt. He was hesitant, however, on taking off his pants, catching her glare locked on him, eyes hungry.

"You can't look at me like that, little wolf."

"How am I looking at you?" He can taste the innocence in her words.

"You're looking at me-" A sudden pause as Thor finally disposes of his jeans, joining her in the bed. She curls herself on him, legs mingling together while her head rests on his wide chest. "-Dammit. You're looking at me like you need me."

The air pushes out of her in a gasp, propping herself up in his chest, gazing at him curiously. His blond hair was loose, scattered across the pillow, eyes like a peaceful sea. He seemed like he was at home too, and that thought made her heart shake, pumping faster.

"I don't know what I'm going to do with you, little wolf," Thor says mindlessly, tugging her hair, caressing in a way that made the tips of her toes tingle. "Come, sleep."

There's a brief silent moment after he pulls her to lie down, cradling her.

"Thor?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks." She speaks sweetly, pressing her lips to the side of his body. "This much more than I could've ever wished for."

Feisty feels a shift under her as he chuckles, still in awe with that beautiful creature lying with him. It was by far the most precious who had ever taken that place. Who had ever touched him like that.

It scared him. And her. Both so frightened of what that could mean. Yet, none of them had the strength to prevent it, to push it off. It was inevitable.

tags!

marvel: @frenfics

thor: @lancsnerd @odinson-barnes

untouched: @slutlanna976 @rahma29417 (for some reason the tag won’t work) @truthdaze @innerpaperexpertcloud

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ohtheseboysilove · 5 years

Text

The sunflower always finds its sunlight VI [Roger Taylor x F!Reader]

Words : 3, 400 K +

Warnings : language, alcohol,, angst, eating disorders, drugs

Summary : Roger likes Reader since forever but the timing seems to just never be right for them. Reader is still haunted by her past relationship and kept rejecting Roger who know nothing about the abuses she had been victim of. After being rejected for the sixth time, Roger thinks it’s time for him to move on…

🌼Requests are open🌼☀ Masterlist ☀

“What the fuck is going on in here?” You jolted at the sudden yelling in the room, your eyes opening widely to find a rather piss off Nina. “Care to explain Roger ? Fucking pig !” She shouted angrily and you quickly stumbled out of the bed, cheeks turning crimson, knowing very well how the scene looked like from the outside.

“Wait, dove, it’s not what you think !” Roger jumped out the bed where a minute earlier the both of you were cuddling cosily into each other’s arms, snoring quietly. “Nina, let me explain !” He ran after her, pleading for her to listen his explanations.

You were beyond embarrassed. God, nothing happened but you still felt like in sort way, you betrayed Nina. She was a nice girl and now she was certainly hating you to going a little too comfy with her boyfriend. Maybe you just broke their couple, you hoped no. The memories of the night before were a bit clouded but you were sure absolutely nothing between Roger and you happened...well almost nothing.

Flash back :

You were walking, well, rather stumbling on the pavement, your legs quavering lightly due to your state. You were already regretting to have left Roger, you were freezing your ass, your jacket still into the club somewhere and honestly, it wasn’t safe to walk all by yourself, high and in the middle of the night when you were a woman. You wandered in the street for a good ten-minutes, heart beating so quickly against your ribcage, every shadow was scaring you and you didn’t catch any taxi yet. You were sweating as you were going down from your high, making you slightly paranoiac and after five more minutes of total nonsense walking, you sat on the side-walk, panting heavily and cheeks soaked by your tears. You didn’t even know why you were crying but it was certainly the last time you were doing hard drugs.

“Let’s go home, love hum ?” You raised your head quickly to find Roger’s round eyes looking down at you. He crouched at your level, draping his jacket on your shoulders and gently hold you for a minute.

“I thought you left” You murmured with a shaky voice, head buried into Roger’s warm and familiar chest, your arms wrapped around his back like a koala bear. Your mind were going crazy, head spinning and weird shiverings flying through your system.

“You really thought I was going to leave you walk home in your state ? At four in the morning ? Not chance, love” He helped you stand up on your wobbling legs, his large palms wrapped around your waist as he gently guided you to the main street where you where coming from, waving one of the cab waiting in front of the club. “Mind your head, love” You slid into the back seat, your fingers spasmed violently onto your lap, you hated how you were going down from your high, it was a real nightmare.

You were a tad surprise to see him sat next to you, pushing your head back on his shoulder like it was the most natural thing to do in the world. And, damn it, it felt like that.

“How you’re feeling, love ?” His whispered into your hairs, his hand gently rubbing your knees as you were shaking against him, eyes firmly shut to avoid the spinning.

“Horrible” You cried against his chest as the drummer grabbed your fingers, massaging softly to stop your incessant curling, making your hand sore. “m’ feeling so strange Rog, my whole body ‘s so heavy” You just wanted everything to stop.

“I know, love, that what happened when you going down from your high, first times are always awful” The taxi pulled off and after Roger handed to the driver money. “m’ gonna take care of you, let’s go” You almost tripped on your own feet as soon as you were out of the car, your legs completely out of order. “Alright, c’mere wobbly little thing” He chuckled gently and put your lifeless hands around his neck before before sliding his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.

“’m sorry for what I said earlier” You murmured against his neck, his dirty locks tickling your jaw funnily. You never felt so...weird, like you were into a bubble and Roger’s was the only thing which was keeping you on the ground. “I do need you Roger, more than I should” You confessed into your dizzy state, Roger’s breath itching in his throat at your words. And at the light contact of your lips against his delicate skin of his neck.

“Don’t worry (Y/N), I got you” He tightened his embrace and carried you to the door, fighting a bit with the locker before opening the house door. “Here we are, I’m gonna bring you a glass of water, love” He gently dropped you on his bed and quickly walked off to the kitchen.

You blinked several time, trying to clear your mind but it wasn’t working, a headache was now hitting you, making you whined pathetically.

“I feel so stupid right now” You cried as the drummer came back, handing you a fresh glass of water. “Thank you” You croaked weakly and sipped it slowly.

“I guess you learnt a lesson tonight” He gently brushed away the locks from your face, his lips curling into a soft smile as he stared at you. “Let’s put you to bed, love” He kicked off his and your shoes before helping you sliding into one of his pyjama pants and a loosely tee-shirt. He already saw you more than once in your underpants so it wasn’t nothing new for the two of you.

“’m so cold, I’m fucking freezing” You groaned as you climbed into the bed, the drummer following closely. No one of you commented the fact that he shouldn’t sleep into the same bed as you, not when he have a girlfriend. It was wrong but neither of you decided to do something against it.

“Shit, your feet are cold, love” You were snuggling onto Roger’s chest, blanket hiding half of your face and you didn’t resist to warm up your feet on the drummer bare legs, his pyjama short only covering before the knees. “You’re shaking, poor thing” He cooed as your face disappeared into his neck like earlier, lips brushing on his skin and this time he couldn’t repress the low moan which escaped from his mouth.

You stopped moving as the sound, feeling Roger’s shifting a bit under you. He wasn’t moving either, embarrassment flushing over him. You didn’t know if it was the lack of sleep, the drug or Roger’s body against yours but you pressed your lips again his skin, leaving a real kiss this time. The drummer didn’t protest but you could feel his heartbeat quickened in his chest as you kept going, your mouth gently brushing against his collarbone. His scent was so comforting, it was making you feeling like home. It was simply Roger, no word could describe that.

“(Y/N)...” He murmured in a mixing between a moan and a warning, your warm lips travelling down his throat. His eyes were completely shut under your sweet tortures, his fingers were gripping harshly on your waist, chest panting at the feeling.

“Rog, I want to kiss you” You breathed as your lips brushed on his sensitive spot right at the junction of his jaw, he moaned louder, goosebumps erupting on his arms at every touches. “Do you want me to kiss you ?” You stopped your lips at the corner of his mouth, your eyes looking for his in the darkness. Your thumb gently brush on his bottom lip, butterflies in your stomach going mad at your and the drummer’s proximity.

“’f course I do” He replied in a whisper, his wide eyes flicking between your mouth and your gaze, his mind was racing about the whole situation. “But not tonight, love. You’re high and not thinking clearly. And I have a girlfriend, it would be wrong to kiss tonight” The regret in his tone was clear, he wanted this kiss as much, maybe more than you but he was right, the timing wasn’t good. “We can talk about that tomorrow morning okay ?” The blond pressed a peck on your hairs as you nodded tiredly, head falling on his warm clothed chest.

Within a minute, you were deep asleep.

End of the flash back.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. You almost kissed Roger, knowing perfectly he had a girlfriend, god you weren’t that kind of girl, never. You quickly changed back in your old clothes from last night and tiptoed out of the room, chewing your lips at Nina’s yelling.

“How I’m supposed to believe nothing happened Roger ? She was literally sleeping on you, for fuck sake !” You silently zipped your shoes on, ears reddening at the mess you just created.

“She’s is my best friend ! Of course, nothing happened !” His words hurt a little. A bit insulting too. But he told you, he won’t taking any other risk until you were sure about your feelings for him, only you and him didn’t had the time to discuss about this like you said you will. “Listen, I bring her home because she was fucking high, I don’t how she managed to take coke but she was not doing well, I couldn’t just leave her !”

“She told me she already had coke !” Nina yelled back and you heard Roger gasped loudly at her words.

“You’re the one who give her coke ? What is fucking wrong with you ?” You jumped at the anger in the drummer’s tone but Nina yelled back even louder, giving you the hint that it was time for you to leave.

After this horrible morning, you went back home, drowning your shame under a long and hot shower, trying to find a way to fix what you caused. You didn’t know if Roger was regretting what almost happened or if he still wanted to talk about it but for now, you couldn’t do anything about it. If he wanted to talk, he knew where you lived.

And he did show up. Around six in the afternoon, several knocks on your door woke you up. You groaned and lazily opened the door, hairs sticking in every direction.

“Roger ?” Your heart jumped in happiness at his sight, holding a massive bouquet of sunflower in his hands, timid smile curled on his face. It brought you back years ago, when he asked you out around a year after your break-up with Donovan, full of hopes before you crushed his heart. You will not make the same mistake twice. “I...what about Nina ?” You murmured with a nervous voice, praying his sudden appearance on your doorstep was the same reason than three years ago.

“I broke up with her” The drummer replied after clearing his voice, sending crazy the butterflies in your stomach. “Can I come in ?” You nodded eagerly and closed the door behind him, trying to contain your excitement. Was it really happening ? Finally ? “Go out with me” You eyes widened at his words but he kept going, his gaze diving into yours, his hands shaking a bit around the bouquet. “I know I said I would not ask you again but after these past months and yesterday...I’m giving a last go. (Y/N), I’m still in love with you and I want you, more than anything else in the world so would–“

“Yes” You cut him with crimson cheeks, heart beating so fast you were afraid to pass out. “I will go out with you, Rog” The smile on his face was the most beautiful thing you ever saw, his eyes in the roundest shape possible as how surprise he was. But definitely thrilled, a little timid yeah ? leaving his parted lips as you nodded eagerly.

“I knew seven was my lucky number” He murmured in a relief sigh. His hand dropped the flowers on the dinning table and wrapped his arms around your back, hugging you tightly. “I can’t believing this is finally happening” You smiled softly, nuzzling against his neck, savouring his scent and warmness. God you could stay like this forever. “You don’t how badly I want to kiss you right now” His whisper brought shivers down your spine and you moved away your face to look at him, lips tingling at the craving to kiss him too.

“Then do it” You murmured while your slid your hands behind his neck, fingers twisting his blond locks absent-mindedly.

“I’m a gentleman, first I’m taking out for our date and then I kiss you until I don’t have any oxygen left in my lungs” The drummer replied before pressing a kiss on the very corner of your lips before letting you go, smirking lightly.

“You’re such a tease Taylor” You grinned back.

“I waited eight years for that kiss, I can wait a little bit longer” He said as he looked at you while your were putting the sunflowers into a vase. “But only if we going on a date tonight” He added with a cheeky smile, hugging again but from behind this time, not letting you move from his embrace.

“You know you need to let me go if you want me to get ready for our date tonight” You chuckled as you laid against his chest, his lips working on your jaw, nibbling at it so softly, it was insanely good.

“One more minute” He answered against your skin, his mouth leaving light peck on every inches of your neck, his nose brushing and making you giggled. “Plus, you don’t need to get ready, you’re already perfect”

You chuckled and moved away from him, promising him you would get ready quickly. Your heart was beating so fast as you picked a simple top and pants, jumped into it before joining Roger in the living-room. He was smoking a cigarette and smiled lazily when he saw you, eyes roaming on your body with a cheeky grin.

“Beautiful” He breathed before standing up and grabbing your hand. “Ready for our first date, love ?” You could see in his eyes the sparkle of excitement and how hard he was trying to not get to eager about taking you out. You couldn’t believe it was finally happening.

The first ten minutes of the date had been awkward. Like if you were two total strangers trying to please each other. That was stupid, you were best friends and both of you sharing strong romantic feelings but as soon as you fought for the only wedge in your chips basket, the atmosphere immediately relaxed.

You were in one of your usual pub, you weren’t fan of fancy stuffs and Roger caved just for this time and you were both eating greasy food with a pint a beer, sharing loving gazes. You felt good. So good. Everything was so simple and easy with Rog, his hands brushing against yours from time to time, making your heart skip a beat every time.

“I was thinking...” He bowed his head toward as you chewed on your chips, tilting your head in a curious motion. “We’re soon gonna leaves for touring but when we’re done, maybe you and me could enjoy some holidays, just the two of us” You swallowed your bite and batted your lashes furiously, flustered by his sudden proposition. “I know this is a bit quick but we deserved it, don’t you think ? We had been pinning on each other for too long. I just want to spend few days, somewhere where they put little umbrella in our cocktails”

“I can’t say no to that” You murmured with a giggle, Roger’s cheeks were fully pink and he was looking damn adorable all shy. “I can certainly use some vacations” You melted at his heart-shaped eyes when you agreed, his hands gripping yours with excitation.

“Do you have a preference between the Seychelles or Bali, love ? Or maybe the Maldives ?”

You chuckled at his very serious question and shook your head with an amused smile. “I never went to any of these places so...you can pick Rog”

“Oh yeah...true” The drummer blushed a bit at his stupidity but quickly joined your laugh. “I have another thing to ask you” You hummed in interrogation, encouraging him to continue. “Can I kiss you now ?”

“Well it’s not the end of the date yet, Mr Taylor” You teased but the truth was that you were just trying to hid your nerves about all of this. Roger was about to kiss you. This was so unreal.

“You’re the devil, woman” the blond sighed and stood up. For a second you thought you maybe offended him but he showed you the notes on his hands before walking to the bar to pay. You wiped your sweat on your pants and checked if you didn’t have anything stuck in your teeth in your little mirror, god, you were so nervous. “Want to go for a walk ?” You accepted his hand and followed him outside.

You were outside of the pub, looking at each other with doe-eyes, obviously both nervous. Roger didn’t want to screw his chance with you, didn’t want to pressure you in anything and he wasn’t sure he should kiss you right now or waited for a more romantic spot rather than the middle of the pavement.

“You look so beauti–“

The drummer stopped when you gasped loudly, eyes widening in pure horror.

“What it is ?” He turned his head to follow your gaze and that he saw him.

Donovan.

You took a step back as you saw him get out from a taxi, walking with Brian and John, laughing and patting each other backs. No. No. No. Not when you finally tried to build something with Roger. This horrible human was supposed to be in America, not here.

“I...I got to go, Roger” You felt your eyes watered at the sight of the man who destroy your life. Shivers of fear rolling down your spin, stomach churning as he came closer to the entry of the pub, still not seeing you.

“What ? No, wait, I’m coming with –“ The drummer grabbed your forearm when you tried to walk away but you violently pushing his hand away, chest panting heavily.

“Don’t touch me!” It wasn’t intentional, it was just a pure terrified reaction due to Donovan presence but the hurt in Roger’s eyes was really real. “I...can’t do that right now, I can’t see him” You chocked with shaky hands, panic attack raising throught your body.

“(Y/N), love, please, what is it ? I thought you were over Donovan, what the matter ?” This time he didn’t touch you but begged you with his gaze, he needed an explanation for your sudden behaviour. “Please, don’t leave like that”

You were sobbing now, eyes travelling between Roger and Donovan who was smoking at the entry with Brian, unaware of your presence. You didn’t answer, trying to control your breathing as you felt your chest compressing under the high anxiety. Four years after the last time you saw him, he was still so terrifying in your mind, you hated him so much.

“Are you still in love with him ?” The drummer asked after seeing you didn’t answer but was looking at your ex-boyfriend in a distress state.

You glanced at Roger, his eyes shinning with tears, persuaded he was right. And it was normal to think that, everyone thought you were still into him because you refused to speak about him even if he was still friend with the bands, the fact that you practically didn’t date anyone since the break-up was pretty suspicious too. And now you were dumping your date at the sight of your ex, Roger had every reason to be desperate.

“(Y/N)...” You shook your head when the blond extended his hand toward you with pleading eyes. You should accepted it and go home with him, explain what Donovan did to you but right now, the rational part of your brain was drowning under fear. You just wanted to get the hell away from him.

And that exactly what you did. You mouthed a I’m sorry to the drummer and ran away, ignoring Roger broken calls.

tag list : @amy-brooklyn99 @mercurycrowley @vanitysfairr @loveandbeloved29 @luvborhap @i-cant-hangout-im-drumming @geek-and-proud @fearless2tobeme @chlobo6 @stormtrprinstilettos @mrsmazzello @neckfruit @khaleesi2017

#roger taylor x reader #roger taylor #ben hardy!roger x reader #roger taylor fic #roger taylor x you

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iimuchakk · 5 years

Text

Thalassophile (Young!Sinbad x reader) Sinbad No Bouken

Summary: Moving to Tison village was never a noel girls dream, neither was meeting a young boy with both a passion for adventure and at drawing people in. You thought the beginning of your life had ended long ago, but truth be told it starts here, and it starts now.

Warnings: Mentions of abuse, abuse and poor health

“So come all you pretty maids, whoever that you be, who love a jolly sailor bold, that ploughs the raging sea.”

Chapter: Four

Volume 1 Chapter 4 : Precious lessons

After a rather eventful morning, you returned home with the guidance of Strous who eventually left you to your own devices after he realized you weren’t in the mood for his interrogation's; He would most likely carry them out later instead, or leave it for good if he didn’t think your mother would find out.

You took a bath, making sure you were clean from head to toe before you walking towards your lavish garden. It was humongous, especially since it was situated a good distance away from Tison village surrounded by woodland. Trees encased your home like knight’s guarding it’s queen, and every so often a squirrel would scutter across the ground before disappearing into emerald shrubbery.

Rather ungracefully you plonked down onto the grass, sighing in bliss as the small strands tickles your bare feet. You would have giggled if you did not feel so forlorn. Why did betrayal always feel like a blade in the back? Why couldn’t it just feel like a small prick to the finger from a needle? At least that way it would be easier to forget about. But no. From mothers, to citizen’s, to newly met purple haired sailors. There was always a twist around the corner, a twirl beyond the ravine. No matter the lengths traveled, you always seem to end up right back to where you started.

Alone. Surrounded by no one.

Trying not to focus on the impending doom seeping into your skin you pulled out your sketch book, eyes glaring at the white pages tainted in metallic grey and spiteful strokes.

“Nothing is eternal about war Miss Bedivere.” The way Sinbad spat out your title reminded you of the sound of nails scraping down a chalk board, or the pain of a mother’s slap to the cheek. But worst of all, it reminded you of the dwindling hope that you might have made a friend. Someone to laugh with, someone to cry with, someone to trust. And that’s when it clicked.

A sad smile forced its way into your otherwise neutral face, tears of agony filling your eyes. How embarrassing.

“What a poor little noble girl I am.” A quiet, pitiful wail slipped through your lips as you mocked yourself. “The little rich girl has no friends. What a shame...” Strous was never your friend, not truly. He cared for you deeply yes, and if one watched from the surface you could be considered to have trust in one another. But it was to an extent. His career came first. His pride, honor, future. You respected that. Life was hard. You’d never met anyone who could ride through it like a fish in the ocean. Except him. Except Sinbad. It seemed like he had everything figured out and the way he carried himself was so interesting. In your old village everyone was the same as you. Getting along for the sake of getting along. But Sinbad the sailor. It really seemed like he wanted to get through to you...Angrily you pulled out a pencil from your pocket, harshly connecting the thin sheet of paper with the sharp edge.

You sketched the first thing that came to mind and that seemed to be Sinbad’s face. His every curve, imperfection. Making sure every shade was in league with the way the sun sparkled on his stupidly beautiful face. It felt like second nature to be seeing him. Did he have this effect on everyone? Why did you want to follow him so badly? He seemed like he was going to do something great with his life; Though that didn’t stop you from feeling foolish, as if you were stalking him like a secret Parthevia spy.

You don’t know how long you sat there for. Point of your pencil sweeping viciously against the page as you let out a flurry of mixed emotions rip through your body. You were a storm. Feeling ready to strike. But eventually, calm does reach the storm. It wasn’t until you finished that the sounds of object’s clacking on wooden floor rang through your ears. Strous must have been rearranging the furniture. It brought you back to reality, and suddenly your weeping eyes met Sinbad grey orbs. This moment gave you time to ponder on earlier event’s. It gave you time to build a new wall around yourself.

At the end of the day, Sinbad was just a person. A person who threatened your family name. Surely friendship didn’t matter, not above family. By now all you wanted was to keep your pride. It’s all you had left despite how little left there was.

Not bothering to tell Strous you were leaving, you began striding through Tison village with one thing in your mind and one thing only; Find out about this revolt Sinbad was so keen on keeping within the village. The sooner you found the evidence against Sinbad the sooner the government would catch him in its net and let it wriggle around and die like a fish; fitting end for a sailor it seemed.

Thump

Turning on your heels, hair landing softly on your back, a short gasp escaped from your mouth. “Are you alright?” Your feet were moving before you fully assessed the situation. By the time you made it towards the commotion you were kneeling down by a women with black braided hair, picking up the jug of water she had dropped before falling.

“Oh yes.” Her eyes were kind, even when she recognized who you were she never faltered. She smiled, though it was a tired smile. “Thank you, but I really am fine.” The older women was shaking, her face deadly pale. “But. If you wouldn’t mind. I could really use some help.”

“O-of course.” Who were you to deny a sickly soul some help? The mission could wait until a bit later. It’s not like it would take long to carry this jug back to her house. After she was stood to her feet, you extended a hand and she did the same. While yours were soft and plump, a sign of a well fed girl who has been through little labor in her life, her’s were bony and calloused. Luck was on your side when pulling out the lottery of life it seemed. “My title is Lady Bedivere, but you can call me (name) if you like...” It was hard not to feel sympathy for this woman who shook hands with you politely.

“My name is Esra. It’s lovely to meet you (name).” It felt so foreign to hear your name on somebody else’s tongue. It was nice.

As expected, it didn't take long at all to get back to Esra’s house but the time was very much treasured by you. She was the sweetest woman you had ever met in your entire life. Everything that left her mouth was either a witty joke or a compliment in regards to yourself. There was moment’s you almost doubled over with laughter when carrying the water. However, the most notable moment you shared with Esra was when you asked her about her husband.

“Do you not have a husband to help you? Or is he away in the war?” You wouldn’t have brought it up if you didn't spot her wedding ring. A somber look soon over took Esra’s face before she softly shook her head.

“My husband’s name was Badr. He came back a war hero yet didn’t take a penny to his name. Then he left to go back to the war by force and this time died a war hero. Hero was the last thing he thought of himself as. Badr always prided himself on a husband and father before anything else. Watching him leave was the hardest thing I think I ever did. And I did it twice.” She laughed after that. Then changed the subject. Even though Esra insisted you stayed for dinner you politely declined. You had food at home, and she needed all the food she could get in such dire times.

“Goodbye Esra!” Both of you said your goodbyes to one another before you shut the door to her humble house. You were expecting to see citizens walking around and going about their day. Not to be greeted with the face of a boy only centimeters from your own. That boy being Sinbad out of everyone. “Sinbad!” You squeaked, sinking into the wooden entry way behind you. “What are you doing here? His face was truly a picture. He was completely dumbfounded for a few seconds before he took in a sharp intake of breath.

“This is my house.” Now it was your turn to look dumbfounded, and before you knew it your mission you set off on this morning was already completed in a way. Sinbad wanted to revolt against the war because his father died fighting it. “Nothing is eternal about was Miss Bedivere.” He lived those words, breathed them everyday of his life.

“Oh right.” Awkwardly you shuffled out the way of the door and started to walk away, but before you could leave entirely, you swallowed the last of what she wanted to keep. “And Sinbad...I’m sorry about your father.” With your pride now completely drained both you and Sinbad stood staring each other out. He could see the remorse and guilt in your eyes, and not long his own held the same expression.

“Thank you Miss Bedivere.”

Part one. Part two. Part three.

Comment or message me if you would like to be tagged in the future chapters

#sinbad x reader #magi x reader #sinbad imagine #sinbad headcannon #magi sinbad #sinbad #magi sinbad x reader #magi sinbad imagine #magi sinbad headcannon #magi labyrinth of magic #magi kingdbom of magic #sinbad series #sinbad x reader series #thalassophile #magi thalassophile #sinbad thalassophile #magi sinbad thalassophile #sinbad x reader thalassophile #magi sinbad x reader thalassophile

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alittletournesol · 5 years

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Kingdom Of Jinju {MinKey} part 29/33

Chapter 29 : And the truth shall be revealed

Minho was feeling a bit uncomfortable by minutes passing, sitting on the couch beside his father-in-law as they both stared at Kibum. The latter was pacing up and down in the small living room, still dumbfounded by the recent find. Too many questions were assailing his mind and he didn’t know which one he should ask first ; he knew his father was ready to answer any of them, even his nanny was waiting for him.

He could feel his husband’s eyes on him, perhaps the most unbearable ones considering they were talking about a baby his sister had when she was betrothed to the future King… However, the tall man didn’t seem outraged at all, but rather worried.

“Dear, perhaps you should sit.” The sovereign eventually called him, his voice low and his tone as gentle as when they were alone. “You will dig holes in the floor if you keep walking like this.”

“I don’t want to sit.” The Prince replied before facing the other three, holding his head with both his hands. “I… I don’t know what to start with.”

“You are troubled, and you have all rights to be.” Lord Taehyun spoke. “Ask your simplest question.”

“None of my wonders are simple, Father. I never saw my sister during her pregnancy because I thought she was sick. And tonight, I learn that not only did she have a child, but also that she died giving birth and… you hid it from me. You hid the real reason behind my sister’s death and it’s shameful. It’s dishonoring her memory. Also, do you even know about the trauma I suffered towards the people because I thought she had died after that kid’s bite ? I wouldn’t let them approach me, wasn’t able to walk among them alone like I used to do with her. But it all rested upon a lie.”

“I didn’t know about it and I’m saddened to hear that it left you a mark of that sort… but we couldn’t let this be known, even by you.”

“And why so ? I was… I am her brother, and now an uncle who missed the first ten months of a niece he didn’t know about !”

“Your sister was betrothed to the future King of Jinju, this agreement had been sealed years ago as you already know. She was honored and happy, you can remember yourself how her dream was to be a princess, even a queen, the kind to be close to her people.”

“I can’t see where this is coming.”

“Years passed by, until the ice age was over. Haneul grew up and since we were always letting both of you walk in the town… she met a young man, a commoner. She naturally hid it from us because she knew she couldn’t fall in love with him, not when she had promised to marry someone else, someone with the highest status in all the realm.”

“How did you find out about that man ? When ? It certainly wasn’t a teenager’s simple love interest, she was twenty-two and got pregnant !”

“And I was the first surprised one, son. Your mother and I got to learn about this affair because of the pregnancy. Your sister knew she couldn’t hide it from us, so she came to us and kneeled before us, crying and asking for forgiveness. She had fallen in love and although they didn’t get married in secret, they shared a bed. Once.”

“Kibum, I’m well placed to tell you this.” Minho added before his husband could answer with more anger. “If anyone had known about your sister’s affair, our marriage would have been cancelled and it would have meant a potential war.”

“War ? Who’s talking about war ?” Kibum frowned.

“The constant trading between my kingdom and your province had been sealed with this marriage. If the aforesaid marriage didn’t happen, Jinju would have not been able to repay its debt to Mongje, at least not before decades. Imagine spending years and years waiting for this repay, while your home lost most of its own wealth in trading and ends up struggling with more and more people to feed but less and less resources. What would happen ?”

The black haired man pondered the question and ended up sighing, while he slowly walked to the armchair and sat. Obviously, the longer the debt’s delay would have gotten, the more complaints would have risen, and these could have turned into threats from both sides, arguments, quarrels… and a potential war. All of this because of his sister’s choice.

He remained silent for a few seconds, allowing himself a moment to calmly gather his thoughts and questions. He couldn’t be mad at anyone, and especially not his sister and the baby she had had.

“Did the man know about the pregnancy, did he even want to take responsibilities ?” He asked, looking up towards her father. “Or did she choose to hide it from him too, for her safety ?”

“He was aware of it, she told him before us.” The older man said. “He wanted to be responsible for impregnating our daughter, he even asked for a formal audience to offer both his apologies and a promise to take care of your sister the same way the King would have.”

“I don’t understand, then.” Minho spoke in. “If she was aware, him as well, also your wife and yourself… why hiding it from Kibum ?”

“Your Highness, I think you are both smart enough to guess what happened.”

“Mother didn’t accept it, right ?” Kibum sighed. “That would have been a full stop to her hunt for power, her daughter she was so proud of getting pregnant after lying with a commoner…”

“Yes. Your mother rejected this young man’s proposal and dismissed him quite rudely. She decided this couldn’t happen, the marriage couldn’t be cancelled over an illegitimate child… so she planned everything. We would hide Haneul and disallow every visit as soon as her womb would be too noticeable. The bite she suffered served as an excuse and you know what happened next. She remained bedridden for almost six months until she had to give birth.”

“Wait… I remember she got sick for a bit more than seven months. Wasn’t it too early for the baby to come ?”

“It was, and although your niece came difficultly, our physician managed to keep her alive and she’s now healthy. Smaller than full developed newborns, but healthy. But your sister… she wasn’t mentally prepared for an early childbirth and being locked up for months didn’t help, she went through anxiety attacks while being in pain because of cramps. It took her way too many hours to deliver. She lost a lot of blood and was drained, physically and mentally. She… she survived a few hours, the night after she gave birth, but that’s all… She asked for you.”

“What…?”

“She knew. She wanted to say goodbye, to tell you the truth. Your mother pretended that she would send you to her once she would have rested a bit, but… it didn’t happen. She was already gone when you woke up that day, we just… we just made sure to clean everything so you wouldn’t suspect anything about the childbirth.”

Without him noticing it, the Prince’s cheeks were wet with tears as he listened to his father telling about his sister’s last moments. His chin and lips were quivering but he held any sob back, his back straightened and his fists closed on his lap. He was sad, but the strongest feelings invading him at the moment were anger and resentment.

“Why did you let her…” He asked, his teeth gritted. “Why did you let that woman decide if my sister had the right or not to see me before dying ? Why didn’t you say anything, why didn’t you come and wake me up so I could say goodbye too ?!”

“My son…” Lord Taehyun stuttered before standing up, walking to his son and going down on his knees, on the bare floor. “I would have given everything for my children to bid each other goodbye before being separated… but… I would have lost more than your sister that night, if I had gone against your mother’s will.”

“What could you lose more than a daughter ? Will you tell me Mother would have killed you ?”

“Not me. Listen, the day after Haneul’s funeral, your mother summoned our physician to… to ask him to quietly find a way to get rid of the baby. Her plan had failed, she thought she could have just eliminated any proof of your sister’s affair before the wedding. But the poor man refused to do such thing, it wasn’t the role of a doctor to kill. He became an obstacle, a person who knew too many things and could have put an end to everything your mother had been working on for twenty years.”

“Don’t tell me…”

“Yes, that’s what happened.”

“And the father ?”

“Do you think your mother would have kept alive a man who had destroyed her hopes for power ? Right after she got rid of him too with her bloody spies, she commanded me to kill my granddaughter. As you can see, I failed.”

“By the Gods…”

Kibum couldn’t take his eyes off of his father’s face, as he could read in them that he was telling the truth. This man had spent a lifetime lying to everyone, even to himself, hiding behind an always severe stare… but this time, pain and remorse were noticeable in the way he looked at his son, it was something the latter had never seen before. He doubted for a minute, wondering if Lord Taehyun, kneeling before him, wasn’t playing another role at the moment.

After all, if he had managed to play the strict, tyrannic ruler and father for two decades, he could be able to fake tears and sadness for an hour. However, the Prince felt deep in his heart that for once, his father was revealing his true side : the side of a man who had gotten mentally abused for years, threatened by his own wife with the use of some secret weapon, maybe blackmail. Nothing looked surprising to the young man anymore, when it came from his mother.

In a short span of time, he looked up and stared at the King, quietly asking for his opinion about the matter. Minho just sadly smiled at him and tilted his head to the side ; he was feeling sorry for his husband to face such a difficult situation, but he wanted to help him the best he could. Within a few seconds, he nodded and mouthed “I trust him”. As he looked back at his father, Kibum quietly sighed and gestured for him to stand up. He was about to tell him something when a broken sob interrupted them.

Their three heads turned towards the little room with the curtain-door, and the nanny rushed inside as soon as a few louder sobs joined the first, tiny one. The Prince’s father immediately stood up and looked at the door with apprehension, yet still not as much as his son and son-in-law. In no time, the old woman came back in the living room holding the awake little girl against her shoulder. The latter had her eyes still a bit sleepy but she opened them wider when she noticed the three newcomers.

As Kibum gulped loudly, suddenly finding himself unable to move an inch, he watched his father smile in a way he never had before. The latter approached the little one and carefully caressed her slightly swollen cheek while muttering inaudible words… but certainly funny ones as the baby’s mouth opened to draw a smile with two little toothy pegs on her lower gum, while a smaller one was showing up on the upper one. Her almond shaped, big eyes squinted when she quietly giggled and it hit the Prince.

She looked like him. Actually, she looked like his sister because she had the same expression when she laughed, the way she would close her sparkly eyes and show her toothy smile… but somehow, since Kibum and Haneul had so similar features, it also felt like his niece laughed like him. And it felt, strangely, like a warming in his chest that seemed to replace all trace of bitterness and resentment.

The nanny gently handed the little girl to her grandfather as she headed to the small kitchen, and Lord Taehyun smiled as he sat back on the couch, holding his granddaughter sitting on his lap with a hand supporting her back. She was wearing a rather cute night shirt that was a bit too long for her, made of white linen and decorated with fair green knot all around the collar. However, the fabric’s color had turned a bit yellow, what proved the shirt was an old one.

“Haneul wore it when she was her age, and so did you.” The man said when he noticed his son looking at the item of clothing. “I couldn’t let this little one with only sheets to dress her… though she is small, you used to wear this when you were around nine months and it fit perfectly.”

“She looks like her.” Kibum commented, still looking at the baby who had now her big eyes staring at Minho, who was sitting near and she had never seen. “I think.”

“She does, I can assure you. She has the exact same face than your sister when she was a baby, and you looked like this too, just a bit puffier.”

“She’s swollen too, it’s not just me.”

“Because she’s growing her teeth and it can hurt. That is why she wakes up at night, I remember your sister was insufferable at that period…”

The Prince got surprised at his father laughing with a rather soft voice at a negative yet precious memory ; it soothed him as well, as his shoulders finally relaxed. In no time, the old woman was back with a little bowl and a spoon in her hands, putting them on the tea table and stretching her arms to take the girl… but Lord Taehyun gently refused as he stood up and approached her son.

Before the latter could say anything, he found himself with his niece sitting on his lap and looking up towards him, her eyes blinking as she didn’t seem bothered to be so close to a stranger. Kibum stared back and he couldn’t help but smile when the baby seemed to frown at him, as if she was waiting for him to do something for her. She made a cute sound by smacking her lips and he laughed, not noticing how his husband was smiling softly while observing him.

Following his nanny’s quiet advices, he placed his niece on his left thigh to hold her back with his left hand, while her small feet rested against his other leg. Once the bowl was put on the armrest, he got surprised at the sweet orange and pink shades of the mash… and how cold it was. The old woman explained that since the girl was having a hard time with her teeth, she would make her eat a tiny bit of mashed fruits in a bowl that she would have previously let cool down in a plate filled with fresh water.

This was supposed to do her good for her gums… so Kibum just didn’t comment on it and grabbed the spoon to take a bit of mash on it. As soon as his niece noticed the food, she leaned on with her mouth wide open, what made both him, his father and Minho laugh at such eagerness. As if he had done it before — which he was sure he hadn’t — he fed her and made sure to catch the falling food on her tiny lips and chin with the spoon before it could stain her shirt.

The room went quiet as all adults were looking at the scene, only the girls’ chewing sounds and breathing could be heard.

“Does she have a name ?” The King eventually asked, making his husband look up for a bit too long so that his niece whined. “She is eating well.”

“It is a family thing to eat well.” His father-in-law answered, smiling as he looked at his granddaughter. “And yes, she does have a name. Her mother thought about Nari at first, for lilies, but she named her Sooyun, which means a perfect lotus flower.”

“She loved lilies so much but she would also spend a lot of time looking at the lotus flowers resting on our pond…” Kibum commented with a low voice, his smile still not leaving his face as he finished feeding the baby. “Hm, Sooyun-ah ? Will you grow up to be as beautiful as a flower ? Your mother did, so you will too.”

As she heard her name, the little girl looked up and offered a bright smile to her uncle, who melted right away as he put the bowl and spoon on the tea table to hold her, standing on his lap. Sooyun looked at him while her feet were trying not to slip on the trousers’ silk, but the operation seemed funny since she started giggling again, this time louder with her still tiny voice. The Prince kept playing with her, asking her some questions he perfectly knew she wouldn’t answer — except for the burp he received twice — until the girl yawned.

Obviously, it was like the middle of the night for her and now that she had eaten a bit too soothe both her painful teeth and her small stomach, digestion was doing its magic. But Kibum couldn’t let go of her, and he stood up while holding her against him to follow his nanny to the little bedroom, putting his niece to sleep and staying by her bedside for long minutes, just looking at her features. In the living room, both Minho and Lord Taehyun looked at each other and seemed to smile, both thinking that this little human had brought a bright light in a rather dark moment.

* * * * *

Minho straightened up from above the basin near the dressing table, soaking a towel as he wiped his face after a refreshing wash. He had already untied his hair and a few strands were wet despite he had tried to be careful ; he moped them a bit and ran his fingers through his bangs before walking towards the bed. He was only wearing his pants, finally ready to sleep after spending a whole hour at the hidden house.

But he stopped his movement when he didn’t see his husband in their bed ; as planned, when it had been time for their quarters to be prepared, Lady Eungyu had first commanded for two to be set up… but it had been with gritted teeth that she had obeyed the King when the latter had said the Prince and him slept together. They didn’t care shocking people anymore, considering their own ministers were aware of their bond and that they wouldn’t wait long to spread the word all around the realm…

Yet, he was sure Kibum had gone to bed while he was still undressing, and not seeing him made his heart jolt. He turned over and raised his eyebrows when he found him right away, standing in front of the window and offering him his back. He was quiet and seemed lost in his thoughts, as Minho carefully approached him from behind and gently circled his waist with his arms. He rested his chin on the thin shoulder and imitated the other man by looking outside without saying a single word.

They liked to share some peaceful moments, from time to time, after long days surrounded with loud people — could the latter just be speaking with them or each other. They weren’t the most quiet people in the kingdom themselves… but sometimes, they appreciated to relish a time of silence, holding onto each other and not moving an inch. At that moment, the King had feared he would feel his Prince tensed up between his arms, maybe troubled about his previous encounter or anxious about the upcoming trial involving his own family.

But none of these feelings welcomed him, it was quite the opposite. Kibum had immediately placed his hands on his, holding them against his stomach, while his head had slightly leaned to the side to touch his.

“It’s a beautiful night.” He eventually said when he felt like talking. “Who could think it’s preceding such a difficult day.”

“One more reason to appreciate it and rest.” Minho smiled as he slightly turned his head to press his lips against his husband’s jaw for a kiss. “I was afraid you might be anxious tonight, but you seem fine. Are you ?”

“I am, I think. I’m thinking about Sooyun.”

“Your father wanted to do something good by secretly keeping her alive, and he succeeded. She’s an adorable little girl.”

“Everything seems so… inimaginable. I came here to confront my parents but I discover that I have a niece who’s the spitting image of my sister. And with her… I just realise how sick my own mother is, ready to kill innocent people for the sake of a power she will never have.”

“So you trust your father, you didn’t change your mind at all ?”

“The man we saw tonight was the father I’ve always wanted to have. He wasn’t playing a role, I think his granddaughter helped him opening his eyes and understanding he could do something. But he couldn’t do anything on his own, not when my mother is the actual heiress… it would have been a suicide mission to go against her alone.”

“Do you think he waited for us ?”

“Maybe not for us, but he clearly waited for the good time. When we arrived, I told you he looked so different than when I was a child, even a teenager. He was… calm, at peace when he answered your questions and accepted to be locked up in his quarters until a proper trial. And he came to find us, to show us what this place has to hide. He knew the moment has come when we brought it, I think that’s why he showed himself so obedient and courteous. He didn’t have to play his role anymore, because we would save him, and Mongje.”

The taller man smiled while hearing Kibum’s speech about his father and was impressed at the way he analyzed a behaviour over years of basic observation. They had often talked about the Prince’s former life, about everything related to his two decades spent in his hometown, both positive and negative moments. Minho had laughed at the stories about the Kim children’s silly behaviour, and frowned at those who painted a violent, antipathetic fatherly figure.

But now, he was feeling like all of his husband’s long lasting resentment towards his father were slowly but surely fading. And it was all thanks to this new honesty he had found in the man’s personality, these smiles and sincere expressions in his eyes, the way he had saved a life… and the amount of love he was showing for a person because he had no reason, no pressure to hide it.

“I know, now, that he wanted to give us as much love and affection as he gives Sooyun now.” Kibum said. “But he couldn’t, he had this… this image he had to keep, because my mother had something against him that he was unable to deny.”

“What could be so important to a man that he’s ready to pretend to be the most horrible person on Earth when he’s not ?” Minho wondered out loud. “The man I saw in the past hour was the polar opposite of the one you told me about… the pressure on his shoulder must have been disastrous.”

“It’s totally my mother’s style to blackmail, she’s really a poisoned person. I’ve sought her acknowledgment for so many years, not even her love because I quickly gave up on it. But she would always dodge my tries, spit on everything I did for her or asked… It doesn’t surprise me that she could have threatened her husband if she had something important enough to him in her possession.”

“For your father to be so scared of her, it can’t be a something. It has to be a someone. Do you know if he had taken someone under his wing or something ?”

“My sister and I were the only persons in his life, because even if he rarely answered our calls for him, he was still present. With perspective, I can see how he was showing his love at that time, just by never being too far away. I never saw him with someone else, nor looking after someone else. But…”

“Yes ?”

The Prince suddenly moved in his husband’s arms to turn over and face him, placing his palms against his chest to keep his balance. In his eyes, the King saw the glint of determination that always found what it wanted.

“You’re right, it can only be a someone.” The black haired man firmly said. “And we must find who it is tomorrow.”

____________________________________________________________________

As commanded by the King, the entire staff of Mongje’s manor had been busy almost all night long to set up the court in the front yard, as to imitate Jinju’s trials. The main room was large but still not enough to welcome absolutely every single person who could have a role to play during the questionings. Although it had to remain a secret, both sovereigns had plotted an approach with their host, hidden from any suspicious eavesdroppers a few hours before.

The sun had risen and it was now time for the audience to start, as Minho and Kibum were waiting behind the main entrance’s door to walk back up the yard until their improvised thrones. They looked at each other for a few seconds and exchanged an encouraging smile ; this day’s trial was of these rare ones a King hoped he would never have to face during his reign. An accusation of attempted murder against the crown was by far the most difficult to handle, and the accused being from the Prince’s family didn’t make it easier.

This occasion was so rare that it was an old tradition for the sovereigns to preside the trial while wearing clothes that would represent all their titles. Thus, despite the summer heat, they had both yielded to the custom and taken a good hour to get dressed with the help of the few houseboys and maids who had accompanied them. When the doors eventually opened, they walked side by side between the long alley of trees and bushes, standing straight with their head held high.

They took their time to arrive at the extemporaneous courthouse, where a dozen of seats were placed in a semi-circle back to the main door and outer wall. Separating them in two symmetric halves, a small stage had been set up to hold two huge armchairs — the ones used by the Lord and Lady of Mongje when receiving people for formal audiences, Kibum thought. When they arrived and stood at the far end of the court, the twelve persons sitting on their seats stood up to welcome them, imitated by soldiers guarding the arc and the few nobles, ministers or employees who wanted to attend the trial.

This small assembly was made of the King’s personal ministers he had personally chosen for their ability to show themselves neutral ; they were mostly the youngest and newest hired ones, the ones who wouldn’t bring pure embarrassment upon their rulers and do as they were told. The first seat on the left arc was occupied by Jonghyun, member of the Private Council and would stand as a prosecution witness ; the first seat on the right arc was the General, who was here for the same position as his lover.

Once they were welcomed properly, Minho was the first one to walk forwards as the tradition required it. His usual imperial red and golden attire was once again enhanced by his shoulder pads and long cape, yet this time, he wasn’t only a King ; he was also the Supreme Commander of Jinju’s Army. Thus, his formal coat was opened on a mail coat and on his belt was hanging his sword, the sheath covered with gold.

On his head, placed over his free, long brown hair and letting his front bangs cover his forehead, a splendid crown was shining under the sun. Made of the purest gold, it was built as a thick circlet where hung six ornately chains, with golden leaves and rubies. On top of it, a gorgeous, high and complex structure made of several prongs with the same gems only added to his Highness’ original height and presence. It was the crown he had worn for his very first important occasion : his coronation.

Exuding royalty and power wasn’t a challenge anymore for him, and he climbed on the stage with an elegance that could be destabilizing considering his stature. When he was facing his throne, he nodded to both his General and the teacher before turning over to look at his waiting husband. He remained standing and gestured him to come in his turn, which was a change in the custom ; the King should always sit first, and just then, his Queen — in this case, his Prince — would join him.

Hiding a smile as he noticed the few surprised reactions in the audience, Kibum obeyed and advanced as told. For most of the attending people, it was the first time after six months that they were seeing their young Lord, and they couldn’t believe the same person was now walking past them and courteously bowing his head in their direction. Despite his now way higher status, he was showing that he hadn’t forgotten about them and greeted them with a smile on his lips.

The audience was returning his greetings but couldn’t help but staring, for he was inspiring wonderment in view of his appearance. He was wearing a sumptuous coat* that was falling on his body like a graceful waterfall with a soft-toned pale cyan colour. It was contrasting with his chest band and the inside of the sleeves that were black, yet embellished with golden designs, while the outside was covered with mostly silver patterns. It was an uncommon, original combination that scintillated enough to make his face glow.

He had once again chosen to let his hair free, with only his front strands being drawn to the back of his head and tied in a long, thing braid falling over his mane. His large forehead was ornamented with a sophisticated golden diadem that enhanced his already undeniable presence. However, what caught people’s eyes as soon as they could see his back was the long, thin bow that was tied to his coat, Heavens knew how. The ivory handle and quiver were reflecting the sunbeams and letting the audience know about his other title : Commander of the Hunt and of Jinju’s Archers.

Some employees smiled at this discovery, for they perfectly knew that this young man was gifted with a bow and arrows, and had led so many hunts with his father he was worth of such an important title. They watched him climb the stage to stand by his husband’s side, both of them inspiring glory and showing how like-minded they were. As the King and Prince of Jinju took their seat, which allowed every other person to sit in their turn, only Jinki remained standing and cleared his throat.

“The accused may enter the court.” He said, his voice loud, clear and carrying enough to be heard from the spot where the defendants were waiting.

Immediately following his command, four soldiers soon appeared on the way, surrounding the Lord and Lady of Mongje who had put their most formal outfits on for their trial. While the man seemed at peace and prepared to face the sovereigns, his wife had her lips pursed and her eyes were lit with a growing feeling of humiliation. Nevertheless, they followed the lead and took their seats, in the middle of the court and opposite the two thrones and jury members.

The General gestured his soldiers to remain by their side as a matter of safety and sat back, allowing his King to speak in as the latter stood up, imitated by the Prince.

“As requested by the person of Lord Taehyun of Mongje, you both stand here before us to answer for your crimes.” Minho said, not missing the way his mother-in-law seemed to flinch at his words. “The Prince and I will admittedly preside over this trial, but we wish for it to be fair. Thus, we are accompanied by twelve persons being representatives of Jinju and Mongje.”

“You may be counting as we speak, but you can see with your own eyes that there are as many representatives of Mongje as Jinju.” Kibum added when he clearly saw his mother’s eyes move from a sitting person to another one.

“These trustful persons will listen to our questioning and your answers, some of them might as well testify if needed. To avoid any form of chaos, you will not give us your answers at a same time and you will not be allowed to speak when it is not your turn to provide responses. Do you accept these rules ?”

The couple sitting on the defendants’ chairs nodded like one person, not willing to cause trouble for they both wanted this trial to be done as quickly as possible. The King and Prince agreed and took their seat back while Jinki once again stood up.

“Before the questioning starts, I will remind you about the matter.” He said, all attendants slightly leaning on to catch every word that was about to be said. “Four months ago, his Highness suffered an assassination attempt during a celebration for his people, caused by a poisoned arrow. The assassin got killed and it was later found that the poison was made from a plant in Baemyeong, putting Lord Changmin and Lady Taeyeon in a delicate position. By means of Sir Jonghyun’s knowledge, we managed to save his Highness and prove Baemyeong’s innocence in this crime by examining the corpse, which didn’t show any mark related to the assassin’s sender.”

The General took a short break in his explanation, quietly observing the accused’s reactions ; but both of them remained calm, if it wasn’t for Lady Eungyu’s eyes throwing daggers either to her husband or her son.

“We thought this story was behind us when his Highness recovered fully.” Jinki resumed. “Nevertheless, a second assassination attempt occurred exactly a week ago. This time, the perpetrator was caught alive and went through a body examination, a private questioning and a trial.”

“Thank you, General.” The King nodded. “Can the assassin come and stand before us ?”

Loud whispers invaded the court as they didn’t expect the killer to be there and even less that he would be called to testify. Their surprise grew stronger when a young woman was led in front of Jinju’s rulers, bowing to them and standing still while being surrounded by two guards. Behind her, Lord Taehyun straightened up and deeply inhaled, as his wife kept a straight face, both waiting for what was coming next.

“What is your name ?” Minho asked the girl.

“Lee Siyeon, your Highness.” The spy replied, showing herself strong-willed and even contented to speak.

“Do you agree with the stated charges against your person ? Do you confess that you were the person attempting to murder both my husband and myself ?”

“Yes, your Highness. I was the one sneaking in your quarters during the night, one week ago, and trying to kill you. The Prince stepped in and I tried to kill him too.”

Her blunt confession drew shocked gasps and muffled, offended reactions. However, neither the King nor the Prince flinched at the words, the latter even seeming to hide a smile…

“You were arrested and sent to the dungeon for the night, where you were examined by Sir Jonghyun.” Minho said, cutting the audience off. “Your trial occurred the next day and our discovery was confirmed by your admission.”

“Yes, that is what happened.” Siyeon replied.

“Sir Jonghyun, can you please stand and tell the court about your study ?”

“Naturally, your Highness.” The blonde teacher agreed as he stood up and joined the young woman, people once again whispering when recognizing him. “While Lee Siyeon was unconscious in the dungeon, I cleaned and sutured the wound on her skull which she got from a broken pot during the fight in your quarters. I then checked her body twice to look for any mark who could reveal her sender’s identity, but found nothing just like the previous assassin. This was linking them, they could have only be sent by a same person.”

“Please show us the reason that made us come all this way to Mongje.”

Doing as told, Jonghyun politely asked Siyeon if she could show her side and after making sure she allowed him to, he started touching her hair. This gesture made most audience members frown, wondering what could a woman’s hair hide to the extent it was proving anything. To their great surprise, the man was replacing a few strands to where they really belonged, revealing the hairless hole on her skull.

However, she was standing too far from everyone and they still couldn’t make out what was so needed to acknowledge. As the teacher made her hold her hair in a way it wouldn’t fall back to cover the hole, he faced the court.

“I had to shave a bit of Lee Siyeon’s hair to properly suture her cut.” He explained with a loud voice. “This allowed General Lee Jinki to notice a small stain, still half hidden. I recognized ink and shaved a bit more until her skull revealed a mark. Can one of Mongje’s representatives please join me and describe what he sees ?”

Within a second, a man in his forties stood up from his seat and trotted about towards the duo. His hand was searching in his coat pocket as he squinted when getting to Siyeon’s height, soon taking a small magnifying glass out, shaped as a monocle. He brought it to his eye before approaching her head to inspect the mark… and took a step backwards after a rather short moment, discreetly gasping. He turned towards his own rulers, then to his fellow representatives and the royal couple, all staring at him.

“So, my Lord ?” Kibum asked, cocking an eyebrow although he perfectly knew what the man had just seen. “What is it ?”

“It… It is…” The jury member stuttered. “My young Lord— I mean, your Grace, this undeniably is a mark from Mongje. Although our emblem is the transparent flower we know about, not all our seals use it… this mark is a stamp, the stamp of one of our seals.”

“Thank you, my Lord.”

As the man was joining his seat, sweat running down his temple and his eyes going shifty, the blonde teacher just bowed to show his agreement. He then helped the young woman putting her hair back to the way it was and went to his seat, his role being over.

“Now, can you please tell the court what you confessed during your trial ?” The King asked Siyeon, willing to make things good and slow. “Tell us your story again.”

“Yes, your Highness.” The woman nodded, holding her hands on her stomach as she gathered enough mental strength to bring back a painful memory.

She remained quiet for a few seconds, looking for her words, and it was thanks to the few reassuring eyes on her that she managed to speak. Fiddling with her fingers and sometimes unable to look at someone while talking, she told about the happy young teenager she used to be, living in Mongje and helping her parents with their farm. She mentioned her younger siblings and their zest for life, how they would always ask her to play and teach them things.

These memories drew a few smiles in the audience, though some suspicious persons were frowning because they didn’t get the point of such a testimony — even more when considering it came from someone who confessed an assassination attempt. However, as soon as the beautiful family tale turned darker, they all understood. Siyeon had to take a few breaks during her speech to hold back her tears, and she even spent a whole minute with her head lowered, breathing deeply.

When she looked up and described the way she had found her family when coming home from a day with a friend, her voice was broken yet still trying to fight sobs. She wanted justice and although she had tried to commit an irredeemable act, her reasons and story had moved the royal couple of Jinju to the extent they had forgiven her. She couldn’t let them down when she owed them so much, and despite the fear she felt towards the two persons sitting behind her… she talked.

When the name of Lord Taehyun was called as she recalled the official statement pinned on her parents’ door, a loud gasp resounded in the yard. All audience members turned their head towards the man, who sat still and stared at the feminine back, a few meters from him. If only they knew, he thought while pretending to be careless and allowing everyone to quietly judge him.

Once her speech was done, Siyeon quickly explained how she got enrolled in a secret group of spies working for the man who killed her family, and lowered her head. With the approval of her sovereigns, she bowed and went back to her seat, her story still echoing in people’s mind.

“Thereby, these were several reasons that explain our sudden visit.” Minho concluded. “Because of all these proofs we found about both assassination attempts, we are accusing Lord Taehyun of Mongje of being the perpetrator. The trial will now begin, your Grace ?”

“The quick interview we had with the defendants yesterday gave us a lot to think about.” Kibum said, his eyes falling on his mother. “Thus, we would like to question Lady Eungyu first. Please stand and approach.”

This announcement came as a bombshell for how illogical it sounded, and the woman was the first surprised one. They had just called her husband out and she was prepared to listen to the latter answering questions… turned out she was the one led by two guards until the spot Siyeon took a minute before. Standing with her hands on her stomach, she bowed and straightened up, her posture betraying her tension.

“We decided to question you before your husband, my Lady, because of an information you let slip yesterday.” The King said. “Can you please repeat to the court the words you pronounced when we were joined by Lee Siyeon in the manor ?”

“I said she was an impostor, your Highness.” Kibum’s mother replied, her tone sharp.

“What else ?”

“I also said we had never seen her before.”

“Is this the truth, my Lady ?”

“I am not sure anymore, your Highness. As I said yesterday, we meet so many persons for audiences that her face might remind me of someone I saw once or twice.”

“You indeed said such thing. However, before we even broached this topic, your exact words were to ask us if we would believe a commoner’s daughter. My question is : how did you know her late father was a commoner if you stated that you had never seen her ?”

“Because of her looks, your Highness. She was wearing clothes you might have ended her, but her face is the face of a peasant.”

“Please develop.”

“She has that expression in her eyes, your Highness, an expression I saw in lots of commoners. Considering her apparent young age, I made a supposition about her father being a commoner because we should address underage kids by their parents’ responsibility and so, their position.”

“Thank you for this explanation. Your Grace ?”

“I have a question as well.” Kibum spoke in. “Supposing Mongje is ruled by two persons, could your position have allowed you to send guards to a family of commoners who would not have paid their due taxes ?”

“No.” The woman harshly replied, her change of tone noticeable when she answered her son instead of the King. “I have no such power for I am only a wife. I have no ideas about my husband’s ways of applying the law and I can only discover them once they are effective.”

“That will be all, you can take back your seat.”

Obeying right before she forced a reverence, the woman walked back to her seat and sat, not without a deathly stare towards his husband. She haughtily ignored the audience looking at her and closed her hands on the armrests to contain her rage regarding the humiliation she was living…

“Now, Lord Taehyun, please stand and approach.”

Hearing the King’s words, the called man straightened his back and stood up, waiting for the guards to surround him to walk forwards. With each step he took, two more whispers raised in the audience ; he was already guilty to every soul watching him at this moment, yet he had to hide the smile he wanted to throw at them. Because they weren’t seeing what was coming, and it felt like the sweetest revenge after all these years spent suffering in silence.

On his way to the awaiting spot, he glanced at all those people standing and sitting here and there, and he held back a relieved sigh when he didn’t see a specific face in the assembly. He could tell everything now.

“Your questioning is now starting.” Minho said once the accused was standing before the Prince and himself. “You have heard your wife’s testimony about yesterday’s interview. While she was claiming your innocence in the matter, you remained extremely quiet and even asked her to behave. Could you please tell us why you did not feel threatened by our accusation ?”

“I received many threats in my life, your Highness.” Kibum’s father replied, his voice as calm as the day before. “Yet, yours was the sweetest one if I may say. I was not scared of the accusations you were declaring.”

“Why did you tell your wife to behave when she was manifestly defending you ?”

“Because when such an accusation is made towards you, I esteem we should not add fuel to fire and behave, so our case will not get worse than it already is. By showing so much strength in defending ourselves, I considered my wife’s behaviour embarrassing and not helpful for my awkward situation. The answers she gave you yesterday could have waited for today’s trial, because as we all know, whatever you can say before a trial can be suspicious and used against you… you proved it earlier with quite a cleverness, your Highness.”

“Very well. What do you say about Lady Eungyu affirming that you never saw Lee Siyeon before ? Do you agree with her ?”

“I agree on the affirmation that I never saw her before.”

“Yet, the statement she found on her door when she discovered her slaughtered family, was signed by you. Do you deny signing the document ?”

“I deny it, your Highness. I never signed a document justifying the murder of a whole family over something as insignificant as unpaid taxes.”

Lord Taehyun’s declaration was welcomed by loud gasps and protests, which the King quickly dismissed by raising his hand. They knew perfectly what they were doing, and both Kibum and him remained calm, never showing any form of shock. On the contrary, the Prince’s mother had suddenly frowned and seemed way less at ease on her seat. She had obviously not expected her husband to answer this way.

“Then who signed it ?” Their son asked. “Do you send representatives who can imitate your sign ?”

“No, your Grace. If my sign was imitated, it was not to my knowledge.”

“But such a decision can only be taken by someone who has a significant power.” Minho cocked an eyebrow, ready to drop his bomb. “And by someone, I mean Mongje’s rightful ruler.”

“You are completely right, your Highness.” The man cleared his throat to make sure he wouldn’t show any obvious facial expression.

“Then, how can you not be the one who signed this paper and commanded the murder of Lee Siyeon’s family ?”

“Because I am not Mongje’s rightful ruler, your Highness.”

When hearing these words, Kibum’s mother immediately stood up as her hands closed into fists. She was ready to talk when both guards standing behind her pressed her shoulders down to make her sit. All around them, the audience was standing gaping, nobles and employees surprised and unable to believe what was just said. However, and this was the least expected reaction, Mongje’s representatives sitting on either side of the King and Prince had their eyes shifty.

Some of them were glancing at Lady Eungyu, as if quietly asking something, but the latter was boiling inside as she was disallowed to talk and held firmly on her seat.

“Are you calling yourself an usurper, my Lord ?” Jinju’s sovereign presented to frown, giving a seriously concerned tone to his voice.

“I might be an usurper, your Highness, but not by choice.” Lord Taehyun spoke, only creating more whispering chaos in the audience and more awkwardness on his representatives’ side.

“You will have to explain yourself, now.”

“The truth is, I am only a noble. My parents were from the high nobility, extremely close to my late predecessor on Mongje’s throne. My family’s name is Lee, and I am in no way a descendant of the Kim dynasty who is ruling here for centuries.”

“Taehyun !”

Incapable of resisting any longer, Lady Eungyu had fought the grasp on her shoulders and stood up, her eyes throwing daggers. The court went silent as she started walking towards her husband but was stopped midway by guards blocking her with their spears. She ignored them and stood still, looking straight between them, at the father of her children.

“How dare you spread such lies !” She yelled. “Don’t you have any dignity, dragging the family’s name, your children’s name, through the mud only to save yourself ?!”

“Lady Eungyu.” Minho stood up, his voice loud and his tone firm. “You agreed to this trial’s rules, I will ask you not to speak in when it is not your turn. Please go back to your seat.”

“I will not let him lie instead of admitting his filthy acts !”

“You will, and only us will decide if his words are lies. Stop embarrassing both your husband and yourself the way you already did yesterday, or I will dismiss this trial.”

“Is this your concept of a fair trial, your Highness ?”

“Go back to your seat.” Kibum suddenly spoke, standing as well but using an even sharper tone that made his mother flinch. “You are a defendant too at the moment, nothing else, thus you will defend yourself when you are asked to. If you do not comply, you will bear with the consequences and trust me, I will be the one applying them.”

The Prince’s eyes were shining with something that reminded the woman of herself, and for the first time in her life, she realized how her son had taken some of his personality traits from her, him who always looked so much like his father. Mother and son held gazes for a few seconds, a heavy silence poisoning the atmosphere, but the young man got the upper hand. Lady Eungyu gritted her teeth and walked backwards, reluctantly taking her seat back.

“You may resume your explanation.” Kibum told his father as he sat, the audience still looking at him with a great combination of admiration and fear as they didn’t recognize the quiet, young boy they used to know. “How did you manage to usurpe a power that is not yours ?”

“I did nothing, your Grace.” Lord Taehyun went on. “It was all about a great timing, because my parents died from an epidemic of measles when I was barely a few months old. I was lucky to be saved because they entrust their closest friend with me so I would not get infected.”

“Who was this close friend ?”

“Lord Kim Taewoong, the previous ruler of Mongje. You know him as your paternal grandfather, your Grace, but it was a long lasting trickery.”

“Who was he, then ?”

“Your maternal grandfather, and my father-in-law. His wife was pregnant when he took me in and she gave birth a few days later to a daughter. But Lord Taewoong wanted a son, so he pretended I was the newborn son without showing me to anyone until the usurpation wouldn’t be as noticeable. My marriage with his real daughter was sealed at the same time, and she did not know about this secret for years.”

“Are you saying she found out ?” The King asked.

“Yes, your Highness. My wife lost both her parents, her father first in a hunt accident which made me the new ruler. When her mother left us in her turn, she made sure to reveal everything to her daughter about her lineage and how she could claim her rightful heritage before passing away. Though I only discovered about it once our two children were born.”

“What do you mean ?”

“Although my wife knew the truth for years, she kept it hidden until she got herself an heiress. When our daughter was born, everything started to change, and she claimed her legitimate power. However, and my son can testify about it, I remained in charge.”

“Yes, I never saw my mother rule.” The Prince nodded, glancing at the enraging woman before looking at his father. “You were the one taking decisions, giving orders.”

“I was in appearance, but I was just a relayer in reality. It has always been my wife controlling everything through me, so she could increase her power in secret, while I was facing every consequence of her foolish decisions.”

“Why did you accept to be her shield, my Lord ?” Minho asked, gesturing to his soldiers to hold his mother-in-law when he noticed her face becoming red by seconds passing. “Why did you let yourself being brought in such a situation ?”

“I had no choice, your Highness. I am no strong man, unlike my wife.”

“What did she do to make you obey, Father ?” Kibum asked, his voice betraying his sudden worry as he hadn’t been completely aware of this part of the story.

“At first, it was physical threats. But I could still resist, until she found another way. She threatened someone else, someone I had to protect at all costs.”

“Who was it ?”

“My son.”

“M-Me…?”

“No, not you.”

It was too much for Lady Eungyu, who started shouting with rage at her husband, urging him to refrain for saying another word. Her tone was so threatening everyone went quiet, in shock, and even Lord Taehyun seemed to flinch just as he must have, so many times… but this time, he straightened up and looked at his wife.

“He’s not here.” He said. “You can’t threaten me anymore, he is safe from you and your bloody spies. Now it’s time for you to bear with the consequences of twenty years of lies and abuse. You made me a monster, you forced me to make my children think I hated them, you made me hit my son… you can’t kill him anymore, and people have to know that the real monster has always been you. You tried to kill your own son !”

“Liar !” The woman shouted as the last revelation made both King and Prince stand up.

“What are you saying ?” Kibum asked, knowing this time he was the son his father was talking about.

“How do you think this flower pot fell on you ?” His father looked at him with guilty in his eyes. “It missed you and you only received a shard that hurt you above your eye… but she made it fall on you. She wanted you dead for your sister to rule after me. I… I couldn’t protect you myself so I engaged someone to quietly protect you, while making you think he hated you. You didn’t notice anything, neither did she.”

The black haired man stared at his father with widened eyes, then at his mother whose features were deformed, torn with anger as she realized she was losing. He immediately remembered the chief of Mongje’s soldiers who was always under his feet, this same man who escorted him to Jinju for his wedding… they had never been in good terms, Kibum finding him too pretentious and the man always calling him a spoiled kid.

Turned out his life might have been saved my this person more than once. With his eyes shining with tears expressing a feeling he couldn’t put words on, the Prince stared at his mother. He closed his hands into fists, one of them soon being covered by his husband’s hand, the latter standing to be by his side. Minho’s eyebrows were furrowed as he was, just like the other man, discovering way more secrets than he had expected.

With only one hand gesture, he called more of his soldiers to hold Lady Eungyu while the woman was yelling at Lord Taehyun and her son. She had gone completely crazy after her years-long project had been destroyed in her own house.

“You tried to kill me…” Kibum said. “I knew you were favoring Haneul but to that extent ?”

“Haneul loved you too much, son.” His father spoke. “And your mother idolized her, so she stopped trying to murder you, for her. If it hadn’t been for your sister, you might not have been with us right now… unfortunately, fate decided to take her first.”

“How dare you pronounce her name !” The woman shout out, still fighting to be free of her movements. “Don’t you dare staining her with your filthy tongue, she was meant to a great life and that brat ruined everything ! You’re both dishonoring her memory and her legacy !”

“Are we ?” Her son spat. “Then why won’t you tell us the truth about her death, mother ?”

“What are you talking about ! How dare you forcing me to recall such a painful moment in my life !”

“Because you lied about this too !”

Before she could answer, the Prince looked at Jinki, who stood up right away and brought his fingers to his mouth to let a piercing whistle out. As a response, the huge doors behind the improvised courthouse slowly opened. Within a minute, about six soldiers entered and made sure to close behind them. They walked forwards all together until they were standing behind the six seats occupied by Jonghyun and the other representatives.

As soon as they were in position, they moved to the sides to reveal what, or actually who they were protecting. Hidden between them was Kibum’s old nanny, noticeably uncomfortable as she was holding a well awake Sooyun. The audience gasped and some of the persons sitting near the sovereigns stood up with shock when seeing the baby. Taehyun immediately left his spot to join his granddaughter, adding a supplementary protection.

When they all turned towards Lady Eungyu, the latter was fuming. But her eyes couldn’t lie : she was in denial, blindsided to the core.

“Who… who is that ?” She asked, yet this time, her lies didn’t work.

“Your granddaughter, Haneul’s daughter.” Her son replied. “My sister died giving birth and not only did you hide her during her whole pregnancy, but you also tried to eliminate her child ! Your granddaughter ! A baby !”

“This is a fraud, you just went to take a random baby from some peasants and made up this nonsense !”

“Enough with your lies, you monster.” Her husband spat. “You killed the father, you killed the physician who refused to make Sooyun disappear. And you dared to ask me to do the dirty work… you commanded me to kill my family, my blood ! It was my son or Haneul’s daughter, you wanted them both dead anyway !”

“Don’t call her name or I—”

“It’s over now, you can’t threaten me anymore and I’m not afraid of you. You lost, Eungyu. I may have lost my daughter, but I still have my two sons and my granddaughter. You got nothing left but your crimes.”

The yard went silent. Only the woman’s loud and enraged breathing could be heard as she stared at her husband, the baby in the nanny’s arms, and her son. She was still being firmly held on her seat, her hair and outfit sticking to her skin as she was drenched with sweat because of anger. Everything had been destroyed, all her hard work to claim what was hers, everything.

She suddenly lowered her head and stopped moving. Was she surrendering ? She had nothing left to prove she was innocent, all proofs against her were way too solid and mostly physical to be denied. However, the Prince was the first one to frown, followed by everyone when they made out… a laughter.

Lady Eungyu was laughing.

When she looked up, her face was distorted and she barely looked human as she sniggered.

“I have nothing left, you say ?” She told her husband. “Did you already forget what you told everyone ? I have Mongje. This province is mine and I own every single soldier it got.”

Before anyone could prevent her from doing it, she yelled, calling Mongje’s army for help. Straight away, the sound of feet running on the bare ground resounded in the yard, even making it tremble. It startled Sooyun who whined, making both her nanny and grandfather surround her in a protective gesture. In no time, the whole courtyard was surrounded by more than a hundred of soldiers, spears threatening.

“Soldiers of Mongje !” She called when the guards had no choice but leave her be when a dozen of enemies approached them in particular. “You are all aware of who is the rightful heiress to our home’s throne. Lord Taehyun’s usurpation is over and I claim the power that is mine. Will you fight for your Lady ?”

“Yes, my Lady !” All soldiers shouted in unisson, scaring even more people than just the baby.

“Perfect. See, your Highness, you seem to have forgotten about a tiny detail that still has its importance. Mongje is independent. We do not owe you any form of allegiance and your intrusion is a declaration of war.”

When the circle of armed enemies made a step forwards, their spears directed at Jinju’s sovereigns and way smaller army, the audience started to panic. They weren’t feeling safe either, although the threat wasn’t intended for them. As both Jinki and Jonghyun moved from their seat to stand before the platform, the King and Prince of Jinju reacted to the menace.

Like one man, Minho unsheathed his sword and held it in a defensive way, while Kibum caught his bow and drew an arrow, keeping it facing the floor. They were both standing next to each other in their royal attires, and their posture showed they knew exactly how to use their respective weapon. However, they refused to be seen as the offensive side.

“Lady Eungyu, what you are about to do is a mistake.” The King tried to reason with his new enemy. “As you said, Mongje is independent, but still, it follows some rules that were established for the Five Kingdoms. One of them being that the one declaring war is the one unsheathing his weapon first.”

“Your petty words won’t work on me, young man.” The woman said, purposely ignoring the courtesy due to a royal person. “You are on my lands without any authorisation, you showed up with all your prevention to threaten me but now, you are surrounded. I’m the one declaring war ? It’s fine with me, because you already lost.”

“This is madness !” The Prince said in his turn. “Will your thirst for power never be satisfied ?! What do you think you will get from this ?”

“Dear son, you definitely are the most stupid of my children… A shame that you’re the one who’s still alive. My thirst is about to be quenched, for I will not hesitate to get rid of you right her and right now.”

“Killing the King and Prince of Jinju ?” Jonghyun spoke in, his usually calm voice turning more threatening and sarcastic. “In front of so many witnesses ? Will you slaughter the whole yard while you’re at it ?”

“If it isn’t the smart boy who slept with the sullied thing that serve as my son… Look at them, idiot. They’re so scared of me right now that they’re wetting their pants. They will do as I said and will side with me when we will have to explain how these two little sovereigns died in a tragic accident.”

“And what will our death give you ?” Minho frowned. “Do you think you can claim my throne ? If I die before having an heir, it is the Queen Regent who will take my place. You will never win, your dreams are out of reach.”

“Once you’re dead, little king, your mom will be next.”

“Minho, don’t answer to her.” Kibum looked at his husband, immediately noticing how these words were angering him. “Don’t react, she’s waiting for us to make the first move.”

“Oh, not so stupid, aren’t you ? Now, I’m tired of waiting. Soldiers ! Let’s get this over with, kill them all.”

No sooner said than done, Mongje’s army started moving forwards, reducing the circle surrounding the King, Prince and their own soldiers. They weren’t enough to fight back, but the General still shouted to his present recruits as he held his sword and led the teacher behind him, commanding them to defend their sovereigns at the risk of their life.

The spears’ points were dangerously getting closer and Kibum’s heart started beating faster as he looked at his mother, the evil smile on her lips getting bigger by seconds passing. Her cruelty had no limit, even for a son she had conceived and birthed. It seemed completely over. The young Prince turned his head to look at the King, the latter feeling it and returning the gaze.

They smiled at each other despite their fear, quietly agreeing that if they had to die that day, they should die with dignity. Fighting for their life. The raven haired man lowered his eyes to look for his niece, who was hidden by the terrified old woman who served as a mother to him. He would fight for her, too. He wouldn’t be able to bring her home and raise her like his sister would have wanted him too, but he would give his life protecting her if it was needed.

As he looked up, ready to face whatever was coming, his eyes caught a movement beyond the manor’s outer wall. He squinted and frowned, wondering if it was just some bird… until he recognized the tip of an arrow. Within a few seconds, more movement could be noticed all along the wall’s top, and Kibum understood.

“We’re not dying today.” He said loud enough to be heard by whoever was standing around him, but not his mother nor her soldiers.

Cutting their failure to understand off, he straightened up and lifted his drawn bow, letting a piercing whistle out. It wasn’t a straight sound but three different notes with the last one lasting a bit longer ; an instruction. Lady Eungyu looked at him with her eyebrows furrowed, and before she could mocking him, she realized what was happening.

Countless silhouettes appeared from behind the outer wall, certainly standing on ladders that had been placed against the wall. They were all looking like each other, hair pulled in a pony tail and a headband keeping strands away from their eyes… and their hands were drawing a bow, armed with one to three arrows.

“Archers !” The Prince yelled. “Get into position, wait for my command !”

Mongje’s army got surrounded and soldiers started hesitating, stopping their walking and looking at the archers, then at their commander. The woman stood gaping for a few seconds, but she couldn’t let the opportunity pass.

“Keep moving !” She shouted.

Despite their logical unsureness, her men could only obey. They resumed their steps forwards but Kibum knew he only needed a moment. Just a second.

“Kibum, make them shoot.” His husband told him, a drop of sweat running down his temple. “Kibum, what are you doing ?”

“Wait.” The other man just said.

“We don’t have time ! Make them shoot or I do it !”

“Minho, trust me.”

“Wh—”

Before the King could tell the Prince he had gone mad, another whistle was heard from the outer wall. It startled everyone and Kibum just smiled, before returning the sound himself. It was a signal, and the huge doors were soon hit from the outside, an extremely loud sound resounding in the yard as Lord Taehyun covered his granddaughter’s ears. Mongje’s soldiers once again stopped walking to look at the trembling door ; a second hit was heard, then a third one… and the large wooden panels got knocked down.

A feminine voice was heard as it yelled with rage, and the silhouette of Siyeon came in, running as she was holding two swords. Everyone looked at her with stupefaction as they had never noticed she had managed to run away… and it turned into great astonishment when a bunch of voices shouted in return. Before they could move, the enemy army saw a myriad of soldiers wearing the colors of Jinju enter, led by a young man on a horse.

While the King, the Prince, the General and the Teacher welcomed their hidden army with a relieved and proud smile on their face, Lord Taehyun and Lady Eungyu went speechless. Their eyes weren’t showing the same expression, for it was all about positive surprise and pride in the man’s, while the woman’s were filled with pure hatred. She was staring at the newcomer, the hero with the irritating feeling of being deceived once more, yet this time it felt even more unfair.

Because the person who was riding a splendid black horse and had led nearly a thousand soldiers to end her victory was Lee Taemin. Her husband’s illegitimate son.

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#minkey #minho #key #kibum #shinee #fanfic #historical #kingdom of jinju #jongyu #onew #jinki #jonghyun #taemin

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lia-nikiforov · 5 years

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Spring 2018 Anime Final Review

So, uh, this is six months late. I’ve had half of this post in my drafts forever. To make it short, as I’ve mentioned previously, mom lost her job, which has not only been a heavy hit to my sense of stability for the last six months, but also means my time to watch anime was seriously reduced and even now a slight change of plans fucks up my whole schedule and sets me back for a full week. Anyway, nobody cares about any of these shows anymore so let’s get straight to it? I’m gonna ommit the two-cours that continued into the Summer - hopefully I’ll be able to make that post soonish? idk. Worst to best, same as usual

The crappy gender politics pit of shame

Darling in the FRANXX: I think everyone has ripped this show to threads at this point and there isn’t much I could add to that. It is quite funny to me to see how many people flipped out when the show went completely bananas in its last few episodes. Feels a bit like KADO, I’ve been telling y’all this was a ton of empty crap since episode 2, it just took the writing to completely self-destruct for everyone else to notice. A part of me feels tempted to do a long post breaking down just how badly the show collapsed in its final shebang, specifically how every single twist and turn completely nulled any remote kind of message or central thesis the show may have had, but at the same time it doesn’t seem worth the time. In the end, I may have given What is Internal Consistency, The anime way too much credit. It’s not hateful antigay propaganda, it’s just dumb as shits, with a writer and creators who didn’t think for half a second of the implications of what they were doing, and who were so incompetent they couldn’t even conserve the minimal plot and character coherency within a single episode, let alone 24. In other words, Darling isn’t saying “gays shouldn’t exist” but “I have no idea of anything regarding gay people”. What makes it egregious is that the show spent so much time acting like it was “meaningful” and “important” and yet it ended saying absolutely fucking nothing. Except mayb “have babies”. Down to oblivion you go, along with the likes of KADO, to the void of shows that couldn’t even be offensively bad and no one will remember a year from now. Bonus garbage points for the half-assed “bury your gays”.

Nil of Libra Admirari or whatever this show was called: I’m not trying to diss on the show, I just genuinely never remember the title because I have the JP and EN all mixed up. Not that it matters much, as far as I could tell, the show could call Shalabalabatuna and it would have the same significance in regard to the content. But the title isn’t important. In fact, it may be a bit unfair to have this show in this section. For the most part, Main Girl is very self-determined and has an active role in the story.... but then the last two episodes heavily featured a lot of rape threats or rape themes and forced pregnancy (real and threat) and I don’t really understand why they’d go there all of a sudden. One of them was treated relatively well, even empowering the victim in the process, but when the ikemen bad guy was rambling endlessly about how he wanted to impregnate the protagonist it really turned me off :/ I’m also not a fan of “main boy was her secret fiancé all along”, but at least they also handled that somewhat decently. It’s a very disposable series, but since I watched all of Amnesia, I think I owe every otoge adaptation at least the smallest chance to clear that very low bar, and Libra of Nil does it, more competently than most other stuff in the same genre.

Hisone to Masotan: I really, really wanted to love this show. Even now, as I put it in the pit of shame category, I’m pained. There was a good show in this, and a lot of it made it to the screen: an adorable, charming little story about a woman finding her place in the world, making new friends, finding her calling and bonding with an adorable dragon. Unfortunately, it got buried down under this opressing, horrendous gender politics that tried to do something with bringing attention to sexism in the military only to cancel it out making the one dude that embodied that sexism getting rewarded with the affections of a girl he explicitly tried to crush. It also called back on the virgin or whore fallacy and even managed to shove in a “bury your gays” trope. Even though Hisone challenges the ritual bullshit, it’s too little, too late, and she does end up carrying it out anyway, so the defiance to the status quo is of little importance in terms of problematizing the ritual itself. Sorry BONES, it wasn’t meant to be this time.

The ni fu ni fa section

Ni fu ni fa is a Mexican colloquialism for “It was okay but it didn’t change my life.”

Binan Koukou Chikyuu Boueibu HAPPY KISS: This soft reboot of the franchise had some really great episodes and did an actually good job of developping its characters. For the most part, it achieved what its predecessor did in terms of satirical comedy and I enjoyed it quite a bit. However, what bunked it down so low in the list was the final episode. At some point, the writers forgot they were doing a parody and made the show somewhat self-serious, way closer in tone to the magical girl anime it was supposed to be making fun of, rather than the satire its predecessor was. Whereas S1 ended with the whole Magical boy stuff being revealed as a crappy space reality TV show, this one ended with a real cheesy conflict about happiness and family and blablabla. Which is not bad by itself if this were a Precure show, but that kind of self-serious plot development just didn’t work for this series. I still enjoyed it, and the fanservice episode is one of the best of the whole franchise, but I’m a bit sad the finale missed the mark so badly.

Hinamatsuri: Hinamatsuri was very hit-or-miss for me. There were some truly brilliant episodes, a lot of funny vignettes and heart-warming stories, and then there was some stuff that made me uncomfortable -like every single Hitomi story- or felt unnecessary and dry. It also threw me off that the superpower dynamic completely disappeared in the second half of the show, especially in Anzu’s part of the story. It was okay but I feel like I needed something that felt like a closing, and choosing to end it with Mao who featured very minimally in the show overall didn’t cut it. It’s a fun show, I’d reccommend people check it out, but it felt a bit too disjointed for me

Persona 5: The Animation: This is a hard show to place because I love the looks of it and I think the concept is interesting and pretty cool, but there is something that’s keeping me from connecting emotionally to the story. The part where changing the villains’ heart makes them repent from their sins and become “good” feels very artificial and very tasteless when you’re dealing with rapists and abusers. I ended dropping it at episode 16, I just couldn’t find the motivation to catch up with the 6 episodes i’d fallen behind on because my schedule is a tragedy

Tokyo Ghoul: Re: I guess it’s fair to say I’ve kind of outgrown Tokyo Ghoul. There’s something messy and confusing about how this season panned out, and there comes a point in which misery porn just doesn’t cut it anymore. I still watch because Ishida has a way to make every single goddamn character extremely sympathetic, which makes for an emotionally engaging viewing even when you’re not sure of what the plot is supposed to be or who you should be rooting for. I tried picking up the new season that just started airing and immediately found I had no idea of what was going on, who was on who’s side and in general, who the fuck were 90% of the characters, so I dropped it.

Nanatsu no Taizai: Imashime no Fukkatsu: I’ve mentioned it before, this second season had the opposite problem than the first one: the pace was too slow. It took more than half of it to get to Escanor, and then the season ends at a kind of random spot. I really thought we’d get further along on the story, since Gowther’s backstory was hinted at in the openings, but no such thing happened. They did manage to give us a variety of cool moments and fights, and I love Ban so his scenes with Zhivago and Elaine made me quite happy, though I really wish the romance between Elizabeth and Meliodas wasn’t su dubious and cringy. In light of some revelations that take place further along the manga, going out of their way to emphasize that Meliodas was a sort of mentor figure for Elizabeth when she was a toddler seems unncessary and just very squeamish. I do hope we get a third season though, and an OVA of the Vampires of whatever side story would be great too.

Rokuhoudou Yotsuiro Biyori: I was pleasantly surprised by this show, and it’s closer to being one of my top of the season than it is to “meh”. It had some weaker, cheesier segments, but it also managed great whacky moments and a genuine soothing atmosphere. What surprised me most is that the vanilla looking cast of moderately handsome dudes managed to develop into interesting, funny individuals with a dynamic that made every episode enjoyable. A solid reccommendation for anyone wanting to see delicious looking food and moderately handsome dudes being ridiculous. Also, the cat episode is the best episode of anime ever produced.

The I’m probably the only person alive who enjoys these shows

Mahou Shoujo Ore: This is a difficult show to place because it wasn’t quite as great as I wanted it to be and its parodic nature took me by surprise, but somehow I was still seriously entertained more often than not. The twists in the final quarter and the absolutely bonkers finale was a total riot, but I definitely advise caution before going in, given that some of the jokes may seem insensitive or in poor taste in regards to gender presentation, sexuality and there are even some mild harrassment jokes that certainly made me roll my eyes.

Yowamushi Pedal: Glory Line: I don’t know if anyone’s noticed, but I think through half of the show’s 25 episode run, I was convinced the title was actually Glory Road. It’s kind of anticlimactic that it’s called Glory Line if they don’t actually reach the final Goal btw. Anyway, I feel I say this a lot, but really, if you didn’t like the previous Yowapeda seasons, there’s nothing here for you, and if you did, you’re probably not gonna hop off this late in the game. This season does suffer from the same dragging than its predecessors, with the added issue of being quite pessimistic for no reason in about half the episodes, and a diminished presence for Onoda. I really wish they hadn’t dragged the Day 2 goal so long, I really hoped we’d see the end of the race, but no such luck I guess. Still love most of it and hope we get one more season or a movie to complete the story.

The favorites of the season

Golden Kamuy: In spite of its pacing issues, terrible animation and general clunkiness, I can’t help but love this show. When season 1 ended my feelings for it had mellowed quite a bit, but as soon as I picked up season 2 this Fall I just fell in love all over again. It’s fun, unique, over-the-top in some ways, incredibly grounded in others, and the dynamics between the characters are incredibly charming.

Hozuki no Reitetsu: It’s hard to talk about this one because it feels repetitive, given how tonally the show remains just the same across its three seasons. It could’ve very well been a one-season, 36 episode show, for how little it changes in spite of the time that transpired between the first season and the second. But in short, the comedy continues to be as spot on as always, the Zashikiwarashi twins are the best addition to the cast. It’s definitely a show I could watch endless episodes off, and the rare case of an episodic series with no overarching plot that I can enjoy wholeheartedly.

Card Captor Sakura: Clear Card arc: Over the course of the series, I’ve expressed a few concerns and misgivings about how the story of this 20th anniversary sequel was playing out. The final episode was particularly troublesome in that it left the story unfinished in spite of deviating from the manga. In spite of this, more than anything I’m very happy that this continuation still retains what made the original so special, that they captured the magic behind Sakura’s “everything will be alright” spell and gave us the chance to spend more time with these beloved characters and see their stories continue. The slow but sweet development of Sakura and Syaoran’s puppy love is a definite highlight. Needs more Touya/Yukito and Yue in general.

Piano no Mori: This show got heavily overlooked because it was kidnapped by Netflix (pls stop immediately), and then when it was finally unceremoniously dumped a month or two ago, it came under fire for the wonky CGI during the piano scenes -and it is indeed very wonky-. But beyond that, I found the story very engaging, especially because Kai is such a fascinating protagonist, his intense rivalry-friendship with Megane-kun (sorry, it’s been six months, i can’t remember names) is exactly the type I can’t help but root for. Kai’s participation in the final episode gave me goosebumps. I’m very happy we’re getting a continuation, can’t wait to see how the Chopin competition develops.

Wotaku ni Koi wa Muzukashii: Sweet, funny and absolutely delightful from start to finish, Wotakoi was easily one of the highlights of the season. Although there were some aspects about Cosplayer-senpai and Yuri Otaku-senpai’s (I’m really trying to remember the names, I’m sorry!! ;---;) that didn’t work for me -namely the izakaya segment- Narumi and Hirotaka more than made up for it with their clumsy yet adorable romance. I spent the entirety of the amusement park episode screeching. I really hope we get a continuation -and get a chance to see more of Hirotaka’s brother and his gamer friend too- and that in general we can get more anime about adult stories

Megalobox: Who would’ve thought that a show that wasn’t even in my radar before the season started would’ve end as one of my favorites, possibly of the year? Even as someone who’s only marginally acquainted with Ashita no Joe and has no interst in the sport of boxing, I was completely enthralled by the style and passion of this production. As I said a bit above, intense rivalries are very appealing to me, and the build up in the tension between Joe and Yuri was almost palpable, their mutual respect gave me chills. Definitely the surprise of the season, made even better by its optimistic happy ending to contrast with its predecessor’s tragedy. Megalobox is a unique anniversary project that is closer to an homage and it works perfectly. Definitely check it out.

That’s it for the Spring season! I hope i can do the summer season this weekend and maaaybe even my watchlist for the Fall season. Fingers crossed i won’t get swallowed up in other stuff :’D

#anime final impressions #spring anime #god i've forgotten 95% of my tags #darling in the franxx #megalobox #wotaku ni koi wa muzukashii #piano no mori #card captor sakura clear card arc #hozuki no reitetsu #golden kamuy #yowapeda #mahou shoujo ore #rokuhoudou yotsuiro biyori #nanatsu no taizai #persona 5 #tokyo ghoul: re #hinamatsuri #hisone to masotan #binan koukou chikyuu boueibu

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lollipopsandeverything · 5 years

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Top 5 Artists Who’ve Impacted/Shaped My Life

The Supremes – Hi. My name is Domi. And I am a Motown addict. I’ve been bosom-deep in this love affair with Motown since the age of 12. During my earliest discoveries of Motown’s premiere musicians, one of the things that enamored me most was their air of sophistication and dignity. Class was the name of the game, and the Supremes were arguably the poster children for the Motown clan’s distinctive refinement. I remember spending hours upon hours watching footage of the Supremes’ various television appearances from the early to late 60s and being in amazement of their poise. Their beauty. Their grace. Their effortless style and charm. I couldn’t quite articulate this as a pre-teen, but in my eyes, the amalgamation of Diana Ross’s spit-fire spunk, Florence Ballard’s understated majesty, and Mary Wilson’s sultry sparkle made for the perfect prototype of a woman—which is what I longed (and still long) to be.

Minnie Riperton – Everybody knows the song “Loving You.” Literally everyone. I don’t care if you’re a 46-year-old Timberland boot and skully cap-donning Wu-Tang head from the Bronx or a burned-out, corporate Becky with a Beamer; you know that tune. And at one point in your life, you’ve attempted (and, if you’re anything like me, miserably failed) at hitting that notorious whistle note at the end of the chorus. The sourness that shadows the dulcetness, though, is Minnie Riperton’s relative anonymity among casual music listeners. My first *real* dive into Ms. Riperton’s artistry was piqued by an episode of “Unsung.” The two pieces of commentary about Minnie that perked my ears up in particular were about the pureness of her soul and her first solo album, “Come to My Garden.” You wanna talk about a life-changing album? “Come to My Garden” was certainly one of those for me. It’s not just a record. It’s an experience—one that transports you into an iridescent wonderland of mysticism, strawberry cupcakes and 75 degree weather. One of the tracks on the album, “Les Fleurs,” became an anthem of mine and remains a gentle reminder that I possess beauty and purpose, even through life’s hard knocks. After journeying through Minnie’s catalog, she quickly became my all-time favorite female vocalist. And the genuine goodness of her spirit continues to radiate brazenly through her songs.

Michael Jackson – Goodness. I could literally author an entire dissertation on what a behemoth impression this man has made on my life. I mean, aside from my admiration of his artistry (which I’ve made all too apparent on this here blog), Michael Jackson’s existence as a human being has been a giving tree of lesson on top of lesson—the granddaddy of them all being empathy. I’ve always fancied myself as a sensitive, caring person who seeks to find the humanity in others. Although I sometimes fall short in doing so, I make great efforts to understand the reasoning and motive behind people’s actions. And extensively studying Michael’s life nudged my pre-existing compassion into overdrive. From childhood abuse and exhaustion, to poor self-esteem and autoimmune disorders, Michael Jackson was put through the ringer; so much so, that the lingering effects (both internal and external) of those malignancies played out in the public eye—making him the butt of every joke imaginable. I couldn’t fathom bearing even an eighth of his seemingly perpetual trauma. Simply put, I feel terrible for the man. I don’t, however, pity him. Instead, I envelop myself in a deep understanding of his plight and seek to grant equal thoughtfulness to those around me.

Sade – If I were forced to describe myself in two words, “quiet storm” would be my phrase of choice. And to me, Helen Folasade Adu is basically the alpha and the omega of tender force (word to Smokey Robinson), as far as female artists are concerned. She has this beguiling power that’s neither boastful nor loud, but alluring and warm—keeping you at arms’ length, yet inviting enough to leave you hankering for seconds. Sade could fall off the face of the planet for literally ten years and reemerge to a flood of rapturous fanfare. She doesn’t compromise her innate enigmaticness for money, prestige, or notoriety. For a private, low-key, deeply introverted gal like me, it’s inspiring to know that leaving an enchanting imprint on the world while sustaining your truth isn’t such an impossible task after all.

De La Soul/Native Tongues collective – Whether in a ribbing, non-malicious way or as an intentional means of disrespect, I’ve been called nearly everything in the book, from “hippie” to “weirdo” to “stoner.” I gotta admit that I’ve always been a little on the quirky side, and throughout my life, I’ve oscillated between intermittent embracing of my oddness and utter shaming of it. Living in the South as a Black girl with more (for lack of a better term) “alternative” sensibilities and tastes has its challenges—worry of judgment, lack of acceptance, deprivation of true connection and relation. But luckily, I stumbled upon a group whose entire steeze became a refuge in the midst of my dire loneliness—De La Soul and, by extension, Native Tongues. If you grab a dictionary and look up the word “integrity,” I’m pretty sure a photo of De La circa 1989 (daisy-adorned button downs and all) would accompany its entry. In spite of the pigeon-holing, ridiculing, and undervaluing, De La Soul remained true to their eclectic, eccentric, ever-evolving selves. They weren’t in it for the accolades or record sales. They simply sought to express and inspire. Consistent and original, their creativity will remain evergreen. And the Native Tongues’ impact on lil weirdos like me will never be forgotten. I can only hope to find my own tribe (pun intended) like theirs someday.

#black music #soul music #r&b/soul #hiphop #the supremes #minnie riperton #michael jackson #sade #de la soul #native tongues #music #inspiration #personal

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poorquentyn · 6 years

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Remember Your Name, Part 2: Always Smiling

“You will be hollow. We shall squeeze you empty, and then we shall fill you with ourselves.”

--1984

At first, I did not understand whose chapter I was reading.

“The rat squealed when he bit into it...” Wait, Reek? Didn’t he turn out to be dead after all? That was the big reveal at the end of Theon’s A Clash of Kings arc: Reek had died in Ramsay’s place, and the man we knew as “Reek” was actually Ramsay all along. So who...

...no.

Oh, oh no.

It can’t be.

It is.

George RR Martin did not exactly hide his intention to bring Theon Greyjoy back to the forefront in A Dance with Dragons, after two books and thirteen years offstage. This opening chapter had already been released as a teaser in 2008, three years prior to the book’s release, and the author had repeatedly hinted at Theon’s return on his Notablog. But I wasn’t paying attention to any of that at the time. I wasn’t plugged into the fandom in 2011; this was just a new book I was eager to read. I was ready to see how Jon and Stannis interacted after the former was named Lord Commander. I was ready to see how Dany handled her enemies in Slaver’s Bay. I was ready to see what really happened to Davos, after Cersei was told in AFFC that Wyman Manderly had him executed (I didn’t believe it for a second). What I was not remotely ready to see was that name blazing across the top of the book’s unlucky thirteenth chapter: REEK.

And I would argue, in retrospect, that this was the most appropriate context in which to first experience Reek I ADWD. You should be immediately confused about who you “are” within the chapter, because our POV is as well. You are dropped into the dark corner of a Dreadfort dungeon with no explanation, your mouth filled with rat and your ears with squeals; you have to reassemble the world along with him. You are not permitted to stand at a distance, shaking your head and clucking your tongue at this pitiful creature, as so many people do in-universe. You are there, in a world that feels far more like horror than high fantasy, remembering his name as he does.

In that fateful first trip through this sawtoothed gauntlet of a chapter, it was only when our POV flashed back to the fate of poor Kyra did I remember the name Theon Greyjoy.

He had run before. Years ago, it seemed, when he still had some strength in him, when he had still been defiant. That time it had been Kyra with the keys. She told him she had stolen them, that she knew a postern gate that was never guarded. “Take me back to Winterfell, m’lord,” she begged, palefaced and trembling. “I don’t know the way. I can’t escape alone. Come with me, please.”

And so he had. The gaoler was dead drunk in a puddle of wine, with his breeches down around his ankles. The dungeon door was open and the postern gate had been unguarded, just as she had said. They waited for the moon to go behind a cloud, then slipped from the castle and splashed across the Weeping Water, stumbling over stones, half-frozen by the icy stream. On the far side, he had kissed her. “You’ve saved us,” he said. Fool. Fool.

It had all been a trap, a game, a jape. Lord Ramsay loved the chase and preferred to hunt two-legged prey. All night they ran through the darkling wood, but as the sun came up the sound of a distant horn came faintly through the trees, and they heard the baying of a pack of hounds. “We should split up,” he told Kyra as the dogs drew closer. “They cannot track us both.” The girl was crazed with fear, though, and refused to leave his side, even when he swore that he would raise a host of Ironborn and come back for her if she should be the one they followed.

Within the hour, they were taken. One dog knocked him to the ground, and a second bit Kyra on the leg as she scrambled up a hillside. The rest surrounded them, baying and snarling, snapping at them every time they moved, holding them there until Ramsay Snow rode up with his huntsmen. He was still a bastard then, not yet a Bolton. “There you are,” he said, smiling down at them from the saddle. “You wound me, wandering off like this. Have you grown tired of my hospitality so soon?” That was when Kyra seized a stone and threw it at his head. It missed by a good foot, and Ramsay smiled. “You must be punished.”

That, too, is appropriate, because this passage is designed to ground the reader in this disorienting environment. It reminds us of Ramsay’s nigh-peerless cruelty and sadism, how much of a bastard he is in the pejorative sense. We’d only heard about his Most Dangerous Game hunts before, and now we’re dropped into one from the prey’s POV. It’s a hideously ironic twist of fate for the accomplished hunter Theon Greyjoy, a significant moment in Ramsay’s deconstruction and near-destruction of his identity. After all, Ramsay was there--as Reek, no less--for Theon’s own (considerably less successful) human-hunt at Winterfell. There’s a further irony in that Kyra and Theon escape due to a drunk horny guard, which is in part how Osha helped Bran and his companions escape Theon in ACOK. These distorted, inverted echoes of his previous POV arc become even more pronounced when he actually returns to Winterfell; it lends his journey back to Theon an appropriate sense of the uncanny, as if he’s being drawn into his past before being spat out into his future. The flashback further blows the dust off of our memories of Theon’s ACOK storyline by bringing back Kyra, a woman he treated at the time as a prize to be abused on a whim. That power imbalance is now ash and dust, broken like Winterfell by the Bastard of Bolton. On the whole, this passage does a tremendous job of measuring the gap between our POV’s past and present (something he himself is having difficulties doing, as I’ll get into below and in my essay on Reek II). The man who ran still thought of himself as Theon. The man eating the rat thinks of himself as Reek, when he thinks of himself at all.

Upon reread, though, what struck me most about this sequence is how the author foreshadows the end of Theon’s ADWD arc right here in its opening pages. Theon thinks of this attempted escape as exemplifying the point at which “he still had some strength in him, when he had still been defiant,” but it also exemplifies the self-absorption that was his defining character trait in ACOK. Let’s be honest: when he promised Kyra that he would raise an Ironborn host and come back for her, he was lying through his as-yet-unbroken teeth. Not only because there’s no way in hell said Ironborn would follow the man they nigh-universally disdain on a suicide mission to save a greenland woman, but also because the Theon we knew in ACOK wouldn’t actually have asked them to do so, had he made it back safely. He would have breathed a sigh of relief and forgotten about Kyra, as he’d forgotten about the captain’s daughter. What was she to him, Theon Greyjoy, Prince of the Iron Islands and also (maybe, kind of, not really) Winterfell? Naught but a symbol of his eternally bifurcated identity, and Theon doesn’t exactly lack for reminders of that. When he told her that they should split up, it’s because he was hoping Ramsay would find her and not him. That is the person he was.

And yet, at the end of his ADWD storyline, our POV will once again find himself alone with a fellow victim of Ramsay, another woman from his past life begging him not to leave her, the Bastard hard on their heels...and this time, he will not attempt to abandon her. This decision takes place in the final words of a chapter entitled (at last, at last!) THEON. It is in this moment, with this moment, that Theon restores himself, and it’s ironically by doing something that the Theon we knew would never do. He recovers himself by improving himself; he returns to Theon by changing what it means to be Theon.

That’s how this storyline ends. But the name “Reek” is how it begins. So: why Reek? Why did Ramsay give Theon his dead servant’s name, and by extension, why did the author choose this name as his opening salvo in this storyline?

“Reek” is a cage. It is a name designed to enslave. Ramsay uses it to instill worthlessness, servility, and above all shame. It literally refers to the undoubtedly appalling smell coming off Theon after months in the dungeons of the Dreadfort, but more than that, it tells Theon that this smell is his fault. That reek is you. It represents who you are. You stink, from the inside out. You are unworthy, inhuman, an object more than a person. Ramsay, posing as Reek, enabled Theon’s heinous actions in A Clash of Kings, and now he has turned around and forcibly imprinted that identity and the crimes that go with it onto Theon. The most insidious element of this process is that the Bastard has forced Theon to take part in his own torture.

Reek had been whipped and racked and cut, but there was no pain half so excruciating as the pain that followed flaying. It was the sort of pain that drove men mad, and it could not be endured for long. Soon or late the victim would scream, “Please, no more, no more, stop it hurting, cut it off,” and Lord Ramsay would oblige. It was a game they played.

And that “game” supports the narrative that Ramsay has kindled and fed like a flame burning in our POV’s mind: you deserve what is being done to you. You know you do, or you wouldn’t be asking me to cut off your fingers and toes. I was there, whispering in your ear like a devil on your shoulder, when you committed that unspeakable crime at that mill near Winterfell. I know who you are, more than anyone, and who you are reeks. This is right. This is justice. This is the fate you have earned.

But...it’s not, actually. Not because the Theon Greyjoy we knew in ACOK was a good person--he was loathsome by any reasonable standard--but because nobody deserves this. No one should be flayed. No one should be racked. No one should undergo mutilation and starvation and solitary confinement. The conflation of torture with justice is one of the most vile cultural artifacts of our species, and George RR Martin is very clearly making that argument throughout this storyline. What has happened to Theon has rendered him all but unable to come to terms with what he’s done. He is far less able to do, be, and get better because of what Ramsay has inflicted upon him. The critique is aimed not only at the Bastard of Bolton, but at us. Every time someone posted on a forum that Theon deserved what he was getting: this is what it looks like. This is what you were rooting for. How does it taste? Does it taste like justice? Or does it taste like a sudden mouthful of raw rat, all fur and skin and squealing?

That name change has to stand in for everything that’s happened to Theon, because the author chooses not to directly depict the torture. For GRRM, what happened to Theon is unfathomable. It defies description, elides elucidation, exposes the limits of language. It is beyond writing.

Now, I’m not making a general statement here. There’s certainly nothing wrong with going for a blunt, direct depiction. Yet there is also a real power in focusing instead on the aftermath, with the violence itself serving as a structuring absence festering in the back of our minds. What Martin is interested in conveying, more than what was done to Theon, is the state in which it has left him.

That state is one in which Reek does not want to be Theon again. For him, Ramsay has become a figure conjured out of and in response to his sins; the Bastard of Bolton is both tempting devil and avenging angel, destroyer of Theon, creator of Reek. In Theon’s mind, Ramsay stands in front of all the doors, holding all the keys, and what Theon wants most is to keep those doors shut. If they open, the past comes rushing in all red and screaming, and at this point, Theon would rather be Reek forever than face that.

Reek turned away from the torch with tears glimmering in his eyes. What does he want of me this time? he thought, despairing. Why won’t he just leave me be? I did no wrong, not this time, why won’t they just leave me in the dark? He’d had a rat, a fat one, warm and wriggling…

I am done. I am dead. Theon is gone, forget me, leave me in the dark. I am so sorry, not only for what I’ve done, but for existing, at all. I will try not to. I beg you, author-father-god: write about me no more.

George RR Martin refused. Instead, in an act of both cruelty and compassion, he shone the spotlight on Theon once more, insisting that his story was not yet done despite all evidence to the contrary. The show must go on. Do you remember your lines? Do you remember your motivation? Do you remember your name?

Some wait alone, some share their invisible rooms with others. Invisible, yes, what do the furnishings matter, at this stage of things? Underfoot crunches the oldest of city dirt, last crystallizations of all the city had denied, threatened, lied to its children. Each has been hearing a voice, one he thought was talking only to him, say, "You didn't really believe you'd be saved. Come, we all know who we are by now. No one was ever going to take the trouble to save you, old fellow...." There is no way out. Lie and wait, lie still and be quiet. Screaming holds across the sky. When it comes, will it come in darkness, or will it bring its own light? Will the light come before or after? But it is already light. How long has it been light?

--Gravity’s Rainbow

image by Marc Fishman

As I said in the introduction to this series, part of what makes Theon’s ADWD arc work so well is how it functions as a hall of mirrors in which everyone he encounters reflects his identity crisis back at him. That begins here, with the boys who call him back from the wings, back into the light.

The sound of the lock turning was the most terrible of all. When the light hit him full in the face, he let out a shriek. He had to cover his eyes with his hands. He would have clawed them out if he’d dared, his head was pounding so. “Take it away, do it in the dark, please, oh please.”

“That’s not him,” said a boy’s voice. “Look at him. We’ve got the wrong cell.”

“Last cell on the left,” another boy replied. “This is the last cell on the left, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” A pause. “What’s he saying?”

“I don’t think he likes the light.”

“Would you, if you looked like that?” The boy hawked and spat. “And the stench of him. I’m like to choke.”

“He’s been eating rats,” said the second boy. “Look.”

The first boy laughed. “He has. That’s funny.”

I had to. The rats bit him when he slept, gnawing at his fingers and his toes, even at his face, so when he got his hands on one he did not hesitate. Eat or be eaten, those were the only choices. “I did it,” he mumbled, “I did, I did, I ate him, they do the same to me, please …”

The sound of the lock turning, the scream of a rusted iron hinge...

Little Walder is Ramsay the Second, described by Theon as the Bastard’s “best boy” who “grew more like him every day.” Big Walder is something else entirely: George RR Martin’s Enfant Terrible, a tiny adorable squeaky-voiced child who is, nevertheless, one of the smartest and most dangerous people in the entire story. I’ll delve much more into his character when we get to Reek III (he’s a favorite of mine), but for my purposes in this chapter, what matters most is that it’s Big Walder who first poses The Question...

“Talk to me,” said one of them. He was the smaller of the two, a thin boy, but clever. “Do you remember who you are?”

The fear came bubbling up inside him, and he moaned.

“Talk to me. Tell me your name.”

My name. A scream caught in his throat. They had taught him his name, they had, they had, but it had been so long that he’d forgotten. If I say it wrong, he’ll take another finger, or worse, he’ll … he’ll … He would not think about that, he could not think about that. There were needles in his jaw, in his eyes. His head was pounding. “Please,” he squeaked, his voice thin and weak. He sounded a hundred years old. Perhaps he was. How long have I been in here? “Go,” he mumbled, through broken teeth and broken fingers, his eyes closed tight against the terrible bright light. “Please, you can have the rat, don’t hurt me …”

...and it’s Little Walder, the mini-Ramsay, who first gives The Answer.

“Reek,” said the larger of the boys. “Your name is Reek. Remember?” He was the one with the torch. The smaller boy had the ring of iron keys.

Reek? Tears ran down his cheeks. “I remember. I do.” His mouth opened and closed. “My name is Reek. It rhymes with leek.” In the dark he did not need a name, so it was easy to forget. Reek, Reek, my name is Reek. He had not been born with that name. In another life he had been someone else, but here and now, his name was Reek. He remembered.

It’s fitting that the Frey boys are the ones who kick off this struggle. The Walders themselves are constantly conflated and confused for one another, not only because they share a birth name, but because their nicknames upend expectations: “Little” Walder is the lumbering domineering bully, “Big” Walder the pint-sized silver-tongued backstabber. Moreover, they too were there for his rise and fall in ACOK; they remember Theon Greyjoy, the prideful Prince of Winterfell. That’s why they can’t believe at first that the shaking, stammering ghost begging them to leave him in the dark is him. They are his past, come for him at last.

“I know you,” he whispered, through cracked lips. “I know your names.”

Beyond that, the Walders and their question force Theon to start interrogating rather than merely accepting his environment, looking at both the world and himself with new eyes.

The air was cold and damp and full of half-forgotten smells. The world, Reek told himself, this is what the world smells like. He did not know how long he had been down there in the dungeons, but it had to have been half a year at least. That long, or longer. What if it has been five years, or ten, or twenty? Would I even know? What if I went mad down there, and half my life is gone?

When he raised a hand, he was shocked to see how white it was, how fleshless. Skin and bones, he thought. I have an old man’s hands. Could he have been wrong about the boys? What if they were not Little Walder and Big Walder after all, but the sons of the boys he’d known?

Billy Pilgrim Theon Greyjoy has come unstuck in time. He’s trying to reassemble a self that keeps re-fragmenting in front of him. It’s a painful, punishing process, but it’s also a necessary first step forward from the annihilating void of Reek and the dungeon in which he was (re?)born. Again, that void itself is not what Theon fears most right now. The questions he’s asking himself above, and their answers--that’s what he fears most right now, the pain and confusion and self-loathing that goes with remembering his name. Big Walder asking him to “tell me your name” opened up the Pandora’s Box inside Theon’s head and heart, and Little Walder answering “Reek” shut it for him. That’s what Ramsay set out to do: enslave Theon by rendering the void an attractive alternative to being himself.

His lord was merciful and kind. He might have flayed his face off for some of the things Reek had said, before he’d learned his true name and proper place.

The author’s strategic use of secondary characters to spur Theon’s identity arc continues when the squires bring our POV before the Bastard.

At the high table the Bastard of Bolton sat in his lord father’s seat, drinking from his father’s cup. Two old men shared the high table with him, and Reek knew at a glance that both were lords. One was gaunt, with flinty eyes, a long white beard, and a face as hard as a winter frost. His jerkin was a ragged bearskin, worn and greasy. Underneath he wore a ringmail byrnie, even at table. The second lord was thin as well, but twisted where the first was straight. One of his shoulders was much higher than the other, and he stooped over his trencher like a vulture over carrion. His eyes were grey and greedy, his teeth yellow, his forked beard a tangle of snow and silver. Only a few wisps of white hair still clung to his spotted skull, but the cloak he wore was soft and fine, grey wool trimmed with black sable and fastened at the shoulder with a starburst wrought in beaten silver.

GRRM chooses not to tell us directly who Ramsay’s dinner companions are. Only with context provided in other chapters (from Jon and Davos as well as Theon) can we fill in the gaps and realize that the one with “grey and greedy” eyes is Arnolf Karstark and the one described as “gaunt, with flinty eyes, a long white beard, and a face as hard as a winter frost” is Hother “Whoresbane” Umber. Names and identities cannot simply be assumed. They must be earned.

But again, even the most minor of supporting characters in Theon’s ADWD storyline has layers that reflect his arc. Arnolf and Whoresbane are inverses in terms of where their loyalties lie. The castellan of Karhold is publicly feigning loyalty to Stannis, while secretly planning to betray the king to the Boltons. The castellan of Last Hearth, by contrast, appears to be feigning loyalty to the Boltons, while his heart remains with the Starks (and his brother fights for Stannis). As such, Arnolf represents Reek, he who has given himself over to Ramsay, and Whoresbane represents Theon, with the best part of him--the part that loved a Stark like a brother--still intact down deep.

Beyond this subtext, though, these two characters directly engage with the question of Theon’s identity.

“There he is. My sour old friend.” To the men beside him he said, “Reek has been with me since I was a boy. My lord father gave him to me as a token of his love.”

The two lords exchanged a look. “I had heard your serving man was dead,” said the one with the stooped shoulder. “Slain by the Starks, they said.”

Lord Ramsay chuckled. “The ironmen will tell you that what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. Like Reek. He smells of the grave, though, I grant you that.”

“He smells of nightsoil and stale vomit.” The stoop-shouldered old lord tossed aside the bone that he’d been gnawing on and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth. “Is there some reason you must needs inflict him upon us whilst we’re eating?”

The second lord, the straight-backed old man in the mail byrnie, studied Reek with flinty eyes. “Look again,” he urged the other lord. “His hair’s gone white and he is three stone thinner, aye, but this is no serving man. Have you forgotten?”

The crookback lord looked again and gave a sudden snort. “Him? Can it be? Stark’s ward. Smiling, always smiling.”

Smiling. Always smiling, because what was there in life that would not swoon before Theon Greyjoy’s smile? Women, battle, the realization that there’s an invisible noose around your neck, the growing panic that you have no home and no family and will never be welcome anywhere--just smile, and laugh, and kick Gared’s head away as the blood gushes forth. What, me worry? It might be cynical and childish, but it worked...

...until it didn’t.

The last thing Theon Greyjoy saw was Smiler, kicking free of the burning stables with his mane ablaze, screaming, rearing...

Ramsay did not wipe that smile off Theon’s face, he broke it. He did not teach Theon a lesson, he took a hammer to Theon’s ability to learn, and think, and move, and eat. He did not bring this proud wicked man to justice. What he did was methodically cut away at Theon’s defense mechanisms until he found the quivering child they dragged from his room on Pyke, and then resumed cutting. We are left to catch up with the results, and “smiling, always smiling” is GRRM’s most poignant measuring of the gap between what was and what is.

Speaking of our host for the evening...if Theon sees Ramsay as a divine terrible force sent to punish him for his sins, Ramsay sees Theon as a vessel to work through his own identity crisis: the character-defining struggle to claim the name of Bolton rather than Snow.

If he’d had a tail, he would have tucked it down between his legs.

If I had a tail, the Bastard would have cut it off. The thought came unbidden, a vile thought, dangerous. His lordship was not a bastard anymore. Bolton, not Snow. The boy king on the Iron Throne had made Lord Ramsay legitimate, giving him the right to use his lord father’s name. Calling him Snow reminded him of his bastardy and sent him into a black rage. Reek must remember that. And his name, he must remember his name. For half a heartbeat it eluded him, and that frightened him so badly that he tripped on the steep dungeon steps and tore his breeches open on the stone, drawing blood. Little Walder had to shove the torch at him to get him back on his feet and moving again.

And for the moment, it’s working. The word “Theon” never appears once in this chapter, and at its end, Ramsay Bolton né Snow declares his war upon the world.

Ramsay Bolton smiled. “I ride to war, Reek. And you will be coming with me, to help me fetch home my virgin bride.”

The locked-in hell of the Dreadfort will be set loose from its cage, writ in red across the North once more...the inside will become out. Yet he also inadvertently kicks off Theon’s arc in this book, because the focus of Ramsay’s war is the most important supporting character in Theon’s ADWD storyline, more even than Ramsay himself: Jeyne Poole. It is her, more than anyone else, who helps Reek return to Theon. Of course, I’ll get much more into that in later chapters, but in this first chapter, the author grants us a brief glimpse of where he’s going with this:

“I remember her. Arya.”

“She shall be the Lady of Winterfell, and me her lord.”

She is only a girl.

Jeyne both reminds Reek of his life as Theon (connected as she is to Winterfell and the Starks) and offers the most poignant of the many mirrors he encounters in ADWD. She, too, is Ramsay’s victim, forced to bear a name that isn’t hers, and “she is only a girl” is but the first stirring of Theon’s conscience in response. The defiance is all internal for the moment, but it’s there, a choice beyond “eat or be eaten.”

I must not let him drive me mad. He can take my fingers and my toes, he can put out my eyes and slice my ears off, but he cannot take my wits unless I let him.

Again, you can see the end in chrysalis here at the beginning, and that’s what I call strong characterization and great writing. (Remind me why ADWD is bad?)

And so stage is set. As you may have noticed, there are no actual plot points of note in this chapter, because it’s designed to establish this singular mood and explore what happened to our POV offstage (it’s very much like “The Merchant’s Man” in that regard). The seeds for his later victory are sown, but that’s to add another layer upon rereads. First time through, the unmistakable takeaway is that Reek or Theon or whatever you want to call him is at rock bottom:

Even if he had wanted to resist, he did not have the strength. It had been scourged from him, starved from him, flayed from him.

But hey, as anyone who ever started on the long painful road to recovery told themselves over and over and over: there’s nowhere to go from rock bottom but up.

#theon greyjoy #theon in adwd #a dance with dragons #a clash of kings #asoiaf meta #ramsay bolton #kyra #big walder frey #little walder frey #arnolf karstark #whoresbane umber #jeyne poole

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shadow-light19 · 6 years

Text

The Wolf of Lilac Lake: Dr. Redwood and Mr. Hyde Act 2

Summary: David unleashes Hyde and soon realizes the mistake he has made.

Notes: There is one last part to this story. It became longer than I thought so I downsized it to compensate. Also, have some more Preston and David interaction as well as more dadvid! Just in case, David is capable of partial transformation. He elongates his nails and teeth as Daniel but the audience just thinks its special effects.

Previous Chapter: https://shadow-light19.tumblr.com/post/174324549652/the-wolf-of-lilac-lake-dr-redwood-and-mr-hyde

Songs used in this act

Better Than You from Camp Camp (Daniel’s part only)

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wb1Ai9-r8FA

Confrontation from Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=oECK1dNbuho

Act 2

“-ntermission! We will begin again in 10 minutes. If you have yet to visit the concession stand, please do so. All proceeds go to funding the camp. Thank you!”

Preston ducked back under the curtains. He walked past the stagehands setting up the next scene and sought out David and the trio.

“Beautiful, David! Absolutely stunning! I can just feel the disgust and distress from you.”

Max rolled his eyes.

“That’s because he is disgusted and distressed.”

He gestured to David who was sobbing and being comforted by Nikki. Preston frowned and walked over. Neil looked up at him and gestured for him to fix this.

“David? Why are you upset? You were amazing!”

David looked up from where he was sitting.

“A-All of those p-poor children! I know it’s fake but it hurts to imagine any of that happening to you kids.”

Max, Nikki, and Neil looked away. Preston patted David on the shoulder.

“Come on, David. I know it makes you sad but that’s because you have so much heart. It’s amazing to see because half of your acting is the real you! That’s why the audience loves it! Now, come on. I need you to get mean. What would you do if you ever encountered such abuse and neglect in real-life?”

David wiped his eyes. He looked at the ground before looking back up with a determined expression.

“I would make sure the kids are away from such an environment and I would give my last breath trying!”

Max, Nikki, and Neil looked at him in surprise.

“That’s right! What would you do to anyone who tried to stop you, to people who condone it?”

Preston continued to rile him up. David stood and smacked his fist into his palm.

“I would like to see anyone try to stop me! You can’t mess with me when I get hard!”

Preston raised an eyebrow at him. Max smacked his face with his hand and Nikki and Neil started snickering.

“Oh-kay… I can work with that! Now get ready, David, because I want you to funnel that emotion into the next act!”

David marched to the stage.

“Don’t forget to partially transform when you become Hyde!”

Preston called out before turning to the trio.

“You guys did astoundingly as well! You all are great singers but Max, I am especially impressed with you. The father-son dynamic you and David have going is so natural.”

Max raised a brow at Preston.

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

Preston smiled and held a hand to his heart.

“There’s something about the way you two interact that can’t be faked. I don’t know what it is but if I didn’t know you two, I would’ve assumed you were family.”

Max glared at Preston.

“That has to be the stupidest fucking thing I have ever heard. Get away from me before I choke you with the cords for the stage lights for even suggesting that David and I could along like that.”

Preston shrugged his shoulders and went back to the stage to announce the next act.

“EVERYONE! Get to your places! We are beginning the next act!”

He walked back to the side of the stage. David looked at him and he gave a thumbs up. Preston returned it before signaling for Nurf to dim the lights.

*Evening in the laboratory

David looked at his notebook that contained another set of observations on Cassandra. She had come in with a broken wrist. The bruises on it looked like a hand. He could see that she was uncomfortable around her Aunt, who had brought her in today. David figured she was responsible but he needed more proof. The kids were hanging out in the living room, already fed and relaxing before bedtime. David had gone down to the lab to test the serum.

“Hey, little guy.” He grabbed the cage that had the mouse he had saved.

He tested the serum on it. David slipped a picture of a cat into the cage. The mouse ignored it.

Perfect. Next up.

He took a second serum and gave that to the mouse as well. When he slipped in another picture of a cat, it fled to the corner of the cage.

I think it works. Seems safe at least.

He grabbed the two serums and pocketed them. Then he walked out into the town.

*Night outside the Midler Residence

David pulled out the first serum as he approached the house.

If God, can’t stop them, I will.

He drank the serum. His convulsed as his hair turned bleach blond, his clothes turned white, his teeth sharpened into long canines, his fingernails became sharp claws, and his green eyes became icy blue.

“Well, well, well.” He looked at himself under the moonlight.

“This worked better than I hoped. Now, let's go find Alison’s father. I’d say he’s escaped justice for far too long.”

Daniel picked the lock. He silently pushed the door open and looked around.

*Inside the Midler’s residence

He found the master bedroom and walked inside. Midler and his wife were asleep. Daniel unsheathed his knife, a long-crooked thing, and approached the man. The man shifted and woke up to the sound of footsteps. He screeched but Daniel muffled him with the blanket. The wife quickly woke up and huddled in the corner of the room.

“Good evening Mr. Midler. How does it feel to feel the same fear that your daughter, Alison, felt before you killed her?”

Midler sputtered and shoved Daniel’s hands off of him.

“Now listen you, I don’t know what’s going on but that was a freak accident! The stupid brat injured herself. Now get out of my house before I call the police!”

Daniel cut the cord to the phone that was by the bedside table.

“Oh-ho, sir. I must say I don’t take kindly to liars. All that negative emotion your releasing is poisoning the good people around us. It poisoned you, it poisoned your wife, and it poisoned your daughter.”

Midler backed up until he fell off the bed, then continued backing up until he was against the wall. He looked down at the knife in Daniel’s hand then back to the madly-grinning man.

“What are you going to do to me?”

Daniel spun the knife in his hand and cracked his head almost completely horizontally.

“I’m going to rid this world of your poisonous filth. You’ll never taint the purity of others around you EVER again.”

Midler shivered at his drawl.

“It wasn’t my fault! She made me do it! That piece of shit disobeyed me!”

Daniel tsked at him.

“You really are a monster. What a shame I couldn’t save that poor child.”

Midler bristled.

“You’re the monster! Breaking into my house, threatening me, torturing me like this!”

Daniel whipped the knife up the Midler’s neck. He pressed firmly enough to draw blood but not enough to kill.

“Sure, I am a monster by your standards but I’m just doing Zemoog’s work. Who’s the better man? The man who killed his daughter or the man who killed a murderer?”

Midler spat in Daniel’s face. Daniel let out a snarl of disgust before breathing deeply to calm himself down.

“You won’t get away with it, freak!”

Daniel let the pressure of his knife slacken. His chuckled slightly before it morphed into a loud cackle.

“Oh, you filthy, pathetic cretin.”

He caressed Midler’s cheek.

“You seem impressed by all your lies,

But I don’t find them that compelling.

You left her to her own demise,

And well, I think that’s pretty telling.”

Midler shoved Daniel away and lunged to attack him but Daniel side-stepped and tripped him. Midler landed heavily on the floor.

“And while we’re on the subject of,

How it all went from push to shove,

You, ought to know your you’ll pay your due.”

He pulled the man to his knees by his collar and got in his face.

“I know that might be hard to swallow.

This won’t take long and then I’ll leave.

You’re gonna die and soon this town will know what,

Child abusers will receive.”

He threw the man against the wall. He hit it forcefully. The man groaned and raised a hand to his head.

“You’ve been outdone,

Now you see who really won,

But it was fun.

Your end’s begun, and

Soon they’ll know I’m better than you!”

Daniel grabbed his collar and slammed him to the ground. He slashed his throat and stabbed the man multiple times, smiling as blood sprayed everywhere and the man gurgled a scream.

“And I’ll prove it to them too!

I’ll cut you up so gruesomely,

And then they’ll know that it was me.

You’ll rot in hell where you belong,

And join the screaming, writhing, throng,

Of sinners where justice is done.”

The man stopped struggling. His eyes stared sightlessly off ahead, wide in fear. Daniel cleaned the knife on the man’s shirt and sheathed it.

“They’ll know I’m better than you.”

The wife sobbed in the corner. Daniel turned his attention to her. She flinched.

“Now dear, don’t be afraid.” Daniel crouched in front of her.

“I know you had nothing to do with her death. This had to be done.”

The woman stopped sobbing but didn’t stop shaking.

“Did you know that you can be purified? Cleansed of your sins and the taint of negative emotions that surround you? What if I told you the world didn’t have to be so cruel and unforgiving?”

*Afternoon at the clinic

David was preparing a room for his next patient with the radio on.

“The latest on the news is the recently discovered death of Joshua Midler, the principle of Sleepy Peak Elementary. The man was discovered brutally murdered this morning in his own home. Police on the scene could not find any information on this assailant. Barbara Midler was found huddled in the corner, dressed completely in white, while smiling and mumbling about purity and negative emotions. At the moment the police do not consider her to be a suspect. She has been released from police custody and allowed to return home to aid in her recovery from this traumatic event. Her daughter Alison Midler died two days ago from an accident. Barbara Midler is the last surviving member of her family.”

David turned the radio off.

It looks like my serum worked a little too well. I hope Barbara is alright. It sounds like she was traumatized.

David heard the bell ring for the clinic door and turned to see his newest patient, Harrison.

“Good afternoon, Harrison, Mr. Sanders.”

He saw Marshall enter with his hand on his son’s shoulder.

“Good morning, Dr. Redwood! How are you today?”

David smiled.

“Please, call me David! I’m doing well thank you. If you will step right this way, I’ll give you a checkup. Do you want your father to come in with you, Harrison?”

Harrison nodded.

“Okay, right this way then.”

David led them to the room he prepared and sat Harrison down on the chair. He gave him a quick check-up, noted down the healing bruises and cuts on his arms and back, and used his stethoscope to listen to his breathing.

“You’re breathing seems a little irregular, Harrison. Does it hurt to breathe deeply?”

Harrison tried to breathe deeper but he winced. David wrote that down as well.

“I got punched by a bully at school yesterday,” Harrison admitted shyly.

David went and grabbed a bottle of children’s Tylenol.

“I want you to take this if it becomes too painful, alright? Follow the directions I’ve written here for you. Other than that you’re good to go.”

They thanked him and left. David looked over his notes.

Too many cuts to be clumsy. I’d say some were intentionally made. Some bruises were varied in shape as though hit by different objects. I’d say maybe something blunt since there were rarely any cuts on the bruises. Maybe it really is a bully? I’ll ask Max when he gets home.

David sighed and locked up the clinic.

*Evening in the house

David set his keys by the door and started on dinner. Neil was spending the night at his mother’s house today so he set the table for three.

“Hey, Dad! We’re home!”

David knelt down with his arms out. Nikki and Max ran up to him and hugged him. He guided them into the kitchen and brought them a snack.

“How was your guys’ day?” David asked.

Nikki started rambling about something funny that happened in math class. David listened as she talked and laughed when the story was over.

“And you, son?”

Max started working on his homework.

“Nothing really special happened today. Harrison left class early though.”

David nodded.

“He had an appointment with me today. That reminds me, does Harrison get bullied?”

Max looked surprised but nodded.

“Yeah but Nurf hasn’t been at school this week. He caught the flu.”

David frowned.

Okay, so Harrison lied to me. But why? Maybe there is more truth to the abuse case than I thought.

David helped the kids with their homework and once it was night time again, headed down into the lab. He pulled out a binder with the file on Cassandra in it and added his file on Harrison to it.

Two kids who are likely being abused. I’ll take care of Harrison’s father tonight since I have proof.

David grabbed another pair of serums and left the laboratory.

*Afternoon of the next day in the house

David didn’t have many patients today and welcomed the relief of finishing work early. He wanted to hear the news to know what happened last night.

“There is belief that we have a serial killer in Sleepy Peak. Police are on high alert for a blond man that was seen leaving the Hayes’ residence last night. When police arrived, the aunt was brutally murdered and the daughter Cassandra Hayes was dead. It seemed she died by drinking juice containing rat poison. Cassandra did show signs of child abuse and the parents exhibited similar symptoms to Barbara Midler. Both we dressed completely in white and going on about negative emotions and purifying the innocent so that they may be saved. The man also visited the Sanders’ residence last night. Harrison Sanders was found dead by the same method as Cassandra and his father was brutally murdered. Harrison also showed signs of abuse.

In other news, there is a new religion rising in the town-”

David covered his mouth with his hand.

That isn’t what I wanted! Why are the kids dying?! Why did I visit Cassandra’s house too?!

“Because they needed to be saved!”

David froze.

Why did I just say that?

The strange feeling came over him again.

“If I didn’t save them, they would’ve continued to bathe in a negative rich environment all their lives until they died as tainted as the people who hurt them.”

David was paralyzed in terror. He ran into his bedroom where he saw his appearance on his full-body mirror. He was conscious this time as Daniel took over the body and David saw his other form fully in the mirror. He changed back to David.

“This is insane! What’s going on? I’m not supposed to be able to change without the serum!”

“Oh, my poor David. You really don’t realize? I’m getting stronger. Soon, I will control you and continue my God’s work!”

David snarled.

“You murdered children! I only wanted to kill those who were absolutely guilty but escaped justice!”

He tugged his hair with his hands.

“I never wanted this!”

“Yes, you did. Face it! What better way to save children, than to make sure they can never be hurt again? Zemoog will protect them. They have been saved from the negative emotions that clog this wretched world. We are down here suffering and clawing our way through the darkness of life. This is no life for innocent children! That’s why some people hurt them. They know how clean and pure children are and want that respite for themselves.” David clenched his hands into fists.

“What madness are you talking about, you monster! None of what you say makes any sense to me!”

Daniel smiled and cracked his neck.

“What a mean thing to say to yourself, David. After all, you are the one who created me remember? Daniel Hyde is your disguise! You wanted to murder those people, I just went through with your desires.”

David ran down to the lab and drank the second serum. He was terrified and panting harshly. He created and drank the second serum one more time to make sure it counteracted the effects of the one that created Daniel.

Never again will I take the serum. I do not like what I have become.

He dumped the serums together and then poured them down the drain. He took the recipe he created for the first serum and burned it.

Let this be the end.

*Next night at the Laboratory

David finally calmed down. All day he worried about Daniel somehow getting out but nothing ever happened. David sighed and bent over his desk, hands in his hair. He was thankful this whole mess was over. Max, Nikki, and Neil were suspicious that something had been upsetting him and had done their best to cheer him up. He smiled as he thought of his precious kids. However, he didn’t want them to ever find out how low he had fallen.

All I heard on the news today was the continued investigation into Daniel’s murders and about some new religion that seems to parallel the beliefs that Daniel spouted.

David sighed and looks at the newspaper front lining the murders.

I never wanted those poor kids to die. My twisted sense of justice has caused so much pain and suffering… but now…

”It’s over now I know inside,

No one will ever know,

The sorry tale of Daniel Hyde,

And those who died…

No one must ever know.”

He closed the notebook and left it on the desk. He made his way over to the mouse in the cage. The little creature ran up to him and nuzzled his hand.

“They only see the tragedy.

They’d not see my intent.

The shadow of his evil,

Would forever kill,

The good that I had meant.”

He turned to his desk and picked up a photo of him and Max.

“Am I a good man?

Am I a madman?”

He hugged the photo close.

“It’s such a fine line

Between a good man and a…”

“Do you really think?

That I would ever let you go?”

David jumped.

No, but I-!

“Do you really think I’d ever set you free?”

David whirled around and ran to a bookshelf by the stairs. He tossed items aside as he looked through a drawer for a mirror.

“If you do I’m sad to say,

It simply isn’t so.

You will never get away from me!”

David gave up and slammed it shut.

He turned to his left and stomped to the center of the room.

“All that you are is a face in the mirror!

I close my eyes and you’ll disappear!”

He felt the change take over and suddenly his body was facing the right.

“I’m what you face when you face in the mirror!

Long as you live I will still be here!

David grasped control again and rushed to his desk. He started writing own ways to get rid of Daniel.

“All that you are is the end of a nightmare!

All that you are is a dying scream!

After tonight, I shall end this demon’s dream!”

Daniel resumed control and picked the book off the desk.

“This is not a dream my friend, and it will never end.

This one is the nightmare that goes on!”

He ripped the page out and shredded it.

“I am here to stay no matter what you may pretend,

And I’ll flourish long after you’re gone!”

David snarled and snatched control back. He plopped the book down and started writing on a new page.

“Soon you will die and my memory will hide you! You cannot choose but to lose control!”

“You can’t control me I live deep inside you!

Each day you’ll feel me devour your soul.”

David started grabbing chemicals and pouring them in beakers.

“I don’t need you to survive as you need me!

I’ll become whole as you dance with death!

And I’ll rejoice as you breathe your final breath!”

He felt Daniel hurl his consciousness from control.

“I’ll live inside you forever!”

“No!”

David tried to gain control again.

“With Zemoog himself by my side!”

“Nooo!”

David could feel his strength fading. He tried with all his might to grasp control.

“And I know that now and forever,

They’ll never be able to separate Redwood from Hyde!”

David felt relief as he took over his body once again.

“Can’t you see it’s over now!

It’s time to die!”

He added the last ingredient to the solution. He backed away from the desk and gripped his head as Daniel forced his control again.

“No, not I! Only you!”

David felt a strong rush of fear. He didn’t have the mental strength to regain his body.

“If I die, you’ll die too!”

“You’ll die in me, I’ll BE you!”

If David could cry, he would.

“Damn, you Hyde! Leave me be!”

“Can’t you see? You are me!”

“No deep inside-“

“I am you! You are Hyde!”

“No, never!”

“Yes, forever!”

Daniel walked out of the lab.

“God damn you, Hyde! When I get my chance, I will end you!”

He threw the front door open and stalked out into the town.

“You will never break through. Ha-ha-ha… Ah-ha-ha-ha-ha!”

#camp camp #cc david #cc daniel #cc max #cc nikki #cc neil #cc preston #cc harrison #camp camp fanfiction #werewolf david au #dadvid

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