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katsubiatch · 3 years

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Distant Shores-1

Summary: The heathens came to raid every year, stealing treasures and killing along the way. Your father was the King of Wessex and wanted to strike a deal with the heathens. The heathens and their ruthless numbers in exchange for some lands to farm, riches... and you. You are the Christian princess that is now to marry the Heathen King, a man that you're sure would rather kill you than marry you. This is going to be a miserable marriage.

A Viking!BakugouxReader fic.

Warnings: Arrange Marriage, general viking things, abusive father

They came every year, rowing to shore in their long boats with the intricately decorated dragon or serpent heads, shields of all colors decorating the sides. They would set up camp near the edges of the water, far enough to stay dry but not so far that they couldn't leave in a haste if need be. Violent in their tendencies and lacking the most simple of manners. Vulgar in their speech but carefree and happy. Men and women fighting side by side. They were tall, muscular, built like the gods they worshiped. Some with long hair that was braided back from their face, others with the sides shorn short and what was left was braided. Almost all had some sort of facial hair, minus the young ones desperately trying to grow it in, and if that was long enough it would be braided as well. Their clothing was not all together different from what you were used to. Perhaps not as ostentatious or gaudy as a he clothing around court. It was practical and useful, rather than just for show. Your father, the King of Wessex, was intrigued by these heathens as he called them. They had came ashore last year, destroying a few temples and killing all the holy men and women inside of them while stealing all the treasure inside, before taking their leave back to their homelands. It was interesting to say the least, though they had heard of these northmen before this was only the second time they had made camp on their shores. So In an effort of good faith your father decided to invite them to the castle, to talk he said. He wanted to strike a deal with them. He was going to offer a few things he thought they could not refuse. So he sent out a messenger to bring back their leaders for a feast. They spoke in a different tongue, looking at the women of court with lustful eyes as they ate. One man, who seemed to be their leader spoke up as he looked at the King. "What is it you have to offer me?" He spoke your language but it was choppy with the words out of place. You were surprised to find he knew the words at all. His hair was short on the sides, the rest braided back until it ended in a short pony tail. He had red eyes that you felt could pierce through anything or anyone. Scars littered his arms and bare chest, an axe and a sword at his hips. "Well, I am willing to offer some lands for you to do as you wish. Farm, build settlements. They are yours to do as you wish. I am also willing to offer you something more." The man said, grinning at the Viking earl. "I am offering my pure daughter, Y/N, to you." You. You were an offering. You always knew that your marriage would be arranged but you didn't think like this. To someone who had different customs, a different language, a different land someone who was different in almost every way possible. You wanted to throw up

The last thing that you thought your father was going to offer up was you. After all you were his only daughter and you figured that you would be married off to someone, a prince or lord in order for you father to gain some lands or troops for wars. Though you supposed this was kind of the same thing. The last thing that you expected was to be offered up to the Heathen King. You could feel his gaze on you, calculating red eyes watching your every move. You kept your eyes downcast, a habit from living in the castle for so long. You tried your hardest to hide the look of shock on your face, train it into a neutral expression.

"Well aren't you lucky, you get the Christian princess." One of the men next to the Heathen king spoke to him, in their language. One that you didn't understand.

"I have no need for a wife... but I could make it work. His proposition is interesting. I feel like he is going to double cross us."

The viking seemed to contemplate for a minute, hand rubbing over his chin as he looked you up and down before looking back at his men. "I will accept your offer, but I am surprised you would give up your virgin daughter to such a... heathen like myself." You could feel your face heat up at that, like they were talking about you without you even being there, despite the fact that you could feel the Vikings eyes on you the entire time.

"Well you are the man I need to make an alliance with right now." Your father stated, leaning back in his chair. "She will make a fine wife, I'm sure she can adjust to your ways." It became quite obvious to Bakugou that the king did not care about his daughter and what happened to her. He knew of the rumors that were spread about them. How they raped women and killed them when they no longer 'served their purpose.' He could tell you were scared but it seemed as though your father did not care.

"Then she will leave with us in the morning, we will be married under our Gods." Bakugou grunted, taking a long drink out of his cup, eyes never leaving your shaking frame. There was not much more that you could take, you didn't want to marry yet let alone a barbarian that you didn't even know. Someone who hardly spoke your language, who had different customs and Gods than you.

You excused yourself and made your way out of the hall, running as soon as you were out of sight. You couldn't slow your breaths, they were coming much too fast. You felt as though you were hyperventilating and needed to calm down. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad, maybe it would be okay. Once you made it to your room you had calmed down just a bit. You still did not want to marry this man. He looked cruel and would surely just have his way with you.

You sighed as you sat at your vanity, taking out the clips and pins that held your hair up in its complicated look. You supposed now you'd have to have it in the braids you saw on all the Viking women. You moved it back away from your face when you heard a knock on the door that caused your heart to race. You knew it was your father, sent to give you instructions that you didn't want to follow.

"Well, you embarrassed me out there. Running away like that, it's almost like you don't want to marry that brute." Your father hadn't waited for an answer to come in. "You have to make him happy, the last thing I want is them storming our shores because you're too stupid to please this man."

"Father I don't want to marry him. I do not know him and... and what if he kills me? You could marry me off to a prince from a neighboring land and they could offer your army to help if the viki,.." you started to say before you were struck against the cheek. The king of Wessex didn't like being told what to do, especially not by a woman.

"You will listen to what I have to say child, you will do as you are told, no questions. You will marry that brute and you will like it. Keep him pleased bed remind him of our treaty or I can send someone to remind you of your place." Your father threatened, pointing a finger in your face while you held your cheek and tears sprang out of your eyes. You had thought perhaps he had some shred of love left for you, however he just saw you as a bargaining chip.

That night you did not sleep well, tossing and turning. Dreaming about a pair of bright red eyes.

The next morning your maids had dressed your for the last time, putting you in a simple dress and cloak that wasn't too showy but was still made of fine fabrics that showed your status. A bruise had formed on your cheek from your fathers ring but that was something he didn't try to hide anymore. His daughter had a wild tongue according to him, and he needed to correct it. This wasn't the first time that he had struck you, but you were hopeful it would be the last. Unless of course your new husband was the same.

You were told you didn't need to pack anything, your husband to be would provide everything that you'd need. Least that is what they told your father. So down you went to where they were waiting, restless horses under even more restless men. They'd been giving plenty of gold and treasures to get them through the winter so they were eager to get back home. "Here she is, your future wife." The King said, presenting you to the Viking leader. You dared to look up at him, seeing the same eyes that had plagued your dreams. You watched his eyes flick around your face, lingering on your cheek before landing on your eyes. You soon looked away, not wanting to cause any new problems. It was the way you were raised, never look a man too long in the eyes. It was disrespectful. "She has some problems obeying but I am sure you can get her in line." The king winked befor pushing your towards the horse that Bakugou was on. He looked down at you before hoisting you on top of the beast to sit in front of him. Your face turned a bright pink, you'd never been this close to a man before, and his bare chest was burning into your back. You supposed that you'd have to get used to this if you were to be married soon.

Your father and future husband shared a few words with each other that you didn't pay attention to before you were off. The entire ride the few Vikings that had come along we're all talking in their own language, nothing that you understood but they seemed to be in good spirits, laughing and joking. You were lost in your own world, gently running your fingers over the horses mane before you heard the man behind you speak up. "What happened to your face?"

You weren't expecting it after how quiet he'd been for the entire ride so you jumped at the sudden noise behind you. You chewed on your cheek, deciding on an answer before landing on, "My father was correcting me. That is all." You weren't sure of the correct answer but that apparently wasn't it as you heard a grunt behind you and a small growl.

Before long you made it back to the Viking camp, which was mostly torn down at this point, bustling with activity. The boats were being packed, tents torn down and supplies being put up. You were in awe at how fast they worked, and were intrigued with the people and what they were doing. It was almost like a culture shock, you were used to the castle and this was something different. The man that was to be your husband helped you off your horse and gave you a warning to stay close. In the matter of an hour everything was packed up, you staying close to the man was he went around inspecting work and checking things before he lifted you onto a boat and climbed on himself.

The boat itself was amazing, all the little attentions to detail was beautiful, your fingers traced over the edge and the little designs there. You were again in awe, you could deal with this. If you could see little things of beauty like this then you could take it. Once set off to the sea your eyes were wide with wonder. You hadn't ever been this far before, you hadn't even been out on the water and it was breath taking. You couldn't get enough. That is... until you were sprayed in the face with the water. You coughed and shook your head, as the men on the boat laughed. You didn't complain however, you were still just in awe of the sights. What you didn't notice was a curious pair of eyes watching you from the other end of the boat, never leaving you as he watched you drink in everything. He was curious about you, that was for sure.

After getting hit with the ocean water you learned your lesson about staying too close to the edge. However as night time drew closer and the sun went below the horizon it was freezing and your cloak wasn't cutting it. However you didn't complain, instead just hugged it closer to yourself.

"It looks like your princess is going to freeze to death." One of the rowing men commented, looking over to Bakugou. "Might want to warm her up."

Bakugou heard this and in turn stood up with a grunt before walking over to you and unceremoniously dropped on of his furs onto your shoulders. You looked curiously up at him, but melted into the warmth it gave. "Thank you." You chattered out, cuddling close to the furs.

"Can't let you freeze, princess." Bakugou murmured as shuffled back over to where he came from. You watched him go and smiled softly, perhaps he wasn't so bad after all.

#Viking Bakugou #bakugou x y/n #bakugou x you #katuski x reader #katsuki x y/n #Bakugou x reader #Distant Shores

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cazimagines · 3 years

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Cazzy, dear! Congratulations on your 900 followers! You deserve it! You writing is fantastic and the writer herself is a sweetie! 💛💛💛 I don't know if you are still taking requests but I wanted to request anything from the smut list with Sebastian Zöllner 👀 (i swear that I tried to pick one but as I was reading the list i just "ohhh this is nice" at least 20 times so... yeah)

Thank you, Artemis 🥺 you are so amazing and kind!

I couldn't decide either 😅 so I consulted @rumblelibrary on the matter and we decided to go with the smut quote, "I couldn't stop thinking about you all day" and the 'Sex in car' so here we go!

It was a normal Saturday.

The radio quietly played in the background as you cleaned the plates from when you had been making an apple crumble which now sat half-eaten on the countertop. Your cat, Mittens, walks between your legs, rubbing up against you in an attempt to try and con more food out of you.

You giggled at her effort, bending down to give her a scratch on the top of her head which had her purring.

You glanced out of the window in front of you, sighing happily as you watched your prized roses lightly sway in the wind, the way the letterbox that you had painted yourself fitted in with the colour scheme of your house made you abundantly happy.

Yes, this was a normal Saturday afternoon.

Until it wasn't.

You watched in shock as a car rounded the corner, and though it had lots of space, it managed to drive straight into your letterbox, subsequently knocking it over.

"What the fuck!" you yell, almost dropping the plate in your hand in surprise. Quickly after placing it down, you picked up the end of your skirts to run quickly to your front door and confront the driver, but as you opened the door you saw a man you had hoped you'd never see again.

"Y/n!" he yelled gleefully, throwing his arms up into the air in excitement.

You groaned, closing your eyes for a second, hoping, praying that when you opened them he wouldn't be there, but when you did he was still there, lifting his sunglasses up and down on his eyes smiling at you.

"Are you drunk?" is your first few words to him, causing him to frown in confusion,

"No?"

"You don't sound very sure"

"I'm confused as to why you would think such things!"

You point to your broken letterbox but Sebastian just scoffs and waves it off.

"I'm not drunk, I'm high!"

"High???"

"High! High on love my dear y/n"

You sighed, once again closing your eyes hoping that this wasn't happening.

"Sebastian, we've been broken up for three years now"

"And you have been on my mind ever since, every year, every month, every day. Like today, I couldn't stop thinking about you all day"

"You're crazy"

"Perhaps, but I've come to take you away, come let's go" he urges, opening the passenger's seat for you to get in but you shake your head.

"I'm not going anyway with you Sebastian"

"Sebastian, Sebastian" he mutters, "Why Sebastian, you always called me Seb before"

"When we were dating, we are no longer dating after you stole that money from me"

"I was going to give it back!"

You scoff, knowing very well he wouldn't and from the look of his worn, messy suit that was almost falling off him, he still didn't have much money, which made you frown at the expensive car beside them.

"Sebastian... where did you get that car?"

"I stole it from my ex-girlfriend"

"You did what?" you exclaim, not believing he could surprise you anymore, yet he did.

"Here look, come with me in the car and we'll take it back together"

"No! There is no need for me to come you should do it on your own"

"But I might not! I might drive somewhere completely different, but if you are there I'll make sure to drive to the correct place"

You bite your lip, a part of you saying you should go, while a part of you said you shouldn't.

"I'd have no way to get back home" you mutter,

"I'll pay for your taxi, she'll pay!"

You sigh and resign yourself to its fate and quickly get into the car. Sebastian smiles widely at you and quickly runs to the other side of the car and gets in.

At first, the car ride was awkward, with Sabastian trying to talk to you, and you effectively ignoring him until he resulted in turning on the music in the car.

You almost chuckled as you heard the familiar sound of the Bay City Rollers 'Saturday night' starting to play through the speakers, fitting for today.

Sebastian rolled down his car window and stuck his head out, enjoying the feeling of the wind rushing through his hair though it made you anxious about his driving. As the lyrics started he shouted them out to the wind.

"S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!, S-A-T-U-R-D-A-Y night!"

You rolled your eyes at his excitement and Sabastian caught it, "Come on! Sing along. You're not going to tell me you've now gone off the Bay City Rollers, you used to sing to me 'Bye-bye baby' all the time, I certainly listened to it a lot after you left"

A soft smile breaks out upon your face as you start to sway to the music and watch how much Sebastian was enjoying himself. It was almost like the good old days when you two were together and it made your heartache missing them.

"Sing!" he exclaimed, looking back over to you, and you just had to give in.

"At the good ol' rock and roll, Folk show, I've gotta go!, Saturday night, Saturday night" you sing alongside him, the mood of the song lifting your spirits a lot.

That's how you and Sebastian spent your trip, driving through landscapes blasting music as loud as you could, singing your hearts out until finally, he pulled in on a ledge on a hill, looking out over a landscape.

"Sebastian this isn't-" you begin but he cuts you off before you could state you weren't at his ex's house.

"I know, I know, I lied, it's just... I really missed you, I missed us, this. It's, it's not the same without you y/n"

You shake your head, feeling your heart falling, "Seb, don't do this, please"

"Why not? We both want this"

"I can't set myself up for heartbreak again"

He licks his lips and then grasps your hand tightly. "I promise y/n, I can change, I won't steal your money again, I won't runoff. Please, Let me have another chance"

He gave you those goddam pleading, puppy dog eyes, tears welling up. He knew how to play you like a fiddle and of course, you gave into him.

Nodding, a smile broke out onto his face and instantly he grasped your face and pulled it onto his, kissing you passionately. You reached up and grabbed his long hair, wrapping it in your fingers and tugging it making him moan into your mouth. After a bit, he tried to push himself nearer you but there wasn't enough space.

"Let's take this to the back," you say and he nod's excitingly.

Getting out of the front of the car, it hardly took you a second till you both were in the back, and you found yourself lying down on the back seats as Seb pushed your skirt up to your thighs and slowly pulled your pants off.

You had to hold onto the side of the seat as you gasped when you felt his tongue lick your sensitive area, twisting upon your clit before diving into your cunt, quickly lapping at you.

His fingers tightened around your thighs as he pushed his mouth into you, determined to have you cum on his face.

Say all the bad stuff you want about Seb, but one thing he always knew how to do well was eat you out, he was an expert at it. In only a few minutes he had you quivering before him, calling out his name, and oh the wonders that did to him, hearing his name upon your lips, it made him more eager, pushing his tongue as far as he could inside of you until you were coming on his face.

He licked up as much as he could before finally pulling his face out of your legs and slowly climbing on top of you to kiss you again, letting you taste yourself upon him.

With one hand he interlocked his fingers with yours, holding you gently and with the other he undid his fly and pulled himself out, slotting his legs between your thighs to start pushing into you.

You cried out and let out a loud moan feeling the way he stretched you out, and Seb also heaved and moaning into your neck as he trailed kisses upon it.

"Oh god, how I've missed you y/n. I've missed this so much"

"No one has ever been the same" you gasp as he starts to move his hips thrusting into yours slow as first, but then picking up the pace.

"That's because you were meant for me, no one else could satisfy you the way I do, and no one else ever will get a chance to"

"I'm all yours" you exclaimed in the heat of the moment, and at hearing your words he eagerly pushed his hand under your skirt to rub your clit, making your back arch from blinding, please.

"Seb- I'm going, I'm going to"

He grunted as he pushed into you as hard as he could "Same" was all he was able to say before you felt his seed spill into you as he stilled and the feeling of him cumming within you was enough to send you into your own blinding pleasure, your eyes rolling back as you let out a loud moan.

Eventually, he collapsed onto you, breathing heavily as he pressed lots of kisses upon your face, saying how beautiful and amazing you were,

You sighed, wrapping your arm around him to hold him close. You knew he wouldn't keep his promises, you knew he would run off eventually, that's just who he was, but at least for now, you got a chance to pretend that wasn't so.

#sebastian zollner #sebastian zollner x reader #sebastian zöllner #sebastian zollner x y/n #sebastian zollner smut #sebastian zöllner x y/n #sebastian zöllner smut #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl

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qwanderer · 3 years

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What makes a Loki a Loki?

Loki is called upon to be a lot of different people. He’s been raised on Asgard, and that’s formed some of the more basic aspects of his personality and values, but at the same time he has attributes that have been consistently discouraged and pushed down by that culture, and we can see them step forward as he moves into situations where they are encouraged.

Throughout the canons, there are a lot of Lokis. Siege Loki, Lady Loki, Kid Loki and his murderer, Ikol, King Loki, and the God/Goddess of Stories. The earlier aspects I know only by secondhand information, but I’m very familiar with Loki from Young Avengers and Agent of Asgard, some of my favorite comics of all time. But I know some basic facts - the way the earliest Loki was a quintessential comic book villain full of pure simple theatrical mischief and ridiculous schemes, the fact that Lady Loki was a somewhat more sinister appropriator of bodies for her own use.

In my view, MCU!Loki has, at the very least, the same capacity to shift personalities depending on the circumstances, and I haven’t yet seen anything in the Loki show that’s thrown my suspension of disbelief with regards to his characterization.

I’ve seen some people rebel at the idea of Loki gleeful over the destruction of Pompeii and the causing of chaos it allowed, but it reminds me of some meta I wrote very early on in my years of meta-writing in the MCU. The values Loki was raised with, Asgardian values, sometimes treat death very lightly, especially death in battle, especially human or otherwise non-Aesir death. In the Aesir context, at least to a certain extent and certainly in terms of what we’ve seen Odin teach his sons onscreen, violence is honorable, fighting is an adventure, lives are cheap and Valhalla is the ultimate goal.

I think a lot of the central conflict of Loki’s character is that he follows some of these principles to their logical conclusions in situations that Aesir values never meant them to cover. If life is unimportant, then it won’t be so bad if I tell Thor that Odin is dead. If the throne of Asgard has dominion over all the Nine Realms, then why shouldn’t I rule Midgard?

But he also shifts the way he acts to suit the situation. He is a shifter, it’s what he does. On Asgard, he is expected to be a warrior, a dignified prince, a companion and support for his brother. The values are bravery and dignity, and so a lot of what he projects there is bravado and elegance, which are close enough for him to get by.

When he is taken by Thanos, the only things Thanos wants and values are power and death. So Loki becomes an avatar of power and death. He carries that with him to Earth, because he is still very much under the jurisdiction of Thanos. But he very quickly learns how to use and manipulate Earth values, like wit and pathos. They seem to fit him better than the others, and he carries them through the other movies and the different frameworks he finds himself in.

He also tends to carry Asgard with him, the knowledge that he’s a prince, destined to be a king, that he needs to carry himself a certain way, with that elegance, dignity and bravado.

When I see Loki in the first episode of the show, I recognize him as some of the deepest, most quintessential parts of Loki that have only been allowed to peek out on occasion before. And that is due to manipulation on Mobius’s part - Mobius makes it very clear what he expects of Loki. To get down to the very basic levels of him and find out his motivations, what makes him fundamentally himself - “What makes Loki tick?” There’s a quiet void there, and the only thing that’s being asked of Loki, for once, is that he sit down and fill that void with words - the truest and most sincere words possible.

There’s a clear and interesting divide between that phase for Loki, and the phase we see in episode two - Mobius has stopped providing that space, and in the interim, he’s made it very clear what he expects Loki to be like, what mold he’d prefer the trickster to fit into.

The hard-working, lovable scamp.

Loki is hiding his deepest self again, which we all do most of the time. Loki can’t feel that deeply and express that freely all the time. Because of the environment he’s in - which may not be any more or less free than any of the other environments he’s experienced - he expresses himself in a particular way. He is the hard-working, mischievous scamp Mobius has been pushing him to be.

I don’t think he’s any more or less himself than he’s ever been - he’s simply responding to different pressures. And the pressures of this episode press him very hard into the Neal Caffrey mold. Which is an interesting mold in itself - when I was writing White Collar fic, I made a point to distinguish who Neal was when he was with Peter and who he was under different circumstances - prison, witness protection, with Mozzie, with Kate. (I wrote an autistic Kate, and had him most freely himself when he was with her.)

Like Neal Caffrey, the Episode 2 Loki is treading a line between behaviors that will get him things because he’s useful and compliant, behaviors that will demonstrate that he’s into minor trickery for fun now and might not be getting up to anything bigger, and those bigger tricks that are definitely still running in the background. It’s the obvious balance for a trickster on a leash with an indulgent bureaucrat.

You can see that it’s a facade in the way that he is near tears when he sees the Ragnarok paperwork, but when he brings it to Mobius’s attention and Mobius expresses his sympathies, Loki says “Yes, very sad,” and then dismisses it in favor of moving on to his mischievous enthusiasm over the resulting theory he’s had.

Like all good lies, it’s built out of truth, so when I see this Loki, I see pieces of the Loki I know, just put together a little differently, which is how Loki seems to do it.

Although he’s not free as he might hope to be, and in fact threading a narrow path between a very constricting set of pressures, I do still think he’s enjoying the dropped expectations of dignity and elegance. I think he’s enjoying being in a culture that encourages him to be a geek. To go on about the things he’s passionate about and his areas of expertise. And I think that’s a lot of what unsettles people about this Loki, because that elegance and dignity have carried everywhere else with him. And I’m not going to argue that the TVA are doing anything nice for him - quite the contrary - but I still do enjoy seeing him able to be the geek he’s always had the inclination to be, in the right circumstances.

It makes me wonder, a little, how much his mother is on his mind right now, after the first episode, because if I had a guess, the last time he’s felt free to be this enthusiastic and expressive about his interests is in magic lessons with her as a child.

So. The other variant.

We know from the Lady Loki comics arc that Loki can possess other people’s bodies over the long term, and we know from kid!Loki and his murderer interacting in YA that the original occupant of a body can sometimes hang around and talk back, if only as a figment of his imagination. We know from most incarnations that Loki can go to a lot of dark places if the circumstances push him to it.

As I’ve said before, I’m intrigued by the question the difference between the two variants poses - how much different can two Lokis be before they are no longer meaningfully the same person?

We’ve got clues on both sides, of course - our scamp on a leash saying “I wouldn’t do this to myself” on the side of them being not the same person, and the vengeful goddess he’s chasing saying “I was afraid they’d found a better version of me” on the side of them being the same person.

The more I think about it, the more I’m willing to predict that this vengeful goddess is, in some way, an incarnation of Loki. But (be warned, I’m going to reference Stephenie Meyer now) it could be in as small a way as something out of The Host - a stolen body’s original personality fighting dirty against the invading spirit.

If this is something based on the character of Sylvie from the comics, it could still be anything from a person - human or Asgardian - chosen and manipulated by Loki to do his bidding, to a full-on possession, or even a body constructed for a specific purpose but developing its own personality traits.

We know this variant is a body hopper, and Mobius’s briefing mentioned that it’s an inherent ability of most Lokis to shapeshift, so there are a lot of potential explanations for this unfamiliar shape.

But the differences between the variants could also stem mostly from different experiences.

The only thing I’m at all sure of is that this variant has also been tortured by Thanos. It’s possible that she branched earlier - that the wild desperation of having freshly escaped Thanos translated into being dragged into the TVA like a cornered wildcat, on the raggedy edge and desperate enough to go all-out to get out of the collar while still in the custody of the minute men. Then, as she became familiar with the TVA in concept and execution, developed opinions and built a personality around taking them down, taking them apart the way she wished she could do to Thanos, the way Thanos did to her.

But she could also have branched later - after the destruction of Asgard, or when Thanos appeared on the refugee ship. After the worst has happened to her people. With some preexisting notion that time could have gone differently, that some things that had happened should not be allowed to happen.

I have a weak spot for interactions between incarnations of Loki in the comics, so I am incredibly eager to see the MCU’s take on this.

#Loki meta #the loki show #loki spoilers #loki laufeyson #loki #meta #marvel #comics #616 #white collar #the host #sylvie #loki s1e2

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a-libra-writes · 3 years

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Salt & Snow - Chapter 6

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader (?)

Summary: Ned finally returns to his childhood home, to the happiness of his siblings and Y/N ... though she’s also beside herself with nerves. As it turns out, the two of them are awkward teenagers.

Use this chrome extension to replace “Y/N” with a different name :)

“That’s the last of it, milord.” The servant tightened the leather straps on the wooden trunk, ensuring they were secure. Once satisfied, he nodded to the guide that would be taking the young Lord Stark down the mountain. The man was withered, but he expertly steered his mules, or so they said. Ned hadn’t realized how many possessions he’d collected in his years in the Eyrie, and felt bad for making the beasts carry so much.

The old mountain guide said it was fine, and it wouldn’t unbalance them. “You worry about stayin’ on that mule, milord. When’s the last time you descended?”

He thought about it. “Four years, mayhaps more.”

“Aye, it’s much the same. It’s still spring, it will warm quickly as we go down.” The old man guided him to one of the mules, a shaggy, dark brown one with long ears. Ned thought it was cute in an ugly way, and climbed up. He kept his eyes forward, ignoring how the Eyrie hung above them. He remembered the first time he climbed up here, terrified he’d fall the entire way, and then afraid the Eyrie would somehow fall from the sky and plummet to the ground.

I’ll be the one doing the plummeting, if this beast missteps. Ned was mostly, probably confident that wouldn’t happen. He wondered what sort of mule they gave Robert, the beast of a man. He couldn’t imagine his friend sitting quietly for the better part of the day. That thought made him smile a little, and sigh. Robert left a month ago, and now it was his turn. It was a bittersweet goodbye to Robert and then to Lord Arryn. The first month I couldn’t stop thinking about Winterfell, how I wanted to go back. It hurts to leave now.

It hurt, but it was time to go. He wanted to see his family again, to see Winterfell, and the godswood, and Wintertown and the forest surrounding them. He’d smell pines and fresh earth again — gods know the Eyrie sorely lacked in both — and the animals that ran through those woods. He wondered what had changed, what was the same.

Suddenly, Ned recalled a letter where Y/N described the repairs on one of the towers, the old one that was slowly crumbling. That made him remember the last one he sent, and he covered his face with a groan.

“Doing well, milord?” The guide asked, looking back. “Don’t look down.”

Ned merely nodded, glad the guide and the other servants were too busy navigating to notice his stupid face. Why had he written that? Why did he send it? She must be think he was an utter fool. She hadn’t even sent anything back yet.

No, letters are slow to the Eyrie, and I’m leaving, besides — perhaps it was lost.

The thought of Lord Arryn receiving it and sending it back was mortifying, even if the man would never read it. For days Ned’s mind had been racing about Robert’s departure, his own journey, and the stupid words he wrote down. He’d repeated them so many times in his head, hoping he was misremembering.

He groaned and laid his head on the neck of the mule. It smelled awful, but he stayed there. Y/N must have thought him a complete fool, how would he face her once he came home? It would be a long, long journey.

What in the seven hells did he mean by that?

Y/N stared at the words, her eyes running over them, which was a pointless act. She’d memorized these lines in particular, able to recall them in spite of her attempts to keep busy. She hadn’t responded, because how could she? Anytime she sat down and began to dab her quill, the butterflies battered against her stomach. She’d set her quill on the page, watching the ink soak into the paper, but Y/N only managed a few sentences before fumbling, misspelling a word, dripping ink everywhere and just giving up. She’d thrown several pages into the fire already.

I’m being ridiculous, I’m overthinking. Aren’t I? Hasn’t he always said kind things to me? Why is this different?

A week ago, Y/N dug through her box of letters saved over the years, hoping to assure herself. That was a mistake. She read through things she’d forgotten, phrases she remembered, looked over the little drawings he attempted, and her butterflies became relentless. She had to put the letters away and spent the entire day flustered and distracted.

She rubbed at her face and sighed heavily. She put the letter out of sight, knowing it wouldn’t be out of mind for a while. She ought to stop procrastinating, to send something back already; it’d been almost three weeks. Or was it four? She’d been procrastinating with everything imaginable — long boring books, needlework, studying maps, playing music, even riding.

I have to answer eventually. I really am thinking too much. Just write something safe! Something boring!

Instead of doing that, Y/N left her room and looked for something to do. Perhaps if she could talk about her feelings it would help, but she couldn’t. Not even to Lyanna. Her friend had stopped reading the letters, preferring to send her own, and Y/N was sure they weren’t as frequent… That, and she couldn’t imagine letting anyone read what she wrote or drew now.

Is it strange, how often we write? Has anyone noticed? A little voice nagged at Y/N. She and Ned were well past the age of innocent friendly correspondence. She didn’t speak much about it, secretly worried she’d be told to stop. The idea of getting “caught” wasn’t pleasant, but the idea of stopping was worse. The correspondence had become a comfort, a way to raise her spirits, warmth and confidence in her heart. She understood how some would find that emotion improper.

A servant hurried past Y/N, nearly hitting her and knocking her right out of her thoughts. The boy called an apology and kept running. In the great hall, she saw half a dozen men moving boxes, and one of the elder servants giving them orders. Savory smells came from the kitchen, and peaking inside, Y/N saw the cooks and their girls busy chopping and stewing.

She tried to recall the last time Winterfell was this abuzz. The death of Lady Stark cast a dreary curtain over the castle, and while it was gradually lifting, a feast still felt out of place. Brandon was away again, but there was never a big to-do for his return.

“Found you!” Lyanna called to her, and Y/N jumped. It was absurd how much she’d been lost in her head as of late. She was glad Lyanna didn’t tease her; instead, the girl asked, “Why is everyone so restless today?”

“I was just thinking that. Did you see the kitchens? I can’t imagine why we’d need so much sausage and stew.”

“They’re making dessert, too! I’d ask my father, but I can’t find him anywere.” As they talked, Lyanna and Y/N walked outside to one of the many yards inside Winterfell’s walls. Just like inside, there was a flurry of activity, things being moved and cleaned. Lyanna said half the horses had been taken, perhaps on a hunt for fresh stag. A sudden thought struck her, and she turned on her heels to face Y/N, nearly knocking the girl over in the process. “Y/N, what if… what if my father finally decided—?”

“He didn’t,” Y/N replied instantly. “He would tell you, Lyanna. It won’t be a surprise. Maybe something happened and he’s gathering some bannermen on short notice; maybe it’s about Brandon’s wedding. He has been gone for the better part of a month.”

“That’s all true,” Lyanna said, although she didn’t sound comforted. “Perhaps Father is entertaining some ladies for him. Oh, gods, we’ll have to make smalltalk with them…”

They sat on one of the many carts strewn about the yard, following the activity. Predictably, Y/N’s mind wandered to Ned, and she kept her sigh from escaping. She glanced at Lyanna, half-listening to her friend chatter about a hedge knight that visited months ago. He showed off some jousting in the yard for their amusement, and Lyanna was still enamored. Y/N’s thoughts were wholly preoccupied with the terrifying idea of telling her about the letters, the ones that had gradually become far less proper and more personal.

Suddenly Lyanna asked, “Did you have any plans today?”

“I have a feeling if I did, you’d pull me away.” Y/N said. “Why?”

“Do you still have your old brown cloak?”

Those grey eyes were gleaming with some sort of mischief. Perhaps it was the restlessness of the people around them, or her own anxious thoughts… but rather than steer away from trouble, Y/N turned toward it.

There were small collections of cottages directly outside the walls of Winterfell, mostly farmers and butchers who directly served the castle, and offered board to travelers during the large feasts. But if someone really wanted to find something interesting, they’d go to Wintertown. These were the more prosperous smallfolk, the merchants, innkeeps, blacksmiths, and so on. There was even a small sept, although most Northern townspeople had little use for it. Y/N had come here only a dozen times; to go, she and Lyanna would need an escort, and Brandon wasn’t eager to follow two silly girls around.

As far as they were concerned, the matter of an escort was silly now that they were women. Lyanna had no fear as she put on an old cotton dress and her grey cloak, while Y/N wore her brown and black dress she saved for riding and a deep blue cloak. Y/N tucked her pearl and jewelry away, and Lyanna pulled her own dark brown hair out of its braid until it was all around her shoulders, wild and free. The girls snuck quietly out into the yard, avoiding servants and guards, then drew their hoods up once they reached the gates. They waited, then Y/N pointed. Three sworn guards were distracted with a complaining merchant, and they slipped past the gate.

Once outside, they kept their hoods up, but giggled to one another. After walking a mile, they came across a farmer on the way to Wintertown, and asked if they could ride in his cart. The old man squinted at them, trying to focus his gaze.

“Are ye girls the swineherder’s daughters? Jeyne and … Milly, was it?”

“That’s our names. Can you take us to town?” Lyanna asked, putting on a false voice. When the old man agreed, she grinned so broadly, Y/N had to nudge her and give her a warning look. They hopped into the back of the cart and chatted while it swayed and hobbled along. The last time, it was an hour of walking before a cart passed by.

It’s good to see her like this, happy again. Y/N thought, glancing to her friend as Lyanna chatted. It’s been a dreary six moons. Or has it been longer?

Lyanna hadn’t been herself the whole time. Since her mother died, everything was bleaker. For the first moon, she just wanted to stay inside. After that she’d go out riding for hours at a time, and for once, Lord Stark didn’t scold her for it. Sometimes she’d rage, pick fights with Brandon or a guardman’s boy. Sometimes she’d just stay in bed. Those days were always the bad ones, Y/N knew, and she’d stay with her, writing or drawing or doing needlework while Lyanna laid there.

They’d get far worse than a scolding if they were caught at this game, but she just wanted Lyanna to be happy again. Wintertown was in sight, and they thanked the old man and hopped off his cart, too excited to wait for his mules to take them any farther. Y/N took Lyanna’s arm so they’d at least stay together, and they were off.

Just like the last time they visited, the town was buzzing. Thoughts of Ned’s words and Lyanna’s sadness quickly faded in the back of Y/N’s mind as they followed whatever interested them. A girl half their height was herding a group of sheep through the middle of a wide street, a woman was selling bolts of impossibly colorful fabric and thread, a blacksmith was loudly working on a sword. The girls watched all of it.

“Wait!” Y/N patted Lyanna’s arm excitedly, distracting her from the molten-hot red sword and the hammer that was beating down on it. “Do you see that?” She pointed.

Lyanna squinted. “That stall over there?”

“Yes, let’s hurry! Maybe he still has some!”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna laughed, but followed along. She quickly realized why Y/N was so excited: There was a variety of colorful, fresh vegetables, but more importantly… fruit.

“You buying?” The man asked warily, mistaking them for the lowborn girls they were dressed as. Back in their bedchamber, Y/N had to remind Lyanna to tuck away her direwolf pin. “I’m selling, not giving. You girls got coin?”

Y/N ignored his tone and asked, “Are these from White Harbor? My father worked the docks.”

“That so? He on one of the merman’s ships, or the ray’s?”

“The manta ray, at the Whitetide docks.”

The man grinned, showing some missing teeth. He nodded his head like he was familiar with this mystery sailor. “Aye, with Lord Caspian’s fleet? His ships are good ones. These fruit come all the way from Dorne and the Arbor, but they’re still fresh.”

Y/N could see that. Her heart was racing at the sight of peaches, oranges, limes, figs… of course, Lyanna’s eyes went straight to the lemons. She giggled and shook her head. “They’re better when they’re baked in cakes. Have you had an orange before?”

“Never. Let’s get some. Four, if we could?” Lyanna asked the man, and he handed them over. Four was all he had, and Y/N paid, feeling a little sorry for taking so many. She wondered if the common folk could afford fruits. This cold preserved them well.

They walked around the market idly, more interested in the treats they just acquired. Y/N taught Lyanna how to peel the orange and the wolf-girl was delighted with how sweet and juicy they were. “This is wonderful! Why aren’t we baking these into cakes?”

“I suppose someone tried, and it didn’t work out well,” Y/N mused. “My mother liked to squeeze them into her water, or she’d just drink the juice itself. When you preserve the peels and dry them, you can scatter them amongst your things to make them smell good.” She thought about her mother’s hugs, and her favorite parlor, and the strong smell of citrus and exotic flowers that permeated both. She was a Northern woman, but took to the wonders of Dorne and Essos and the Reach, little treasures brought in on her husband’s ships. It was how her father courted her: With baskets of fruit, tropical flowers, strings of pearls and giant conch shells. Y/N smiled, remembering how her mother lit up when she told her about it.

“I can promise you, my little pearl, one day you will have such kindnesses paid by someone who truly adores you.”

“You know so many things. All I know is passable dancing, and horses.” Lyanna said, breaking Y/N’s reverie, of which she was grateful for. The Stark girl rubbed at her chin where some juices at dribbled, and Y/N handed her a handkerchief.

“You know swords and lances well.”

“Aye, but I’m not allowed to use them.” Lyanna frowned, but it didn’t look like her mood was lowering. She eagerly bit into a second orange instead. Y/N sighed and put the handkerchief back into her reticule.

“Can I have the peels?” She asked.

“Are you going to put them into my riding boots?”

“Gods, I’d need a bushel to mask that scent.”

Lyanna didn’t want to throw her precious orange, so she settled for lunging and chasing Y/N instead. Y/N shrieked and ran, glad for the headstart: Lyanna had to chew and swallow her orange pieces properly before tearing after her. Lyanna’s old dress was short enough that she didn’t have to pull up the skirts, but Y/N had the lighter cloak. She shrieked again as Lyanna grasped for it, but missed. “I’ll get you for that!” The girl hollered. “Come back, Y/N!”

They laughed and chased each other around the town like children, and no one cared. Some older women noticed and scowled, and a few children laughed and followed for a while, but no one stopped them. No one grabbed their ears and admonished them for the messy hair, dirty clothes and sticky orange-flavored fingers. They were little girls again, not proper ladies of five and ten, daughters of Stark and Caspian.

Y/N stopped suddenly, then yelped as Lyanna tackled her to the ground. She squirmed and coughed. “Lyanna! You’ll kill me!”

“Don’t start fights you can’t finish!” Lyanna responded. She realized Y/N was still winded and moved off her. “Oh, are you hurt?”

“No,” Y/N sat up and blinked the dust out of her eyes. Satisfied, Lyanna flicked an orange peel at her. Y/N picked it off her lap and ate it. Lyanna made a face, like Y/N just ate the peel of a lemon — then she remembered she saw her friend do that, too.

“Do you hear that?” Y/N asked. It was the entire reason she stopped. Both girls kept still and listened. They were on the edge of Wintertown, their game taking them to the very end of it. Out here was a few modest homes and small gardens, a crumbling wall, and the road leading to Winterfell.

“Horses,” Lyanna said. She listened. “Several of them, moving at once. It’s probably a retinue.”

“Is it Brandon? I can’t recall when he was supposed to come home.”

“It would be bad for Brandon to find us like this and tell father,” Lyanna said, but she laughed. She was like her old self today. Suddenly, she said, “Oh. We should have saved an orange for Ben.”

“But not Brandon?”

“His Lordliness can get fruit whenever he wants. He can ride to the Reach and pick it himself.” Lyanna scoffed. She stood up, pulled Y/N to her feet and they both dusted their dresses and cloaks off. The horses were closer now, easy to hear without them staying quiet. It had to be Brandon, or a nearby lord. It was too much commotion for farmers bringing food.

The girls walked to the crumbling wall and crouched down, eager to peek at the banners. They weren’t foolish enough to openly stare, even if this was Wintertown, they weren’t entirely safe. Y/N had a vague thought that Lyanna might have a dagger in her boot, but that wasn’t real protection. She kicked herself for not bringing something of her own, even if she had no idea how to use it.

“They’re taking their time,” Lyanna muttered. “Has to be a lord. A lordling wouldn’t bring so many wagons, and a merchant wouldn’t be so slow. If it is Brandon, let’s throw rocks.”

“Let’s not.”

“Fine, a single rock. I won’t hit his horse, she deserves better. It could always be Ser Roderick, or the Pooles. Maybe even Cerwyn —”

Y/N pulled her back, lower against the stone wall. “Shh.”

Two horses passed, carrying modestly protected Northern guards. Then four more guards followed, dressed in different leather and armor. Y/N squinted, not recognizing the arms on their surcoats. It wasn’t anyone sworn to House Stark. Then, what they wanted: The banners.

One man held a direwolf, and another one held a blue falcon. Lyanna shot up, and Y/N stumbled, as she was still holding onto her.

Then she looked up, and jumped to her feet just as Lyanna had. They both stared.

It was Brandon, as they guessed, and someone else. They rode ahead, followed by a few more men, one of them a fully-armored knight who wore the crest of a sky-blue and white falcon.

“Ned!!”

Lyanna was gone. She tore across a small field to the road, and the guards stopped all at once, their hands flying to their hips. That action snapped Y/N to attention, but she could only stand and stare. She watched the boy — no, young man — beside Brandon turn in his saddle, and his grey eyes lit up with surprise and happiness.

Y/N thought someone was sitting on her chest, then something was trying to get out of it. She was choked up, the world was spinning, and she could barely hear the words Lyanna, Ned and Brandon were all saying. Lyanna nearly jumped up on the horse, but Ned swiftly dismounted. He only had a moment before he was being strangled in a hug.

Brandon got down from his horse and said something to the guards. The horses shook their heads at the commotion but Lyanna shouted again, and two of the knights laughed, and Y/N was still.

Then Ned looked up over his sister’s head, and met eyes with her. Y/N took a step forward, then another. She forgot she was wearing an old dress, a cloak that was now dirty from running about, that her hair was out of a normally tamed and styled braid. Ned held out his hand, as though she was close and not ten or fifteen feet away.

Y/N shyly walked down the field to the road, trying not to look at the guards, or Brandon. Lyanna pulled away from Ned and grabbed her arm, pulling her the last two feet. “What are you doing, Y/N? Come over here!”

She was pushed in front of him. He was different in some ways, but not many. Brandon towered above him and Lyanna was just a little shorter. Y/N smiled at that, but quickly looked to her hands, which smelled of oranges and still had a little stickiness on them.

“It’s good to see you again,” Y/N could only say. She thought of all the clever and interesting words she sent before, and how they were failing her horribly now. Her mind scrambled for something to say, something she had written before, something good, but it was all jumbled.

She didn’t look at Ned as he replied, “It’s good to see you too, Y/N.”

It was quiet, like they were the only ones, but that was quickly interrupted. Brandon was beside them, loudly teasing, “It’s Lady Y/N, brother. I thought the South was supposed to teach you all those stuffy manners.”

“She’s always been Y/N to us,” Lyanna rolled her eyes. “More importantly, were you and father keeping this a secret?”

Her brother replied with a small smile. “Yes, it… it was supposed to be a surprise. I never imagined we’d meet you here.”

“And why are you two here?” Brandon crossed his arms. His good humor quickly left, as if he just took in their location and their clothes. He looked at Lyanna, then Y/N, and kept his attention on the latter. “Did you sneak out without a guard? Do you know how dangerous that can be? And why are you dressed like that?”

Y/N self-consciously pulled at her cloak as he questioned them, remembering the state she was in. Brandon’s words didn’t bother her, it was the realization that Ned hadn’t seen her in years, and this is what he saw as soon as he came back. Didn’t I have silly daydreams of him seeing me in the gown I made, or a new one? Why am I even thinking about that?

She was glad Lyanna and Brandon got into a little spat, to hide her embarrassment. She stepped behind Lyanna, half to shield herself, half to put some distance between her and Ned. She was steadily being overcome with an urge to hug him — wouldn’t that be natural? He was home now, but … it wasn’t that simple. So, she kept at Lyanna’s side, redirecting her attention on calming her friend.

“When I tell father about this, he’ll have words to say, especially since tonight he wants to hold a feast —”

“— If you tell him, I’ll tell about all that extra time you spend at the Rills!”

“It’s my job as heir to visit our bannermen and listen to their grievances!”

“Oh, yes, the pretty Ryswell daughters have much to say, I’m sure —”

Brandon went red and was ready to retort hotly, when Ned cleared his throat. He inclined his head to the men around them, all visibly impatient. Ned himself had some of that energy as he said, “Let’s go home.”

The way he said it, how could anyone continue to argue? Brandon stopped at once, knowing it had been years since his little brother had seen Winterfell properly. He patted him affectionately on the back, and Lyanna beamed. Y/N met eyes with Ned again, and they both turned away.

Brandon took his horse’s bridle. “Whose riding with whomst?”

“I’ll ride with Ned!” Lyanna blurted excitedly, and disappointment shot through Y/N so quickly, she felt a little sick. Don’t be stupid. That’s her brother, and she’ll just quarrel with Brandon, besides.

Brandon offered her a hand and easily swept her up on his horse. He asked if she was comfortable before swinging up himself, settling in like it was as easy as sitting in a chair. The problem is he put her in front, so his arms were loosely around her as he gathered his reins. Nervous as she was around these beasts, Y/N almost preferred riding behind him, although that was not always considered proper for a lady. Y/N had to hold onto him, especially with how far up she was. Brandon had a fine old destrier, once a great warhorse, still mighty and tall in her old age. She was perfect for taking him around the North, but Y/N thought she was entirely too big.

Lyanna happily settled in behind Ned instead of in front of him. Again, Y/N met his eyes. He had expressions that said so much, especially since he himself said little. She couldn’t read this one, though. Brandon called out, “Move on!” and the small escort went on the road. Y/N was thankful for the easy pace, and the steady gait of the destrier.

Her nervousness slowly settled as the four of them made conversation, with the Vale knight occasionally speaking up. Before long, the walls of Winterfell appeared before them, the proud white banners flying above. Ned looked up at the direwolf, and Y/N could swear some fatigue just melted right off him. The gates opened, and the guards keeping their station happily called to the boys, not noticing the state Lord Stark’s daughter and his ward were in. By the time their escort entered the yard, several servants, men-at-arms and children had come to see Ned come home.

Benjen pushed through all of them, eagerly running at his older brother. There was no shortage of hugs as Lyanna, Benjen and Ned reunited, while Brandon helped Y/N off the horse. Unlike his oldest brother, Benjen hadn’t developed an avoidance to his sister and her companion. He was only two years younger than them, and looked hurt as he said, “You all met him without me!”

“It was supposed to be a surprise,” Ned said again. “I crossed Brandon on the road by chance, and then these two—”

“Isn’t it a wonderful coincidence?” Lyanna grinned. She was still standing close to Ned, all but hanging off him. Y/N allowed Benjen to squeeze past her to get to Ned.

While the three chattered, Y/N asked Brandon, “You truly didn’t know? Where were you coming from?”

“Returning from the Karstarks. Father didn’t tell me a thing.”

Lyanna and Benjen began dragging Ned to the great hall, and now servants and guards started gathering, having realized who he was and all were eager to see him. Y/N smiled, pleased he was so missed… and only slightly glad he was moving further from her. She was anxious of what would happen if they were in a small group again, or worse, alone. She almost wanted to stay behind, but Brandon called to her, lingering back so she could catch up.

Being alone happened far sooner than Y/N anticipated.

The next morning, she stepped carefully through the snow, watching for roots just slightly sticking out. The sun was beginning to peak over the stone walls, helping her navigate the quiet yard. This route wasn’t yet familiar to her. She’d only made it recently, and often without Lyanna. Her friend wanted to mourn in quiet.

Y/N descended into the crypts. She shuddered instantly, feeling a far stronger cold take hold of her. Her footsteps echoed off the stone and she walked steadily toward her destination, passing statues of long dead Lord Starks and their sons.

Lady Lyarra did not have a sculpted sepulcher, but she had a beautiful tomb and marker for her bones. Y/N held her reticule close, bringing it to her nose so she could smell the crisp, dried oranges and give herself peace of mind. She hadn’t even visited her own family’s crypt.

She gasped as the shadows shuddered, nearly dropping the dried peels. The torches were scattered about, some not lit, making the shadows grow and recede with every second. She heard something just a few feet away.

Y/N bit down a curse as Ned came into view, the shadows circling around him. He blinked at her, his grey eyes almost looking black in the limited light.

“Y/N?”

“Y-You scared me,” She shuddered. “I didn’t — I didn’t think there would be anyone here.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I…” Y/N paused. She couldn’t seem to steady her heart, not with Ned looking directly at her. He was so much taller than before. She turned away. “I wanted to pay my respects. To give a gift.”

He didn’t respond right away. Y/N thought of the letters, of the reassurances, the kindnesses she sent him when he finally heard the news of his mother’s passing.

Why was it failing her now? She squeezed the fabric bag between her fingers.

“You brought something for her?” Ned asked quietly. “Could I see?”

Y/N nodded. She stepped closer, but not enough to feel any warmth from him. The cold of the crypt was cooling her nerves. “Orange peels. I dried them. They… they smell nice.”

She felt foolish, but he smiled. It was slight, but it was there.

“This way.” He said. He took a torch off the wall and led her deeper in. Y/N forgot how far it truly was. The Starks had been dying for centuries, and soon they would have to dig deeper into the cave to make space for the future generations. Lyarra was buried next to her parents, neither of who had a statue either.

There were fresh blue roses on the grave, and older, smaller blossoms that had begun to dry and decay. Y/N recalled Benjen brought those. She arranged the orange peels neatly, happy with the fragrance they gave off in addition to the roses. Ned must have brought those.

She quietly prayed, and Ned kept quiet beside her, perhaps joining her, perhaps not. When she finished, her hands fell to her side. Her cold, bare fingers brushed with Ned’s, and she felt the soft wool of his gloves. His finger hooked around one of her’s, and she curled it.

“Ned, I don’t presume to know your feelings, but I can only imagine how much you must hurt. If I could only help — if you were only right here, instead of far away —”

“When I home come, I want to see you, and do all the things we said we would do. I want to watch you paint, and dance, and maybe ride a horse — because I know Lyanna will make us — but most of all, I want to hear your voice.”

Y/N felt her throat was dry, but she stayed put, wondering if her heartbeat could be heard bouncing off the walls. She knew if she looked at him, even with a glance, she’d lose all composure and just run away.

She almost did that, when a loud noise made them both jump nearly two feet apart. Ned instantly took her hand back to push her behind him, then touched his sword. He grasped the hilt and lifted it just an inch out of the scabbard.

“Gods!” Y/N let out a hard breath. The skinny orange cat that knocked the unlit brazier over. It didn’t have coal in it, but it still made a terrible racket. The cat hissed and ran back into the shadows.

“I see he’s still here,” Ned mumbled. He set his sword back, and his shoulders were still tight. “Damned creature.”

“He gets lost down here so often. If he were kinder, I’d carry him out.”

“If it’s the same orange cat from when I was a boy, he’d rather freeze to death than be touched for even a moment.”

Silly smiles graced their faces, in spite of where they were, in spite of why they came in the first place. Ned nervously touched the hilt of his sword. “Shall we return?”

As they stepped out of the crypt, Y/N had to lift her skirts to climb the stairs easier. Ned offered his hand, and she took it for the last few steps. He didn’t immediately let go, and she didn’t comment on it. Instead she asked, “Did they make you learn those manners in the South?”

“There’s all sorts of manners and noble bearing they expect. It’s exhausting,” Ned admitted with a shy expression, and Y/N couldn’t help but imagine him trying some sort of silly, formal dance she’d heard about.

“Give me an example.”

He stared at their connected hands, his ears and cheeks slowly growing redder. Y/N didn’t pull away, even if her own body was threatening to explode with nerves and heat.

She expected him to kiss her hand, like she’d hear the other girls gossip about. She felt his warm lips against her fingers, through her thin gloves, and it made her jolt. Some of his brown hair brushed against her arm. I might well and truly die now.

Ned coughed and hastily turned away from her, utterly embarrassed at his own behavior. “Th-that’s what Lord Arryn… what Lord Arryn said to do when … when meeting a lady…”

“Are you kissing other ladies?” She couldn’t help it. She giggled, the warmth in her chest bubbling up to her lips. Her hand felt like it was on fire. “Should I be jealous, Ned?”

Ned covered his face with his hands, and she laughed. She covered her own face to settle her silly, foolish giddiness. “Of course not,” He grumbled. “You’re the only one I ever spoke to, besides.”

“Oh, you must have talked to some in the Eyrie.”

“Some.” Ned’s grey eyes glanced to her. She met his gaze, and they held it as he continued, “Though I kept wishing you were there.”

Y/N had to look away again. She couldn’t giggle, her throat was stuck, her chest hurt and she hated how tongue-tied she was. She never imagined it would be this hard — whatever this was —

“What in the seven hells are you both doing?”

Looking through her fingers, Y/N watched Brandon saunter up to them. The older Stark tilted his head to his brother.

Ned could only manage to suspiciously avoid looking at him. Brandon glanced between them, and Y/N felt like she had done something wrong. She quickly said, “We were visiting the crypt to pay our respects.”

Brandon’s face fell, and he said little else. Y/N understood it would be time for breakfast soon, and the morning sun had long broken over the tall stone walls. The three of them walked back to the keep together, Brandon pointedly putting himself between Y/N and Ned.

#ned stark x reader #game of thrones x reader #got x reader #salt & snow #libra fics

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gayestnerdsinfiction · 3 years

Text

bury your heart

cw: brain cancer and all its associated symptoms

read part two here

----

“Okay, here’s one,” Edward said. “When is a person like a piece of wood?”

“Hm,” Jonathan murmured absently, fingers running through Edward’s hair. He resisted the urge to make the first dirty joke that came to mind. “When they’re a ruler?”

“Good guess,” he murmured. He reached up to catch Jonathan’s long nose between his forefinger and thumb. “But, no. When they’re bored,” he revealed, grinning loosely.

Jonathan pulled away, swatting Edward’s hand out of his face. “Yes, Edward, I’m aware you’re bored. I’m not sure what you expect me to do about that.”

“Entertain me.”

“Entertain yourself,” he retorted. “Read a book.” Edward made a face at that, somewhere between annoyance and embarrassment. Realizing his mistake, Jonathan added, “Or listen to one of your stupid podcasts.”

“I keep telling you, the conspiracy theory podcast is not stupid and if you actually listened to it, you’d see that it’s very educational.”

“I’m beginning to understand why you flunked out of school if that’s what you consider educational,” Jonathan muttered. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out, a small reminder lighting up the screen. Meds. He disentangled his fingers from Edward’s hair and slid out of bed, making his way into the bathroom.

“I didn’t flunk out,” Edward called after him. “I dropped out. There’s a difference. They didn’t fire me, I quit.”

Jonathan rolled his eyes but he didn’t respond, instead choosing to focus on rummaging around in the medicine cabinet. He took out his own medications—Lexapro, Clozapine, Zoloft—and then Edward’s. Promethazine for the nausea, Lorazepam for the seizures, Tramadol and Hydrocodone for the pain. And those were just the morning set. Jonathan tucked his pills into his cheek, dipping his head under the faucet to gulp them down with a mouthful of water. Then he brought Edward’s medication into the bedroom for him.

It had been a few weeks of this routine. Bringing Edward his meds in the mornings, again in the evenings. Smoothing his hair away from his clammy face as he vomited, knuckles going white from gripping the edge of the toilet. Watching him struggle to remember things, complete simple tasks.

Jonathan had seen some pretty awful things in his life. Gruesome deaths and life threatening infections and overdoses and people clawing their own skin off during toxin induced hallucinations. He had seen all of those things and yet this was still hard to watch. Maybe harder than anything else. The only thing keeping him from spiraling entirely out of control were the few painkillers he was able to sneak from Edward’s prescription. It took the edge off, kept him from thinking too hard about the fact that his friend was slowly dying in his home, his bed.

“Here’s another,” Edward said, swallowing his pills dry. He was at least in good spirits today, chattering away almost like his usual self. “We’re five little items of an everyday sort; you’ll find us all in ‘a tennis court’.”

“Vowels. That’s an easy one.” Jonathan sat back down on the bed and Edward wasted no time before depositing his head in Jonathan’s lap.

“Well, excuse me for not being at the top of my game,” he replied sarcastically. “The cancer makes it hard to think, you know.”

He tried to muster some kind of joke in response but nothing came to mind. He didn’t mind when Edward made light of his own illness, but for Jonathan to do the same felt incredibly inappropriate. Because it wasn’t funny, not to him.

“Maybe we could go somewhere today,” Edward suggested hesitantly, interrupting Jonathan’s thoughts. “I’m tired of being cooped up in here.”

“Might I remind you that the reason you’ve been cooped up in here is because you’re too sick to stand half the time?”

“But I feel alright today,” he insisted. He sat up, getting out of bed with a labored groan to demonstrate. “See?” he said cheerfully, spreading his arms. The gesture just made it even more apparent how thin he’d gotten, how wobbly his stance was. “I’m standing. I might even take a few steps, really go for it, y’know?”

“I don’t know, you don’t want to go too crazy,” Jonathan said dryly. “You might hurt yourself.”

Edward crawled back onto the bed, kneeling beside Jonathan. The dark circles marring his pale, sallow skin were deep but his emerald eyes were bright, eager. “We could go play chess in the park,” he proposed. “That’d be alright, wouldn’t it? I could sit down, get some air. Get some sun, God, I could really use a bit of sun, look at the state of my skin.” He peered up at Jonathan. “What do you think?”

He nodded slowly. “Okay. Later, though. I have things that need doing before I can go out.”

Edward grinned, his upturned nose bumping against Jonathan’s cheek as his balance wavered slightly. Quickly, as if to cover the slip, he pressed a kiss to the same spot. “Can I sit with you while you work?” he asked.

Jonathan frowned. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea. The chemicals—”

“I’ll wear a mask,” he interrupted. “Please?”

“Edward…” He sighed. “I don’t think huffing a bunch of toxic fumes is advisable if you want to still be feeling alright by the time we go out.”

Edward pouted, pulling away. “How about a riddle?” he asked, sounding thoroughly glum. He tucked his legs up against his chest. “When is a person like a piece of wood?”

Jonathan’s jaw tensed. “When they’re bored,” he answered, watching Edward’s reaction closely.

Edward just sighed, resting his head on one of his knees. “Gold star for Jonathan,” he said with a dejected twirl of his finger, unable to conceal the bitterness in his voice.

He swallowed. So Edward hadn’t realized. “You know you used that riddle before,” he said carefully.

His eyes darted over to Jonathan. “Really? When?”

“Just a few minutes ago.”

“Oh.” The silence between them was thick, heavy. “So you cheated,” Edward joked humorlessly.

“I guess I did.” Jonathan draped a long arm across Edward’s narrow shoulders. “Maybe I can… I suppose there are things I can work on outside of the lab. If you insist on having my company for the day.”

“I don’t want to trouble you,” he mumbled.

“It’s no trouble.” He gave Edward’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. “It’s easier to let you watch me work than to come up with some other way to occupy your attention.”

He felt Edward smiling as he nuzzled against Jonathan’s neck. “I do require constant enrichment, after all.”

“Yes,” he murmured, “like a zoo animal.”

The comment earned him a swift smack on the leg from Edward. “Bastard,” he grumbled. “I have a terminal illness and this is how you talk to me? How would you feel if those were your last words to me, would you be satisfied with that?”

A lump rose in Jonathan’s throat. “No, I wouldn’t,” he said tightly. “And that’s not funny.”

“I think it is.”

He shot Edward an icy look. “I don’t.”

Edward balked, lowering his gaze as he relaxed against Jonathan’s chest. “Got to have fun somehow,” he muttered.

“Well I’m sorry it’s not fun for me to be reminded of your impending death,” Jonathan said tersely. “I suppose that is where our senses of humor differ.” He felt a flutter of something unpleasant in his chest and he forced it back down, forced his attention away from it. Jonathan started to get up from the bed, started to go to the bathroom to snag a couple painkillers. But before he could even make it off the mattress Edward’s fist had closed around the hem of his shirt and he was pulling Jonathan back towards him.

“Don’t go,” he pleaded. “Don’t be mad.”

“I’m not mad.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m not,” he repeated. “I’m…” He didn’t know how to finish that sentence. He was frustrated with Edward for being so glib about his own mortality and he was disappointed in himself for not being able to do more and he was downright terrified of what would happen when Edward was actually, permanently dead. “I’m worried,” he finished lamely.

Edward’s grip tightened around his shirt. “You don’t have to worry about me.”

Jonathan pried Edward’s fist away from the handful of fabric, lacing their fingers together. “I don’t know how to stop.”

#scriddler #scarecrow #riddler #jonathan crane #edward nygma #batman #dc #fic #my fic #writing #my writing #cancer cw #i believe...... there will be a part two of this

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themsource · 3 years

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A Moment Of Time

Pairing: Sans x Frisk Rating: T Word Count: 2,673

Hey @catsitta I was your secret santa for @secretsantafrans! I love your Fated AU so please excuse any cannon inconsistences if I made any @_@ I had fun mixing holiday themes for this; Kronia and Haloa specifically!

Hope you enjoy ^^

Lord Death’s realm; usually so quiet and haunting, was unusually loud with the cries of celebration and joy. Golden light bathed the immense hall, the fires and torches giving such a grand view of the heavily decorated scaffoldings and food laden tables casting a supernatural warmth supplied by none other than Lord Fyre, for the evening's festivities.

Rarely was there cause for such lavish displays of black marbled fountains overflowing with fine wine, even rarer a reason for heavenly grown ambrosia to grace such a place as the Underworld with it’s desolate landscape and often gloomy atmosphere, but this was a day rare in itself.

Today marked the winter solstice; the time of year that many a mortal and god alike abandoned their divisions and classes that usually separated them from others of lower status as a show of civility and gratitude for one another.

And Death the youngest favored the holiday, in fact he was its greatest fan and celebrated it every year. Which was a surprise to the Goddess Spring given her dear husband’s solitary nature and not so subtle irritation at large gatherings. Let it be said that Sans denied Papyrus very little, and let him want for nothing.

An admirable trait in her spouse.

“My lady are you not enjoying the wine?” Frisk blinked free of her thoughts and spared a glance at her goblet, sitting wholly untouched and turning bitter the longer she ignored it and allowed it to spoil.

A longstanding tradition on this day was that women alone were allowed to drink of the spirits and indulge in the fresh aged fruits of the last harvest, a tradition she always enjoyed, but now served as nothing but a reminder of lost youth and unwanted vows.

Frisk was gradually coming to accept the chains that tied her to her husband, and deeply appreciated the way in which he treated her as not only an adult, but as a partner, an equal. However it did little to ease the sadness she felt at times such as these, reminding her of the choices she’d unwittingly made that hadn’t truly been choices at all.

This year she wouldn’t be dancing among the snow of the surface, nor would she sit gossiping with her mother and her wood nymphs about plans for future growth and vegetation. Where once she used to greet the time of year with enthusiasm and eagerness, now sat nothing but a rock hard pit in her stomach that even Ambrosia couldn’t fill.

She felt out of place, and just a little bit lonely.

“Forgive me, but my stomach is not quite right tonight.” She forced a smile, small and fragile, but still genuine as she looked to her handmaiden. “Tonight I am not your lady, we are as equals, did you forget?”

Daisy smiled as she took the opportunity and reached down to take the neglected drink, boldly taking a sip from it before offering Frisk a warm smile. “No matter the time or day you will always be my lady. As long as you’ll have me.”

Frisk chuckled before looking out to the crowd, her golden eyes skimming the dancers supplied by Mother Night as she caught the sight of Lord Fyre in hushed whispers with a fair skinned and golden haired Underworld denizen.

Vaguely she tried to recall all the fallen heroes she’d been told would be allowed to attend but no name came to mind, maybe they were a member of the Asphodel Meadows?

“I take it Iris and Hyacinth are enjoying themselves?” She asked absently just as her eyes spotted her husband standing beside the hearth speaking with his brother.

As if he could feel her gaze like a touch he subtly shifted his fathomless sockets to meet her.

Quickly Frisk averted her eyes with a grimace, and not so quiet skip of her heart. How he could draw such a reaction from her when she could just barely tolerate his presence she’d never know, and even as she watched Daisy blush, her flames tinting a slight shade darker, she swore she could still feel him watching her.

Sans’s gaze always unsettled her, just as much as it drew her in like a vortex.

“Iris is currently in the kitchens, and Hyacinth, is showing Lord Cadmus around.” The way Daisy said his name was enough to make Frisk stare at her in shock. Cadmus, the hero of letters, how fitting given Hyacinth’s nature. Though it was still the last thing she’d expected of the elemental.

“I see…” Even her handmaidens dreamed of love she supposed, something she’d never really given much thought to. Was that one of the reasons behind their constant push for her to get close to Sans? “Well I hope she enjoys herself.”

Daisy offered a timid grin. “Are you sure it’s only your stomach that ails you tonight?”

Frisk dismissed her worry with a shake of her head. “Don’t worry Daisy, go have fun, you fuss over me enough every day as is.”

Reluctantly the young fiery girl nodded and did as Frisk suggested, but not without offering a backward glance that the goddess waved off with a teasing smile. Slowly she let her hand drop and went back to looking out over the crowd.

She felt like such a stick in the mud, truly not an attitude befitting of a queen.

Gracefully as she could, and still doing her best to ignore San’s continuously lingering stare, she skirted the side of the hall and slipped away behind a gathered group of souls. She didn’t stop holding her breath or head high until she’d safely made it back to her room, where she finally let her shoulders sag and sighed from sudden exhaustion.

Papyrus might not be too pleased at her absence, but it was better than sitting in place all night frowning and pouting like a child. Frisk had gone to such lengths to show her mother and the other gods she was worthy of her title, she refused to spoil it all in one evening.

More than halfway across her room she froze, her eyes going wide in disbelief, as they caught on a small object resting in the center of her bed.

Had someone been in her room?

Frisk’s heart anxiously fluttered in her chest as she debated on returning to the party or taking another step further into her room. Never before now had she noticed just how thick the curtains were that adorned her windows, or just how dark the corners of her chamber were where the miniscule candle light didn’t reach.

Cautiously she inched forward, the ichor in her veins pounding like a drum as she shakily reached for it with all the control of a quivering branch.

It fit perfectly in her hand, its texture like that of smooth glass with a coolness that sent a chill up to her shoulder. He guard dropped as she slowly raised it to eye level and turned it this way and that. It looked like a flat and rounded piece of polished obsidian, with golden leaf decorating it’s edges in swirling floral designs.

A mirror, designed to be easily concealed and for discrete use.

She frowned.

Honestly Frisk wasn’t one to fret over her appearance, she never had been, always preferring wild and tangled hair with robes slightly worn at the fringes from hours spent in the dirt or walking. The only ones that showed any care to her looks were her caretakers and, on a less comfortable note, her husband.

She turned it twice over, as if the name of the person who had left this would magically appear if she simply kept looking, and nearly dropped it as the surface brightened, turning white hot and blinding.

Just as quickly as it happened it dimmed, and in its place was an image, crystal clear and moving.

Frisk gasped as she recognized one of the flower fields in which she used to play, now blanketed in freshly fallen snow, the picture of her mother standing silent and stoic as she looked out over the winter landscape.

It was a looking glass! A magical item so very rare that only three gods she knew of had one, and none of them this small or intricately decorated. Whoever this was from had obviously put a lot of considerable effort into having it made.

“does my lady wife like her gift?”

She hadn’t expected his presence with the celebrations currently going on, but honestly she should have. Sans always had the habit of suddenly appearing from around corners or showing up spontaneously.

Frisk spun on her heel, her hand quickly darting up to brush away the tears beading in her eyes as they widened at seeing her husband standing just within the dark shadows of the doorway.

At this point in their relationship she’d grown accustomed to his comings and goings. The only thing she never understood behind the actions was if it was done simply because he liked to use his name and title as the lord of death to unnerve others and to demonstrate the power he held, or if it was merely a fleeting moment of whimsy for a cheap thrill.

One thing that always irritated her to no end though, was that he enjoyed targeting her the most.

Such as now; with an embarrassed flush on her cheeks and a jolt of shame running down her spine as she struggled to hide the very emotion she so blatantly wore. Gifts between spouses was a tradition, but she hadn’t given any thought to it. She didn’t think for a moment her lord husband would be partial to the tradition.

Frisk should have known better given how their whole relationship had even started.

“I...am afraid I did not prepare anything for you in turn.”

His gaze, always so penetrating and watchful, dropped from her face to the looking glass she clutched to her chest, not missing the subtle way her knuckles whitened as she subconsciously tightened her hold on it.

As if he’d try to steal it away from her.

Sans’s smile widened. “what more gift could a husband want than the company of his wife?”

Her face stung as it turned red, and her voice came out uncertain, higher in pitch, as she stared at him. “I trust you mean platonically?”

“I have the desires of any man, for his bride, and while i wouldn’t turn away such an offer...”

She tensed as his sockets did a slow, calculated roll of her form before flickering back up to her face, the gesture causing her heart to skip for the second time that night. “in this instance my intentions are entirely innocent.” He chuckled.

Frisk watched as he held a hand out in offer, his phalanges slightly curling as if beckoning her to him with a still ever present grin. It would be so easy, in another time and place, for Frisk to have believed the innocence behind his smile. But he always wore it, when amused, irritated, and when being cruel as Death often had to be.

It made it so hard to understand him.

Casually she slipped the now darkened looking glass within her robes and tried her best to keep her expression unreadable as she placed her hand in his, the icy touch of his bones draining the warmth from her, but never able to steal it all completely.

The edges of his smile seemed to soften as he glanced down.

It did something to her to see that. He acted so touch starved, so easily awed every time they had the briefest of contact.

They both stood there in silence, his thumb slowly running circles into the back of her hand the longer he held it. She sucked in a breath at the shiver it sent up her spine but dared an uncertain look up at him.

“Are we not going somewhere?”

His subtle movement stopped but he didn’t look away from where they stayed joined.

“is there somewhere you wish to go?”

She didn’t respond, and he took that as an answer. He gave one more slow, deliberate, stroke of his thumb before finally releasing her. If Frisk didn’t know better she’d have thought she’d heard a small sigh from him.

And then she finally noticed the faint blush on his cheeks.

“...Sans?”

“hmm?”

“Have you been drinking?”

He looked her in the eye as his grin hitched higher. “whatever gave that impression?”

Frisk narrowed her eyes at him suspiciously, the faint blush darkening as she stared him down and cultivated one on her own cheeks. She hadn’t noticed just how cute his magic could sometimes manifest itself, just how it left a vague ethereal glow that bathed the inside of his normally obscure hood.

“Sans…only women are supposed to drink today.”

His sockets lidded. “from what i could see earlier in the night, you weren’t in the mood, and it would’ve been rude to waste wine provided by asgore himself.”

She knew he was using a poor excuse, but it was enough of one it lit a flicker of embarrassment in her. Frisk stubbornly focused on one of the gold medallions that held up his cloak to avoid eye contact.

“You just wanted to drink.”

“can you fault me? it was my favorite after all.” She glared at his cheeky smirk. “pomegranate.”

“...”

“...If only divorce was an option.”

Sans’s sockets widened and then he let out such a deep, bass heavy, laugh Frisk openly gawked at him. It took a moment for him to compose himself but once he had his voice was filled with mirth.

“sadly it isn’t. i would only welcome the challenge to make you mine yet again, if i could.”

She couldn’t think of a response to that, not one that wasn’t insulting at least, and really she didn’t feel like trying to argue with the thick skulled god before her, it would be pointless, Sans never backed down when it came to a play on words.

Silence stretched before he spoke again.

“i should be getting back to the celebration, gillby wanted to talk to me regarding a trade of some sort.”

Frisk suddenly felt a pang that made her grimace. She hadn’t realized she’d actually been enjoying the company. Maybe it was because they rarely spoke, or maybe she was just that emotionally vulnerable tonight, but her words were hesitant and honest.

“I understand...I enjoyed this. The casual conversation.”

Her husband tilted his head.

“i should be thanking you, this was just the break i needed from the crowd.”

Despite herself she chuckled. “Of course, why would I ever assume you asked for my company purely for it alone?”

He went silent, the brim of his hood covering his sockets as his tone came out blunt. “if this wasn’t what i desired i wouldn’t have asked for this when you offered me a gift in turn.”

How did he keep doing that? Slipping behind her walls so easily with honeyed words after repeatedly testing their strength with his indifference and often selfish actions? He barely ever tried but it was always enough to make her question her stance on him.

“You’d better hurry back, I don’t think Grillby will be sober enough to remember his reasons if you don’t.” She whispered.

Sans gave a small bow, his hand swiftly cupping hers and bringing it to his teeth for a kiss. When he stood her hand was still lifted, frozen in place by confusion and surprise.

“i bid thee goodnight, happy solstice my queen.”

He vanished.

Frisk opened and closed her mouth dumbly, an almost plea for him to stay forever trapped on the tip of her tongue. She stared at where her husband had stood and slowly pulled out her looking glass.

Her first Solstice in the Underworld hadn’t gone well as it could’ve been, but it was still memorable.

#frans #adult frans #sans x frisk #fransmas 2020 #secret santa 2020 #fated au #comfort?#longing #i'm with shay i just want the chus already lol #fanfic #undertale #alternate universe #fluff #yep beauty and the beasty feels #i couldn't resist

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badwolf-winchester · 3 years

Text

Ancient Bloodlines

Pairing: Loki x Emy Nightstar (OC)

OC Summary: Emy is the newest Avenger. She specializes in Magic and close range attacks/ weapons. Her heritage is unknown to her as she was left at an orphanage door step when she was a young girl with only the memory of her name. She goes by her nickname Emy but has never told anyone her full name as its a reminder of her being abandoned. Emy can see through any illusion and Magic no matter how powerful they are or how strong the magic is and is unaware of this. Her powers include Telekinesis, Elemental Control, True Sight (as stated above) Enhanced healing and Shifting (she wont discover this till much later in the story). She loves to read, listen to music, play violin, sing, and draw.

Story Info: Takes place after infinity wars. Tony and Natasha are alive Steven comes back from the future after giving back the infinity stones. Vision is alive and living with Wanda in the tower. Thor and Loki live in the tower with the rest of the Avengers and for the sake of the story Himedall is alive and living with the rest of the Asgardians on earth in New Asgard (you will find out why later)

One last thing: Please do not repost my work on any other site or social media, however reblogging on here is fine. I work hard on all of my fanfics and it’s disappointing when people take my work as their own. I am the creater of all my OCs such as Sora Nightstar, Emy Nightstar, and Lithium Nightstar. My inbox is open for any and all requests as i am a multi fandom writer. Let me know how you like the story and i will do my best to answer any and all questions. As always i encourage any and all feedback as it helps with my writing. I hope you all like it!

The Beginning

They say that your parents are there to teach you the rules of the world, but what happens when you have no parents? Who will teach you then? The world is cruel but people are crueler. Ive learned this first hand when the person i trusted most in this world left me on the door step of the St. Trinity’s Orphanage. I was 9 when my mother told me she didn’t want me anymore and i guess I couldn’t really blame her. I mean who could love someone who couldn’t control the powers that grew with each passing year. Someone who started fires out of thin air when they had nightmares, conjured whirlwinds when startled, unfurled earthquakes when angered, spring forth rain showers when sad, and levitate objects when riddled with anxiety. I will never forget that day for its seared into my mind like its own person brand echoing with every beat of my heart. A monster thats what she called me, her own flesh and blood was a monster in her eyes, and i could see the relief when she ran from the solid oak door finally rid of the burden she had to put up with throughout the years. An abomination she cried as she reached the cobblestone sidewalk eager to be rid of me and by the pace she was going at i could tell she had more spring in her step than on the walk over from the bus we exited from. Unnatural she bellowed as she disappeared around the corner a ghost of a smile springing from her lips as she disappeared. These where the last words i would ever hear from my mother, if thats what you would call her.

Emy’s POV

Tonight was just like any other. Crisp cold air submerged the city in a blanket of dark and silence while it settled into your bones. I never minded the cold in fact I welcomed it, it reminded me of the cabin i found one year after running away from one of the many abusive foster homes i was forced to stay with. I’ll admit it was one of the times I was able to avoid the social workers for longer than a week and the happiest I had ever been in my life up until i was captured by Hydra. When I had a flair up with my powers, which usually ended up being fire, i would immediately get sent back to St. Trinity’s but this time i ran before they had the chance to toss me aside. The staff there used to place bets on how long i would stay with a family, they would joke saying i was cursed or jinxed but i knew the truth, no one wanted me. Once the parents found out about my abilities I was sent packing. I was labeled as a flight risk and a danger to others which only deepened my anti socialism.

Walking through the streets of New York i pull my dark purple jacket on and my dark brown hair in a pony tail as I get closer to my destination. Because i don’t feel the effects of the cold weather Tony, being such the dad figure he is, has made it his priority to make sure i still wear one just incase so here i was walking home in black ripped up jeans, a black v neck T-shirt, black and purple checkered vans and a light weight dark purple jacket. With my headphones in my ears and “I like it heavy” by Halestorm blasting I make my way to the place i call home, Stark Tower. Walking through the front doors i make my way past the receptionist who always greets me with a bright smile. As I walk towards the elevator I give her a small smile back and a head nod. After entering the elevator and pressing the button for the penthouse I start to reflect on how i got here.

By the time i was 15 Hydra found me in that cabin and took me away. I went from hopping from family to family to being used as a science experiment, constantly being poked and prodded just so they could get a reaction out of me. As a child my powers where very unstable mostly flaring up with my emotions, its no wonder that Hydra caught wind of me its not like i was hiding it very well or more so that i couldn’t hide it. They tried to wipe my memory to gain control of me “a blank slate” is what they wanted, but for some reason, they failed as I wasn’t susceptible to their conditioning methods no matter how much time i spent in the chair. However, I could tell they were scared of me I could see it in their eyes. This didn’t last long though as they used what they called their perfect weapon code name Winter Soldier to beat me into submission. After that first meeting that left me with a broken arm and a fractured ankle i started to obey, since then Ive met the Soldier a couple of times but if he remembers me he dosent let on and I dont blame him, he has been in that chair so many times Im genuinely surprised he can even remember how to walk. He is stronger than the others as most of the other test subjects had turned to vegetables after the 4th mind wipe, he was on his 10th the last time i saw him with Hydra.

Another test was done on me and this one was different. They used a teseract? If thats what they called it I can’t be sure nor did I care all I could feel was pain like as if someone injected lava in my veins. After they injected me I started screaming after a while I couldn’t even hear myself anymore, my throat was so sore and horse from the constant roar of my agony I just wanted it to end. How long was I out for? Seconds? Minutes? Hours? Days? Years? They didn’t keep clocks there or at least not in the dungeon like cell they had me in. When the fire faded i was left with this numbness and after further tests I realized that I was immune to fire. I can literally stick my hand in fire and i will be left untouched and unscorched. They did the same test with freezing temperatures to see if they could subdue me at least in some way. I must have been out longer than just a couple of days as during the tests i didn’t recognize any of the Doctors. In that moment I realized something, if they were trying to contain me then something must have happened to the soldier. It was time to plan my escape.

Back in my cell i could hear footsteps approaching me and then stop short. One of the scientists frantically trying to talk some sense into someone just out of my line of sight. “She is immune to anything we throw at her sir. We have done every test we could there is nothing left for us to do.” One of the goons in a lab coat stated to what i assumed is a higher up. “Bolden If her powers keep growing at the rate they are it could be days in which she will be unstoppable and with the soldier gone we dont have anything that can keep her in line. She broke Mandy and Rays arms the last time we tested her. She is getting too strong.” Brining a hand up to his chin the higher up Bolden stepped out of the shadows and looked at me with deep interest before he turned to looked at the man and scoffed. As he walked away i felt a cold chill ran down my back as I anticipated what was to become of me; I knew it was nothing good i had already broken their rules. His next words only confirmed what I feared. “ Its simple. Break her spirit or kill her Doctor. And when i say break her i mean in anyway means necessary.” His sadistic laugh is the last thing i remember before everything went black.

Its been 2 years since i have escaped and now I’m living in the avengers tower. I don’t remember what happened after that night in my cell its all a blur of red, screams, and gunshots. When i woke up next i was in a 6ft crater where I was being held captive without a scratch on me. Trees were uprooted and fallen over as if a bomb went off. Luckily the Avengers showed up not long after me waking up and took me to their base where i met Directer Fury. With his permission and 24/7 surveillance provided by Tony Stark via FRIDAY and training sessions to get my powers under control i was allowed to join the Avengers and fight for good. Little did i know that by agreeing to this I would end up in the path of a certain God or Gods who were also taking residence at the tower.

With the sound of a *ding* the elevator shook me out of my mind and back to the present. As i exited the elevator I pulled my head phones out of my ears and was instantly met with the sound of Tony losing his mind. “Where did she go? She knows she can’t be out this late. She could be taken again! Its 5 minutes past her curfew!” Rolling my eyes I roll my headphones up and shove them in my pocket and round the corner. “Tony it takes 5 minutes to get from the lobby to the penthouse calm down. I bet she will walk through that door anytime now.” Came the sweet voice of reason of none other than Pepper Potts. “I’m Home.” I said in a deadpan voice as i walked by the couple only for Tony to stand up and intercept me by placing a hand on my upper arm. “Where did you go and why didn’t you tell me you were leaving?” I looked at him and raised an eyebrow pushing his hand off me. “Tony its Wednesday. I have training with Strange on Wednesdays and I had Friday alert you as I was leaving but you were in the lab with Bruce.” Not sure what to say next Tony mumbled a small apology. “Sorry I was just worried about you. I know you are grown enough to make your own choices as you are 25 but I just want to make sure you are safe. How was the training with The Wizard?” Sighing and shaking my head just wanting to go the library and read I decided to just let it go. “Strange is a hard ass that much you already know. It wasnt bad actually I think I’m warming up to him. I didn’t spontaneously throw him to the wall when he snuck up behind me as i was going over the ancient texts so i call that improvement.” I said sheepishly while side stepping around him. “I’m gonna go to the library now and grab some light reading before bed you guys have a good night.” With out waiting for a response I quickly made my way towards my new destination only to have Tony saying something about guests in the house but I ignored him.

Pushing open the library door I make my way to the poetry section to grab my usual copy of Edgar Allen Poe that I read before bed. As my had reached for the spot i knew i put the book in i find that its not there. “Wait what? Where is my book? I know I put it back here before I left for training so where did it go?” Frustrated I stomp back over to the entrance and rip open the door ready to go on a murder spree while shouting down the hallway. “CLINT! You better give me back my night time book or I’m breaking all your arrows again! No one reads in this tower but me! How stupid do you think I am!?” Straining my ears I listen for any type of movement but was met with dead silence. After a minute I finally hear movement through the vents coming from the west part of the tower and I take off sprinting. Sliding around a corner I barely miss colliding with Steve and Bucky who look like they were on their way back from a mission. Offering a quick apology before I continue my pursuit I hear Steve yell “Hey! No running in the tower!” Not faltering in my hot pursuit of the Hawk thief I continue to zip through the tower ignoring the Captains words until i was almost to the vent that lead to the 2 level family room. Using the railing for the steps leading down to the family area to give me more height i jumped as close to the vent as possible and conjured my signature Scythe to slice through it while twisting in the air kicking the vent free and off its track. A shocked and terrified scream resonates from the vent as the culprit falls to the ground with a thud and a grunt. I landed in a crouched position and slowly straightened to my full hight. “What the hell Emy?! When did you learn to do that?!” Clint yells as he sits up rubbing his left shoulder that he landed on. I started stalking towards him with the blade of my scythe scrapping across the ground as i went while giving him a death glare. “Give me back my book Barton.” At the mention of his last name his head snapped up to me fear replacing the pain from his fall. “Oh shit last name not good.” Scrambling up on his feet he turns and runs towards the common room that connects to the elevator with me hot on his tail and my scythe trailing behind me in my right hand.

“Shit shit shit shit shit shit SHIT!!” He yells as he makes it fully to the room only to fling forward as i jump and kick his back tired of all the running. Twirling my weapon around I place it at his neck sneering at him. “I will not ask you again.” I said placing pressure on his neck with my blade. Sensing a fast moving object coming from my left from the kitchen I move my head back 3 inches as what looked like a hammer flew by me embedding itself in the wall. Turning my head slowly in the direction of the flying object, I confirmed it was indeed a hammer that was thrown at me. Irritation flared through me as i released Clint from the end of my scythe and turned fully to the kitchen to face my attacker. There stood 2 men that i did not recognize, one tall oak of a man with blond short hair, blue eyes and tan skin in blue jeans, a red T-shirt ,and grey jacket. the other shorter man made me stare at him and faultier for a second as he was so different from anyone i have ever seen, dark blue skin covered his entire body with darker almost black symbols and piercing red eyes, long black hair with black jeans, a green dress shirt and black jacket. Tearing my gaze away from his own curious one i looked between both men before i clenched my jaw letting my irritation settle back in. “Which one of you threw that hammer.” I said venom dripping with every word. “Whoa its ok Emy thats just Thor and Loki they are the asgardian Gods that live here in the tower part time when they are not in Norway.” Clint said standing up quickly. Not moving from my position i narrowed my eyes and flicked them over in Clint’s direction. The ground started to shake as my irritation and annoyance grew to anger remembering what i was doing before being interrupted by the Gods. Throwing his hands up in surrender he then quickly reached into his back pocket and retrieved my book. “Ok ok dont blow a fuse Em.” He said while tossing me my possession stopping me from causing an earthquake. Catching it in the air with my left had I inspected the book to make sure it wasn’t damaged before I let go of my scythe, with a wave of my hand it disappeared back to the pocket dimension I keep it in then looked back at Clint as the tremors stopped. “Touch my things again and i will be wearing your guts like my mom’s pashmina.” I said to the thief before walking out of the room and disappeared down the hallway not giving the Gods a second glance. As I entered my room i could hear a silky voice ring out from the kitchen. “Well isnt she interesting.”

Part 2 coming soon

@nickkie1129

#loki x y/n #loki odinson #loki series #loki #loki x reader #loki x you #loki (marvel)#loki laufeyson #marvel #avengers x reader #the avengers #clint barton #tony stark #doctor strange #thor odinson #steve rogers #bucky barns #pepper potts

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wingsofkpop · 3 years

Text

Hiraeth - I.IX: Bloodborne

pairing(s): Hybrid!Im Jaebeom x Reader, Witch!Mark Tuan x Reader, Werewolf!Jackson Wang x Reader, Vampire!Park Jinyoung x Reader, Supernatural!Got7 x Reader

genre: Supernatural!AU, Dark Magic!AU, heavy Angst, eventual Smut

warnings: Mature language, mentions of death and murder, violence, explicit descriptions of fighting, blood and gore, some satanic themes, mentions of trauma, etc.

word count: 6,5k

synopsis: How far are you willing to go to find out the truth about Moon Dye Bay?…

chapter directory

“—so once Youngjae channels enough power from the blood moon tonight, he’ll be able to lower the veil between the Other Side and the physical plane long enough to resurrect your spirit into a mortal body.” You explain, glancing over your notes at the unusually quiet figure sitting on your bed. Something about his expression seems distant—almost sorrowful.

After your return from the hospital, and after the long chat with your roommate convincing her that your absence all night was due to a last minute work emergency, a certain ghost phased into your bedroom. You wouldn’t allow yourself to be this concerned, but during his visits, Jackson usually never shuts up. If you were all alone with no one to talk to, you probably wouldn’t either.

You lower your notebook and shake your head, “You haven’t said one word since you showed up. What’s wrong?”

Jackson purses his lips, as if nervous to relay the thoughts swirling through his mind. Another brief moment of silence passes before he finally murmurs, “It’s the witches. They’re starting to get suspicious again… I don’t know how long I have before they figure out I’ve been crossing over to this plane.”

“Then we’ll just have to bring you back before they find out.” You grab your phone from your desk, checking through your notifications to see if a certain siphoner has yet responded to your dozens of texts and calls. No dice.

You haven’t been able to reach Youngjae since yesterday morning, which is odd considering the guy is the type to respond within three seconds of receiving a message. It would be one thing if he let you know that he’s busy, but it’s complete radio silence. It’s not like Youngjae at all.

“You’re worried about something.”

Your eyes dartup at Jackson’s observation, discovering his concerned gaze focused on you.

“It’s Youngjae.” You sigh, “I haven’t heard from him, but I’m sure he’s just busy brewing potions or something.” You expect to earn at least a chuckle from the ghost, but his silence remains along with the blank expression along his face. His same distant demeanor also lingers, and this time, your concern grows to panic. “What is it, Jackson? What’s going on?”

“I didn’t want to say anything cause I was sure it was all in my head, but I feel that something is… weird.”

“Weird?”

“It’s hard to explain.” He continues, “But as a ghost, I can feel things around me… like right now, the universe just seems off—” His voice cuts out as he frantically shakes his head, “Anyway, I just want you to be careful. Mark used to tell me that disrupting the balance of nature is like opening Pandora’s box.”

“Yeah. We will be doing none of that.” You set your phone down before crossing the room to kneel in front of Jackson. A grin lifts to your lips as you hum to the ghost, “So what do you feel when you’re around me?...”

Jackson raises an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

“You said you feel things around you… Do you feel anything special when you’re with me?”

You’re surprised at the eagerness that swells in your chest as he takes his time to think over your question. The inquiry was supposed to be a joke to lighten the mood, but you’re actually curious about your companion’s ghastly perceptions. After maybe a minute or two, Jackson sends you a small smile:

“I feel… light.”

“Light? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You have this aura around you.” Jackson affirms, mindlessly reaching forward thumb at your cheek. You obviously can’t feel his touch, but something in your gut tells you that if you could, you would feel nothing but warmth. “I feel powerful when I’m with you…”

“Is that a good thing?”

He grins, “I think so.”

You continue to stare at one another for a moment, almost attempting to read the depths in each other’s eyes. It’s not until a harsh knock resonates from the front door do you finally break the gaze, offering Jackson a final hum, “I’ll bring you back as soon as I can. I promise.”

Jackson nods, “I know you will. But like I said, please be careful.”

“I will. See you soon.” You wait for Jackson to disappear completely before exiting your bedroom, cursing Sana for leaving you to deal with whoever is incessantly banging on your door. It’s probably the old lady from across the hall wanting to borrow another cup of sugar. You roll your eyes at the thought and open the door, ready to politely decline your neighbor’s request.

Your words die on your tongue—definitely not the old lady from across the hall.

“Mark? What are you—?”

“What? Not expecting to see me?” Mark’s hostile growl takes you by surprise, as does the furious expression etched along his features. “That’s not surprising since you’ve been ignoring me.”

“I’ve been busy.”

“Oh. I’m sure.”

You cross your arms over your chest. “What the hell is your problem?”

“You wanna know what my problem is?” Mark takes a step closer to you before pointing a finger in your direction, “The fact that you not only lie to me, but you go behind my back and then deliberately avoid me for days on end.”

“What are you even talking about, Mark?”

“I’m talking about you and Youngjae playing God and resurrecting Jackson.”

Your muscles instantly freeze, as if Mark had taken a tub of ice water and thrown it over your head. The annoyance inside your chest shifts to guilt, and your once cold features cannot help but soften.

You shake your head, “Mark, I—”

“Do you know how dangerous it is to bring someone back from the dead, (Y/N)?” Mark lowers his voice, but his tone remains as frigid as his gaze. “Do you know the consequences that happen when you fuck with the balance of nature?”

“I get that, but—it’s complicated, Mark… There’s things you don’t understand—”

“I don’t understand!?” He scoffs, “Last I checked, I’m the goddamn witch here, (Y/N)! You know nothing about magic and its sacrifice!”

“Maybe not, but I do know that there is a chance I could bring Jackson back!” You shake your head again, “Please, just give me a chance to explain—”

“No. Because it’s not fucking happening.” Mark interrupts, furiously shaking his own head. “I forbid you to do this.”

It’s like a switch goes off in your mind. Your guilt immediately transforms, but this time, it configures into rage:

“You forbid me!? Who the flying fuck do you think you are!?”

“I won’t sit back and allow you to get yourself killed—!”

“And last I checked, you don’t have the right to control what I do and the decisions I make!” You seethe, stepping further back into your apartment. “This is my choice. I’m resurrecting Jackson whether you like it or not.”

“Fine! Get yourself fucking killed for all I care!” The witch raises his hands in mock surrender. “At least then I won’t have to deal with your reckless, moronic ass!”

“Fuck you, Mark.” You don’t allow the witch to say anything further and slam the door in his face. Your chest remains unbearably heavy, both physically and mentally, but you ignore the sweltering emotions and begin to traverse around the apartment, gathering your bag and other assorted belongings.

A confused and rather concerned Sana emerges from her bedroom a few seconds later. “Are you okay? What was with all that yelling?”

“Don’t worry about it,” You huff, shoving your arms through the sleeves of your jacket. “Just Mark being a douchebag, as per usual.”

“Where are you going?”

“To find Youngjae.”

“Isn’t it kind of late?”

“I’m an adult, Sana.” You snap before throwing your bag over your shoulder. “Don’t wait up for me.”

Similar to Mark, you don’t allow Sana the chance to question you further and sprint out the front door, praying that Youngjae will be up to bringing Jackson back in the next few hours.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

Mark has never exercised the greatest control over his emotions. It first began when he was twelve, after his dad walked out on his mom. He found himself sobbing his eyes out some days, and beating the shit out of other kids on others. His mood ranged from intense rage to extreme depression. There was no in between.

In an effort to help, his mom enrolled him in a program designed to teach teens how to handle their emotions. But to no one’s surprise, the therapy didn’t do shit and Mark continued to initiate fights and cry himself to sleep most nights. He never understood why he felt this way—he still doesn’t, to be honest. His dad and him were never close, nor did he ever really care about his sudden departure. Maybe he was just an angry kid with depression. Maybe it was something else.

It wasn’t until his mom was killed did Mark begin to pull his life together, which also happened to be around the same time he met the too-friendly, homeschooled kid with an ego the size of Jupiter, Jackson Wang. Sure, the two of them butted heads every so often, but with Jackson being a werewolf, Mark learned the importance of managing the chaos within. ‘Emotion is like a loaded gun,’ he remembers Jackson once said, ‘If you let yourself pull the trigger without first aiming down sights, then you risk sinking a bullet into someone you love.’ Those words remain with him—remind him what means to stay in control.

But when it involves the people he loves, Mark can’t always regulate the ticking bomb counting down in his soul.

An ache settles in his chest as he recalls the passionate fire in your gaze. There’s always been some parts of you that reminds Mark of his past friend, specifically your stubbornness and inability to think before you act. He’s never found himself hating those parts of you until now—and he shouldn’t, Mark knows that, but he’s so fucking angry and so fucking scared of losing yet another one of the most important people in his life.

He’s experienced his fair share of loss, but losing you… It would break him. Completely.

Mark tries to push the intrusive thoughts from the forefront of his mind and focus on navigating his way through the dark maze of headstones and crumbling tombs. Right after you slammed your front door in his face, he received a text from Youngjae summoning him, Jisung and Lia to an emergency meeting at the edge of the cemetery. He’s still mad at the siphoner for assisting with your reckless scheme, but he won’t allow his pettiness to interfere with the safety of the coven.

A sigh falls from his lips—he does regret ever saying those ending words to you though… because what if they’re the last ones you hear from him.

‘I’m so sorry, Jackson…’

Mark’s misery is forgotten when he notices a group of people up ahead. He recognizes Lia, Jisung and Youngjae flocked together inside a chalk-white circle surrounded by lit torches. For a moment, Mark wonders if they’re in the middle of performing some type of seance, but his curiosity dwindles into confusion when he grows aware of the panic present in each set of their features.

He breaks into a sprint to cover more distance, approaching the strangely placed trio in no time. At the sight of him, Lia immediately bursts into tears, furthering the anxiety bubbling at the back of his throat.

“What the hell is going on!?”

“Hyung! You have to get out of here right now!” Mark notices the swollen, angry flesh of Youngjae’s bottom lip as he speaks, along with the ugly bruise underneath his left eye.

“What happened?” He ignores the siphoner’s warnings, attempting to reach inside the circle and grab Lia’s arm. However, his hand is met with resistance—a boundary spell. “Who did this to you?”

Lia sobs, “Just go, Mark! Before he hurts you!”

“Before who hurts me!? What are you—” His demands die in his throat as another figure appears from behind a large, marble gravestone. He immediately recognizes the newcomer, which sends even more confusion through his veins. “Seo Changbin? What the hell is this?”

“It’s an emergency meeting, hyung.” Mark feels his entire body freeze when the familiar, conniving voice enters his ears. “You had me a little worried… I almost thought you wouldn’t show up.”

“You have got to be fucking kidding me.” Mark whirls around to face a smirking Minho cockily leaning against the wall of an empty tomb. “What kind of game do you think you’re playing, Minho?”

The younger witch shrugs before pushing off the wall to pace around the area. As he draws closer and closer, Mark can spy an ancient, navy blue ring sitting heavily on his forefinger. He’s never seen any piece of jewelry like it before, but something in his gut told him it wasn’t just a simple ring—and that he’s definitely in some kind of trouble.

“Mind explaining to me what we’re doing here? Or are you just going to continue pacing around the place like a cocky bastard?”

“Tonight is a special night, hyung… You wanna know why?” He watches Minho point to the night sky, “In just a few minutes, the moon will drift into the Earth’s shadow and the light of the sun will reflect across the moon’s surface, thus causing a blood moon… It’s actually pretty cool—”

“For Christsake, Minho—get to the goddamn point.”

“You know, for years I had to deal with all your bullshit excuses and justifications of putting our coven in danger—it was only a matter of time until one of us ended up dead, don’t you think?”

A bitter memory of Nayeon’s corpse resurfaces, but Mark remains silent.

“Everyone was too fucking blind, but I saw right through you.” Mark doesn’t move a muscle when Minho suddenly approaches, crowding his space until his nose is mere inches from brushing his own. The younger witch’s harsh glare bleeds into his soul as he continues, “You’re a poor fucking excuse for a leader, hyung—a leader who can’t even protect his own people.”

“And you think you can do better, huh?” Mark growls, glaring his own daggers into Minho’s gaze. “You have no fucking clue what it takes to run this coven… Admit it, you’re just pissed they chose me over you.”

“And look where that got them.”

“You need to cut out whatever petty bullshit this is and let Youngjae, Jisung and Lia go.” Mark murmurs, “Whatever problems you have are with me, so let’s just talk it out, okay?”

“Oh, Mark-hyung…” Minho’s gaze is unwavering from his own as he lifts a hand to rest on Mark’s shoulder. It’s a second too late that Mark realizes it is the same hand in which holds the mysterious ring:

“I’m over talking it out.”

Youngjae’s screams and Lia’s sobs echo in his ears along with the words that spill from Minho’s lips—they’re foreign, but Mark recognizes the spell right away. He tries to squirm and fight against the perpetrator’s grip, but another pair of hands keep his body in place—Changbin.

Bit by bit, Mark feels the buzz of his magic lift from his veins like a flock of doves. His limbs grow weak and his head fuzzy. Soon enough, his own knees no longer bear the strength to hold his weight. Once both Minho and Changbin release him, Mark collapses to the ground—empty and unable to rise.

“What did you do to him!?” Mark hears Jisung’s voice for the first time, although his brain is not fully able to comprehend the inquiry.

“I took his magic. He won’t be needing it anymore.”

Mark manages to find enough strength to reposition his body in a way that allows him to watch both Minho and Changbin approach a makeshift altar composed of an old, concrete coffin. Through the blur of his vision, he catches the witch stirring some kind of crimson mixture—likely blood. Minho looks to the moon, which is slowly brightening to a shade of maroon, before resting his gaze on his companion:

“It’s time.” He offers the mixture to Changbin, “Once you drink this, I can begin the transformation.”

“And you’re sure this spell will give me everything I need to take down the Primes?”

“One hundred percent.”

Take down the Primes?… Fucking hell.

“Minho! Don’t do this!” Mark can’t make out his own voice between the ringing of his ears and the beating of his heart, but he can only hope they’re audible enough for his audience. “The transformation—it won’t work!”

Youngjae shakes his head. “I don’t understand… What are you talking about, hyung?”

“He’s going to try to recreate the spell I used on Jackson on Changbin.” With a huff and a puff, Mark pushes himself to his hands and knees. He attempts to crawl forward, but the spinning of his head sends his body sprawling along the ground once again. He abandons any more thoughts of movement and speaks to Minho directly, “It will kill him—do you understand me!? You can’t—”

“You failed because you couldn’t draw enough power to complete the transformation.” Minho doesn’t even bother to look in his direction, “It will work—I know it will.”

Understanding there’s no possible way to convince the witch, Mark looks to the werewolf instead, “I’m warning you, Changbin! If you go through with this, you will die!”

“Don’t listen to him. Just drink the blood.”

“No! For fucksake, this is suicide!”

“Think of Jackson.” Minho murmurs to a torn Changbin, reaching across the altar to place a supportive hand on his shoulder. “Do it for him.”

“Changbin, don’t—!”

Mark watches in horror as Changbin throws back the mixture and downs its entirety in two gulps. His heart shatters like the glass vial the werewolf launches to the ground. He peers to his left, discovering the same shocked expressions across Youngjae, Jisung and Lia’s faces, and shakes his head in defeat as Lia begins to sob again.

“Filia maximo… Filia maximo… Morsus, morsus—” The wind begins to screech as Minho chants, tearing at Mark’s hair and nudging at his clothes, as if pleading for him to stop the spell. But there’s nothing he can do. For once, Mark is powerless. “—morsus… Advenio donec duo est revertus mors…” With a loud scream, Changbin collapses to the earth. He squirms and writhes in pain underneath the flaming light of the moon—and Mark can’t help but attempt to block out the snaps of his cracking bones.

The scene seems to last for hours until Changbin eventually grows silent. Mark takes the time to catch his breath, unable to control his lungs over the anxiety, fear and nausea lurking through his veins. He wants to look away from the still werewolf, but his gaze is as frozen as the rest of his body.

His eyes burn with tears of rage—Changbin is dead. Another person died because of his own fucking stupidity. Mark should have known this would happen again. He should have stopped it. He should have—

His thoughts disappear as Changbin suddenly gasps for air. For a moment, he claws at the earth as if attempting to ground himself, before he finally, albeit shakily, climbs to his feet. Minho cautiously approaches the wolf, peering down at the shorter male with a gaze full of concern.

“How do you feel?...”

“I feel…” Changbin flexes his fingers again, before closing them into tight fists. The moonlight illuminates the crimson glow of his irises and the sharpness of his long, black fangs as he faces the witch—a malicious smirk spreading along his lips as he chuckles, “I feel like kicking some ancient Prime ass.”

Mark can’t find the strength to watch anymore and allows his head to lower to the earth. Just before his eyes flutter shut, he swears he spots the movement of shadows from behind a nearby headstone. But before he can confirm his suspicions, his head takes one final spin and the world grows dark.

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

June 13th, 1769 — As much as I enjoy the atmosphere of Paris, I believe it is time to progress onto another part of the world. Some of the townsfolk are beginning to grow suspicious, considering I appear twenty years younger than my supposed age. Nevertheless, I will not mind a new start elsewhere. Jaebeom, on the other hand, will be a terror to convince. As he claimed last time I brought the idea to light, ‘There will never be a place more beautiful than Paris.’

But I know he is not through playing with his newest toy—Tzuyu.

I set sail for the newlands tomorrow at sunrise. Whether my brother decides to accompany me or not is solely his preference. It would be pleasant to spend some time apart—to spend some time in peace—but I know, with many complaints and reluctance, Jaebeom will board the ship tomorrow. Wherever I traverse, he follows, and vice versa. We are family, after all.

I will miss Notre Dame the most. I have grown used to visiting the Cathedral and repenting my wrongdoings to the high priest. Of course, I am forced to erase his memory of our talks each time, but it is nice to confess. It lifts a weight off of the shoulders, takes away a small portion of the guilt. If there is a god, he would never allow a creature like me to walk amongst his heavens—but at least I can salvage the lingering hope left inside of my soul. Speaking of hope, I thought I saw a woman that resembled Irene during my daily visit to the church. I find it amusing that after all these years, my heart continues to yearn for her presence. She was truly special—I wonder if she ever thought the same of me.

I’ve heard some of the sailors refer to a shore in the newland that has yet to be claimed. It may be the perfect location for Jaebeom and I to start anew. I can only hope it is as beautiful as people say. Maybe I will construct a place of worship as stunning as the Cathedral.

Isn’t that ironic?... A vampire who believes in faith.

Jinyoung finishes the entry with a sigh, welcoming the nostalgia that spreads through his thoughts like an old friend. It seems just yesterday that he recorded his first thoughts about the land that would become Moon Dye Bay. He shakes his head, carefully setting the old journal back on the bookshelf.

He never did build that church.

“Reminiscing again, brother?” The moment is ruined when a certain hybrid’s snicker reaches his ears. Jinyoung rolls his eyes as Jaebeom takes residence beside him, dragging his fingers along the spines of Jinyoung’s other diaries. “We did have some great times back in the 18th century… Remember our battles during the French Revolution? I rather enjoyed King Louis and Marie Antoinette’s executions.”

“You enjoy anything that involves bloodshed.”

“Don’t be so resentful, Jinyoungie. It’s not my fault that the queen had you in her interests.”

Jinyoung shakes his head before retreating to his desk to fix himself a drink. “The woman was as shallow as a poor soul’s ego. She was taken with any man who’d pay her the time of day. It was a miracle her death came as quickly as it did.”

“Careful there. You sound like me.”

Jinyoung deliberately chooses not to respond to Jaebeom’s comment and proceeds to pour two glasses of bourbon. He ignores his companion’s wide smirk as he hands him one of the drinks. Both the vampire and the hybrid simultaneously take a sip, peering at one another over the rims of their cups. Jaebeom is the first to break the silence with a pleased inhale and a hum:

“You returned pretty late last night. I hope you used protection during your time with (Y/N).”

“Mind your tongue, hyung.” Jinyoung warns, “I brought (Y/N) to the hospital after the attack—I trust you took care of Tzuyu?”

Jaebeom smirks. “Of course. She won’t be alive long enough to target your newest Maria Antonia again.”

About to inhale another sip of his bourbon, Jinyoung pauses to mull over the answer. He lowers his glass to his side before delivering Jaebeom a confused expression and a murmured inquiry, “What do you mean she won’t be alive?”

“Tzuyu and I got into an argument and, well, she pissed me off.” Jinyoung watches Jaebeom down the rest of his drink.

“Please tell me you didn’t bite her, Jaebeom-hyung.” He curses at the widening of Jaebeom’s smirk, slamming his glass back down on his desk with enough force to crack its exterior. “When I told you to deal with her, I didn’t mean condemn her to a fate of pain. If you wished to kill her, you could have at least been merciful and done it quick.”

“Last I checked, you said it yourself not to be kind.” Jinyoung follows Jaebeom as he pours himself another drink and collapses onto a brown, leather sofa. He tips his glass toward him with a smile before continuing, “I thought the punishment fit the crime, and we wouldn’t want to put helpless, human (Y/N) in danger again, would we?”

“You turned it off, didn’t you?” Jinyoung realizes, “Does holding onto your humanity wound you that badly, hyung? That you have no choice but to wish it away?”

“If I remember correctly, I’m not the only one that can’t hold onto their humanity… How many people did you kill in the ‘20s alone? One thousand? Maybe two?”

Jinyoung shakes his head, “I’m not that person anymore.”

“That’s where you’re wrong.” In the blink of an eye, Jaebeom is in front of Jinyoung—his glass in pieces on the floor beside him. He leans in until Jinyoung can taste the alcohol of his breath on his tongue, then whispers darkly, “You can lie to yourself all you fucking want, Jinyoung. But deep down, you’ll always know what you are… let’s just hope (Y/N) never finds out, hm?”

At the mention of your name, Jinyoung’s anger expands. He suppresses the urge to take the table beside him and smash it over the hybrid’s head, and instead inhales a deep breath. Jaebeom is only trying to provoke him—and he refuses to be a pawn in his foolish games.

“You will remember what it was like to feel human again.” Jinyoung sighs, “For your sake, I hope your remembrance comes sooner rather than later.”

Jaebeom tsks, “Being human is overrated.”

“He said the same thing about fate.” Both Jinyoung and Jaebeom whirl around at the appearance of a third voice. Jinyoung feels his blood begin to boil at the sight of the familiar vampire in the doorway, once again, suppressing his desire to launch a piece of furniture in her direction. “Ironically, fate and humanity are a package deal.”

Jaebeom growls, “What the fuck are you doing here, Tzuyu?”

“I came to try and convince you to give me your blood.” Tzuyu coughs, and Jinyoung swears he can hear the rattle of her bones. “But judging by your attitude, that’s obviously going to be harder than I thought.”

“You have courage for showing your face again.” Jinyoung crosses his arms with a dark hum, “Especially so soon after you nearly killed (Y/N).”

“It wasn’t my intention to kill her. I just wanted to send a message.”

“Is that so?” With a malicious glare, Jinyoung steps forward and tilts his head toward the vampire, “And what kind of message was that?”

“For (Y/N) to stay away from Jaebeom.” Another violent cough wracks through Tzuyu’s thin form, causing a light stream of blood to splatter from her lips. She wipes her mouth with a ragged breath before continuing, “Look, I did it for her own good. We all know his track record at keeping humans alive.”

“You did it to protect her!?” Jaebeom cackles, “Wow! That’s fucking priceless!”

“Say what you will, you both know I’m right.” Tzuyu says, propping herself up against a nearby bookshelf. “It’s either she ends up dead or is turned into a vampire—then again, there’s not much of a difference between the two, is there?”

“I would die before I allow (Y/N) to come to any harm.”

“The only issue with that is you can’t die, Jinyoung.” Jinyoung doesn’t take his eyes off Tzuyu as she grabs a bottle of brandy from the top shelf. It takes her literal seconds to unscrew the cap and down a good portion of the container. She licks her lips and says, “I’m sorry I attacked (Y/N), okay? I went too far. I won’t do it again.”

“You think an apology is enough to save your life?” Jaebeom snickers before snatching the alcohol from the vampire, “Think again, sweetheart.”

“What do you want from me, Jaebeom? Does seeing me die a slow, painful death bring you joy?”

He shrugs, “No one mourns for the wicked.”

“Is he always this much of an asshole?”

Jinyoung chuckles, “Pretty much.”

“Great.” The vampire breathes out a sigh and cards her fingers through her hair. After a brief moment of silence, she directs her attention back to Jaebeom and pleads—her voice packed with desperation and fear, “What can I do to convince you to let me live? Please, Jaebeom… I don’t want to die.”

“You should have thought about that before you touched what I told you not to.” Jinyoung remains quiet as Jaebeom lifts a hand to grasp Tzuyu’s jaw. The dying visitor remains unphased, proceeding to glare at the hybrid with hateful, yet oddly sorrowful eyes. “I suggest you show yourself out before I end your life sooner.”

“You’re going to lose everything one of these days, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu shakes her head sadly, wiping away a layer of cold sweat from her forehead. “You’re going to lose everyone, even your brother, and you’re going to be alone. For an eternity.”

“Save the monologue.” Jaebeom waves dismissively, taking a sip of the brandy before returning it back to its shelf. “Petty isn’t a good look for you, baby.”

“Fuck you, Jaebeom.” Tzuyu goes to stomp out the door, but something—someone blocks her path. The atmosphere changes when Jinyoung notices your panicked form, practically gasping for air and cross-eyed, standing in the doorway. He immediately speeds to your side without hesitation, grasping your hands in hopes to ground you.

He stares into your eyes, “What is it, (Y/N)? What’s wrong?”

“You and Jaebeom have to get the hell out of here! Right now!”

Jaebeom shakes his head in confusion, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“I don’t know what exactly happened but Minho turned Changbin into this dark werewolf creature or-or something… I do know, however, that Changbin is on his way right now to kill you both.” Jinyoung steps back at the intensity of your explanation, unable to think of a response over the roar of his thoughts. Through his peripheral vision, he can spot the same type of speechlessness across Jaebeom’s face.

Not again…

“That’s stupid… You realize nothing can kill them, right?” Tzuyu scoffs.

“This is different.” You urge, “I saw Changbin—he wasn’t like anything I’ve ever seen before… The spell that Minho used, it was-was—”

“Dark magic.” Jinyoung finishes blankly, “The spell was dark magic.”

“Yes… which means you and Jaebeom need to leave town as fast as you possibly can before—”

“I don’t think anyone is going anywhere, (Y/N).” Jinyoung’s entire body grows stiff as a new voice echoes throughout the study. He cautiously turns his head, discovering none other than the young werewolf in question resting among the shadows. His eye also catches the open window a few inches away, and he curses himself for ever wanting to feel the nightly draft.

Changbin’s smirk is as dark as his eyes.

“What?... Not going to offer me a drink?”

☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☽ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾ ☾

“(Y/N)! Get out of here! Now!” Jaebeom hears Jinyoung scream as the werewolf suddenly launches forward, knocking his brother into the bookshelf behind him. The wood completely splinters beneath the impact, raining down an array of books and planks on Jinyoung’s body. Changbin turns to Jaebeom next, but the hybrid is ready—and pissed off.

Jaebeom speeds toward the intruder and delivers a swift kick to the gut. Changbin flies back at the force, crashing back through the window with a loud growl. Sensing the urgency in time, Jaebeom quickly throws Jinyoung’s immobile body over his shoulder and urges both you and Tzuyu out the study door.

“Come on! We gotta go!”

“Jaebeom! What the hell is happening!?” He ignores Tzuyu’s fearful ask and proceeds to lug Jinyoung through the maze of hallways and down the staircase, you and the female vampire hot on his heels. He doesn’t know exactly where he’s going, but he makes his way to the parlor where he props Jinyoung up against a nearby chair before turning to you:

“You need to leave. I will deal with this.”

“No way. I’m not going anywhere.” Jaebeom curses your stubbornness inside his head, sending a stern glare in your direction. Your expression remains fixated, and he can’t help but wish your presence in any other situation but now.

“I can’t protect you right now—”

“And I can’t sit back and watch you get yourselves killed!” You shake your head indignantly, “I’m staying!”

“Fucking hell, (Y/N)! Get your ass out that door before I throw you out myself!”

“Jaebeom, watch out!” At Tzuyu’s cue, a wooden branch comes soaring in through the window. Jaebeom immediately throws himself against you, effectively forcing your body to the ground to dodge the projectile. He can feel your fear through the trembling of your limbs and hurried breaths, but it only brings him more determination to tear apart his attacker.

He shakes his head in surrender, “You stay on the fucking ground, understand? Don’t you fucking dare move a muscle.” He doesn’t bother to wait for a response and pushes himself back to his feet.

Tzuyu is huddled in a corner, and Jinyoung has yet to awaken from his crash landing back in the study. Jaebeom tries to focus his senses on detecting the werewolf, but he can’t seem to hear anything past the beating of his own heart. He carefully makes his way over to the incapacitated vampire, attempting to force him back to consciousness.

“Now is really not the time for a fucking nap, Jinyoung.” He hisses, “I swear to god, if I have to save your ass one more time—” Another wave of tree branches come crashing through the windows. Unfortunately, Jaebeom is not as quick and one catches his shoulder at just the right angle. He feels the wood sink into his flesh, painfully carving into his bones. With a low groan, Jaebeom manages to grab the makeshift stake and remove it in one hefty pull.

He tosses it away with a yell, “You gonna hide like a little bitch!? Or are you gonna come out and fight like a man!?”

“Be careful what you wish for, asshole!” Jaebeom turns just in time to discover the werewolf emerging from a shattered window. His blood boils when he notices the sadistic grin along the young kid’s face—he wonders how those teeth will look strewn across the parlor floor.

Changbin comes at him fast, much faster than Jaebeom could have predicted. He manages to dodge a set of jabs, but he’s not so lucky when Changbin lands a heavy hit against the side of his face. Pain erupts through his jaw as he collapses to the floor, but Jaebeom doesn’t have the chance to dwell over it and rolls out of the way just as the werewolf attempts to stomp his nose.

Jaebeom tries to speed away again, but like before, his counterpart is faster. Changbin manages to force him to the floor for a second time, pinning his body down with his own. Horrified, the hybrid watches as the werewolf’s eyes glow blood red and large, pitch black fangs emerge past his parted lips. Once again, he attempts to break free, but it’s no use—Changbin is too strong.

Just when he believes the wolf’s fangs are going to sink into his neck, another form knocks Changbin away. Jaebeom hurriedly props himself on his arms in time to watch Tzuyu deliver a series of hits and kicks to the perpetrator, eventually slamming his head into a nearby armoire. Taking advantage of the moment, she turns from Changbin to Jaebeom instead:

“Grab Jinyoung and (Y/N) and run!” She screams, “Get the hell of here!”

Unable to move, Jaebeom remains as Tzuyu attempts to fight off the wolf. But with the combination of his ultimate strength and her weakness from Jaebeom’s venom, her defeat is inevitable. He watches in terror as Changbin sinks his teeth into the vampire’s arm before yanking her head forward and effectively snapping her neck. Jaebeom feels his insides practically soar with rage when the attacker tosses a comatose Tzuyu across the room like a useless toy.

“I’ll kill you…” He sneers, allowing his own supernatural features to overtake his face. “I’ll fucking kill you…”

Changbin shakes his head with a smirk, “I’d like to see you try.”

Using the little agility he has left, Jaebeom grabs one of the branches and speeds toward the wolf. Due to Changbin’s movements, he misses his chest, but manages to stab the weapon in his stomach. Changbin releases a pained groan, allowing Jaebeom to take advantage of his surprise and land another array of uppercuts to his face. Just when he finally thinks he has the upper hand, his opponent blocks one of his hits and pins him against a wall with a hand around his throat.

“Any last words, Prime?”

“You really think you can kill me?” Jaebeom growls, squirming against Changbin’s hold.

“I know I can… Have fun rotting in Hell—fuck!”

Shock spills through Jaebeom’s veins as the point of branch suddenly appears through the center of the wolf’s chest, splattering red across both of their bodies. Changbin’s grip releases, allowing the hybrid to quickly speed out of his reach. Once he’s a safe distances away, Jaebeom looks to his savior, discovering the one person he never expected to see—

You stand over Changbin’s body—chest heaving and bloodied hands trembling. Your eyes are glassy when Jaebeom meets your gaze, and for some reason, he feels the urge to go and pull your form into a tight embrace. Your voice, however, returns his mind to reality:

“Did I… Did I kill him?”

“I don’t think so.” Jaebeom answers, nursing his wound with his own shaky fingers. “We need to get out of here—get somewhere safe.”

“Good idea.” You trudge over to where Jinyoung is still unconsciously laid across the chair. Jaebeom follows your lead and hurries over to a lifeless Tzuyu. “I know somewhere we can go… but I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

“(Y/N)... There is an immortal, unkillable super wolf out to kill me and my brother currently in my living room…” He snorts, maneuvering Tzuyu’s body into one arm and assisting you and Jinyoung with the other.

“Trust me, anywhere is a hell of a lot better than here…”

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blessedarethebinarybreakers · 4 years

Text

Wrestling with the Bible’s most disturbing stories

An excerpt from Rachel Held Evan’s book Inspired: Slaying Giants, Walking on Water, and Loving the Bible Again

“Growing up, I noticed the ugly details in the Sunday school stories; children always do. I remember I was deeply troubled by the fact that God drowned all but two of each kind of animal in the Great Flood (to say nothing of all the people), and wondered aloud at the dinner table how God could be all-knowing and all-powerful, but also filled with regret. A friend's seven-year-old captured the angst well when she recently asked, 'Mom, is God the good guy or the bad guy in this story?'

This question of God's character haunted every scene and every act and every drama of the Bible. ...Feminist scholar Phyllis Trible aptly named these narratives 'texts of terror.'

'If art imitates life,' she wrote, 'scripture likewise reflects it in both holiness and horror.'

Rereading the texts of terror as a young woman, I kept anticipating some sort of postscript or epilogue chastising the major players for their sins, a sort of Arrested Development-style 'lesson' to wrap it all up -- 'And that's why you should always challenge the patriarchy!' But no such epilogue exists. While women are raped, killed, and divided as plunder, God stands by, mute as clay. I waited for a word from God, but none came.

...When I turned to pastors and professors for help, they urged me to set aside my objections, to simply trust that God is good and that the Bible's war stories happened as told, for reasons beyond my comprehension.

'God's ways are higher than our ways,' they insisted. 'Stop trying to know the mind of God.'

It's an understandable approach. Human beings are finite and fallible, prone to self-delusion and sentimentality. If we rely exclusively on our feelings to guide us to truth, we are bound to get lost.

When asked in 2010 about Joshua's conquest of Canaan, Reformed pastor and theologian John Piper declared, without hesitation, 'It's right for God to slaughter women and children anytime he pleases. God gives life and he takes life. Everybody who dies, dies because God wills that they die.'

Piper's dispassionate acceptance represented pure, committed faith, I was told, while mine had been infected by humanism and emotion -- 'a good example of why women should be kept from church leadership,' one acquaintance said.

And for a moment, I believed it. For a moment, I felt silly for responding so emotionally to a bunch of old war stories that left the rest of the faithful seemingly unfazed.

But this is the deleterious snare of fundamentalism: It claims that the heart is so corrupted by sin, it simply cannot be trusted to sort right from wrong, good from evil, divine from depraved. Instinct, intuition, conscience, critical thinking -- these impulses must be set aside whenever they appear to contradict the biblical text, because the good Christian never questions the 'clear teachings of Scripture'; the good Christian listens to God, not her gut.

I've watched people get so entangled in this snare they contort into shapes unrecognizable. When you can't trust your own God-given conscience to tell you what's right, or your own God-given conscience to tell you what's true, you lose the capacity to engage the world in any meaningful, authentic way, and you become an easy target for authoritarian movements eager to exploit that vacuity for their gain. I tried reading Scripture with my conscience and curiosity suspended, and I felt, quite literally, disintegrated. I felt fractured and fake.

Brené Brown warned us we can't selectively numb our emotions, and no doubt this applies to the emotions we have about our faith. If the slaughter of Canaanite children elicits only a shrug, then why not the slaughter of Pequots? Of Syrians? Of Jews? If we train ourselves not to ask hard questions about the Bible, and to emotionally distance ourselves from any potential conflicts or doubts, then where will we find the courage to challenge interpretations that justify injustice? How will we know when we've got it wrong?

'Belief in a cruel god makes a cruel man,' Thomas Paine said. If the Bible teaches that God is love, and love can look like genocide and violence and rape, then love can look like...anything. It's as much an invitation to moral relativism as you'll find anywhere.

I figured if God was real, then God didn't want the empty devotion of some shadow version of Rachel, but rather my whole, integrated self. So I decided to face the Bible's war stories head-on, mind and heart fully engaged, willing to risk the loss of faith if that's where the search led.

I listened to sermons. I read commentaries and theology books. I became a real downer at dinner parties:

'If you could travel anywhere in the world, where would you go?' 'Have you seen any of the Oscar-nominated films this year?' 'What's your Enneagram number?' 'Do you think God condones genocide?'

The explanations came hurried and certain. Oh, God told Israel to wipe out the Canaanites because the Canaanites were super-duper evil, like the worst people ever. They worshipped idols and had orgies and sacrificed children to their gods. So God condemned the practice of child sacrifice...by slaughtering children? Well, that's just how things were back then. It was kill or be killed, tribal warfare and all that. Israel did what it had to do to survive....

I began to feel a bit like the disheveled Berenger, a character from Eugène Ionesco's play Rhinoceros, who grows increasingly bewildered as the people of his provincial French town acclimate to the sudden presence of rhinoceroses in their community. In one scene, a rhinoceros thunders through the town square, trampling a housecat. After their initial shock, the villagers get sidetracked debating whether the rhino had one horn or two, and whether its origins are Asiatic or African. And on it goes throughout the play, as the townspeople themselves transform into rhinos, one by one, arguing all the while over pointless trivialities, until only Berenger remains human.

The play is about fascism, I think, but it reminds me a bit of Christians and their Bibles. Sometimes it seems as if there are all these rhinoceroses barreling through the pages of Scripture, pooping on sidewalks and flattening housecats, but we've grown so accustomed to defending their presence we end up debating the length of their tails.

...

My questions came with consequences. We left the church in which I was raised, and rumors of my 'rebellious spirit' circulated around town, prompting more than a few well-meaning interventions. ...

But accepting the Bible's war stories without objection threatened to erase my humanity. ‘We don’t become more spiritual by becoming less human,’ Eugene Peterson said. How could I love God with all my heart, soul, mind, and strength while disengaging those very faculties every time I read the Bible?

So I brought my whole self into the wilderness with God – no faking, no halfway. And there we wrestled."

#rachel held evans #inspired #bible #bible study #christian books #progressive christians #reading and studying the bible #bible tag #long post #quote tag

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hysterialevi · 3 years

Text

Hjarta | Chapter 10

Fanfic summary: In an AU where Eivor was adopted by Randvi’s family instead, he ends up falling in love with the man his sister has been promised to despite the arranged marriage between their clans.

Point of view: third-person

Pairing: Sigurd Styrbjornson x Male Eivor

Author’s note: Sorry about the delay on this one guys! As I said before I wasn’t feeling that great these past few days because of the vaccine, but I’m doing much better now. Thanks for being patient.

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

A WHILE LATER

THE TEMPLE

This was it. This was finally the day.

After what felt like an eternity of going back and forth with his emotions, Eivor would see Sigurd married to Randvi at last, and the alliance would be set in stone. Their two clans would be joined into one fearsome army, and they would stop Kjotve from ever roaming Norway’s seas again.

It was a wondrous day for everyone in the village, considering the nature of their agenda. Vibrant decorations had been placed on every surface imaginable in Bjornheimr, and lively laughter could be heard ringing throughout the air.

Ribbons and banners hung from the roofs, lanterns dangled from the trees, and all across the ground, Eivor saw nothing but fresh flower petals adorning the paths. Meanwhile, the sounds of drums and lyres harmonized with the whispers of Mother Earth, and not too far away from him, the young man could see people dancing with one another.

It was a sight that normally would’ve inspired happiness in Eivor’s heart, but for today, all he felt was loneliness.

Ever since he woke up, he hadn’t been able to shake off the shadow that loomed over him. The weight of Sigurd’s absence continued to linger on his shoulders, and it hindered his motivation to get involved with the festivities.

At the moment, he was currently sitting on a bench that rested just beside the temple and overlooked the wedding, giving him a clear view of its events. He saw clusters of familiar faces beckoning him to come join them, but no matter what, he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. And he knew exactly why.

Underneath the wedding arch, Eivor saw Sigurd and Randvi chatting with a group of people as they shared drinks with one another, getting a head-start to the wedding’s celebrations.

The prince was dressed in an ornate, white tunic paired with a crown of flowers that sat on his head, and his broad physique had been relieved of all the armor that he usually wore. He was smiling and laughing in the presence of the other guests, and on the surface, it looked like he was actually enjoying himself.

But underneath all the pretenses, Eivor could tell that the man was just as conflicted as he was. Every time he got a brief moment to himself, or was spared from the attention of scattered onlookers, his expression would drop, and a look of despondency would darken his eyes.

Sigurd seemed miserable, if Eivor was being honest. It was clear that he wasn’t willing to settle down with this marriage, but knew he had to for the sake of their clans’ safety... and it was ruining him.

Eivor just wished he could summon the courage to speak to him again. There were a thousand different things he wished to say to the man, but he had no idea how to word any of them.

How could he talk to Sigurd while acting as if nothing happened between the two of them? Or that they weren’t both upset about this wedding? How was it possible that they’d be able to keep up that kind of charade?

At this point, Eivor knew better than to believe he’d be able to conceal his true emotions. He had already seen how easy it was for Sigurd to crack open his shell, and he didn’t want to risk losing control of any more of his impulses. Especially not on a day such as this. Ingrida’s warnings had yet to take their leave from the Wolf-Kissed’s list of worries, and the last thing Eivor wanted was to be the reason they came true.

“Everyone!” Arngeir called out, breaking Eivor’s train of thought as the music came to a pause. “Everyone, gather around!”

The jarl was currently standing at the front of the wedding with Styrbjorn at his side, and held a tall tankard of mead in his grasp. He addressed the crowd before them while Sigurd lingered next to the archway, greeting his people with a radiant smile.

“My brothers!” Arngeir said proudly, “my sisters! Today is a day for celebration. The seas of this war have been relentless with chaos, and we have endured a great deal to stand where we are now. I know many of you have sacrificed your heart and soul in the name of survival. You have fought, you have bled, and you have known pain unlike any other. But no more. Today,” he placed a hand on Styrbjorn’s shoulder, “the Bear and Raven clans will become one, and we will finally have what it takes to deliver Kjotve into the jaws of Nidhoggr himself!”

A unanimous cheer erupted from the villagers.

“So, drink!” Arngeir exclaimed over their voices. “Drink and feast to your hearts’ content! Let your spirits sing with joy as we celebrate this marriage, and let the gods hear our thundering war cries when the time for battle comes! May Freya bless this new couple with her loving embrace, and may Tyr guide us into victory. Or to Valhalla.” He raised his tankard in the air. “Skål, my drengir!”

The guests returned the toast. “Skål!”

A series of merry cries rose from the crowd as they happily downed their drinks in unison, eager to get the mead flowing. The music of the festival quickly resumed its lively beat, and chirps of laughter returned to the air.

As for Eivor, the man remained seated by the temple and simply watched the festivities unfold, wishing more than anything that he could talk to Sigurd again. He knew the prince would likely welcome him with open arms despite the tension between them, but even then, there was just something holding him back.

He didn’t have the strength to approach Sigurd now that the man was officially married. Despite all his efforts to ignore it, Eivor did feel a spark of jealousy flickering in his heart whenever he laid eyes on Randvi, and he hated himself for it.

Randvi didn’t deserve any animosity. She was simply doing what she was told, just like Sigurd. Still, part of Eivor secretly wished he could be in her position. He wished he could openly display his affection for the prince, and not constantly feel the need to hide it.

But alas, there was no longer any grey area about the matter. Sigurd and Randvi had officially been bound by this alliance, and Eivor would have to stay away from him, no matter how alluring the thought might’ve been. They wouldn’t be able to repeat what they did last night, and to go against this marriage would’ve been a betrayal.

“Eivor?” A stray voice blurted out, causing the Wolf-Kissed to glance over his shoulder. He hadn’t expected anyone else to be up here, and yet, he found himself gazing back at the one man who could’ve potentially eased his pain.

Ulfar.

“What are you doing here, little cub?” The old raider asked, pushing through the snow. “I assumed you’d be enjoying the festivities by now.”

Eivor turned back around and rested his elbows on his knees, staring blankly at the ground.

“I’m not in the mood.”

Ulfar cocked a brow at the response. “Not in the mood for a drink? That doesn’t sound like you.” A soft chuckle escaped his lips. “Must be something bad.”

He took a seat next to Eivor, allowing himself to rest for a moment.

“...Care to share your thoughts?”

The young man paused, throwing Ulfar’s inquisitive nature right back at him. “Before I do -- what are you doing up here? I’m surprised you’re not at my father’s side. He usually keeps you close.”

“Indeed, but today’s not exactly a usual day, is it? Eirik and I are patrolling the village at your father’s behest. He wants us to make sure the people are safe whilst they celebrate the wedding.”

Eivor glanced at the view in front of them. “See anything yet?”

“Nothing urgent so far. Eirik spotted a longship on the horizon earlier, but it’s impossible to see which clan it belongs to from here. He’s keeping an eye on it as we speak.” The warrior tilted his head at the other man. “And what about you? What brings you to the temple on a day like this?”

Eivor hesitated. “I... I don’t know if I should say.”

A tone of genuine concern took hold of Ulfar’s voice. “Is it truly that bad?”

“Yes. I’m afraid so.”

The raider leaned forward in his seat, looking the young man in the eye. “Eivor. Speak plainly to me. What’s going on?”

The Wolf-Kissed turned away from Ulfar, pondering whether or not to tell him. He trusted the man to keep this conversation between them -- he had never known him to be a snitch -- but even then, part of him feared how Ulfar would react.

Eivor was aware of the warrior’s doubts towards Sigurd after all, and the last thing he wanted was to tarnish the prince’s reputation even further. This alliance was as fresh as a newborn babe, and the young man wondered if it would’ve been foolish to expose his secrets so soon.

Still, Eivor knew he couldn’t keep it in for much longer. The stress that came with suppressing his emotions was quickly taking its toll, and he needed to let it out somehow.

“Ulfar...” the young man said, “I’ll tell you what’s going on because I trust you, but this must stay between us. I mean it. No one else can hear about this. Alright?”

The older man’s brow was crinkled with confusion, but he complied nonetheless. “...Alright, Eivor. I understand. Now, what’s the matter?”

Eivor took a deep breath. “...Do you remember the conversation we had at the feast? When the Raven Clan first arrived?”

Ulfar chuckled. “No, not really. I’m an old man now, Eivor. My memory isn’t what it once was.”

Eivor returned the laugh. “You were telling me about Geirmund’s fortress. And how you met Linnea.”

The raider’s expression lit up with remembrance. “...Ah, yes.”

“You also asked me if I had found anyone significant in my life,” he continued. “I told you no.”

“And?”

Eivor knotted his hands together in nervousness. “Well... that’s changed recently.”

“Has it? Then why do you seem so upset? That’s a good thing, Eivor.”

“You wouldn’t say that if you knew who it was.”

Ulfar shrugged. “Well then, who is it?”

The Wolf-Kissed gazed down at the wedding. “...The man who just got married today.”

The old warrior followed his line of sight, instantly falling into silence once he realized whom Eivor was referring to.

“...You mean Sigurd?” Ulfar clarified, unable to hide the dread that was rising in his chest. “Oh, Eivor...”

“I know.” The younger man said. “I know it’s bad. I’ve told myself I shouldn’t feel this way over and over again, but no matter what I do, these thoughts just won’t go away. Sigurd and I tried to keep things platonic in the beginning, but over time, we just... couldn’t help it anymore.”

Ulfar let out a troubled sigh. “...And what about Randvi? Does she know about this?”

“No, I don’t think so. You’re the only one so far.”

That seemed to bring some relief to the raider. “Good. You’d do best to keep it that way. There’s no telling how others would react, especially the king.”

Eivor pressed a finger on his temple. “What should I do though, Ulfar? Out of honor, I can’t approach Sigurd now that he’s officially been wed. To entice him would be wrong. But I also can’t ignore how I feel.”

Ulfar’s gaze fell to the ground. “...I wish I had an easy answer for you, little cub. But the truth is, nothing about this will be easy. You have a special connection with Sigurd, and it isn’t going to disappear just because of this alliance.”

The young man grew despondent. “I only wish there was some way to forget about all this. Perhaps then, my mind would finally let me rest.”

The warrior shot a glance at his friend. “Eivor, are you listening to me?”

Eivor paused, urging Ulfar to continue his train of thought.

“You can’t make these feelings go away.” He reiterated. “You’re trying to fight a battle that’s already been lost. The best thing you can do right now is talk to Sigurd. Straighten things out with him. Clean up this mess before it becomes worse. It may not bring the outcome you want, but it will bring the closure you need. Trust me.”

Eivor peered in the prince’s direction, reluctant to accept reality. He knew there was truth to Ulfar’s words, but a part of him still wished for another solution. A solution that didn’t involve discarding his relationship with Sigurd.

“...Perhaps you’re right.” He conceded in a downcast manner.

The raider’s voice softened with sympathy. “I’m sorry, Eivor. This must be difficult for you. But it isn’t your fault.”

That piqued Eivor’s curiosity. “You don’t think so?”

“No, of course not. We do not choose who we love. The Nornir determine that for us. Unfortunately though, our plans do not always match what the gods have in mind. I only wish you didn’t have to be the one dealing with this dilemma.”

“...So do I.”

Ulfar switched to a more encouraging tone, hoping to lift the young man’s spirits. “Hey, there’s no need to sulk. Remember what Ingrida always says. Any attempt to deviate from the path will be met with what was destined to be. Your time will come. Just not today.”

Eivor displayed a faint smile in response to his words. “Thank you, Ulfar. I--”

“--Ulfar...!”

Interrupting their conversation, a third voice suddenly jumped into the scene, causing the two men to glance towards the source. The voice was sharpened with a deep rasp that sat on its edge, and it seemed to scrape against the throat of its owner. It didn’t have much force standing behind it, but even then, Eivor could still hear the desperation behind its words.

“Yes?” Ulfar replied at the sound of his name. “What is it--?”

He came to a halt, taking a moment to process the peculiar sight approaching him.

Not too far away from them, Ulfar and Eivor saw Eirik limping towards the temple, practically dragging his feet through the snow. His labored breathing trudged along to the rhythm of his heavy footsteps, and his movements were sluggish with exhaustion. The main detail that caught Ulfar’s attention though, was the fresh trail of blood dotting the ground in his wake.

“Eirik!” The raider exclaimed in alarm, immediately rushing over to him. He supported the man’s weight in his arms, lifting him up as he spoke.

“Hey,” he called out, trying to get his attention. “Hey! Can you hear me? What happened to you?”

Eirik weakly gripped onto one of Ulfar’s arms, staring him in the eye. “...K-Kjotve. He’s... here. You must--” a numbing pain racked his body, coaxing a groan out of him.

“We must what?” Ulfar asked. But Eirik had already moved on.

“...please,” the injured man whispered, “keep my mother safe. Tell her... it isn’t...”

He fell limp in the old warrior’s embrace, passing onto the next realm with his final words trapped in his throat. His body keeled forward as his spirit departed from its shell, and upon greeting death, Eirik tumbled into the snow, revealing a number of arrows protruding from his back.

Before Ulfar had any time to mourn though, the rallying cry of a horn suddenly blared in the distance, calling for Bjornheimr’s warriors as Kjotve’s men emerged from the shadows.

The sounds of battle quickly rose throughout the village, and down at the wedding, Eivor could see Sigurd rushing to defend their people, storming around with a sword in his hand.

“Shit!” Ulfar cursed, rising from the ground. He whipped his axe out of its sheathe and placed a protective hand over Eivor’s chest, urging him to take shelter.

“Eivor, gather any survivors you can find and take them to the longhouse! I’ll join the other warriors and protect the wedding.”

“Wait!” The young man protested, grabbing Ulfar’s wrist just before he could leave.

The raider glared at him with a bewildered look in his eye. “What is it?”

“...Let me defend the wedding. I’ll go in your stead.”

Ulfar clearly wasn’t on board with the idea. “What? This is no time to be arguing! You need to go, Eivor. Now!”

“Please,” he insisted. “I need to make sure Sigurd’s safe. He’s down there with the rest of my family. Let me do it. I’ll do whatever it takes to get them out of there alive. You know I will.”

The older man quickly shifted his mind, not willing to waste another second.

“...Fine,” he said in a hasty tone. “Do what you must, but do it carefully. I don’t want you following Eirik’s footsteps today. And don’t forget about the alliance, Eivor. I know how you feel about Sigurd, but we cannot lose him for the sake of this war either. Do you understand?”

Eivor gave him a firm nod. “I understand.”

“Good. Then may the Defender of Midgard guide our hand today, and may we pummel Kjotve’s skull with an axe at last.”

“Odin watch over you, Ulfar.”

The raider parted ways with the young man. “Odin watch over us all.”

~~~~~~~~~~

A FEW MINUTES LATER

THE WEDDING

Sprinting towards the ruined festival, Eivor fought his way through clumps of Kjotve’s warriors as they stormed the village and set fire to the buildings, staining the sky red with their morbid flames. Vivid sparks could be seen erupting from black pillars of smoke, and in the distance, the young warrior saw nothing but clouds of ash obscuring the path.

It looked like Ragnarök itself had been unleashed on Bjornheimr. Shrieks of panic filled the air like an orchestra gone mad, and just sitting on the horizon, Eivor spotted the striking silhouettes of Kjotve’s ships latching onto their docks.

It was a view the young man had been dreading for the past decade of his life. The memory of his parents’ deaths remained fresh in his head, and terror paralyzed his heart at the idea of losing a loved one again.

...But no. He couldn’t let that happen. He wouldn’t. Ulfar was depending on him to protect everyone at the wedding, and that was exactly what he’d do. Even if it meant sacrificing himself. He wouldn’t simply stand by and watch people die like before. This time, he would defend them.

Heaving his axe with a ferocious amount of effort, Eivor let out a rough shout as he lodged the sturdy blade into the neck of a raider, cutting them down within a heartbeat.

By now, it looked like Kjotve’s men had taken control of the wedding and gathered a handful of captives, lining them up as if they were livestock for sale. They had bound them with numerous bundles of rope and shoved them down to their knees, forcing them to watch their attackers from below.

What concerned Eivor the most though, was that the raiders were no longer alone.

Towering over the rest of the scene like a lion searching for its prey, the Wolf-Kissed spotted the very same man who slew his parents all those winters ago, now staring down at the prince he loved. His face had been folded with wrinkles due to years of waging countless wars, but the rest of his stature remained as intimidating as ever.

Eivor felt like a scared little boy again just by looking at him. Kjotve’s mere presence was more than enough to bring back a flood of unwanted nightmares, and the young man suddenly found himself questioning whether or not he was fit for this task. He still heard his mother’s desperate cries thundering in his head as if she were there, and the haunting view of his father’s lifeless gaze had been branded into the back of his eyelids.

“Do not abandon him or his memory,” Eivor thought to himself, repeating Ulfar’s words from when he was just a boy. “You wish to reclaim the honor your father lost? Then you must fight for it.”

A sprout of fury flared up in his chest at the profound memory, and he shouted across the battlefield at Kjotve himself, speaking with a level of rage he had never experienced before.

“Kjotve!” Eivor roared, leading the man to come to a halt.

The gargantuan raider turned around to see who was calling his name and peered through the smoke, narrowing his eyes as he tried to identify their face.

Emerging from the sea of fire, Kjotve saw nothing but a lone warrior prowling towards him with a strangely familiar axe in his grip, sauntering across the blood-stained dirt. Gusts of wind distorted the ash blanketing the battlefield around him, and behind strands of golden hair, Kjotve spotted a pair of arctic orbs glaring back at him, wide-open with wrath.

Before he could address the warrior though, his son stepped forward first.

“What do you want, bacraut?” Gorm barked, pointing a finger at them. “A blade to the gullet, perhaps?”

Kjotve held out an arm. “Hold, Gorm. Don’t bare your fangs just yet. There’s something... different about this one.”

The man scoffed. “Different? He looks just like every other ‘warrior’ in this village to me. Weak and cowardly.”

“...Perhaps,” Kjotve said, glancing down, “but that axe...” He approached the stranger. “You there! Where did you find that weapon? Who are you?”

The blonde viking stopped in his tracks, keeping his gaze nailed onto the other man as the entire wedding froze to see what was going on.

“My name is Eivor.” He announced, his voice resembling the hiss of a serpent. “...You know me.”

Kjotve grinned immediately upon hearing the name and strolled towards his opponent, meeting him in the middle.

“...Eivor? The son of Varin and Rosta? Heh. My, my. You were just a little boy the last time we met, Wolf-Kissed. I must say, I’m surprised to see you drawing breath even after all these years. You’ve certainly grown a lot since then. But alas... you are still no more than a child chasing after his father’s honor. It seems you’ll never learn.”

Eivor clenched his hand around the grip, doing his best to keep his anger at bay.

“...I have no interest in your taunts, Kjotve. I’ve only come for my family. Let them go.”

The older man laughed and planted his battle axe in the ground, resting an elbow on its hilt. “And tell me, Eivor -- why exactly would I do that?”

The young warrior raised his own weapon, looking at the line of captives sitting behind Kjotve. “I may have been defenseless during our first encounter, but don’t think I’ll cower away from you now. I will take my family back, with or without shedding your blood.”

Sigurd’s head perked up at the response, and he struggled in his restraints. “Eivor...! Don’t!”

Kjotve noticed the prince’s reaction, allowing him to think of a different approach. He doubted there would be much difficulty in slaying the Wolf-Kissed one-on-one, but he wanted to indulge in another method.

“Hmm,” he said in thought, “you wish to rescue these fools from their fate? Perhaps... there is a way we could arrange that.”

Gorm snapped his head in Kjotve’s direction. “Father!”

“Silence, boy.” He commanded. “These are my slaves. Not yours. I will bargain with them as I please.”

Kjotve shifted his focus back to Eivor, presenting his idea. “Listen to me carefully, son of Varin. I am willing to offer your people a way out of this, but only one. It’s your choice whether you take it or leave it.”

Eivor grew impatient. “Just say what you have to say and be done with it.”

The slaver smirked maliciously. “As you wish.”

Kjotve tugged his weapon out of the ground and rested the blade on his shoulder, preparing it for battle. “...Lay down your axe. Surrender yourself to me, and I will let everyone else go, including your beloved prince here.”

Eivor fell silent at the demand and clenched his jaw in spite, almost having to stop himself from laughing at the absurdity of the request.

“You expect me to believe you?” He nearly growled. “After you spewed the same lies to my father, and broke your oath to him? No. I won’t do it.”

Kjotve lifted a brow. “Are you certain, Wolf-Kissed? You could be right, of course... but are you willing to bet your family’s lives on it?”

The young warrior’s expression twisted into a glower. “...You are a rat, Kjotve. A dishonorable wretch that will forever serve as a sheathe to Nidhoggr’s fangs...!”

The raider merely chuckled at the response, undeniably amused by his enemy’s distress.

“Well, if you prefer, I could always erase your doubt and simply kill them all right now.” Kjotve positioned his blade under Sigurd’s chin. “Starting with him.”

Eivor felt the urge to leap forward then and there, but held himself back.

“Don’t... touch him.” He whispered, almost sounding feral. The slaver smiled back at him.

“You know what you have to do to stop me.”

The Wolf-Kissed gritted his teeth in rage and strengthened his hold on the axe, practically crushing it in his grip as his knuckles turned white.

He couldn’t believe it. After thirteen years of planning for revenge and fending off the grief that came with his loss, he was now being forced into the exact same position as his father, and being humiliated like a thrall. Everyone’s lives depended on the sacrifice of his honor, but to comply would’ve meant giving up everything he had fought for.

What would happen to Eivor if he accepted the deal? What would Kjotve do with him? Would he truly keep his word and set the captives free? Or would he simply cut the young warrior’s throat, and demolish the rest of the village once he was dead?

Eivor didn’t know what to do anymore. He couldn’t bear the idea of watching anything happen to Sigurd or his family, but he also despised the thought of failing to avenge his previous one.

Kjotve was the one who took everything from him. He destroyed his home, his childhood, and his life. To spare him now would’ve been an even greater shame than the one his father suffered.

But still... he loved Arngeir. He loved his sisters. And most of all, he was starting to fall in love with Sigurd. He had gotten so used to a world with the prince’s influence, that to see him drop out of it now would’ve devastated him.

He couldn’t allow him to die. He couldn’t disappoint Ulfar, and he couldn’t let the alliance crumble. Sigurd’s life carried far more value than his, and at this point, Eivor was willing to do anything to preserve it.

So, without saying another word, the young man reluctantly bent down towards the ground and gazed at Sigurd with an apologetic look, gently placing the axe right by his feet.

“No!” The prince exclaimed, his eyes widened with panic. “What are you doing? Pick up your axe, Eivor! Remember what this snake did to your father! Don’t let him corner you into his trap--!”

“--Quiet, you!” Gorm commanded, striking Sigurd over the head.

Meanwhile, Kjotve ignored his prisoner’s cries and grinned in satisfaction, focusing entirely on the man in front of him.

“It seems you were correct, Gorm,” he remarked. “He is the same as everyone else. Weak... and cowardly. Just like his father. I should’ve guessed.”

Eivor’s glare only sharpened. “I did what you asked, Kjotve. Now, do your part and set them free!”

Kjotve shook his head in a patronizing manner, laughing shamelessly at the unarmed viking. A sheen of deceit plastered itself onto his barbaric smile, and simply by looking at him, the young man knew he had been fooled.

“Did you really think it’d be any different this time? I almost pity you, Wolf-Kissed. You’re an even bigger fool than Varin was. I suppose you’ll be joining him and your mother in Helheim, then. Send them my regards.” He turned to his son, bellowing a new list of orders at him. “Gorm! Take the strongest ones back to the ship alive. We can make use of them. As for the rest -- kill them all. We’ll leave their corpses for the ravens to feed.”

Gorm began strolling towards the prisoners. “With pleasure.”

“Wait!” Eivor shouted. But it was too late.

Within the blink of an eye, the man had already unsheathed his blade and pulled Randvi’s head back by the hair, preparing to slit her throat. Just before he could carry out Kjotve’s commands though, a lone arrow suddenly bolted through the air and planted itself into his shoulder, sending him reeling to the ground.

He flailed around for a moment and flicked his eyes around in shock, only to see the archer face-to-face once the chaos finally settled.

It was Ulfar.

“Cut them down!” The raider yelled, his voice thundering across the village.

Charging out from the smoke, Eivor saw a small army of men storming the wedding as Kjotve’s people froze in bewilderment, giving their clan the exact opening they needed to shift the balance of this fight.

The warriors immediately seized the battlefield and overwhelmed it like a fire feeding on kindling, driving their weapons through the hearts of their enemies. They hunted them down like animals running through a field, and showered the invading raiders with a hurricane of arrows.

As for Kjotve himself, the man fled to his longship with as many prisoners as possible and nearly dragged Gorm onto the boat, signaling his men to leave Bjornheimr. It was evident to him that he was now on the losing side of this fight, but even then, he still managed to take a group of captives that he was no doubt going to sell -- including Thora.

Ulfar, on the other hand, was busy freeing what prisoners remained. He had already released Randvi from her binds and was now carving his way through Sigurd’s rope, setting the prince free.

“Are you hurt?” The older man asked, helping Sigurd up to his feet.

“I’m fine, I’m fine!” He blurted out, eager to contribute to the battle. But Ulfar wasn’t ready to let him go just yet.

“Where’s Eivor?” He questioned. “I was able to see Kjotve and Gorm, but I couldn’t find the boy from where I stood.”

Sigurd gestured in the opposite direction. “He’s over there. He’s--” The man came to an abrupt pause, leading Ulfar to follow his line of sight.

“What is it?” The raider said, but it didn’t take him long to realize.

Kneeling in the dirt, Ulfar found Eivor sitting somberly amongst all the pandemonium, seemingly unfazed by the death and destruction surrounding him. His eyes were locked onto the axe lying beside his legs, and just by observing the boy, the old warrior could tell that he was trapped in another battle of his own.

Eivor just let his parents’ murderer escape for a second time. After thirteen years of waiting for him. He had been tricked by the same deal his father fell prey to, and now, there was nothing but humiliation weighing him down.

He felt like a complete failure. His honor had been stolen from him once again, and now all of Bjornheimr was going to know it. They would see him as a coward for deciding to drop his weapon, and Kjotve’s forces would only grow stronger because of it.

But the part that stood out the most to Ulfar, was the fact that he did it all for Sigurd. Eivor had only known the man for about two weeks, and yet, he was willing to give up Valhalla itself in exchange for his survival. He knew the possibility of Kjotve going back on his word was likely, and even then, he still decided to take the risk.

Just how much did this man mean to him, exactly? Ulfar was aware of Eivor’s feelings for Sigurd, but he never expected the two of them to share such an adamantine bond. He could see now that the young man was truly in love with the prince... and it frightened him to the core.

This would not bode well for the marriage. Eivor could try to conceal his emotions as much as he wanted, but Ulfar already knew it would be for naught. It was impossible to ignore a love as strong as this, and he could only pray that the alliance wouldn’t fall apart so long as Eivor’s affections remained alive.

He supposed the best thing he could do now was guide the young man. Ulfar didn’t plan on telling anyone about his secret, but he also knew it’d be foolish to let his feelings roam free.

Kjotve was still out there. His army was still growing. And now, he had Thora as a slave.

If the people of Bjornheimr wanted to rescue her from his grasp, they would need the help of Styrbjorn’s entire clan to assault the slaver’s fortress. It would require every single warrior they had under their command, and Ulfar didn’t intend on letting Eivor’s hidden relationship put Thora’s safety in jeopardy.

He just hoped he wouldn’t hurt the boy by doing so. It was clear to him how much the Wolf-Kissed cared about Sigurd, so the last thing he wanted was to push the two of them apart.

But Arngeir needed Ulfar to maintain a clear mind. He needed his pragmatism. He needed his rationality. That was the whole reason he had kept Ulfar at his side for almost two decades now.

As much as it pained the old man, he would have to approach this objectively. He would have to keep Eivor away from Sigurd’s company, and ensure that the alliance remained strong.

Otherwise, he had no idea how the future would unfold. If anyone learned about their secret affair, Ulfar assumed that all hell would break loose. The friendship between their clans would instantly shatter, and the fires of a second war would likely ignite.

It was a dilemma that Ulfar wouldn’t wish on anyone in a paternal position, but alas, it was the one the gods had granted him. So, with a quick shift of the mind, the warrior brought his attention back to the battle at hand and left Eivor alone, allowing him to regather his thoughts.

He assumed the boy would be in a state of distress after the day’s events, and he didn’t want to be the reason he finally tipped over the edge.

Ulfar had enough to worry about at the moment, and he imagined it was just the beginning.

#hjarta #assassin's creed valhalla #ac valhalla #sigurd styrbjornson #eivor wolfkissed #eivor wolfsmal #eivor varinsson #male eivor #sigurd x male eivor #ac valhalla fanfic

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yandere-wishes · 4 years

Text

💔Rotten Love💔 //Twisted Wonderland Yandere Idia Shroud X Yandere Eliza X Reader// Part 1

GIF made by the amazing @flowerofthemoonworld. Okay, so this story is really going to have a Persephone x Reader x Hades vibe to it. If we can get this to 160 likes before July 12 than I’ll release part 2. For now, my goal is to make it a 4 part story with a bonus 5th fluff chapter. Also for this story reader will be GENDER NEUTRAL.

WARNING: Gore, Angst

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

There was always a cold, nostalgic air in the Ignihyde dormitory, a sort of homey sensation that made Eliza's heart skip a beat. Sure the dorm was quiet and secluded, unlike the ghost kingdom, there was barely anyone to talk to. Most may have even described it as "lonesome" and "boring". But to princess Eliza who had waited more than five hundred years to be with her prince charming, it was unadulterated, homespun bliss. Of course, there was still something missing, a tiny puzzle piece that refused to fit in with the rest of its kind, a stubborn little piece it was, yet all too important to paint the picture of her perfect life. That mulish fragment came in the form of her newly wedded husband, Idia Shroud.

"Idia~"

The "young" princess sang as she skipped over to where her "husband" was sitting, his posture crooked, like that of a scrunched up cat's. His long slender fingers where typing rapidly on that bizarre rectangular device that he all too attached to. Way too attached to, for Eliza's liking.

Eliza nuzzled her visage into the crook of the bleached-skinned boy's neck, taking in his smokey, ash-like sent. Her icy colored arms wafted over his shoulders, enclosing them his a tight embrace. Her fingers dangled over where his heart was, feeling tiny fast-paced pulses that sent a pleased blush to her face. "Idia let's go for a walk near that river. Please, my love! You haven't left this room since the reception!"

The taller male barely turned to look at her, preferring to instead to keep his eyes locked on his glowing blue screen. "Still busy Eliza" his cold dead voice was always so sharp and monotone whenever he spoke to her. It felt like someone was reaching into her rib cage and squeezing her decaying heart. Her voice cracked into a thousand tiny shards, as she tried to form a comprehensible answer. He might as well have told her to die again and rot in the deepest parts of hell. He doesn't love me....he'll never love me. The relation was like a heavy chronic toxic gas levitating overhead. Easy to overlook but still there, always there. Idia didn't move, if Eliza's arms weren't wrapped around his shoulders feeling every breath he took, she might have mistaken him for a statue. No, not a statue, she thought, some sort of sculpture of an ancient Greek God. A divine being set in stone resting in an altar, waiting for reparations and benedictions. 'I'd gladly pray at your feet every day. I'd sacrifice everything I had just for you to smile that charming smile at me'. The ghost thought to herself.

For an endless minute, the darkroom fell into a thick, suffocating silence. Neither Eliza nor Idia moved both too scared of breaking some invisible glass wall they had put up around them. However, no amount of serenity could dispose of the awkwardness, and annoyance Idia was beginning to feel. "You know" the lord of the dead began "maybe you should talk to the principle about join the school full time. It would give you more to do than breathing over my shoulder" despite Idia's tone harboring no malice, Eliza still flinched in shock. Her body going rigid, stiffening as if she was going into Rigor Mortis again.

HE DOESN'T WANT YOU HERE!

The voice in her head screamed,

HE HATES YOU!

Louder...

WHY CANT YOU LEAVE HIM ALONE

"Please stop" she whispered

YOU DON’T DESERVE YOUR PRINCE!

"If that's what you want" she finally replied in a broken voice.

"I'm... I'm only saying it for your sake," he muttered in a coaxing tone.

Deep down a delusional part of her wanted to scream that he was only saying all those harsh things for her own well-being. But she was still lucid enough to not believe those fallacies, imaginary words...Eliza perceived that her beloved prince Idia saw her as nothing more than a nuisance. One that he was far too eager to get rid of.

She couldn't bear the conversation any farther. Painfully slowly she peeled her arms off from around her so-called lover. In that taunting minute, Eliza swore she could feel billions upon billions of sharp needles piercing every piece of her dead body. She lingered in place staring at Idia's glowing, blazing hair. She didn't want to leave, she wanted to spend every second of her dead life with him! Touching him, kissing him, loving him! But he wouldn't love her! Why didn't he love her!! Without a customary goodbye or any form of acknowledgment, Eliza flew to the door. Swinging it open just a crack, wishing to slam it so hard that the whole underworld dorm would feel it. But alas she was still royalty and there was a politeness beaten into her every action. In the end after much debating, she closed the damn door quieter than a mouse. With a broken heart and eyes full of tears, princess Eliza began to hover up onto the surface of the school grounds.

WHY DOESN'T THAT SELFISH BASTARD LOVE ME!

A simple blaring thought that reverberated through Eliza's nonexistent skull as she marched through the glowing green halls of Night Raven College. Unlike Ignihyde, the rest of the school still felt rather alien and terrifying to the girl. She'd only been in the cafeteria for a short amount of time. Only to finish up her official marriage to Idia. After the marriage -and much persuasion from his friend with grey hair and glasses- Idia had carried Eliza in the traditional manner a groom must carry a bride, to the hall of mirrors and straight to Ignyhde. Neither of them had left Idia's room since then.

It was a rather short memory but one that always placed a smile on Eliza's face. Rather than remembering the halls, Eliza had been all too bewitched by Idia's shy golden gaze, his bloody red face, and his kissable thin blue lips. Such a darling memory that she would always cherish within her rotten heart.

But as the minutes ticked away and Eliza passed hallway after hallway all identical to one another, she soon began to wish that she'd paid more attention to the whereabouts of the school's rooms and offices. The headmaster's office seemed to be missing from this endless maze. Behind every corner was the same tiled floor, candles lit by a mystical green light and windows so large they put the countless classroom doors to shame. Every few minutes a crowd of students would pass by, disappearing behind another wall withing second. No one noticed her, which was rather odd considering she was the only female in an all-boys school, her purple dress and feminine curves were proof enough of that. "I guess this is the result of being a ghost, wandering the land of the living" She whispered hopelessly to herself. "You're invisible when you're me..."

The eighth turn that Eliza took brought her to a small cluster of peculiar students. Some donning ears and tails like those of wild beasts, while the other had odd features resembling Ortho's limps. Metallic and reflective. They were laughing at something, attentions enclosed within their small groups. A measly thought flew into Eliza's head, why not speak up? Raise your voice and ask where she could locate the headmaster of this complex establishment.

"Excuse me."

“....”

Silence

None of the boys turned to her, they just continued with there chatter. Eliza opened her mouth to speak once more when she -rather unwillingly- picked up stray words from their conversation.

"It's not fair!" A tall lanky one with striped ears and tail whined

"Yeah! How come that useless shut-in gets to get married to a cute girl !" the second one was even taller, with thick furry grey ears that reminded Eliza of a wolf.

"Look man I don't know what Idia has that makes him so damn lucky! He's a useless wimp..." A Bold statement made by the one with metallic features.

Eliza was sure they continued bashing Idia but the phantom pain of blood coursing through her ears droned them out. How dare such hooligans speak ill of her beloved husband! Her fingers flexed in a robotic-like movement, stretching open than closing once more. Around her tiny flame-like spirits began to materialize, cute and cheery with big eyes and smiling mouths...until they noticed the distress of their mistress. the tiny things took a look around, grasping the situation from the loud words of the boys as well as Eliza's grim expression. Slowly the little flames began to merge with one another. Fusing into a large ax with a burning end. The weapon floated down to her hand, positioning itself smugly between her ghostly digits.

Eliza's eyes locked with the backs of the boys, she didn't know how this would work, could the ax could even harm the living? It may just phase through them as if nothing had happened....or it may price through there flesh and bones, tearing them in two. Hosting the ax up over her shoulder with both hands and taking a shaky step forward, Eliza lunged towards the first boy. In a swift flick of her wrist, the blade of the ax was pushing through the Ignihyde student's back. Splitting ceaselessly at the skin and urging past muscles until it reached the creamy colored bones. Eliza didn't stop there, her arms still pushing forward trying to get the heavy ax to break those pesky osseins. He had to pay for what he said! No one was permitted to speak ill of her one true love! A satisfying crack filled the air followed by a choir of screams. Only when the ax had finally resurfaced on the other side, covered in plasma and the remnants of organs, did Eliza turned her attention to the other two students. There eyes where enormous staring at her in disgust and fear...and something else. Something that -although it revolted her to her very core- she wished Idia would look at her with that same look in his eyes. A look of want, a look of need, pure lust, yet the welcoming sort ONLY if it was coming from the person you adored so much.

The blue-haired ghost didn't move, her semi existent body felt overworked. Everything hurt! Or at least she thought what she was feeling was the ghost equivalent to human pain. "Why.." her voice glitched at every syllable, like a broken cassette player. The two boys didn't answer instead taking shall strides backward. "WHY DID YOU SAY SUCH AWFUL THINGS ABOUT HIM!" in a split second, anger over ran Eliza's boy once more, dragging her and the ax forward until the blade came in contact with one of the animal eared men's neck. Slicing it so it flung backward, crashing onto the ground with loud "thud" then rolling around in its own gore. The last man stand, the one with monochrome ears pushed his palms forward, a pathetic attempt of shielding himself from her wrath. "W-we..we d-d-did...didn't-t mean...mean any..offense...honest!" His voice creaked as tears gushed from the corners of his eyes. "You're...you're just so...so...pretty...beautiful even...and...and...Shroud well...we...well, he's a loser who w-w-wouldn't kno--" his words were left half-finished, as Eiza's ax severed through him diagonally.

Her heart was pounding much too fast, that it was beginning to make her feel sick. Her legs finally gave up, sending her crashing onto the blood coated floor. Her bare knees dug into the red liquidy substance, finding an odd comfort in the warm human ichor. Eliza didn't know what to do, or even where to go. If she went back to Idia like this he would surely use it against her, Ortho was too young to be introduced to such a carnage...and she didn't know anyone else! "I'm all so very doomed" she sobbed as transparent tears trailed down her eyes.

"Hey" A distant voice spoke up. "What's wrong with her?" another voice, this one more high pitch and raspy. Eliza tore her face from her hands looking up at a group of three strangers and a cat...no, not strangers, she recognized the orange and blacked haired boy. They both had tried to crash her wedding. But the other person was new, they had a gentle look in their eyes, a welcoming stare that the princess longed for. "Hey ghost bride," The orange-haired boy spoke up, "need some help with your mess?" Eliza nodded meekly. Her body still limp and voice still too frail to speak. The last person, the one that had unexpectedly piqued Eliza's interest extended a hand towards her. And with only a scrap of hesitation, Eliza gripped it.

"Come on, we'll help you out!"

💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙 👻💙

Tags: @yandere-romanticaa @ghostiebabey @lovee-infected @mermaid-painter @firemelody4 also tagging @twstpasta and @delusional-obsessions cause I know they're huge Eliza fans.

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giorno-plays-piano · 4 years

Text

Creatures in the dark Part 2

Pairing: witch!Steve x Reader

Warning: yandere, obsession, kidnapping, allusion to non-con.

Words: 2454.

Summary: A monster dressed in human flesh was waiting for you in the woods.

Part 1

____________

That night neither your grandfather nor you returned to your beds. Despite being afraid of revealing your secret, you told him everything: about the Plague and your encounter with the dead and the boy with a lantern who you thought came to save you. Your grandfather, and old, but tough man, had cried upon hearing your story, and you cried too. You didn't remember him dropping a single tear when his wife or grandson had died, but now his face was all wet.

Once the first ray of sun reached your house through the crack in a wooden shutter, the old man rushed to the witch living in a hut at the end of the village while you stayed home, putting more ash to the door. You didn't know whether the monster lurking in the woods could walk in the daylight, but you didn't want to risk it. Maybe he wasn't as powerful as the Plague if her mark prevented him from casting a spell on you, yet he was obviously strong enough to tear a human being apart.

You had no idea how much time you spent there all alone, praying in the corner, but your grandfather returned with both the witch and one of the elders, all of them with grim expression on their dirty faces.

"Not good, not good." The old woman whose grey hair were covered with a bleak blue scarf told you, spinning around you and shaking her head. "Not good at all."

"What's not good, granny Iva?" You asked, calling her the same way you did when you were a little girl. "What do you see?"

"The blessing of the Rotten One does no harm to you, dearest child, but she gave it to you for a reason. The boy you saw was no boy at all. His scent is all over you." Her quiet raspy voice sounded like a thunder to you.

"We'll wash it off!" Your grandfather exclaimed in despair. "I'll bring water and wood to the bathhouse-"

"Silly man, no water can help you wash it off her." The elder said in return, stepping closer and looking at your forehead suspiciously. "What's already done can't be reversed now. Besides, if the Plague herself had told you it's your fate to meet the monster in the woods, we mortals can do little about it."

"But he'll take me away. He will drag me out of the house and eat me alive!"

"No, my dear. That horned monster doesn't eat human flesh. He came to claim you." The old witch whispered, taking the red like blood beads out of her pocket. "To wed you, whether you come willingly or not."

Horrified with the revelation, you felt hot tears falling down your cheeks, and your grandfather quickly embraced you, dropping a kiss to your forehead. Looking at the two angrily, he shouted, "I'll better die than give her to that creature."

"Whether you want it or not, there's not much we can help her with." The witch bit her dry, chapped lips. "My magic has never been as strong as his even when I was young and powerful. But I keep wondering why Plague had given you a blessing, yet asked you not to run from the monster. Why? What is the meaning behind her words? What strength did she grant you with her mark?"

"H-he said I wouldn't rot now." You muttered, leaning closer to the old man. "Nothing else. What other strength could it give me?"

The woman motioned to the elder, and he returned to the door, opening it a little. Before your grandfather had snapped at him furiously, the witch pointed at something on the floor. As you looked there, you saw nothing suspicious and furrowed your brows. What was there so special? As you turned your head to the woman to ask her, your grandfather suddenly gasped.

"Look! Your shadow!"

Carefully observing it again, you realized yours was much longer than shadows of others, though you were all standing close, and it couldn't possibly be the play of light. You gulped down and bit your tongue painfully. What was that all about? What was this power, if there was any at all?

You slowly moved your arm, and the shadow moved its own, following your command as it always did. Except for its length, there was nothing particularly strange.

"Ask it to move by itself."

"What do you mean? How do I ask for it?"

"Just make a wish, it's simple."

Your grandfather was pretty much terrified with witch's words, and for a moment you thought you had never seen him like that in your entire life. The elder, however, didn't look suprised even the slightest bit, and the old woman was almost eager to see what would happened next.

Chewing your lips to bits, you closed your eyes, scared and confused. The next moment you heard one more gasp, knowing that your shadow did exactly what you demanded it to - detach itself from you and move to the wall behind the witch. Dear God, she was right. The blessing gave you something you shouldn't have.

"I don't understand anything at all!" You exclaimed loudly, tearing yourself away from your grandfather and moving back, covering your face with your palms. "Why didn't she tell me about it? And why give me power if I can't escape the monster, anyway?"

"If you can't run... it doesn't mean you can't fight." The wise woman muttered under her breath, but all of you heard her, and you chocked on air. Fight? Fight this deadly creature wandering in the woods?

You asked the shadow to move to the other wall, and it did it again. Dear God, maybe the witch was right.

"Teach her!" You heard your grandfather's desperate voice and saw him gripping the witch's wrinkly arm. "Take whatever I have, but-"

The elder rolled his eyes at this outburst, shaking his head with irritation. "Are you out of your mind, old fool? We will do anything we can. I have not become the elder to watch young girls being snatched away by monsters."

"And now shut up, you two. We don't have much time before the boy comes back. Bring me the bread, the blackberry, and a few candles, now."

____________

It had been two long days before the witch sensed your monster was coming back. You barely slept, spending all your time listening and doing what granny Iva had told you, watching the miracles you could now do all by yourself. She was right, the Plague did grant you power, and though you barely knew what to do with it, even the possibility to fight the creature brought you so much joy.

The woman called him the witch boy. You found it odd: was he the son of some other witch living in the forest? Laughing at you, the elder pointed out the clear difference: granny Iva was a woman who learnt witchcraft, but the boy was the one who was born with magic coursing through his veins, able to see the ghosts and cast spells most humans couldn't. He was only half mortal, and he was probably born to an evil spirit and a human woman. Judging by the huge antlers growing from his head, he was most likely the son of Yeev, the evil deer living in the Northern forests. People used to make human sacrifices to him, bringing him women he apparently mated with. Granny Iva had never heard of him having any children, but maybe one of those poor sacrificial brides was able to bear Yeev a son.

You wouldn't be able to defeate the boy right away, you realized. Although the Plague had granted you power, it would take time to learn how to use it, and the monster would hardly wait for it. You would have to go with him and figure out how to defeat him all by yourself. However, your magic would be enough to keep him from harming you, and it was already something.

That night granny Iva had given your grandfather a sleeping potion secretly. He didn't know that you would still have to leave with the monster, and you couldn't bare watching the old man struggle against it. It was better to put him to sleep.

When the monster opened the door, you had already been prepared to leave and turned to face him, suddely seeing not the skinny boy, but a huge bearded man who barely fit into the door frame. The ash near the door burnt out the very same moment he stepped inside, blue sparks flying the air.

"Were you waiting for me?" He smiled, walking into the house, his body muscular and strong as if he were a blacksmith.

You gawked at him, unsure whether he was the monster you were waiting for. Where was that little boy with a lantern, unhealthy pale and terribly thin?

"Don't look so surprised, little one. I took this form because I thought you'd like it better." Crossing the room, he barely looked at the elderly man, snoring lightly in the corner, and moved closer to you as you backed away from him involuntarily. "Don't be so cold, love. I didn't hurt you, did I?"

You pressed your lips into a thin line, looking displeased and clenching your fists. That monster dared to play with you.

"This isn't funny, boy. Why would I care what form you take?" You said, figthing the urge to grab a handful of blackberries your pockets were full with and force them down the creature's throat. "Just get it over with."

Looking at your grim face, he offered you to take his hand, watching you intently with those dark blue eyes of his, and you reached out to him, biting your lips. You had definitely built up some courage from the night you met him, you thought, as he drew you closer, touching your hair. Running his fingers through it, the boy - the man - smiled at you again and drew a little symbol on your forehead, watching you becoming more nervous. Tensed, you furrowed your brows.

"Let's go." You urged him, grabbing his hand and pulling him to the door. "I don't want my grandfather to wake up and see you taking me away."

The man hummed with content and went after you, closing the door once both of you were outside. Feeling the chill in the air, you rubbed your shoulder and looked back at the man with irritation. He was still smiling at you, and you didn't like it.

Turning away from him, you had placed a few blackberries into your mouth, trying not to smash it with your teeth, and then immediately closed the distance between the two of you, wrapping your hands around his shoulders and pressing your mouth to his. The man had opened his lips as if he welcomed you. You felt uneasy when he took all the berries willingly. Apparently, he knew of granny Iva's witchcraft.

"You can give me more." He whispered, his short beard brushing against your gentle skin. "It will be more fun this way."

You growled in frustration at his insolence, grasping a handful of blackberries and showing them into his mouth. Taking them all obediently, the man forced your hand to his lips as he licked the dark juicy drops from your skin, slipping his tongue between your fingers. Your face was growing hot with every passing second, but his grip was too strong to push the monster away.

All of a sudden, the antlers on his head appeared again, surrounded by a halo of cold blue light. The magic was starting to show his true colors.

His mouth was dirty with a few berries that got smashed when you pressed your palm against his lips, and you felt an odd urge to lick the little dark spots in the corners of his mouth clean. Damn, he was using his own magic, too.

"Let's go." You grumbled and started to walk in the direction of the woods, not wanting to awake the villagers. The man laughed behind your back and took your hand, speading up.

The silence between you as you moved was unbearable, but you didn't utter a single word until you finally reached the forest, the mist spreading slowly in between the trees. Glancing at the man, you saw he was still in that new form and chew your own tongue. When he was small, it was so much easier to imagine how you would outpower him.

"Could you please turn into the boy again?" You demanded as he came closer - you tried to hide your fear beneath the irritation.

The man chuckled, "Are you saying you'll be more obedient if I stay like this?"

Reaching out to the pocket of your dress, you smashed a few berries in your palm, colouring your skin with the sweet juice, and drew a sign on your arm before the monster reacted. You felt the wind growing stronger as you smiled at him wickedly. If the Plague herself had given you her blessing, you wouldn't become a mere prey of the creature wandering in the woods. You were not a sacrificial lamb.

The man jumped at you the next moment, and you two rolled on the ground, fighting for dominance. Cursing and growling, you bited and kicked and pushed, feeling the creature's cold hands caressing your body through the clothes. No, you wouldn't let him take you like that. Not now, not ever. Gathering all your strength and covering your palm in smashed berry pulp, you grabbed one of the antlers, and the man moaned under you, his huge form slowly changing until you saw a skinny boy lying beneath you. Amazed, he stared at you and stroked your hips lovingly with his arms growing warmer, licking his lips.

"You are so pretty." The boy muttered, looking at you through his trembling lashes. "Kiss me. Please."

Although you wanted to get up, instead you leaned closer, dropping a kiss to his soft discoloured lips and brushing your nose against his. Inhaling his earthy smell, you moved away quickly, glaring at him. Damn it, his magic was still bending you to his will.

"Don't you understand I won't stop?" You grunted, squeezing his antler stronger and making the boy wince and moan again, sitting on top of him. "I will learn, and I will fight you. I'm not gonna be your obedient little girl, listening to your every whim."

"Fight me." The boy whispered, and you felt something hard rising beneath you, brushing against your thigh. "Charm me; curse me. Do whatever you want to me, love. Just stay close."

______________

Tags: @finleyjayne @alexakeyloveloki @helenaeisenhower @villanellevi @hurricanerin @void-hoechlin @abyssaint @heeeyitskay @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @navegandoaciegas @rosalynshields @lovelydarkdaydream

#skinny steve rogers #pre serum steve #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #captain america #dark steve rogers x reader #dark steve rogers #yandere

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raevenlywrites · 3 years

Text

The Ties That Bind 19 of ???

I couldn’t sleep this night, and there was little point in trying. So I stayed among my people, hoping my presence would reassure them where my words might have failed. I had never been more grateful for my people’s habit of holding our emotions close; it kept my fury with my mother’s milquetoast words at a manageable distance.

She was better than this. I’d heard her give inspiring speeches all my life, words that inspired hope where it was waning, fervor where it was lost. I could only view tonight as an act of sabotage, and I couldn’t for the life of me figure out why. What would she have to gain from undermining me, and the peace I was trying to build? Was it not what we all were working towards?

On the one hand, I wanted very much to speak with her, to demand an explanation. But on the other... well, I had sort of given up. From the moment the Disa suggested marriage, my mother had been shut down. There was more at work here than the surface negotiations of peace. My mother seemed deeply disturbed at the notion of my life deviating from her plan for it--and that was just too bad. It was my life, my reign, my people. Her ways and her mother’s ways and her mother’s mother’s ways had not led to any resolution. I was willing to try something new.

But I was never alone with my thoughts for too very long. It was rare for the Shardae to mingle nowdays outside of festivals and holy days, so many were eager for my attention. Many offered wishes for my continued good health, simple excuses to engage and be near. More than I wished expressed their condolences for our “wasted trip” out to the Mistari, which I politely redirected back towards the news of Irene’s expectancy. Those that topic did not turn away expressed interest in my singing in the birth, and did that mean that I would be returned to my work with the midwives, now that I would no longer be needed on the battlefields? It was an excellent question, and one I hadn’t considered, but found that my answer was an eager yes. It did much to buoy my spirits to think my family gifts returned to acts of growth rather than simply easing the pain of loss. Perhaps even my mother--

I didn’t care to think on my mother overly much this night.

So I stayed among my people until well after moonset, making note of those faces that stayed, those that seemed cautiously hopeful, and those who’s distrust and disdain I’d had to redirect. There weren’t many who lived directly in and around the Keep; I knew most by family name at least, from the Lyssia tailors to the jewelers who ran the Aurita, to the Silvermead blacksmiths and soldiers.

One I did know by first name, Jeanne Kejamarl, approached me much later in the evening. I remembered her from our shared school days, when I was still learning to shape my letters and reading only the simple sentences chalked on the board. The children of the Keep were all raised and educated together, because there were so few. So while I had little cause to interact with the Kejamarl tanneries directly, I knew Jeanne by name, though I wouldn’t call her a friend now, the way I did Elanor. Which I only considered because of how utterly forward her question was.

“Forgive my asking, Shardae, but why wasn’t Captain Andreios by your side this evening?”

I blinked, long and slow and foolish. My brain felt like thick mud, unwilling to allow my thoughts to rotate and pivot this conversation change with any speed.

“I know it’s not my place to question, but if you’re not going to announce him your alastair....”

Jeanne’s cheeks colored, and I realized with shock and horror the direction this conversation was headed, too late to head it off. She was interested in Rei, and I had dragged my feet so long that others were wondering if they might court him.

It wasn’t entirely uncommon for young adults to pursue one another. Yes, alastairs were often chosen for children in their infancy, but tragically all too often, those alastairs and pairbonds did not live to see adulthood. And while it was traditional for men to take the role of alastair--chivalrous protectors--it wasn’t unheard of for a would be pairbond to express her interest in being pursued. And Rei was handsome, and highly ranked, and courteous and thoughtful and dependable--

The thought of his lips against mine came surging back, filling my own cheeks with heat. Luckily, Jeanne misinterpreted my reaction for embarrassment at the topic--or maybe not so much a misinterpretation--and quickly backed off.

“I’m so sorry, m’lady, I shouldn’t have asked.” She ducked her head, chin all but tucked to her chest as she tried to make herself small. “It’s just after all the rumors of the Arami’s proposal, and with Rei’s absence--“

“He didn’t propose!”

I snapped a too rapid answer in a furious whisper, too caught up in my own snarl of emotions to keep my usual decorum.

“I don’t know who started that stupid rumor but I would really appreciate it if people stopped speculating about my private life!”

Jeanne looked up, horror warring with curiosity. It was utterly unlike me to be so emotional--and if she was a lover of gossip, this was too good to miss. I cursed inwardly and did my best to regain my composure.

“Jeanne, please. It has been an excruciatingly long day, week, all of it, and I am tired of my love life being the topic of so much discussion. It’s unseemly, don’t you think?”

“Yes, m’lady, of course. I shouldn’t--“ “No, you shouldn’t. And I would ask you please to keep others from discussing it as well? I have enough to deal with right now.” I sighed, hoping to use the show of emotion to my advantage. “I hope to start my own family under the light of peace, not in the shadow of my brother’s funeral.”

“Yes, m’lady. Gods above, yes of course. I’m so sorry.”

I reached out, laying the lightest touch on her arm. “Please. I don’t need your apologies, just your consideration. You knew me when I still couldn’t form my S’s front ways.” She smiled at the shared memory, and how ridiculous it was that I couldn’t write out “Shardae”. “Please give me the room to be just Danica where I can. There are so many places where that won’t be possible.”

“Of course, my--Danica.”

I smiled, trying to positively reinforce the behavior. My mother had become distant from our people, and by extension, me. So many of them had expressed a desire to see us out and among them again. If I could befriend my people again, help them see this shift as a positive one, become their darling, golden young queen, perhaps it could help me regain the power our family had lost to the generals. I could sell them an idealistic young family, a vision of the future that was shiny and bright.

Maybe, if I sold it hard enough, I might believe it myself.

“Rei is back with the serpiente, helping keep the Arami safe.” Jeanne’s eyes widen, and I nod, leaning closer as if in confidence. “There’s no one else I would trust with so high a priority. Here among my people, I could not possibly be safer. But I worry for Zane--as my mother said, this is an extremely brave thing for him to be doing. I hope my people will greet him with courtesy and dignity, but I am too pragmatic to trust his safety to anyone less than Rei.”

There. Maybe using his nickname twice will drive the point home. Of course, a part of me whispers that if I just declare my intentions on him here and now that would end all of it. I have no reason not to. Everyone assumes I’m as good as his pairbond. But for some reason I don’t--probably because I worry the story will grow in the telling, much like my “proposal” from Arami Zane. No, when I’m ready for word to spread, it will be through an official announcement, not from wildfire gossip from an old schoolmate. I release her arm and take a step back, letting some of my weariness show on my face.

“Now I think its time I take my leave. We all have a big day tomorrow. I should try to sleep while I can.”

I take another step back and melt into my golden hawk’s form, trusting whoever is on my most personal guard duty to peel off and follow as they always do. Only I don’t fly up to my balcony on the far side of the Keep. Instead, I turn my flight towards the east, and the waiting encampment of serpiente. - I am not so foolish as to have not considered this to be a potential invasion. I have let a score of serpiente warriors within an hour’s flight of the heart of my kingdom. But as I have said, more times than I care to, I refuse to behave as if Zane will betray me. It will either happen or it won’t. If a cobra is destined to slay a hawk again, then I have made peace with it being me. Our people began with one golden queen, if they are to end with simply one, then Fate will have her way no matter what we design. And honestly, they could do worse with a conquering monarch than Zane Cobriana. From what I have seen, he is fair, just, considerate, and generally in favor of art, self-expression, the well-being of his people--

I bank and circle back, realizing my mental wandering has allowed my wings to wander as well. I am too tired to think, but thinking is all I seem to be able to do. I want to see Rei, to wrap myself in the warmth and comfort of his arms to maybe try another few kisses, softer and gentler this time, to reassure myself that my life has not turned completely upside down. Instead I am circling around the encampment, having flown right over it while thinking of Zane Cobriana’s qualities as a king.

I realize as I circle in to land that partially my mistake was due to the sheer size of the gathering. I don’t know what my distracted mind must have made of the numerous campfires now dotting the fields, a small village perhaps, but it is certainly too many for the two score of soldiers or so that should be out here. This gathering is nearly twice that, centered around a ring of figures--

Dancing.

Zane and Adelina are dancing, with six other serpents besides. They weave in and out of each others’ steps, intricate rings within rings, scales flashing in every color of the rainbow.

Serpiente warriors can grow a scaled demi form, much like the large, angelic wings we avians sprout. While ours are used to give us an aerial advantage in battle, theirs provides a natural amrour that only the keenest arrow can pierce. And much like our wings can be used as an expression of beauty, an elegant backdrop to fine garments and jewelry, so are the serpiente before us using their scales now. Lines of color sparkle like living veins of gemstones, from the iridescent white of Adelina’s viper, to rich reds and greens of dancers I do not know, to the shimmering obsidian of Zane’s cobra.

They are a perfect complement to each other, his dark hair and scales reflecting red in the firelight, hers glinting gold like a low harvest moon. They sway and swirl, moving around each other and through their fellow dancers as if bound by an invisible chord. It is heartbreakingly beautiful, and I understand why every one of my subjects simply stands and stares. It is like nothing any of us have ever seen before, except maybe the soldiers.

I remember the ready pose Zane and Adelina fall into so easily, and thinking how perfectly it would transition to either dance or combat. I am mesmerized by the dance; I can only imagine how impossible they might seem to fight. I am struck with the sudden realizaiton that our survival til now seems nothing short of miraculous. Without the falcon’s am haj to allow us to fight with such lethality from the skies--

I want nothing more to do with this line of thought, so I land, picking a spot far enough away from the dancing serpents so as not to startle anyone. The avians in the crowd all know the silhouette of my hawk’s form, but it is late, and I am trying to be discrete. Still, several soldiers peel away, bowing swiftly as they make a report.

“No trouble yet, your majesty. As you suggested, the serpiente are well able to sense intent. None were allowed past the outer perimeter that were anything other than curious.” Curious. I should have thought of that. Raymond steps up at my side, and I realize he was one of the ravens flanking me. “Erica flew in during your mother’s speech, m’lady, with a message from Zane and Andreios. Neither one of them say any harm in letting a few come and see, but--well, I wished they’d said it was more than just a few. I never would have fielded such a decision for you if I’d thought--“

“It’s alright,” I say, holding up a hand. “If Zane allowed it, and Andreios cleared it, then I trust their judgement. I didn’t even think folks would venture out, so they’re steps ahead of me.” I gave Raymond a tired smile. “In all things security, I don’t mind letting Rei make decisions. It’s matters of battle and war I wish to be consulted on. Allowing a few--okay, more than a few--curious folk out to meet our guests...”

I trailed off, feeling sick at the idea of how poorly this could have gone. We were treading the most precarious line, and I’d barely thought any of it out. And Zane had simply come, trusting.

I should have worked something else out. I never should have asked him to come here--

“Dani.”

Rei was suddenly before me, undoubtedly alerted to my presence here. Too tired to care anymore who saw or what they thought, I let myself fall into his arms. This was all I’d been seeking. I hadn’t meant to stumble onto more trouble, more problems--I just wanted to be held, and get some sleep.

“Do you have a tent sent up?” I asked, trying at least to keep my voice between just the pair of us.

“For you? No, but we can--“

I shook my head. “Yours is fine. I’m exhausted, we’re in the field. There’s no where safer for my than by your side, right?”

Rei sighed, but I could see him caving in. “I mean, ostensibly you were safer back at the Keep, but yes.” He tucked his arm over my shoulder, with all the familiarity of an alastair in private. “Come on. Let’s get you to bed.”

The Ties That Bind Tag list: @thehellinsideyourhead @therecouldbecolorsandlove @adventuresofacreesty @writing-with-melon @rainydaydarling @faithfire

Raev’s Gen Tag List (should I tag you guys in this? It IS a thing I wrote. I’m gonna say yes unless you guys are like “no of course not we’re sick of hearing about your stupid fic for a twenty year old book XD)

No one has complained yet so yall gonna keep getting tagged :P

List is currently: @lordkingsmith @writinglyra @drbibliophile @mperialscribe @adie-dee @lexiklecksi @theramwrites @writinginslowmotion @raenawrites @apollon-arium @anika-writes @faithfire @thehellinsideyourhead @adventuresofacreesty

#raev does fic #hawksong fic #the ties that bind fic #hawksong #danica shardae #zane cobriana #the kiesha'ra #kiesha'ra fic #My writing

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bluebellwriting · 3 years

Text

Love Me Tender - Part 2

“He’s so in love with ya,” Angel smirks, lying on your bed in your hotel room, surrounded by your folded laundry and knocking over said piles of laundry. You roll your eyes and continue hanging up your newly cleaned dresses and blouses.

“What are you going on about?”

“The fact that Strawberry Pimp has been following ya around like a love-sick puppy for the last year.”

You throw a sock at Angel and shoot him a glare. Although, your mind can’t help but wander to the last year following Alastor’s insertion into your lives. He has been spending quite a bit of time with you... which is completely understandable! You both enjoy the same type of music, although he was quite affronted when he learned that you don’t really dance and insisted that he teach you. Now he pulls you into a dance whenever there is a good song playing.

And he loves to cook just like you, even though you are partial to baking. He often joins you in the kitchen around meal times to assist in prep or even to make a dish when you’re overwhelmed. On slow days, you find yourself thinking about the time Charlie had you all celebrate Thanksgiving. Charlie had insisted you all celebrate the holiday in even though nobody, save you and Alastor, could cook to save their lives. You were honestly dreading all the sides and desserts and proteins you would have to prepare for everyone, and Charlie had only added to the stress when she came prancing into the kitchen and revealed that her mother had agreed to eat with you all. Somehow sensing your stress, Alastor was there in an instant and allowed you to put him to work. He was a dream in the kitchen, so helpful and chivalrous, and he even made a curated playlist of all your favorite songs to put you in better spirits. It was one of your fonder moments in the normally stressful work environment, particularly when you had cut yourself chopping sweet potatoes and Alastor had rushed to tend to you. Really, it was just a little nick. It didn’t even draw blood but it did sting a bit causing you to hiss quietly. Alastor heard that sound as if it were as loud as a siren and was by your side, bending down to analyze your hand, behaving as though you had just chopped off your entire hand.

“You really must be more careful, dearest,” he murmured and frowned at the cut, willing it to disappear.

You think about Thanksgiving and the way he held your injured finger more than you’re proud to admit.

---

You shake yourself out of your reverie. No. No, no, no. Nope! You were not about to indulge in some small school-girl crush. That would only cause it to fester into something bigger in your heart, something dangerous. And you were certainly not about to buy into your brother’s teasing and tendency to romanticize things. Angel was smart, observant, but was also incredibly naive when it came to affection, or rather, sinisterness disguised by affection. And you were no stranger when it came to love and its effects on perception. You made that mistake once and it got you down here, you were not about to let that happen again...

Even if it was at the hands of that darling deer.

“Come on.” You hang up your last blouse and motion for Angel to follow you to the lobby. You both were late for your weekly family dinner and your father would not be pleased.

“I’m just saying, when was the last time ya got laid?” Angel asks as you make your way down the hall towards the lobby.

“Angel!”

“What? Please tell me you’ve at least gotten some since--”

You’re too short to smack his head, so you resort to kicking him in the shin.

“If you say his name in front of me I will maim you,” you scold.

“Got it, got it. Okay but in all seriousness, are ya ever gonna move on?”

“Nope, and even if I did, he’d have to be very special and very serious. I’m not going to waste my time pining.” You cross your arms, quieting your voice as you draw nearer to the warm glow of the lobby.

“But Alastor seems more than eager.”

“Of course he does,” you say sarcastically.

“Sis, I’m serious! He follows ya--”

“--Around like a lovesick puppy, yes so you keep saying.” You stop suddenly and shift your arms so that they’re wrapped around your torso. You avoid Angel’s confused and worried eyes, finding the carpet far easier to face than your brother’s concern. You are supposed to take care of him, you don’t need his pity. You don’t need anyone.

“Angel,” you sigh. “He’s like that with everyone. I’m not special to him, he just likes me because we enjoy some of the same things and I fit his idea of ‘polite company.’ But I’m not special. And... And even if I did feel that way about him it wouldn’t matter because I’m not anything to him. He’s made it perfectly clear that he has no use for close friends. So why would I be an exception?”

You turn and start taking brisk steps towards the door before you allow Angel to hear your sniffs and see your red-rimmed eyes. You bid a quick goodbye to Husk even though he’s passed out at his desk and make your way to your car. You don’t see Alastor, who was leaning against the wall near the mouth of the hallway where you had just pored your heart out to your brother. You don’t see the way his smile falters just a little or the way his eyes widen in alarm. You don’t see the plate of cookies in his hands, ones he had made just for you as a surprise.

But Angel does.

“Ya okay there, smiles?” Angel reaches for one of the double chocolate chip cookies but his hand is smacked away by Alastor.

“These are not for you,” he snaps but his voice lacks conviction and his eyes continue to stare off longingly at the door you’ve just walked through. Angel takes in the Radio Demon’s furrowed brows and follows his gaze.

“They’re for (Y/N),” Angel smirks and elbows Alastor’s arm teasingly.

“I knew ya had the hots for her! Jeez, could ya have been any more obvious?” Angel cackles.

“Apparently not obvious enough,” Alastor mutters.

“You heard some of that, huh?”

“All of it, actually.” Alastor looks down dejectedly at the plate of cookies. “I... I thought I was--”

“Oh, believe me, if you were being any more obvious with anyone else, you would’ve had your answer months ago. But (Y/N) she’s... she’s not everyone else. She’s very closed off, honestly you’re lucky she even sees you as a friend.”

Alastor barely nods his head in acknowledgement because all his mental energies are directed towards you. You and your bouncy, beautiful hair. You and your enchanting curves and the smooth sound of your voice when you think he isn’t around to hear you. You and your tenderness towards the very few who have earned it, and your willingness to utterly destroy anyone who tries to hurt those few. You and the time he came home with a few scratches after an altercation with Vox and you fussed over him in the genuine way his mother once did. You and your gentle hands that kneed pie crusts and crack eggs, hands that he delights in holding and finds any reason to do so.

He really never believed he could feel this way about anyone. This captivated, this dedicated, this entranced and enchanted. But here you are, captivating and enchanting him beyond all reason. At first it was infuriating, the nights he would lie awake thinking of whatever adorable thing you had done that day. Or the way his body wanted, needed to be near you even when his mind screamed at him that you were a weakness. Someone he couldn’t afford to love lest it make him vulnerable, puny, at risk of losing everything that he had built in Hell.

Until about four months into knowing each other. Some brute had come to stay in the hotel. He didn’t really bother to remember the creature’s name, just that he was rude and inconsiderate and didn’t know how to respect a lady. Alastor had wandered into the kitchen to help you with lunch, per the subconscious ritual he had fallen into, when he heard a loud smack. He opened the door to see said brute trying to force himself upon you and... the next thing he knew the entire kitchen, himself, and you were drenched in the blood of this horrid man. The kind of carnage Alastor only found himself achieving when in an intense fit of rage. You had stood there, frozen, and Alastor was briefly afraid that he had terrified you beyond the point of repair. But after you had gotten over the shock of the man’s attempted assault, you had sprinted to him and buried yourself into his chest before you could remind yourself about his aversion to touch. But he had always seemed to make an exception for you. And he always would.

After that day Alastor realized two things: that you were not a weakness, rather a new source of strength for him, and that he would literally do anything to get you to run into his arms like that again. Alastor didn’t need anymore convincing of the love he had for you. But apparently, you were in an entirely different boat.

“So what do I do?”

“What?” Angel asks, pulling away a hand that was trying again to steal another cookie.

“You’re incredibly close. She tells you everything. What more can I do to show her I’m serious?” Alastor hates how desperate he sounds but that’s what he is. Desperate for you.

“Well that depends, how serious are ya?”

“Deathly.”

Angel’s eyes glance down and back up at the cookies. Alastor relents and tosses him a cookie so he can continue.

“She’s... she’s so incredibly dear to me. She drives me mad and yet I can’t bring myself to stay away. I need her, I feel like there’s a deep, gaping chasm when I’m without her. I--”

“God, okay, you’ve convinced me. I give ya my blessing, sheesh.” Angel finishes the cookie.

“Angel,” you call, marching back into the lobby. Alastor almost drops the plate at your sudden appearance.

“Angel we’re going to be late!”

“Good evening, dearest,” Alastor lurches from the wall, smile wide and beaming, trying to convey all the love he holds for you. He tries to lower his tone on the word ‘dearest,’ tries to make it apparent that you are his dearest everything.

“Good evening, Alastor.” You grace him with a sweet smile but your eyes are sad, probably from what he overheard earlier. “Who are those for, Al?”

“Oh, for you, dearie!” He thrusts the plate in front of you, shoulders hunched in an effort to seem more humble, less intimidating for you. You really are quite small and so precious.

“F-For me?” Your face flushes the prettiest shade of red.

“You mentioned double-chocolate chip is your favorite, yes?”

“It is. T-Thank you, Al, that really is so sweet.” You take one cookie off the plate and indulge yourself in the dark chocolate. Oh, he really outdid himself.

Alastor revels in the joy in your eyes and the fact that he put it there.

“It was my absolute pleasure, darling. I was more than happy to do it. You’ve just been working so hard lately, I thought you deserved something sweet.”

Your smile widens, bathing him in warmth until it falters at the sight of Angel.

“Angel, we have to go or dad and Niss are going to have a fit.”

“Oh,” Alastor interjects. “Where are you both off to?”

You smooth down your fancier-than-normal (f/c) skirt.

“Just family dinner, but it’s important apparently. Dad has an announcement. We would have had more time to chat if Angel didn’t distract me this evening,” you say pointedly at your brother.

“Alright, alright, I’ll be out in a minute. I just have to go bother Husky for a moment.”

You roll your eyes.

“Fine. Alastor,” you turn back to him. Alastor perks up immediately at your attention. “Thank you so much for this. You really didn’t--”

“I won’t hear it, love. Now go enjoy your dinner, I’ll make sure these are waiting when you get back.” He gives you a genuine grin, something reserved only for you. “And might I add that you look ravishing in that skirt, dear. Is it new?”

“Oh,” your blush increases and glows. “Thank you, Alastor. Um... have a pleasant evening.”

Once you’re out of the lobby, Angel turns to Alastor, noticing the way he deflates in your absence.

“Look, I gotta go. Now I can talk more when we get back but this,” he points at the plate of cookies. “Is a great start! Personal, sweet, something you wouldn’t do for anyone else. She needs to know that you think she’s special, that you make exceptions for her, that you want to spend time with her outside of “coincidentally” being in the kitchen with her. And for Pete’s sake, ya gotta ask her out soon cause God knows she ain’t gonna take the chance and ask you.”

Angel strolls out of the lobby, leaving Alastor to brainstorm the many ways he’ll make just that happen.

#alastor x reader #alastor #hazbin hotel #they say write the stories you want to see #alastor x chubby!reader #x chubby!reader #x chubby reader

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