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pleasantanathema · 4 years

Text

Pray to Me

Pairing: Shinsou x Fem Reader

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: Gods!AU, Rough Sex, Too Many Norse Mythology References

Word Count: 8.5k

The frigid waters were laden with blood and ice, the salty waves licking the bows of long boats as they accosted the shores. The dark waters of the bay looked black against the fresh snow, churning oars sending sprays onto the docks as warriors returned home.

You stood among the crowds, whips of snow billowing past your reddened cheeks, your arms crossed in protection across your chest. Despite losing the men within your family to raids and battles long ago, you always came to welcome back those who were fortunate enough to receive homecoming. Upon the sails of the ships was the symbol of your earl, dancing proudly against the winds of winter as the men and women beneath them hailed their successes from summer and autumn.

High upon the prow of the leading ship was a carved figurehead, meticulously crafted in the image of Skoll, the wolf who hunts the moon. The wolf’s jaws were wide and within his wooden tongue was an etching of a crescent moon; the wolf with his prey in his maw was a symbol of Ragnarok, a symbol of the return of chaos. And upon the prow was a man you had never seen before.

The man was all shades of violet and violence. His hair was the color of crushed mulberries, the long strands pushed back and wet from the sea, so deeply purple that it looked as if you were to touch him, your palms would stain with color. Blood, russet and old, crimson and fresh, was splattered across his cheeks. A warrior’s tattoos stained the expanse of his chest and arms; the thick, blue lines were heavy and sprawling from the wood ash buried within in pale skin. And his eyes, they were purple and bright, painted with black kohl. The dark smears ran down his impressive cheek bones and curled up from his eyes, appearing catlike. The curious orbs resembled the farthest stars that lined night sky.

You expected murmurs from around the docks, but it was as if the man belonged there, towering over all the rest, hands pulling at the mouth of the wolf within the wood. He was silent power within the snow, lean and muscular, body on display as if the storm did not touch him. You felt drawn to him, like he was looking for you high upon the prow. Your feet moved before you could think. You wanted to be closer, to have those violaceous eyes upon you.

You moved in front of the crowd, standing by the edge of the water, sand and ice crunching underfoot, but when your eyes darted to find him, he was gone. There was no trace of slick purple hair within the throngs of people. Disappointment settled into your spirit and wearily you traveled home to rest.

For weeks you dreamt of him, saw shadows of him within the corners of your vision; illusions of a dark cat in your windows, a tawny owl upon barren branches.

Some nights you dreamed you were sinking into a vast violet sea, trying to swim upwards to break against the surface, to breathe air into your lungs and call to Odin to rescue you. But you were stuck, some unknown force pulling at your ankles and keeping you in a watery, nebulous purgatory just below the surface. You would always give up, allow yourself to float within the celestial unknown of the eerie, mauve waters, allow yourself to feel weightless and accept that you were no longer in control. The undercurrents would push you, bring you into strong, waiting arms, and you would awaken, breathing in and feeling like for a brief moment you were whole.

No one you asked had seen the purple haired man, save those who returned from raiding in the East. One warrior told you that the man you saw upon the prow of the ship was a land spirit, brought with them from the Balkans after blessing them with the gift of fire and aiding their struggles to survive as the weather turned bleak. Another relayed that the man was a spirit of the Wild Hunt, a straggler from the ghostly procession that attached himself to the fleet and brought the callousness of winter with him. No matter what they believed him to be, they had all seen him, the man with violet hair and violent eyes.

You knew that the sisters were calling to you from The Well of Fate, whispering the future that they had laid before you. Something about the purple haired man, whether he be man, vestige, or spirit, made you believe that you were fated to meet him again.

Nearly a full moon cycle passed before your curiosity could take no more. In the dead of night, you wrapped yourself in your cloak, ignoring the shadows and wisps of eyes in the dark as you made your way through the sleeping village.

You found yourself before the Seer, ancient and decrypt, asking for him to translate the gods’ wishes and intentions for your life.

“What questions do you have of me?” His voice was as rickety as the bones that adorned his hut, rattling from stray winds. He had lived hundreds of years and now dwelled between life and death, an interpreter between gods and man.

“Wise one, I desire to know the gods’ plans for me. I have dreams.”

“What dreams have come to you?”

“I dream I am drowning within the bay, and that a man saves me, but only after I stop fighting the currents.”

There was a pregnant pause between you. The Seer considered your words. Your thumbs fiddled within your lap, and you felt heavy, like you were under the gaze of more than just the ancient one.

“A precarious quest awaits you, one that will take you between worlds, to the land of the gods.”

“But I do not understand. I do not adventure, nor travel. I am only a simple healer. What kind of quest could await me?”

Below hooded eyes you watched a black tongue escape his mouth, worrying across dry lips as he pondered your words. Only a few times in your life had you visited him, well aware that fate was already the master of all, even the gods, as even they were subject to fate just like any and all other beings.

“You shall go past where the fence separates us from the place of self-willed beasts, finding refuge in that which is chaotic, anarchic, and wild.”

“But, Seer, I do not—.”

“Yes, child, I know you do not understand. But such is the way of prophecy, only to be understood when it has happened, and it is too late to change it.”

You stood to leave, seeds of fear sprouting within your spirit.

“But do not forget there is order within the chaos.” His voice crackled like fire, calling out to you as you left his home, forging a path through the snow to your own.

The foresights of the Seer lingered within your disposition, the cryptic words reverberating through your mind and taking hold in your daily life. You started to fight the currents in your dreams, only to wake gasping for breath after monstrous beings pulled you into the abyss. The warm arms of your illusory savior felt farther away than ever before. The murky glooms in the crevices felt stronger, grimmer, the oppressive eyes of darkness following you from every corner, every winter shade.

Your hands began to slip as you tended to the wounded, your thoughts becoming absent as you crafted medicine or supper, often burning yourself over fires or forgetting ingredients. You felt lost, abandoned by the gods, but still yet you prayed.

Winter continued to rage on, with the moon living within the sky at all times of day and bathing the world in a constant dusk during the desolate midwinter. Every night before you made for bed, you trekked behind the village to the isolated temple to the gods. No one was ever there. The summer raids were over, the men safely returned with riches aplenty, which, along with the great harvest, had left many believing that the gods were in good spirits and were bestowing ample blessings upon their dedicated supplicants.

But you, you felt no love from Asgard, felt no promise of Valhalla waiting for you.

The temple was hardly a sanctuary at all, just a hut overrun by dormant vines and overgrown with dying grass, with an altar for blood sacrifices tucked away against the back wall. Despite being a devoted village, most saved their prayers for their pilgrimage to the great temple in Uppsala, but you had become desperate. You needed to feel closer to the gods, to find the place beyond the fence that was foretold to you.

You knelt upon a broken stone, obedient hands upon your knees as you began to pray.

“Odin, all-father and far-wanderer, may you grant me wisdom, and courage,

Thor, grant me your strength, wield your hammer to break the barriers that hold my mind,

Baldr, the beautiful, beloved by all, please bestow upon me joy and light,

And Freya, mother of beauty, the völva, help me to discern my fate—.”

Your prayer faltered as you heard steps crunch upon the grass. But the sound wasn’t of footsteps coming towards you, more like someone shuffling, shifting their weight within the temple.

You were not alone.

All your instincts began to fight one another. Your mind wanted to flee, to spring your legs and send you running to safety, but your heart felt like you needed to stay, to speak into the twilight for answers. The conflict led to you staying still and being silent. Your hands fisted upon your thighs, your eyes closing tightly. Whatever was there would go away, whoever was there would leave. Maybe there was nothing there at all, only the spirits playing tricks on you again.

“And why haven’t you called out for me, little one?”

The voice sounded like vibrations from within the deepest ocean; deep, unfathomable, and a little wicked.

He was there, before you, arms across his tattooed chest that was on display under emerald linen and violet head cocked to the side. He was grinning, like a cat would upon discovering new prey. His purple hair was arched into wild plumes, his skin rubbed clean but the kohl still upon his cheeks and around his eyes. He was handsome in the firelight, fiendishly so.

“Who are you?” Your voice was a whisper, so light and airy it floated away into the darkness.

“Who am I?” He laughed, leaning against the sacrificial altar, a blatant disrespect for the gods.

“Who am I…” he repeated it, drawing circles in the dirt with his toe. He shifted his weight back and forth for a moment, eyes closing as he picked up an imaginary rhythm.

“A creaking bow, a burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake…”

Your breath caught in your throat, fingers twitching in your lap. You recognized the pattern and knew what words came next. It was an old saying your mother used to whisper under her breath, a chant for the old women and those who held superstitions. It was a warning, a rhythmic song to help children remember to stay safe, to avoid perils.

Your mouth opened before you could stop it, finishing the proverb for him.

“The sons of a king, an ailing calf, a witch’s flattery. No man should be such a fool as to trust these things. For they are the trickster in disguise.”

“Aha, so you do know me, girl. Yet after all this time, I’ve never heard you pray to me. Why is that?”

He crouched down to your level, his startling, devilish eyes gleaming like amethyst. He was too close and you felt yourself leaning away, back arching and neck aching as you tried to pull yourself from his gaze.

“No one prays to you, trickster god.”

He merely shrugged, a strong hand reaching for you. Rough fingers found your chin, pulling you closer as his eyes danced across the planes of your face. You began to shake, overwhelmed by being in the presence of perhaps the most dangerous god.

“And how do you know I am he?” he laughed, thumb running over your lips, “I could be Heimdall, sent by Odin to watch over such a devout and…fascinating little creature.”

“Because you’re so…” you paused as you looked for the words. You felt like you were drowning within his gaze, falling to the ground even though you hadn’t moved since he appeared.

He stood quickly, turning on his heel and smirking.

“Because I’m so what? Handsome? Charming? Surprisingly muscular for a god who uses wits and magic to seduce his subjects?”

He pouted at your silence, wanting more of a reaction.

“What if I told you I could be beautiful instead? Would that hex you?”

This time he didn’t give you an opportunity to respond. Within a haze of smoke, he transformed.

A languid, sensuous body appeared between the mists. Voluptuous breasts met your eyes, smooth thighs peeking from beneath an exquisite olive dress. Long, violet tresses fell down the woman’s back, curling so perfectly she looked to be unreal. But his eyes stared at you from the feminine face, dark lavender and sinister upon high cheekbones.

“Hmm,” she sighed, holding her hand out for you to take.

You took the soft hand outstretched to you, surprised at the strength behind the grip as she pulled you to your feet. The goddess was tall and slender, and she gazed at you while she pondered whatever was on her mind.

“Still not as beautiful as you…” her voice was melodic as she looked over her own body, swaying within the graceful skin for a moment before catching your gaze and stopping. You stood still, heart pounding in your chest as you gazed at the hermaphrodite before you. Her lashes fluttered as a familiar smirk spread across her features.

It was as if she was floating when she neared you again, purple hair uncontrollable and suspended within the air. Her tender hands came to your cheeks, pursing your mouth with her thumbs.

“No…nothing is as beautiful as you, little servant.” Her supple lips overwhelmed your own. You gasped, hands flying to her chest to stop her, only to have your fingers sink into the luscious valley of her breasts. A chuckle fans across your face, more masculine than feminine, and the mixture of the voice had shivers of excitement and pleasure racing down to your toes. You were too shocked, too scared to kiss back, but she didn’t seem to mind. Her lips moved against yours gently, pleadingly, only becoming more active when the delicate hands upon your cheeks converted to thick fingers and rough calluses.

Before your eyes the god shifted again, returning to the fetching masculine figure that he was before. You could smell him now, taste him, like smoke from smoldering coals and the residue of rain from within a summer’s forest. Your hands were still upon his chest, your fingers brushing against the skin that was on display between the open buttons of his tunic. His kiss was intoxicating, a hum of magic upon his lips as he drank you in.

“You’re a greedy little thing, aren’t you?” He chuckled, licking your lips wantonly before pulling away.

“Why have you been haunting me?” You demanded between heavy breaths, emboldened by his kiss.

“Haunting you? No, no. I’ve been watching you. Observing you. You looked so…sinless among the throngs when I sailed in all those weeks ago. I must say I am very pleased by the things I have seen.”

“And what have you seen?” Your voice snapped; tongue sharp.

His hands caressed your upper arms, eyes glancing across your body as if he was admiring a pattern within runes that he had seen a thousand times before.

“You serve…everyone. The gods, the people in this village, you tend to the weak spirited and the broken bodied, you serve everyone but yourself.”

The god grew quiet, leaning forward to inhale the sweet scent of your hair. His lips pressed to your temple, thumbs stroking your arms through the thin fabric of your clothing. His breath fanned into your hair and you suddenly felt your heart begin to beat more slowly. It was as if his presence alone, his touch, could calm the raging turmoil within your mind.

“Now, I want you to serve me.”

“Yes,” you said too quickly, a knee buckling as you prepared to kneel, “of course, anything for a go—.”

“Shinsou.” His hands held you in place, kept you from bowing to him. He watched as your head tilted and your brow furrowed, obviously wanting to please him. “Shinsou is the name my friends call me, and as shall you.”

“Shinsou.” You tentatively said the name back to him. Your people knew him as Loki, but to know a more intimate name made tingles of warmth spread across your chest, like he was entrusting knowledge unknown by mortals into you.

He became violet and beautiful as you said his name, a warm smile decorating his striking face. The safe feeling of your dreams washed over you. These arms, his arms, his hands and his body, were the safety you had been dreaming of that saved you from the tumultuous seas. You stared at him for a moment, hands feeling a heartbeat within his chest. He looked so human, felt so real, yet still an otherworldly air swirled so poignantly around him. Everything inside of you wanted to fall into him, to feel enveloped by his spirit.

“I’m going to take you away,” he whispered it, hand trailing from your arm to your face, tucking hair behind your ear in a most affectionate way, “you’ll never have to come back here, unless you want to.”

“Take me away? To Asgard?” Your breath hitched as you said the name of the haven of the gods.

He laughed, the sound like honey dripping across your soul.

“No, little one. I am of the giants; don’t you remember the ancient stories? To Jotunheim we will go.”

Your brow lightened, remembering the words of the Seer. Jotunheim, your brain wracked over the word, letting it roll within your thoughts until it revealed what you were looking for. Útgarðr, you realized, the name of that same place given by your ancestors. It meant the world outside your own, the world of chaotic wilds that surrounded Midgard. The place beyond the fence.

This Loki—this Shinsou—was indeed fated to you after all. You felt the connection from the moment you saw him sailing in the winter winds, felt it even more profoundly as he held you before him in the temple. For some reason, the trickster god had chosen you, or perhaps he was merely following fate, testing you for all this time to see if you were truly the human girl destined for him. He was a sign of change, his hands wrapped around the prow of the ship that was carved into a symbol of Ragnarok, the end of the cycle of this world. He was proving to be a carrier of the end times, at least the ending of your own mundane life. And just like Ragnarok, you had a feeling that with this end would come a new beginning, that Shinsou was taking you away but leading you to a new life, a new destiny, far beyond what you could ever imagine.

“Take my hand,” it was a polite command, his words weighty but light enough to promise that you could decline.

You felt something between his fingers, a quietness, a wickedness you could not quite name. It was like a dull thrum of lightening humming between your skin and his. Billows of smoke weaved between your bodies. Just as quickly as he transformed into a woman, Shinsou had you whisked away, transported so rapidly you felt dizzy. You clung to him, your godly refuge, light flashing as your feet found new purchase upon what felt like a floor.

For a moment, you thought the room was a mirage. It was unlike anything had ever seen before, so lavishly decorated with lush furs, viridian curtains, polished stone and warm fires. Books lined every wall and the air smelled of perfumes and incense, even a fountain sprung from stones in the far corner. It was truly unearthly, but his arms around you felt like home.

His head rested upon your shoulder from behind, his palms flattening on your chest to feel your heartbeat as you took in the sights around you.

“This is…this is your home?” One of your hands gripped a muscular forearm.

“Mhm, more like a home away from home, a safe haven.”

He uncurled himself from you, a stout hand pushing at your lower back to urge you to explore. You padded around the room, fingers caressing the spines of books along the walls, finding many in languages unknown to you. Between many of the tomes were vases and trinkets, some glowing with mystic hues, humming with magic well beyond your comprehension.

“What will you have me do here?” Your breath caught as you turned to find him. He seemed so large and ominous within the space, like was the commander of the room and the only ornament to be admired within the vast collection around you.

“You haven’t figured it out? My, and I thought you were keener than most mortals.”

He rolled his shoulders, sighing with content as he removed his tunic, tossing it into the air to only have it dissipate before your eyes in a bright flash of magic. His tattoos seemed darker in the dim light, like the blackest earth pressed into his skin. A serpent trailed down one of his impressive biceps, his other arm decorated in a swirl of runes and etchings of a wolf and a horse, his chest covered with a dark, ethereal depiction of Yggdrasil, the world tree, it’s branches spreading across strong pectorals and its roots weaving between the hard muscles of his stomach.

“Come,” he motioned to you with his fingers, “come back and touch me.”

You had no hesitation, coming to his call like a pet would their master. It felt safe to be back in his arms again, to have your fingers running over the indigo lines of art upon his handsome skin. He proudly showed you his arms, eyeing you with great interest as you admired him.

“Your children,” you mused softly, tracing the pictures so marvelously stretched upon his musculature.

“Yes,” he laughed softly, “my children. Call me sentimental, if you must.” The enormous snake was no doubt Jormungand, the serpentine dragon that encircled all the oceans, all of Midgard. Then there was Fenrir, the ferocious wolf that was chained away somewhere from all humanity and gods alike, in wait to break his binds and eat the world as the end began again. And then there was Sleipnir, the eight-legged horse that bore the weight of Odin in all of his battles. They were all wild creatures, the offspring of the unfathomably powerful god before you. They were all beasts of anarchy, yet they looked so beautiful upon his skin, so harmless within the ink.

“Order within the chaos…” you whispered, echoing the words of the Seer.

“I want you.”

His powerful voice rumbled from within his chest. It startled you, caused your wandering hands to cease upon his arms and become still before him.

“Why?” Breathless. You felt breathless.

“I have traveled every inch of the nine worlds, regarded every corner for fascinations and enthrallments, yet it was in the homeland where I found what I wanted. You are the most beautiful, pliant little create I have ever beheld, and I want you within my bed.”

“No, you can’t! I’m nothing, no one of importance, you…you can’t.”

He left you then, smirk adorning his features as he sauntered to his bed, waiting for you to follow. And you did, an unspeakable urge to touch him, to follow him, to feel him, to be overwhelmed by him, drawing you to him like a fox to its den, to its safety.

“Well, if you don’t want me, my brother Katsuki would give up his fates in order to have such an alluring woman within his sheets.”

“Katsuki?”

He paused, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms, that playful grin still upon his lips.

“Thor, if you rather. We all have many names, but I only want mine to come from your tongue. So many nights I waited to hear you pray to me, call out to me within your dreams, but I tired of lingering. So now I will have you say it, scream it, for me, little servant.”

He pulled you into his lap, hands greedy upon your flesh, pulling at your thighs and sinking between your ribs. He looked untamed upon the bed, hair almost purposely unruly and muscles rolling and ready to hunt what he wanted to take.

“Do you think you can do that for me? Pray to me? Call out for me like you need me?”

Thick fingers gripped at your cheeks; violet eyes hazy like storm clouds above the ocean. You were reminded that he was a devious deity, a shapeshifter, a trickster, the one thing that your elders warned you about as a child. A burning flame, tide on the ebb, new ice, a coiled snake, he was all those deceitful things and more. He was the epitome of chaos, yet he had chosen you, desired you, and you knew that deep within your spirit you wanted him as well. He was handsome beyond compare, but his physical splendor was not all that had you holding onto him. Behind those eyes was a promise of release from every woe, a chance to experience pleasure like you had never known before.

“Yes, Shinsou, whatever you desire.”

“So devoted to the gods,” he whispered, bringing you flush against his body, “now I’ll make you feel like one.”

Slowly, he ran his hand downward, finding the intimate, remarkably soaked place between your legs. He could feel your wetness from beneath your wool coverings and a satisfied groan builds within his throat as his lips curl even more sharply, devilishly.

“So wet for me already,” he chuckles, wrist flicking and sending your clothing away.

You gasped, feeling the threads peel away from your body by what felt like imaginary hands. Just like his tunic before, your shirt and trousers were gone, whisked away to perhaps another dimension never to be seen again.

“Look at you,” he boasts, keeping one hand tucked between your slick thighs as the other rakes across your curves, pinching, pulling, teasing at your flushed skin, “not even the goddesses compare to you. Mhm, thank the All Father for breathing life into you, I must thank him for creating such beauty.”

Your mouth could barely stammer a thanks. You were beguiled, stunned within his lap, your legs stretched over gloriously muscled thighs. You almost felt shameful to be on such display for him, but the hunger in his eyes and the hardening cock underneath told you just how pleased he was to have you.

A deft finger began to circle your most sensitive spot, making you bite your lip as a groan burned within your throat. He was slow and deliberate with his movements, gaze catching every breath you made, every shift and roll of your body. You felt hot, unbearably so, as his finger toyed with you so languidly.

His other hand found your breast, cupping it and testing its weight within his giant palm. His thumb grazed your nipple, circling it at the same pace and movement as your clit. He grinned as he watched you slowly come undone, felt your walls and insecurities crumbling away at his touch.

Shinsou then took your sensitive clit between two fingers, rolling it so perfectly that it sent sparks of pleasure racing across your nerves, surging from your thighs to your toes and back again. He kept going, stroking sensually, purposely, with such expert skill that you felt you could cum just from his slightest touches. Is this what being with a god felt like? Like you were constantly on the edge of euphoria, every touch and stroke like the gift of life within your body?

Your head tipped back as you moan, giving in to the overwhelming pleasure. He watched with glee as the column of your throat was on display for him. He took a moment to press his hot mouth against your flesh, sucking roughly against the side of your neck like he was taking your pleasure for himself. You could only moan again, the sensations already drowning you in such bliss you were surprised your inner coil of pleasure hadn’t broken for him already. He was an expert in giving pleasure just like he was the art of manipulation and sorcery.

All too easily he moved you below him on the bed, his impressive body now hovering over your own, mouth still biting at your neck, fingers still circling your nipple and caressing your pussy.

“Tell me what you want,” it was a soft command against the slick skin of your neck.

“You,” you breathed in deep, breasts pressing against his tattooed chest with your inhale, “please, more.”

“More of what? Of this?” he pinched at your nipple, tugging it and twisting it so wantonly that you couldn’t help but to shriek in pleasure for him, “or this?” his two fingers danced along the lips of your pussy, sliding between the wet folds before returning to your aching clit, swirling against it so proficiently that you felt your inner muscles clenching and begging for release.

“All of it, I want everything.”

“My, my, you are a greedy little thing.”

All at once, he ceased his motions, easing the pressure upon your body and leaving you wanting, burning, begging for more. But he is not gone from you. His fingers, coated in your slick, tauntingly trace over your clit once more, so light it’s like the kiss of life just barely brushing over your delicate flesh. You began to writhe in response, needing more friction, needing more of his touch, but he moved his weight upon your body to suppress you. He was teasing, purposely neglecting to give you the stimulation you so desired.

“Any time you want more, you say my name, little one. Say my name and I can give you everything you desire.”

“Shinsou, please.”

He groaned, he himself coming undone at the sound of your voice. He couldn’t even begin to explain how gratifying it was to hear his name come from your lips. He was no fool of a god, he knew no one prayed to him, but he wanted you to pray to him more than anything he had ever desired before. Your songs of praise would fill him in ways a mere mortal could never fathom; your prayers, his name from your mouth, was more intoxicating than any substance Odin had ever created. To have you, a devoted child of the gods, calling his name while he stole your faith away from every other god and claimed it all for himself, fulfilled him beyond measure.

His touch trailed lowered, finding your puckered pussy pulsing and waiting, ready for him. He entered a single finger, a heavy moan of approval ghosting against your neck as your inner walls contracted around him, pulling him deeper into you.

“So fucking tight,” he lifted his head, finding your eyes closed and pretty mouth agape, “I can’t wait to have my cock in you.”

Waves of pleasure rocked over your body as he moved his finger within you, curling it to massage the fleshy walls, quickly finding a sensitive spot to stroke against. His palm pressed against your clit as he buried another finger into you, the two digits working in tandem to spread you, spear you onto his thick fingers, pushing them far into your depths. Every plunge had you gasping, bursts of bliss spreading across your skin like flames.

His mouth returned to yours as he fingered you, hot and heavy, but his kiss felt controlled, like he was holding back. You reacted quickly, pushing up into him with all your strength, arms circling his neck and pressing him for more. You wanted what he can give, all of it, and you showed him with your actions. Your hands fisted into those vivid purple plumes of hair, tugging as your hips began to match the speed of the hand working within you. You moaned, loud, desperately, your tongue prodding his lips. He graciously accepted your tongue, opening his mouth and wrestling against you. His tongue licked your own, slow and wet, tasting you and groaning at the sweetness.

�� “Shinsou,” it was a murmur against his mouth, but he heard it, soaked it up and began to thrust and curl his fingers faster than before. You cried out at the pleasure, mouth falling from his.

“You like it a little rough, hm? You’re so easy to read, my dear. I am going to make you cum so hard you’ll be begging for all that I have planned for you.”

His words had your cheeks and ears burning with a blush. He only grinned, choosing to prop himself onto one arm so he could watch you. With every flick of his wrist, every move of his fingers inside of you, he watched your face. He watched how your lips curled, how your jaw clenched. He felt your hands twist in his hair; felt how you would pull on the violet strands in desperation when he touched the perfect spots. His eyes scanned your body as well, watching what made your breasts bounce, your stomach clench, your walls tighten around his fingers. It didn’t take the god long to discover exactly what made you tick.

He rapidly increased his pace, using his newfound knowledge to make your body feel like it could explode at any moment. He touched you just right, plunged his fingers so perfectly as to keep you on the edge of your euphoria for as long as he could. Truthfully, he could’ve kept you in suspense forever, but Shinsou was not a god known for his patience. He wanted to watch you cum, wanted to see your face when you came around the fingers of perhaps the most reviled deity. One even you wouldn’t dare pray to.

“You ready?” He called your name, making your eyes flutter open to see him. He saw the lust within your brilliant irises, your dilated pupils, and that sight alone had his cock harder than it ever had been before. He was no longer sure he could keep his composure as he watched you come undone.

He leaned down closer, close enough to catch your breath within his mouth. He would’ve expected you to kiss him had you not been so far gone, so close to otherworldly release that your lips could no longer form words.

“Cum for me,” that wicked tone of voice was back, his fingers now slamming into your body, “cum for a god, little mortal.”

His thumb returned to your clit, showing it no mercy as he rubbed tight, fast circles against it. His words, his fingers, his body, his breath, it was all too much.

“Sh-Shinsou!”

You reached a high you had never felt before as you came for him. Your head felt dizzy, like you were back to drowning within your dreams, waves and waves of euphoria crashing over you so roughly you felt like you were sputtering for air amidst the onslaught of pleasure. Your walls clenched and unclenched around his unceasing fingers, your chest tightening, your core exploding, heat blooming from every patch of skin he had dared to touch. You screamed. Over and over, the bliss felt never ending, and he baited you for even more.

“That’s right, cum all over my fingers, just like that, just how I want you.”

It felt like he was drawing your orgasm from your body, pulling everything he could from you. His thumb still stroked your clit, fingers still buried deep within your body as you quivered around him. Your thighs clamped around his thick forearm as you finally began to descend from your high, body loosening and sinking into his bed.

He finally stilled his movements. He merely smirked as he watched your chest heave with breaths as you basked in the afterglow of your pleasure.

“Good girl,” he cooed. In the haze you realized how much you wanted to hear those words again, recognized how much you wanted to please him. You wanted more of those encouraging words, more of his admiration, wanted to know how much of a good girl you really were. Your spirit suddenly craved even more, despite the world-shattering orgasm still lingering within your muscles, your blood, your soul.

You felt empty when his fingers left you, but watched in shocked delight as he brought the digits to his awaiting mouth. He sat up before you, sucking at his skin and cleaning your slick from his fingers with a very greedy tongue. He looked wild, uncaged, like the wolf Skoll had finally eaten the moon and brought the world to end.

“Fuck,” you whispered in awe, scrambling for purchase against his sheets as you propped on your elbows to watch him.

He quirked a brow as he slid his tongue between his fingers, relishing your slick as if it was the sweetest honey.

“I’m sorry, did I make the pious girl curse?”

“I’m not pious!” You countered, feeling flustered, shaking your head and pouting as he only laughed.

He smirked as he finished cleaning his fingers, crawling up the bed and pulling you into his lap.

“I dare not argue, not after those delicious sounds you just made for me.”

Shinsou quelled any words that were forming in your mind with a kiss, his lips tasting of you. You moaned against him, feeling his arms snake around your back and hold you to him. His cock was hard and heavy, now prodding against your still pulsating pussy.

“Mhm, how will I take you?”

It was a pondering to himself, but the words still made you tremble. Your nails bit into his shoulders, your nipples hardening as they brushed against the downy hairs of his chest. His strong hands found the flesh of your ass, lifting you to hover over his large, throbbing erection. You held in a breath, waiting, expecting him to take you hard and fast and now, but he merely teased your entrance.

“This way?”

The head of his cock began to spread your lips apart, warm and silken and making you drip even more than before. He sat there for a moment, using the strength of his arms to lift and drop you just ever so slightly onto his cock, each little movement making you gasp.

But then the anchors of his arms were gone, sliding down your thighs as he laid you back on the bed. So easily he moved on top of you again, one hand gripping your thigh, the other slithering up your body to wrap around your tender, kiss bruised throat.

“Or perhaps like this?”

He held you against the bed, cock still hard and waiting between your spread thighs, sliding ever so gently against your pussy. His fingers flexed against your throat and he watched how your eyes flashed with want, with need.

“I could always take you as a woman. You fell so easily into my kiss when I transformed earlier, hm? Would you like that?”

He could feel your gulp underneath his palm, shaky and deep.

“No,” he was smirking, plotting. His deft fingers took your hip into his hand and flipped you over, both hands skimming down your body and pulling you up onto your knees. With a stern hand he kept your breasts pressed into the mattress by applying pressure to your shoulder blades, positioning you just how he wanted. You felt even more exposed than before, your pussy open and wanting and waiting, spread before his hungry eyes like a meal ready to be devoured.

The head of his cock was back at your opening, prodding your lips apart and slowly sinking into you with agonizing slowness. You held your breath, hands fisting into the sheets. He continued to open you more and more, his cock thick and hot. His hand on your hip constrained you securely, keeping you locked into place. The hand on your back did the same, his hold strengthening as he felt you writhe before him.

“Yes,” he purred, cock easing into you, “this is how I want my little servant.”

But the rocking of his hips stopped, the head of his cock now barely pressing inside of you. You breathed heavily against the sheets, sweat trickling down the back of your neck in anticipation. Without being able to see him, face him, you could only feel him. You felt his fingertips press deeper into the curve of your ass, as if readying himself, or perhaps attempting to use restraint. The hand on your back was steady, keeping smooth pressure on your skin. His thighs were solid and strong against your own, his breaths even, his cock so fucking hard.

You cried out in anguish, your aching pussy clenching around the head of his cock.

“Please, Shinsou!”

“Pray to me.”

His tone was nefarious, teasing, almost inhuman in how deeply it reverberated from within that broad chest. You closed your eyes and imagined how the sound must have climbed the dark branches of the world tree upon his skin.

“Pray to me like you did to the other gods in the temple. I want to hear that pretty voice beg for me to fuck you.”

That breathless feeling returned. Your heart began to race, mind rolling around too many thoughts at once that couldn’t be comprehended within your lusty haze. You hastily mulled over words within your head.

“Shinsou…” you began, feeling his fingers begin to mark crescent moons into your flesh, feeling the tip of his cock throb within your core, “wielder of cunning, god of mischief, I beg of you, please bestow upon me great joy and pleasure, take my body as this offering to you, so that I may serve you and grant you the indulges of the flesh—!”

With your final praises tumbling from your lips, he slammed his cock deep inside of you, stretching and spreading you and making you feel like he had set your body alight with magic. Your body lurched forward, nearly toppling over from the power of his thrust, but his strong hands kept you in place, allowing him to begin a brutal speed. Your ass bounced forcefully against his hips, breasts jostling with every thrust. One of his hands curled around your waist to your lower stomach, and he groaned when he realized he could feel his cock bulge from inside of you. He became heedless then, impaling you with reckless abandon, eager to feel your belly swell from the onslaught of his cock.

The forcefulness of his fucking left your muscles aching and your lungs breathless. You were now moaning with every plunge of his cock, as with each stroke he lit a fresh burst of pleasure that rippled across your entire body akin to the streams of enchantments you had seen him wield.

You felt like you were slipping away, having to fight to keep your thoughts alive as he brought you up the mountain of euphoria with just the heavy strokes of his cock.

“Don’t fight the currents. Let go for me.” He grunted the words between thrusts.

You allowed ecstasy to fully wash over your body, allowed his hands to guide you, hold you, take you to far beyond what you once thought the limits of pleasure entailed.

Shinsou moved the hand from your back to your shoulder, using the leverage to pound your body back against his. You could only moan at the feeling, of being so full of his cock, of hearing his groans join the chorus of your own. You clung to the bed with what strength you have left, allowing him to completely take the reins of control and have his way with you.

With each and every thrust, he pulled you back at different angles, trying you, testing you, watching you, seeing which way he fucks you makes you react the most. He listened for sharp cries and deep moans. He felt for your walls to flutter, your abdominal muscles to tighten, learned your body and fucked you with a chaotic yet controlled force.

He leaned over your back, hand moving to your neck, pulling your face up from the sheets. This position has him somehow deeper, head of his cock kissing where the curve of your cavern meets your cervix, farther than any had ever gone before. He filled you to the brim, stretched you so wide you felt you could burst, the intense pleasure of it all bringing tears to the corners of your lashes.

He brought your face closer to his, so that he can kiss your cheek as he fucks you, feel your hair against his chin, watch your breasts bounce so unabashedly from his force.

“You like this, hm? Serving me? Letting me fuck you like this?”

“Yes, yes!”

He squeezed the hand on your stomach, making you moan as you felt the massive cock from inside of you press against your belly.

“You like being so full of my cock? No mortal could ever fuck you like I do!”

“Yes—fuck—you feel so, so good, Shinsou!”

You could feel sweat on his skin, feel his heart beating like a caged raven within his chest. He felt so human, felt so real, but the euphoria he brought you was transcendental.

“You’re such a good girl, such a dirty girl, for me, only me.”

His powerful words were becoming whispers within your hair, vestiges upon your skin. You could only nod, the plowing of his cock into your core now leaving you more breathless than before. You could feel your release nearing, the flames being fanned by every stroke of the head of his cock against your walls, every push of his hand against your belly.

Your slick was dripping down your thighs, pussy so wet that every time his cock assailed your core your ears were met with the sinful sound of drenched bodies meeting one another in animalistic rut. You were climbing the orgasmic ladder again, aided by the sublime feel of his crushing hands upon your neck, your stomach, his vast chest against your back, rough lips pulling your face into him, and his thick, repetitive cock drumming into you.

Your mind was on sensory overload, your body uncontrollably bucking against him, begging for another otherworldly release. You could feel your walls clenching around his cock, your body pleading on its own. Pleasure was singing down your body, bringing pure delight and bliss with every pulse, every push of his cock. You were so close, so fucking close, all you needed was for him to allow you to go over the edge. You had submitted to his currents and knew only he could bring the ebb and flow of release.

You began to chant his name in prayer.

“Fuck yes, little one, just like that. Oh you’re so good, aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes,” you choked out, nearly sobbing for relief, “so, so good for you!”

“Then cum, cum for me!”

He roared the words against your cheek, his command overwhelming you and sending you spiraling as the waves of euphoria returned, crashing over your body like a tumultuous sea. Your body crumpled underneath his and he held you, the violent tightening of your body sending the god himself over the edge. Hot cum poured inside of you, making you cry out at the magnificent feeling of being completely filled by him. Your snug walls struggled to flutter around the girth of his cock, prolonging your orgasm and making you feel suspended within his arms, gasping for breath and reveling in every dull thump of his cock inside of you.

He held you for a long moment, hand against your belly, hand around your neck. It was his turn to bask in the afterglow of sex, to feel wholly spent and satisfied with the girl he had handpicked for himself. You were perfect in his arms, hands fisted into his sheets, lips swollen, his seed dripping from where he was still lodged within your depths. You’d let go, allowed him to have you, to take you, and there was no way in the nine fucking realms he was ever letting you go.

Shinsou kept you within his embrace as he collapsed to the bed, inked chest heaving and Jormungand curling around your back to hold you against him.

“Mhm, all the scheming I had to do to get you here, in my bed, filled with my cum.”

“Scheming?” You asked into his chest.

“What, you didn’t think all those dreams were coincidence, no?”

You sat up to look at him, all tussled violet hair, kohl on his cheeks smeared, grin upon his lips.

“And the cats? The owls? All those eyes on you in the dark? All that time spent waiting for you, little one. I even had to whisper my indecent plans to the Seer. Can you imagine that conversation? At least he put it into fun little riddles for you to decipher.”

“I—I can’t believe you would do all of that, for me. You could’ve just taken me.”

He snorted at your remark.

“I did. My hand was forced to interrupt your fucking daily prayer time and beguile you away.”

You nestled back to him, sinking into his skin, his touch.

“Well, I am gleefully bewitched.”

“And to think,” he chuckled, curling a finger under your chin and bringing your eyes to his, “all you had to do was pray to me.”

You were far too tired for rebuttal, choosing to instead settle with a kiss. He had chosen you. And for that you were filled with adoration, filled with a need to please far greater than you had ever desired to find the veneration of any other god. It was all for him, for a god who had no doubt tricked you into his bed.

__________________________________

This was written for the Citrus Dome writing collab.

#bnha smut #my hero academia fanfic #bnhabookclub #hitoshi shinso x reader #smut with plot #bnha x reader #shinso hitoshi #bnha shinso #bnha shinso hitoshi #shinso x reader #shinsou smut #hitoshi x reader #bnha hitoshi #bnha fanfic #my hero academia x reader

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mindninjax · 3 years

Text

Iron and Wine (5)

Chapter 5- Down They Fell

Previous Chapter | Masterlist | Next Chapter

Erwin Smith x fem!reader (Royalty Au)

Warnings: none this chapter

WC: 3.4K

a/n: I’m sorry this took forever. But here is another chapter. I hope y’all enjoy it. I’m so happy to be able to finally get this chapter out. I've admittedly been struggling a lot with actually liking what I write for this fic and I've been rewriting so many parts of it. But I think I've finally got to a point in this chapter I'm happy with so yay!!!

In the beginning, before the trees stood tall and the salty ocean breeze tickled your nose. Before the mountains reached for the skies and the rivers babbled their tall tales.

There was nothing but darkness and one woman.

The woman was called Thea. She molded the lands beneath our feet from her pliable body, bestowed upon us the winds and the rain from her breath and tears. She filled the oceans and cultivated the forests and separated the heavens and the earth.

When she finished, she looked upon her creations in awe and wonder. But for all the beautiful things she created she was very sad and very lonely, for she had no one to share her creations with.

In her loneliness, she plucked a stone from the deepest part of the ocean and another from the center of the hottest volcano and held them in her palms.

The stone from the ocean she named Malina. She kissed the stone to breathe life into it. To the other stone she named Arinna and kissed it to breathe life into it.

Malina was beautiful, for within her stood kindness, peace, and intuition. Arinna matched her sister’s beauty and had loyalty, determination, and strength within her.

Thea loved both of her daughters and she smiled upon them. She gave to them the gift of Man to worship and adore them.

”They will be your children as you are mine. You will take care of them and love them as your own.”

Malina granted the wishes of those that prayed to her for guidance and was loved by her children. Arinna only blessed those who showed courage and fought well, those she deemed strong. Man favored Malina and her mercy and turned their backs on Arinna.

One day Arinna grew jealous of the love bestowed upon her sister and decided to swallow her whole. “Then I shall be the only mother and they will love me.”

Ever watchful, Thea found out about her daughter's plan and decided to separate them. She banned Arinna from being in the sky at the same time as Malina, promising to destroy the Earth and all that she created should Arinna ever try to swallow her sister again. She placed one in the East and one in the West, and forced the two tribes of Man apart.

To Malina she commanded “You shall light up the dark sky, and to Arinna “You shall warm the land.”

“And I shall become the day and the night and watch over you two for eternity. Arinna you shall shine with me during the day and Malina during the night.”

Arinna was furious and vowed one day to come for her sister to swallow her and become ruler of the skies. She abandoned her devotees, turning her back on them and focusing only on her revenge as she warmed the lands during the day.

Malina only mourned the loss of her sister, distraught that she would never see her again. She cried and a tear fell to the earth below. From that tear, a beautiful tree grew and made the land beneath it flourish in fruit and splendor.

Malina’s children, the tribe in the east, The Children of Paradis, forever worshipped and loved their mother. And she came to love them too. To bless them, speak to them and protect them through hard times.

When they seek wisdom, hope, clarity, or love they look to the night sky for the moon to provide.

“And what happened to the other tribe?” Historia’s voice carries from the back of the caravan as she bobs along on her horse. The clopping hooves on the dirt road almost drown her out but you’re still able to make out her voice.

“No one knows. Some say they turned to dust underneath Arinna’s scorching gaze and became one with the earth. Others just say they were lost,” you say turning to look over your shoulder at her.

Erwin trots next to you, sitting pensively atop his horse as he listens to you tell the legends of your tribe. The march of people into the forest is not a large one, only made up of Erwin’s 6 most trusted guards and those he knows would benefit from seeing how your people function.

He watches your back, bouncing along in front of him as you lead the way and momentarily wonders how you’d fare leading his army. An unnecessary thought, you wouldn’t lead his people but he keeps the thought in the back of his mind, always prepared with a backup plan should this one go south. Levi is next to him on horseback, grumbling about the dirt roads and dust being kicked up onto his clothes as you make your way down the muddy dirt paths.

“You couldn’t have picked a cleaner route?” he complains to you. You don’t even turn around when answering.

“It’s the forest Little Dog. If you’re afraid of getting dirty you should've stayed home.”

Erwin hears Levi “tsk” and tries to hide the smile threatening the corners of his lips. “How much further?” he responds, clearing his throat.

This time you do turn around to look at him, your eyes staring deeply into his. He can’t read your expression but it almost looks like you’re still searching for something within him. He recognizes the expression then, it's the same way you looked at him before agreeing to let them see your home.

“Not long. The treeline should be visible right over this hill,” you reply.

Hange gallops ahead to fall into step with Levi and Erwin. “Whew good, I can’t wait to see what your homes look like!”

They’re quivering with excitement, dropping the reins of their horse and clasping their hands together in joy. Levi has to begrudgingly grab the reins to keep them on course before thrusting them back into their hands and swatting them on the head.

“Well I can’t wait to sleep in an actual bed instead of nodding off on horseback,” Historia whines and you scoff.

“We haven’t even been riding for a full day!” you yell rolling your eyes playfully.

Historia is about to pout and retort with a sassy remark as you all climb over the hill when a slurry of arrows rain down in front of you and stop your horse in its place. Erwin whips the reins of his horse to charge in front of you as the rest of the caravan halt. He stops his horse protectively in front of you, scanning the treeline as he hears Levi gallop up next to him.

“They’re in the trees ahead,” he whispers to Erwin, squinting his eyes and pulling out his sword.

Both Levi and Erwin are caught off guard when they hear you call out, a shrill undulating noise that sounds like some kind of signal. You dismount your horse and push past the two men blocking you, calling out in a foreign language as you continue on foot.

“What are you doing, foolish woman?” Levi spits. Despite his biting tone, he reaches out to try to grab you and keep you from taking another step.

Erwin holds up a hand, “Wait Levi,” he says watching your eyes focus on a spot in the trees.

You shout again in the foreign language and it sounds mystical in Erwin’s ears as it rolls off your tongue. You wait, taking steps forward with your shoulders straight and confident. Then a voice from the trees answers. It’s deeper but the same type of signal, obviously a response to yours.

You smile brightly then and turn to Levi. “Put your sword away, dog, or have you no manners?” you smirk. You gesture to Erwin to follow you and he orders everyone to continue walking.

Erwin can just make out the shapes of the leaves filling the branches when a figure finally reveals itself from the dark shadows of the trunks. A young man with dark hair pulled back into a ponytail at the nape of his neck and piercing green eyes, strolls forward. His eyes are on Erwin as he walks, chest poked out threateningly. His fists are twisted tightly around a handmade bow, a quiver of arrows swaying menacingly on his back.

Erwin is immediately on edge at the arrival of this man and is even more so when you take a step with outstretched arms to greet him. He wants to tell you to stay back, put his horse between you and the hostile man but he knows that would only end badly. So he trusts you and watches as you speak to him again in your language.

For all the hostile behavior the man has shown, it looks like a foreign identity as he switches to relief, joy and if Erwin didn’t know any better, love as the man locks eyes with you. When you approach him and the two of you finally embrace, he has tears in his eyes as he grasps your face—your lovely clean face—between his rough dirty hands. He brings your forehead to his lips and then gazes into your eyes whispering what Erwin is sure must be joy and praise for your safety in your language.

Erwin’s knuckles tighten on the reins of his horse, turning ghostly white as he fights the urge to tear the man’s hands away from you. The two of you speak whispered and hurried and Erwin knows you’re speaking about what happened when your eyes flick in his direction and the man scowls again.

He lifts a hand and more people come out from the shadows of the trees, holding arrows, spears, swords and daggers. They walk carefully, hunched over in defensive crouches as they tiptoe closer. Levi’s hand tightens on the hilt of his sword again and even Erwin’s hand hovers over his in his belt.

“You have nothing to fear, brothers and sisters. These men are not the enemy. Put down your weapons.”

You speak clearly and in the common tongue, commanding the others to put away their weapons. You step in front of Erwin’s horse and stand tall to cement your command. Most of the men and women lower their weapons but when the man who first arrived scoffs and holds up his hand, many stop in their tracks.

“Are you mad? This is the Wolf King. He has always been our enemy,” the man growls, sneering up at Erwin on his horse. He turns to you then, grasping your shoulders and shaking them. “Have you forgotten? Have they poisoned your mind?”

You slap his hands away, glaring at him offended. “You think I am that weak, Eren? That I would turn my back on my people and lead our greatest enemy to our home? That I would guide his sword into your back?” Your voice rises in anger and the power it projects makes a lot of the forest savages standing behind Eren cringe and bow under its weight.

Eren only winces, clearly affected by it but fighting the urge to submit. “No. But we thought you were dead! You put me in charge should you not return and we were about to—“

“But I have returned. And I said, put your weapons down.”

Again the power in your voice evokes the utmost respect from all who hear it. A tall man with sandy brown hair that stops at the base of his neck gives you a nod. He lowers his weapon and gestures to the others before he acknowledges your order in your language again.

Erwin watches both you and Eren stare intensely into each other’s eyes, a battle of dominance taking place between the two of you. He clears his throat and dismounts his horse to attempt to look less threatening. Some of the others, a woman with dark short hair and pale skin and a shorter man with a shaved head crouches, ready to spring when his feet touch the ground.

“The Lioness speaks the truth. We are not here to harm you.” he says in a clear loud voice.

Eren tears his eyes away from you to sneer at Erwin, curling his lip and baring his teeth and Erwin sees Levi tense up, now dismounted from his horse as well. Eren stomps over to Erwin to jab a finger into his face.

“You do not speak to us, you arrogant fool. She is not a lioness. She is a priestess, Vata, one chosen by the Mother to guide us. And you stole her from us,” Eren spits.

His green eyes flow with a wild feral energy that Erwin finds extremely off putting, even dangerous. He again has to stop himself from pulling you away to protect you from him.

“That’s enough Eren. Stand down. I won’t say it again,” you scold him, coming to stand between the two of them again.

Your hand gently pushes Erwin back behind you and his heart skips a beat when he realizes you’re shielding him. Eren thankfully backs down, blowing out an angry breath and stomping away toward the trees. Erwin blows out a relieved breath as the tension starts to dissipate between the two groups.

He places a large hand on your shoulder, “Thank you for—”

“Do not speak directly to them again. Not unless you’re told to, understood?” you say sharply, jerking your shoulder out of his grasp.

He winces at your tone but nods. He thought the two of you were making progress. This may be harder than he expected.

“Armin, ride ahead with Eren to let the others know we’re coming. I think we’ve had enough surprises for the day. Have them gather at The Moon Tear’s Tree. There will be much to discuss.”

Armin unwraps himself from the tight hug he had you in to look into your eyes with curiosity. “What’s going on? It has to be something frightening for you to lead Erwin Smith here,” he asks, wide blue eyes gazing into yours.

Armin’s always been your favorite. He’s quiet and shy but a genius and easy to speak to. In some ways he and Historia are similar.

You place a hand on his cheek and touch your forehead to his. “You’ll have answers soon enough. For now, I need your help keeping the peace. Eren will make this difficult, but your kind heart can touch the others in the village. Let them know who comes into their home, but help them keep their hearts and minds open. This is something I can only entrust to you.”

He smiles, “I won’t let you down,” he says, turning to face his horse. He stops then and turns to look at you solemnly. “Vata, Eren was...distraught when they took you. He rallied The Children to get you back,” you gaze into his eyes encouraging him to continue.

“Please, don’t be too hard on him. He loves you.”

Armin’s words hit you in the chest and you force a reassuring smile on your face before he mounts his horse and rides off into the woods. Eren has always been with you since the two of you were children and you were always aware of his feelings, but to hear them spoken from someone as honest as Armin brings a chill of sadness up your spine.

You shake the thought from your mind. There are more important things to deal with now. Jean, Marco, Sasha, Mikasa and Connie are now circled around Erwin and his men eyeing them all suspiciously. Erwin looks nervous for once and you have to hide the smug smile dancing it’s way onto your lips.

“Children, do not worry. They will not harm you,” you say walking to stand next to Erwin with outstretched hands. “Tell them your names and they shall share with you their own,” you say to your people.

They all look unsure, eyes flashing back and forth between you and Erwin standing next to you. He stands his ground and you can tell he’s trying very hard not to speak up or take control of the situation and again you smile behind your fingertips.

The first to speak is Jean. “I’m Jean, the best damn archer you’ll ever witness in your life. So don’t try any funny business,” he says in a tough grunt, heavily accented in your dialect.

Both Connie and Sasha guffaw at the same time. “Yeah right! Everyone here knows that Sasha’s the best archer. It takes you twice as long as her to aim!” Connie laughs.

Jean moves to try and swipe at Connie but Marco pulls him back before he says in a small shy voice, “I’m Marco.”

Connie turns to Erwin then. “I’m Connie by the way. Damn they said you all were big but I never imagined you’d be this tall. Well except for the little one back there,” he says pointing to Levi.

Erwin has to hold out his arm when Levi tries to take a step forward in rage. At the same time Sasha hits him hard on the head with the tip of her bow.

“Sorry. He has a knack for putting his foot in his mouth at all times. I’m Sasha.” She grins wide and genuine and you're suddenly very thankful for both Connie and Sasha’s laid back personalities.

The last to speak is Mikasa who hovers close to you protectively as she eyes each of Erwin’s men. Her gaze stays fixed on Levi, sizing him up as her eyebrows furrow and she looks at you from the corner of her eye. You know what she’s thinking and you nod and give her a look that says “yes you do have to” before she squeaks out, “I’m Mikasa.”

Erwin steps forward and bows respectfully to the group before his deep clear voice rings out. “I’m Erwin Smith,” he stops for a second as if he’s pondering something, then points to each of his comrades and introduces them, “And this is Levi, Hange, Miche, Moblit, and Historia. Thank you for allowing us to visit your home.” He finishes in a very formal tone that makes the others very uncomfortable.

They all shift back and forth on their feet before you stand between them again and raise your voice. “We will continue onward then. Check the king’s men for weapons and toss them aside before they enter the forest. But do no harm to any of them. I’ll search the king myself.”

As the others surround Erwin’s group to help them down from their horses carefully and search them for weapons. You stand in front of Erwin and pull his arms up from his sides and out straight. He smirks as you run your hands over the soft silk shirt he’s wearing, squeezing his biceps as you go.

When you kick his ankle to signal him to spread his legs and bend down in front of him he clears his throat. “I suppose this is payback,” he mutters so that only you can hear.

He’s looking down at you, eyes glistening in the sun overhead and you can swear he looks a bit smug seeing you in this position in front of him. You tug on the end of his pants, shaking it lightly as you search.

You feel up his thick muscular thighs, not meeting his gaze and ignoring the slight movement in his trousers as you feel around his upper thighs and hips. He sucks in a quick breath when you press on his groin and feel around for any sign of a weapon.

You flick your tongue over your lip quickly before standing and finally meeting his gaze. “That would suggest that I am interested in more than just searching you for weapons, which is certainly not the case.”

He chuckles again and for a second you want to smile playfully at him too, but you catch yourself and give him a serious glare. “Stay focused, this wasn’t the hard part. It’ll only get tougher from here. Are you still certain—”

“Do you believe your people will join forces with us?”

“Yes.” You reply with no hesitation.

“Then I trust you completely,” he says without missing a beat. He stares intensely, hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. You blink, hesitating for a moment but keeping your eyes on him again. He’s calm and comfortable and there's something behind his gaze that you still can’t figure out. It brings heat to your cheeks.

“Then you are a fool,” you sputter before turning away from him.

The deep rumble of his teasing chortle sounds close behind you as you stomp away. “How many times do you think you’ll call me a fool before all of this is over?”

You roll your eyes and mutter in annoyance, “An unquantifiable amount.”

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#erwin smith x reader #erwin x you #erwin x reader #erwin smith #iron and wine

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blazedbakugou · 3 years

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you get hurt while saving him

Request: “hi may i request an angst to fluff scenario based around prompt 2 and like the reader is super nice to bakugou and has always been there for him but he's scared of falling in love so he pushes her away and is pretty mean and one day during a mission she saves him but gets pretty badly hurt in the process but it ends happy and with fluff ?? i love the way you write”

a/n: thanks for requesting and reading my stuff, that’s v cool of you

genre: angst with fluffy ending when do I not write angst

warnings: blood, severe injuries, hospitalization, cursing, aged up characters

word count: 1.2k+

pairing(s): katsuki bakugou x f!reader

prompt: #2 “Please say something. Anything at all. Just talk to me.”

“Please say something. Anything at all. Just talk to me.”

Bakugou’s voice came out in a panic, his eyes worriedly glancing around for any signs of help nearby. The sound of blood rushing in his ears drowned out the buzz of the city around him, vision blurred with tears that he struggled to keep at bay. You trembled in his arms, streaks of crimson trailing out the corner of your mouth and smudges of dirt covering your skin wherever your torn-up hero suit failed to protect.

“Come on... where the fuck are they? They should fucking be here by now,” the blonde grunted.

You choked out a measly response, “hey... it’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

Your hand grasped his bicep as tight as it could, though he could tell your strength was fading by the second. Sirens rang in the distance reminding you to hold on just a little while longer. Content with the fact that help was on the way, you allowed yourself to close your eyes and rest as your body so desperately craved despite Bakugou urging you otherwise.

- - -

Bakugou fixated on the off-putting white linoleum floors with a blank stare, thoughts running at a hundred miles per second. All this time he’d pushed you away, responded to your kindness and generosity with harsh bitterness. Only now did he realize how much of a fool he was for taking everything for granted. How stupid he was to act so brash when life could be so cruel to threaten to take away the one he loved in a split second. He should’ve said something sooner, somewhere calm with nice scenery— not in a hospital which reeked of disinfectant and anxiety.

He knew he was only lying to himself all this time. Pretending that he couldn’t see what was so obviously there, denying the fact that he cared about you. He loved you. Fuck, he loved you so much. Becoming a pro hero brought many changes in his life, he had to say goodbye to Friday nights at the diner down the street and settle for home-cooked dinners, he was no longer able to go for a walk at the park without being recognized, much less be able to have a day to himself without the stress of work coming back to haunt him. Becoming a pro hero turned his life around, but you always seemed to be that one constant in his life that kept him grounded.

Night and day, Bakugou thought of you and your stupid smile that always appeared right after you’d told some terribly cheesy joke. He was reminded of you wherever he went. It was annoying at first, suffocating even. No matter how hard he tried to avoid you, his efforts always fell short. At some point— he wasn’t sure when— he fell for you.

Every glimpse he took at your beat up body brought him painful flashbacks of how it all went down. He remembered the tightening of his chest when he found your limp body nearly lost in the sea of debris. The wait for the ambulance felt like it went on for an eternity and a half. He would’ve used his quirk to you to the hospital himself if it weren’t for the fact that you were in too far of a fragile state for such precarious means of transportation.

The steady beep of your heart monitor along with the ticking of the clock hung on the wall drowned out in the background as Bakugou held your hand in his— your hand felt so cold, so weak. Within the safety of your hospital room, he felt comfortable enough to spare a moment or two of vulnerability. In that vulnerable headspace, he took the time to figure out his feelings for you and accept them as they were.

Tick-tock. Tick-tock. Tick-tock.

Seconds turned to minutes and minutes turned to hours. He stopped keeping track of time but he vaguely noted the change of lighting outside your room, the world outside no longer bright and sunny but instead dark and gloomy. At some point, Bakugou had worked up the courage to rest his head on your shoulder, the stiff plastic chair he had been sitting in for the past few hours was causing his legs to go numb but he didn’t dare complain. How could he? He couldn’t complain about such minor issues when the love of his life was currently fighting for their life beside him.

It was the sudden pressure he felt on his hand that caused the blonde to snap his head up to look at you. His eyes searched for any signs of you waking up but he was only met with the same still expression you’d worn since they put you in your bed. Had he imagined it? No, he could’ve sworn he felt you squeeze his hand.

“Are you ready to confess your love for me or should I go through another near-death experience.”

“Huh?! You’re awake!” Bakugou jolted up out of his seat in surprise, his numb legs nearly buckling before him.

You weakly reached out to steady him before noticing his hand already grasping yours, “woah there, falling for me already?”

“Tch, shut up before I put you back to sleep.” He rolled his eyes.

“C’mere,” you scooter aside to make room for him on the bed, “you look worse than I do. Let’s take a nap.”

Bakugou huffed before climbing in beside you, being mindful to be gentle with you. He tried to slow down his heart rate before you noticed how fast it was beating but it was too late— you’d already made yourself comfortable on his chest. He only hoped you wouldn’t mention it which fortunately for him, you didn’t.

“‘M sorry.” The blonde let out in a whisper.

“Hm?”

“I said, I’m sorry. Don’t tell me that they gotta check your ears now too.”

“No, I heard you the first time. I just don’t know what you’re sorry for.” You frowned.

“Didn’t protect you like I should’ve. It’s my fault you got hurt, I should’ve been quicker.” Bakugou mumbled.

“Wasn’t your fault, don’t tell yourself that. It was their fault, not yours.”

A brief moment of silence followed after before he spoke again, “sorry for being such a dumbass.”

“Don’t apologize for something you can’t change.” You grinned.

“You’re making it very difficult to do this.” He sighed.

“Do what?”

“This.” Bakugou tilted your head up to face him and took a moment to look at you before kissing you.

Your lips felt drastically different than what he was expecting, they weren’t soft like they normally were, instead they were slightly chapped. Salty tears streamed down your faces, raw emotions finally brought to the surface after being repressed for so long. The reality of how close Bakugou was to losing you suddenly hit him all at once, causing him to pull you closer. Usually first kisses weren’t on a hospital bed and didn’t normally taste of blood and tears, however, given the circumstances, Bakugou couldn’t quite bring himself to complain.

Finally, you pulled away, “is this real or am I dreaming?”

“‘S all real… so fucking glad that you’re actually here.” He breathed out, resting his chin on top of your head.

“Wouldn’t wanna be anywhere else.”

“Good.”

“Nap time? I think we both could use some rest.”

“Yeah, sure but first… promise me one thing.”

“Hm?” He could already hear the exhaustion in your voice.

“Just don’t go dyin’ on me… understand, dumbass?” He huffed, rubbing his thumb across the back of your hand.

“Of course, Katsu. I promise.”

@combat-wombatus @sunflowersuki

masterlist // taglist open // requests open

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dragonswithjetpacks · 3 years

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For anyone who was interested in my Cullen/Trevelyan fic, I've got four chapters up, now.

Beautiful War

Summary: Dame Claira Trevelyan is known to be a stubborn and off-putting woman. She was always told she never amounted to anything, that she was never pretty or graceful enough to marry. She believed that for the longest time. But her strength and her compassion managed to catch the eye of someone beyond her what she imagined possible. A man just as stubborn and oblivious to how his feelings for his leader are more than just respect.

Chapter Four: Agree to Disagree

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3

Read here on Ao3.

The requisitions for the journey into the Hinterlands were well underway. Word had not yet arrived how successful the troops were with aiding the refugees. But Claira had suspected the constant warfare in the area had much to do with their letters being intercepted. Or that there may have not been a chance to write at all. With her going to the Hinterlands, it would provide the others in the Inquisition with enough information to proceed further with their plans on the Breach. It was important not just as her first mission, but the Inquisition's as well. She needed to be ready.

"You're sure you don't need more?" Harritt asked as she watched the last of the supplies being loaded onto a cart.

"I'm certain, Harritt. If I take anymore, we'd be low on stock here. I'd hate to put you behind in orders."

"It's no trouble, my Lady. I'm happy to help."

"And I appreciate it every bit of," Claira smiled.

"How about the new setup? Is it fitting well?"

Harrit had known the lady was a warrior but heeded her request to remain flexible. The leathers were hardened but the metal was light, granting her the protection she required but also the movement of a quickened fighter. She looked down to admire her armor, fitted specifically to her measurements. With a smile, she could not recall the last time something was made so well for her.

"Like a glove," she patted her chest piece.

"So glad to hear it," he smiled proudly. "If I don't see you before you set off, make sure you take of yourself!"

"You as well, my friend," Claira waved and began to make her way toward the door into Haven.

The snow was falling lightly on the mountain and the sun was just warm enough to keep the bitterness at bay. It was a good sign. Claira pulled at her gloves, tightening them closer to her fingers. As she reached the stairway to the gate, she turned to observe the soldiers training. They were always loud. But today, they seemed particularly riled up. Their Commander was shouting at them, correcting their stances, and striding through the rows watching carefully. He seemed so focused, his brown lowered and his lips turned down into a stern frown. It suddenly softened as he caught Claira's stare.

"Lady Herald," he called after her, causing her to stop.

He trotted through his crowd of men, but he was in no true hurry. His hair was a bit tousled, no doubt from the exercise throughout the early morning. His cheeks were very red, but if anyone spent a good amount outside they would have the same appearance.

"Do you have a moment?" he asked.

"I do," she obliged him.

"We haven't gotten a chance to truly speak," he placed a foot on the first step and rested his hands on the hilt of his sword. "That's partially my fault. I apologize."

"Not at all," Claira shook her head slightly. "You're a busy man."

"Indeed," he smirked. "Correct me if I'm out of place, but I was wondering your stance regarding the mages and tempalrs?"

Claira paused. The intent was misguided in her mind, she was certain.

"I don't recall having a stance, Commander."

"Yes, with the disputing between us, I don't recall you having a chance to speak on it."

"And so you wish for me to speak on it now?" she looked around to find they were, in fact, alone in their conversation.

"I'm simply asking your opinion, my Lady."

He was doing his best to appear curious, but Claira could see through his hardened gaze that he was seeking an argument. Perhaps he felt he could sway her into siding with the templars, given her family was close with the Chantry. Or did he know of her origin at all? No, he most certainly knew. This was a ploy if she ever knew one.

"I've hardly had a moment to observe our situation. Of course, it will depend on who we are able to reach out to. As of right now, either option looks grim in this war."

"Of course."

"But... since you ask... I'm inclined to agree with Cassandra. The mages could also be of use."

"Is that so?" he shifted, his back straightening as if to form a wall she could not break down. "What of templars?"

"The templars?" Claira tilted her head. "Many of them still follow the Lord Seeker. They've holed themselves away from this. Nulled the Nevarran Accord. It doesn't seem rational, to be honest."

"So you're saying the templars are lost?"

"What? No. No, you've proven that, Commander. But I fear there is no hope for the Order. They will act on their own, now. And it appears they have chosen to turn a blind eye."

Cullen grimaced breaking the eye contact they held. "I'm a bit disappointed to hear you say that."

"Well, I'm not here to please you. Or anyone for that matter."

"Then you won't mind humoring me with your reasoning?"

"Did you question Cassandra or Leliana with their judgment?" Claira crossed her arms against her chest.

"I trust their judgment."

"Oh!" Claira shouted, composing her stature even further. "Is this about trust, then?"

Her voice was louder than she thought, causing a few of the lingering scouts to look in their direction. But they did not stop their altercation in spite of a few curious eyes. In fact, Cullen stepped upward onto the stair his foot was resting on, bringing him closer to the Herald.

"Why wouldn't it be? They're the Hands of the Divine! She trusted them with her life."

"And they agree with my opinion, so what makes it different?"

Claira was not backing down. She matched his move, placing her dominant foot forward and down a stair. There was a respected distance between them, but the tension that rolled within that space was crashing as waves would against a rocky cliff. Many of the soldiers felt uncomfortable nearby and retreated to their tents.

"Because they'll agree with anything you say because you've been labeled the Herald of Andraste," he pointed a finger at her.

"And you'll disagree with it because that would mean things wouldn't go your way. You templars are all the same."

"What do you know of the struggles of templars and mages? The Trevelyans have been catered to for years."

"You know nothing of the Trevelyans."

A nerve was struck, and he knew it quite well. Her voice was deep and cold. Her arms dropped to her sides but her shoulders remained upright. The waves seemed to subside but the cliff remained vigilant. They both stood, their eyes not leaving the other as if to wait for some sort of outburst.

"Perhaps we should end this conversation," she lowered her tone. "I have important things to attend to before nightfall."

**********************************************

A night drinking at the tavern was not going to fix things for her, and she knew that very well. But going back to the Chantry meant packing for the next day. And her mind was far too busy with other things to focus on that. A few drinks would quiet her thoughts. Or so she would have herself believe. She looked down into her drink to find her reflection at the bottom disappointing. She cast it aside, alerting the barkeep of a refill.

"You look stressed," she said.

"I think I need a good rest," Claira muttered, toying with the handle of her mug.

"It might just be me, but I think sleep is the least of your concerns, Lady Herald."

There was no doubt she was right. Claira tapped the bar side, feeling her anxiety rise again. It shot up from her calves to the base of her neck and no matter how long she bounced her legs up on the barstool, it would no go away. Who was he to judge her? Why was he so salty about disagreeing with him? Why did he feel the need to bring her family into the equation? Why was he yelling? Why did he have to get so close? Why was he so pleasing to look at? No... no, no... He had no right. To be that way or to be so-

"Damn it all," Claira sat back in her chair, throwing her mug up as she let the liquid courage flow down her throat.

**********************************************

Cullen was in the wrong. He was just too arrogant to admit it. Still, each time the anxiety rose to rear its ugly head, she felt that slight twinge of guilt with it. Claira was a horrible liar. Even to herself. She knew she needed to apologize. She didn't know what for. Perhaps she was in the wrong for acting harshly. Or for insulting him as a templar. It mattered not. Leaving the argument as it was would cause it to fester with negative thoughts, eventually spreading doubt like a disease. It would not only be a poor way to start their fellowship with the Inquisition but also jeopardize their future of working together. It was the right thing to end the bickering now.

"Commander, the fires have nearly gone out from the cold," a captain complained while still attempting push-ups.

"Then I suppose you should have thought of that before taking a break this morning to eavesdrop."

"Yes, sir," he groaned.

Cullen's pride was often stronger than he'd like to admit. He didn't want to say his stance on the templars was wrong, but he refused to admit there was another way when he was so easily dismissed as if his thoughts and experience had no place at the table. Regardless of the Order, the templars were a part of something he felt compelled to. It was not so easy to let go and if he could do something for them, he would always choose them. There was respect for Cassandra and Leliana, and he would gladly discuss his intentions freely with them if given the chance. But something about Claira made him irritable. He knew nothing about her. And yet he was supposed to take counsel from her? He was confused and suspicious of her actions. There were still many questions he needed to be answered in order to comply with her demands. Where was she during the rebellion? Why does she sympathize with the mages when the rest of her family sent aid to the templars? Why did she feel so strongly about the mages when she had clearly never been around them?

He rubbed his chin in thought as he recalled the fierce expression when she loomed over him on the staircase. She stood against him when many would not. Still, he knew he should not have been so aggressive. A simple talk to get to know her would have sufficed. Instead, he responded with anger like a fool.

"That's enough, soldier," he said, wanting to find peace on his own. "We should get some rest. It's been a day."

Cullen was off toward his tent, too stuck in his own mind to pay attention to the sarcasm across the field. Many of them were joking under their breath about the Herald. She was fearless. And he had to admit, she most certainly was. He entered his tent, shedding his pauldrons along with his cloak and rubbing the back of his neck. A good sleep would do the trick, but he was convinced that the restlessness he felt would not allow that to happen. Claira was leaving the next morning. As much as part of him wanted to say good riddance, the other half wanted to seek her out. With nothing but doubt chasing his thoughts, he grabbed his cloak and wrapped it around his shoulders. If sleep would not ease his thinking, then a decent walk would have to do. He set out toward the pond at the edge of the camp.

**********************************************

Claira knew that since the sun had set, she would find Cullen in his tent. This made her even more nervous. It was difficult enough for her to seek him out, but to intrude into his personal space was beyond challenging. She would be out of her element. Then again, it was more important for her to settle things rather than let her own arrogance show. The closer she grew to his tent, the louder her heart banged against her chest. She stood in front of it for a moment, studying the slightly lifted flap. She couldn't hear him inside, even when she called out to him quietly. She lifted the canvas and found there was no one there. There was a candle, barely lit. And his pauldrons rested on a wooden chest. His bed was left messy. And there were garments unfolded but placed neatly on top of a chair next to his desk. He must not use it that often. She blushed upon seeing them, allowing the door into the tent to fall. Turning away, she half expected to return to her quarters.

"He's brooding again," she overheard a couple of scouts walking toward their tent.

"He's always brooding," the other replied.

"Not his usual brooding. This is serious."

"What makes you say that?"

"Didn't you hear? The Herald had a bit of a disagreement with him this morning. He's been sulking ever since."

"Well, who would argue with the Lady Herald?"

"I mean, it's good someone does, right? There should always be someone with a different look on things."

There it was. The guilt again. She couldn't go back to bed, now. For Maker's sake, the troops thought he was sulking of all things. Pulling her tunic tightly against her neck, she made her way to the edge of the camp. The next place she thought of was the training dummies. But as she cleared the tents and saw them lined before her, she was nearly blinded by the sight of the moons. They cast long dark shadows that contrasted the white snow. Just beyond the camp, she could make out the outline of someone walking along the edge of the pond. There was no doubt about it. It was Cullen.

As she approached him, she felt a rush of impatience as if the fingers of anxiety traced her spine. It sent a cold chill down her back. But then she caught the silhouette of the side of his face, his cheekbones and nose standing out against the cold moonlight. The trim of his fur shifted in the wind along the lining of his neck. He wasn't wearing his pauldrons and she caught a glimpse of his tunic hanging loosely from his chest. She caught herself looking and wondered why so suddenly she was thinking of him this way. Surely, it was the ale. But despite his good looks, she pressed on, reminding herself that physical appearance was only a distraction.

"Good evening, Commander," she called out to him as she neared the banks of the pond.

He turned, clearly surprised as she grew nearer.

"If I could have a word?" she requested.

Cullen looked back out toward his men, still buzzing through the camp. They were well occupied. He wanted to go back to them. He wanted to tell her no. He was not interested in what she had to say. But curiosity took the better of him. Though, he took a good long while before answering her. The brightly lit moons made the snow glow around them, reflecting light onto her pale skin. He had noticed her freckles after being so close that morning, but never really looked at them on her face. They traced her cheekbones under her eyes. And along the left side, she had a faint tattoo. It also appeared that her hair was cut by her own doing, being much longer on one side than the other. Her nose was quite prominent but her lips were full. As were her cheekbones. And her eyes were shaped like almonds. For a moment, he lingered on how she was quite beautiful. He also noted she was still in her armor, which meant she never went back to her quarters. Which led him to believe she lied in order to end the conversation.

"Of course," he responded plainly.

Claira was quiet for a time, listening to the sound of their feet crunch through the snow. She thought it would be rude not to appreciate the moons and the setting it had laid before her. The stars were always so clear above them. But for that night, they glistened with magic in the sky. If anything were to go wrong, she hoped she could at least remember that moment.

"I want to apologize for my behavior," she finally began. "I feel terrible for the way I've spoken to you."

Cullen wanted to agree with the statement but quickly shut his mouth. He would not ruin the conversation the second it had begun. If she wanted to speak, he wanted to be welcoming.

"It isn't just me you are disagreeing with. I shouldn't take it so personally," she continued.

Claira stopped after realizing they were closer to camp, now. She did not want the others to hear as much of their conversation as they had before. Cullen gestured toward his tent nearby.

"You were rather defensive from the beginning," he pointed out. "I'm not exactly sure where the conversation took its turn."

Claira reflected upon their previous encounter as they approached Cullen's tent. He lifted the flap for himself but did not bother to appeal to the courtesy of welcoming her into his sleeping quarters. She flinched as it fell upon her, but stepped in, regardless. He was reaching across his shoulder to untie his cloak when she spoke.

"To be fair, you were rather demanding."

He stopped for a few seconds to glare in her direction. Looking slowly back over to his shoulder, he wisked his cloak off with one gesture and lay it across his exposed garments. She was correct in guessing he was not one for sitting but also embarrassed for peering into his tent without his presence.

"No, you're right," he said, squinting at a scroll written in small lettering. "Your interrogation should have ended the moment Cassandra began to trust you."

He put the letter down but has hands pressed against the desk for longer than they should have. He closed his eyes, lower his head deep in thought. Guilt and forgiveness were not emotions he was good at portraying.

"I couldn't have expected everyone to set aside their doubts," she assured him. "You were right. They value my decision-making due to the circumstances. I haven't considered this and have taken that thought lightly. It's just... it still feels so odd. The title hasn't settled with me. I do no understand its weight. I only feel like myself. Like a person."

"You humble me, my Lady," Cullen sighed as he straightened up. "I should not have doubted you, to begin with. I apologize."

"No no, please," she insisted, stepping toward the candlelight. "As a leader, I should reflect on my impact on others as well as listening to opposing opinions. When the time comes, I want you to come forward."

"When the time comes?" he questioned her wording.

"I'm truly not certain of what will happen between the templars and mages. The Hinterlands will be a representation of this war. I know where I stand, but there will be a time for all of us to speak. And I hope you will continue to speak your mind."

"Even if we disagree?"

"In most circumstances, I would ask for you to speak if you disagree," she affirmed. "I find an arguing opinion can leave an open-minded compromise. However, it appears with this specific case, we seem to be... stuck. It's a sensitive subject for us all. But that doesn't mean you should change your mind because no one agrees with you. I won't suppress your choice. I do hope, though, that we can move past this disagreement once the decision is made."

Claira knew her truth would put Cullen at ease. But she owed him nothing. Especially if he was going to be difficult to reason with. In return, Cullen felt the very same. At the very least with their conversation ending in agreeing to disagree, they could tend to the matter more delicately without a bitter taste for the other. They knew in the near future, they would clash once again. And hopefully, when that happened, their understanding would have grown.

#cullen rutherford #cullen fic #cullen x trevelyan #cullen x not a mage #cullen rivals to lovers

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wintersxsoul · 5 years

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You Saw Me (10)

Summary: You have the life you’d always dreamt of. The job of your dreams, the perfect boyfriend and the best group of friends. But what happens when that life is not enough and your soulmate is not who you thought it would be?

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: Angst and a bit of fluff maybe??

A/N: My lovely @all1e23 is the beta for this series so give her some love because she has to put up with my infinite bullshit because my brain was fried. A reblog and comment are always appreciated and what feeds my soul to keep writing. I hope you enjoy this as much as I am. Taglist is CLOSED. Sorry for the delay ily.

Trains were your favorite way of travelling since forever, it gave you the amount of time and peace you needed to think things through. Chicago was almost 24 hours away by train, so that was a lot of thinking.

“You knew all along...Why didn’t you say anything?”

“Because I was selfish and I couldn’t bare the idea of losing you, but seeing what my acts have caused, I would’ve told you when I found out.”

Jake told you how he saw Bucky’s tattoo a year ago and how he acted when he asked about his soulmate. Bucky never intended to tell either of you but once Jake discovered it, everything changed. He asked Bucky for weeks who his soulmate was, trying to gather information because the date seemed familiar and after a lot of questions, Bucky broke down and confessed. It was the first and only time Jake had seen Bucky cry inconsolably, clinging to his shirt and shaking. He held him for hours until he couldn’t cry more, he kept shaking and mumbling apologies.

After that, Jake was furious because of the lies they told you but he understood, he still understood even though it was the wrong thing to do. Bucky wanted the best for you two, even if that meant losing you forever, his friend and his soulmate.

You looked at your reflection in the window, the salty tears running down your cheeks, your eyes swollen from crying non stop for days.

You gained the courage to speak to Nat and Sammy first, you needed desperately their support even after all. They showed up at your doorstep in less than 15 minutes and after a lot of explanations and apologies, they held you while the three of you cried. It was relieving to know they’d hated the lies and the secrets as much as you, and keeping all that from you was the hardest and worst thing they had ever done.

You explained them the long conversation you had with Jake and how happy you were for him and for Samara.

Then you contacted Stevie and Peggs, knowing that seeing them together now would hurt you deep, because you could’ve had that long ago. Steve told you that Bucky wanted to tell you and gained the courage to do so a lot of times, but he chickened when he saw you with Jake, he saw how happy you were and doubted you’d be with him, so he just ceased from trying. Peggy told you the crazy amount of fights Steve and Bucky had because of this and how it seemed like it would end their friendship sometimes.

“The last fight really had an impact on both of them, they didn’t talk to each other until Bucky’s opening of the academy…”

That was the fight you witnessed at your apartment, that was why Steve looked so agitated and Bucky looked so...hurt.

Healing has always been easy for you, forgiving and forgetting, none of that was a problem but trusting them again was going to be harder. Trust was something you unfortunately gave everyone blindly and that, that was your biggest virtue and flaw.

“If you need to escape, just get a train and come over.” Jake’s proposition ran through your head for days until you decided to get a ticket and leave without saying goodbye. A part of you knew that you were going to regret going to visit Jake and Samara, but the other part knew you needed closure and time away, so Chicago granted you all that.

“She left? Is she okay?” Nat looked at Bucky and frowned, trying to guess who had called.

“I know...I know I fucked up big...no, don’t say we. I was the one supposed to tell her when I found out...Jake...just...yes, I’ll let Tasha know.” Bucky picked on his nails, a nervous tic Nat hadn’t seen since their first date so many years ago. He sighed and covered his eyes with his left palm, rubbing his temples with his thumb and middle finger. Bucky nodded, letting out a shaky farewell and throwing the phone across the couch, landing next to Nat.

“She went to visit him. Do you think that’s something good?” Do you think she will be able to forgive me, Bucky wanted to ask Natasha but instead he shook his head and stood up, getting his leather jacket, his phone and keys.

“You want me to go with you?” She knew the answer before even asking the question, but she had to try at least. If she couldn’t help you, the least she could do was help Bucky, as stubborn as he was, he needed it.

“No, I’m headed to the academy.” He approached Nat and held her face with his two hands, pressing his forehead to hers. “I know you are worried, but I’ll be fine, I just need time to think.”

Nat nodded, her eyes closed, trying to etch this moment into her memory. She misses Bucky, she misses being loved by him and being able to love him, but that died a long time ago. Neither of them talk about it anymore, but their tattoos are the reminder of what they had and the strong connection they still have after all they’ve been through.

“Tash…” She breathed in and pulled back, smiling sadly at his best friend.

“I’m sorry, I just…” Bucky kissed her at the top of her head, running his fingers through her red hair.

“I know, Tash, I know.” She nodded, more to herself than to him. She would never say it out loud or even admit it to herself, but after all these years, her heart still ached for his.

“I’ll call you later, Я люблю тебя.” Her smile reached her eyes this time, and Bucky knew they’d be just fine.

“Me too, now get out before I kick you for making me sad.” He chuckled and left, the sound of his laughter still echoing in her chest. She sighed and grabbed her phone, typing a short message to you.

Call me if you need me, clear your mind. We’ll be here waiting, always. Take your time to heal, I’m sorry. I love you.

You smiled at Nat’s message, your heart growing heavy. You missed her already, you missed your best friend with your whole chest. You knew the second you read that message that you had forgiven her.

You sighed deeply and got off the bus, you were ready to face the music. Once you reached the exit of the bus station, two strong familiar arms were embracing you, the familiar scent you had missed so much soothing all of your senses.

“You fucking scared me, asshole.” You mumbled to his chest, a huge smile on your face and tears staining his grey shirt.

“Hello to you too, peaches.” You held him tighter, not wanting this moment to slip away from you. After a few more minutes, you pulled back and looked at him. He looked like himself, but something about him seemed different, brighter. You grinned at him and looked behind him, frowning when you didn’t see anyone else.

“Where is she?”

“She told me that I needed to face you on my own, that I was a grown up.” Jake rolled his eyes but his lovestruck smile gave him out completely.

“She’s perfect, huh? You always end up with the best.” You elbowed him when he nodded and shrugged his shoulders, smirking at you.

“What can I say, I guess I have a type.”

“Okay loverboy, let’s go. I wanna meet this goddess already, I had enough of your pretty face.” On your way to his car, he held your hand in his, reality finally crashing on you. You felt nothing, all that emotions you felt whenever he held your hand were gone. All you had left were the memories. At that moment, you thought of Natasha, how hard it must have been for her to lose him like that, without a previous warning.

“Why are you so silent?” Jake asked you, looking at you from the corner of his eye. You tried to open your mouth to speak, but suddenly all you could let out were sobs. Jake pulled over and held your hands in his, making you look at him.

“Can I see it?” He nodded, letting go of your hands to pull up his right sleeve. You looked at his big green eyes, asking for permission. He got closer to you so you could stretch your hand to touch the tattoo. You caressed the thin lines with your thumb and smiled.

“All these years waiting in vain.” You said sadly, contemplating the contrast of the white marks with his tanned skin.

“They weren’t in vain, I wouldn’t trade the time I spent with you for anything in the world.”

“I haven’t seen mine yet, I can’t find the strength to look at it.” Before he could even think of an answer, you let out what was paining you the most. “I can’t believe it wasn’t you, I wanted you, no one else. And I’m sorry to admit this, but I’m glad that you all lied to me, it gave me time to be with you.”

“I know what I feel for Bucky, and that will never go away. But I’m glad he gifted us with all these years. The worst part is the disappointment, the truth. We were never meant to be, but I’m glad we were for a bit.”

“Y/n, I’m sorry I couldn’t be strong enough to tell you the truth, I really am.” You smiled at him, your heart finally lighter, softer.

“I know, I know.” You cleaned the smudged mascara while Jake drove again. Now you were ready to face the future, ready to face the truth.

#Bucky Barnes #james bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky fanfic #you saw me #soulmate au #bucky barnes soulmate au #bucky barnes x female reader #i hate tagging #mutual pining #enemies to friends to lovers

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decandantfics · 5 years

Text

When You Need Me - Part 3

No One

It was 8:30pm, and Dec was waiting in line to check in at Newcastle International Airport. He'd managed to blag his way into getting an extremely expensive last-minute ticket for a direct flight to London leaving about an hour from now, and had hurriedly re-packed his belongings, letting Ali know he would be home later that night. Anne had been so disappointed when he told her he needed to go back to London, but had insisted on cooking him a full 3-course meal before he left. He'd managed two-thirds of the generous portion on his plate before claiming fullness – a feat Anne classed as a win, given that he hadn't eaten anything all day other than a few bites of his eggs and bacon that morning. Sending him off with many hugs and kisses, and a promise that he would keep her in the loop on everything – himself included – Anne had left him with a few final words of wisdom: "Talk to him."

Dec had nodded, an odd look coming over his face for a moment, before stepping through the threshold and back out into the dark, unwelcoming world. Now, standing in line with multitudinous other weary travelers, Dec had his cap pulled down tightly over his eyes and the collar of his coat turned up, feeling the need to hide from the curious eyes of the public. He was in no mood to speak with anyone, not even their fans, and was willing the line to speed up. All he wanted was to get back to London to take care of his ailing wife and their unborn child. Well, there was one other thing he wanted, but that wasn't really an option right now, at least to his mind.

Over the past few months, Dec had met with various members of Ant's rehab team, both over the phone and in person, in an attempt to keep himself educated in the best ways to help Ant as he kicked his alcohol addiction. They had stressed that it was important Dec didn't try to fight Ant's battles for him – that Ant needed to form new habits and resist temptations himself. If he came to rely too much on any one person for strength while recovering, it could be detrimental in future. Which Dec had essentially interpreted to mean, "don't force yourself on him; be there for him, but mainly support him from afar." Thus, he had made an effort to be a constant underlying presence in Ant's life in small ways, checking up on him daily through Christine, and Anne-Marie via Ali (they'd known each other for years and were good friends), and being incredibly supportive whenever he was with Ant. But he felt like he shouldn't be bothering Ant all the time with texts as was their previous norm, thinking Ant might come to rely on him too much, or would perhaps think Dec was checking up on him because he didn't trust him to stay sober. So he kept casual contact to a minimum unless Ant initiated it, instead focusing on passing on support from the public. Whatever it took for Ant to get better, that's what Dec was going to do. Even if it meant hurting himself in the process.

And he was fine with it, he understood why the team wanted Ant to find his own moral strength to fight his demons, and he accepted that this – hopefully temporary – "support from afar" arrangement would benefit Ant in the long run. He knew they had grown to rely on each other greatly over the years, and could definitely see why the team thought it best for him to not be such an overbearing presence in Ant's life right now. So he carried on as he had been, staying strong for Ant and being massively supportive of him, but keeping his distance, allowing Ant to find himself again and conquer the devils trying to bring him down.

Keep Calm and Carry On. That famed British adage had become Dec's mantra in the three months since his world fell apart, yet he'd done anything but "kept calm," instead being plagued by anxiety and insecurity, the pressures of performing solo and having to solely carry all of the responsibilities of their TV empire doing immeasurable damage to his own mental stability. And he needed Ant, more than ever, but starved himself of Ant's love and support in favor of being his strong shoulder to cry on whenever his friend needed it.

True, Ant knew of Dec's struggles, but Dec basically refused to let them talk about that in their limited time together – insisting that Ant was the important one here, and that he was "fine," the therapy was helping, and it was all good. He needed to be strong for Ant. Of course, Ant didn't believe a word of it and was secretly worried about his friend, but guilt over his own starring role in causing his friend to suffer kept him mute on the subject. He wasn't sure he could deal with the knowledge of all what his friend was going through because of him.

So it was that neither friend had the courage to really talk to the other as they had done in years past – one due to a fear of the unknown, and the other due to a wild misunderstanding of his role in his friend's recovery.

~~~

In a large mansion in Wimbledon, a dark-haired man sat on a couch, reclining back as he vapidly stared at his telly, watching – but not really paying attention to – a cooking program. Next to him, her head resting on his shoulder, was his girlfriend, Anne-Marie. They were sitting in silence, both lost in their own thoughts, tired after a full day of shopping on the town with Anne-Marie's two daughters. The three of them were staying over at Ant's tonight, and both girls had gone to bed about half an hour ago. It was nearly 9:30pm, and stillness reigned in the house. Outside, a vicious thunderstorm was rolling through, rain lashing at the windows and occasional bolts of lightning illuminating the darkened room, the only light coming from the big screen TV hanging over the fireplace.

Despite the storm outside, Ant was beginning to nod off, weariness from their long, but fun, day fogging his mind and lulling him to sleep. Anne-Marie wasn't too far behind him, but remained wakeful as she studied her boyfriend's face, completely ignoring the television. She had known Ant for years, having first come to know him through his and Dec's management company, James Grant, when she was hired as his PA. They'd never been too terribly close, their relationship purely professional, but she had always admired him from afar. Not just his finely chiseled physique, but his personality, too – his kindness, gentleness, his unbelievably soft heart when it came to animals and children. He had doted on her children when they were born, always giving them little gifts and momentos, and just taking the time to listen to their fantastical ideas about the world they lived in as they got older. So Ant had been a constant presence in her life for a while now, and, if she was completely honest with herself, he was her ideal man. Kind-hearted, strong, romantic, and devilishly handsome – all of the qualities she wished for combined into one very special man.

She still couldn't quite believe she was in a relationship with Ant. It hadn't been planned, neither of them had been looking for a new relationship. They'd grown closer after his marriage broke down, but were merely good friends, nothing more. But it had just sort of happened one despairing night when she had found Ant sobbing brokenly over the mess he had caused with his irresponsible actions. She had hugged him and reassured him, had found herself drawn to him and...kissed him. More salty kisses were shared, one thing led to another, and the next day they found themselves with the possibility of starting over together. And that's exactly what they'd done. After that first night, they took things a bit more slowly, neither one quite ready to commit to a full-on relationship after the painful breakdowns of their respective marriages. But the seeds that had been sown gradually grew, and eventually blossomed into the beautiful garden of love they now found themselves in. Anne-Marie counted herself very lucky to have Ant in her life, and she knew he felt the same.

But something was bothering her, and she couldn't quite put her finger on it. For as long as she'd known Ant, Dec had been an ever-present constant in his life. If Ant was around, Dec was never far away, and that's just how it had been for as long as she'd been a part of Ant's world. But now things were different, and she wasn't sure why. She had been surprised – but secretly pleased – when Ant had told her he wanted to move closer to her and her girls. She had somehow assumed that he would never move away from Dec, and especially not 8 miles away – they'd been living in each other's pockets for nigh on 30 years, after all – but had happily agreed to his plan, and helped him search for a home in Wimbledon. They had eventually decided upon this house, and it was truly beautiful. Yes, it needed some renovations, but Ant had wanted a home to make his own, so this was the perfect solution.

Yet the absence of Dec puzzled her. Ant had told her just today that he had never been happier in his life than he was now, which of course had made her feel incredibly special and loved. But if Ant was the happiest he'd ever been, why did she sometimes catch him staring sadly at the framed photos of him and Dec that graced the walls of his home? Honestly, she didn't really want to dwell on it too much. Ant's friendship with Dec had always been a bit of a mystery to her, the level of closeness they shared seeming unimaginable and unattainable by anyone other than the two of them. Although she didn't want to admit it to herself, she was afraid – scared that if Dec returned fully to Ant's life, Ant's love for her would diminish. That he couldn't divide his love and attention between her and Dec. Yes, obviously he must have done that with Lisa – in fact, she had seen it firsthand for years, and that three-way relationship seemed to work quite well – but there was a small part of Anne-Marie that was still insecure in Ant's love for her.

Jumping slightly as a text notification pinged on the couch next to her and her boyfriend's lightly slumbering form, Anne-Marie snatched her phone up, turning it to silent, and opened the message. It was from Ali.

"Did you have any severe headaches or double vision with either of your girls?"

At the mention of double vision, Anne-Marie was suddenly wide awake again, bouncing up off of Ant's side as she sat up, causing him to groan and groggily open his eyes. Taking in Anne-Marie's troubled expression, Ant asked, "What's wrong, pet? Something happened?" his voice gravelly from his short nap.

"Ali's got a headache and double vision...." Anne-Marie began, before being interrupted by the ping of another text arriving.

"Dec's coming home. I didn't give him any details, he's stressed enough as it is, just told him I wasn't feeling great."

Anne-Marie could feel Ant's guilty flinch when he got to the middle of that last sentence as he leant over her shoulder to read Ali's latest text. "Thank God he's on his way home. Where the hell was he, anyway?" Ant questioned, his voice somewhat surly. He couldn't believe his friend had been irresponsible enough to leave his pregnant wife home alone.

"He was up in Newcastle, visiting family," Anne-Marie's gentle voice broke in. There was an odd tone to her voice, something Ant couldn't quite place. Was she annoyed at him?

"What?" Ant questioned, his eyes asking the question he wasn't sure he wanted an answer to: What do you know that I don't?

Anne-Marie averted her gaze, swallowing carefully before replying, "Oh, nothing. He just wanted a visit back home, that's all." She had promised not to tell Ant the true reason for Dec's visit home, Ali having made it clear that Dec didn't want Ant to know how much he was hurting.

Deciding to let the issue lie for the moment, Ant groused, "Well, he picked a bloody poor time to go, then." After a moment, he added, "He never was good about timing things right." His voice held a hint of affection now, as was belied by the soft smile playing on his lips as his mind took him back through the years of his and Dec's shared experiences. There was that sad look again, Anne-Marie noted. As much as she was worried about the impact on her own relationship with Ant, she knew in her heart of hearts that whatever it was between the two friends right now, they needed to sort it out. Preferably sooner rather than later, for both their sakes.

But for now, she had a text to answer.

~~~

It was nearing midnight by the time Dec wearily dragged himself through his front door, pulling his luggage behind him. He was really feeling his chronic lack of sleep now, and had been extremely grateful to not have to drive home, instead hailing a taxi once he'd picked up his luggage. He'd tried to doze on the way there, but all attempts had been futile. Worry over Ali's apparent illness, and reminders of the last time he'd ridden in a cab – just the day before – ricocheting through his addled brain. Ali hadn't picked up any of his calls once he was back on solid ground again, so he assumed she was sleeping. Slipping off his Nike trainers – the ones Ant gave him a lifetime ago, his brain painfully reminded him – Dec stole up the stairs towards their bedroom, trying to avoid any creaky floorboards as he went.

The door to their bedroom was slightly ajar. Poking his head through the gap, Dec caught sight of his beautiful wife, lying on her side, her mouth partly open as her chest rose and fell with her even breaths. There was a washcloth draped across her forehead, but other than that, everything seemed completely normal. His worry abetting slightly, Dec made a quick trip to the en suite before changing into his nighttime attire and crawling into bed next to his wife. Being careful not to wake her, Dec slid his arms around her torso, pulling her close and pressing a kiss to her cheek and then her lips. Lying face to face with his wife, Dec tried to doze off, but sleep just wouldn't come. He was too jittery, his rushed journey and the long, emotional day preceding it unwilling to give his mind a moment's rest. But at the same time, he didn't want to leave his wife, so just lay there, watching her as she slept and the minutes ticked by.

Dec must have fallen asleep at some point, because he awoke suddenly to the sounds of Ali retching in the bathroom. Rushing into the en suite, Dec crashed to his knees next to his wife, holding her long, blonde hair back as she threw up. Dec could feel queasiness oozing in his own stomach at the sight and sound of his wife's vomit falling into the toilet. He'd never had a strong stomach, and some things just never changed. Forcing his gaze away from the toilet, Dec rubbed Ali's arm soothingly, holding her gently as she finally finished and leaned back into his chest. Pressing a kiss to her temple, Dec helped her up and guided her back to bed, pausing briefly to let her rinse her mouth out at the sink.

Fixing her with a worried gaze, Dec finally dared to ask the question that had been burning in his mind ever since he'd gotten her text the previous afternoon. "What's going on, love?" His quiet words held a hint of fear, and Ali felt awful, knowing her reply would send his worry sky high.

"I've been feeling a bit off the past couple of days, a bit headachey and such. But yesterday my whole head started aching really badly, and it's still going now. I was seeing double for a while, and my feet and ankles are terribly swollen. And now being sick, obviously. I don't know what's going on. Anne-Marie thinks it might be high blood pressure."

At the mention of Ant's girlfriend, a shadow flitted across Dec's face, but it was quickly replaced by anxiety over his wife's condition. "High blood pressure?" he repeated, eyes wide. "Is that dangerous, can it hurt the baby?"

Ali relayed the information she'd gathered through research after Anne-Marie's suggestion – that it could possibly just be pregnancy-induced hypertension, which was more likely in first time mothers under the age of 20 and over 40. Reassuring him that their bairn had been quite active all evening, Ali added that yes, there could be risks to the baby, but there was monitoring that could be done to ensure all was well. Dec still looked scared, though, and refused to hear a single word of argument against his proclamation that Ali would be going to the doctor's today for a check-up.

Agreeing to make an appointment with her doctor as soon as possible, Ali curled up again, pillowing her head on Dec's chest as he held her close. If she was honest, he wasn't the most comfortable pillow right now, his muscles unbearably tense as his imagination whirred with all manner of things that could go wrong.

Close to sleep again, Ali murmured, "Stop thinking. Get some more sleep," before nuzzling into her husband's neck and dozing off, content in his arms despite her pounding headache. Dec, however, couldn't sleep another wink. He needed reassurance right now – his mind jumping to the most horrible worst case scenarios of them losing their child, him losing Ali and the baby....His mind raced on and on, no longer listening to reason. He desperately needed someone right now, but he had no one.

#ant and dec #ant mcpartlin #declan donnelly #ali astall #fiction #decandantfics

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deadlydodgers · 7 years

Quote

Alive pt. two | Cody Bellinger

❝ Taking things for granted and not realizing what we had until we lose it. ❞

Listen to M83 - Wait while reading. Follow along the song and lyrics until the end.

Start reading 0:30

(warning - sensitive content)

"Send your dreams where nobody hides."

“I want to be with you for the rest of my life.” He told you, his face bright with a smile with his heart pounding against his chest. You smiled at him. The boy you love, the boy who made you feel loved. It was like a dream come true. You we're going to marry the man of your dreams. Perhaps you both would have a family of your own someday. But at some point all dreams must come to an end.

The potassium levels made your heart stop beating.

“Give your tears to the tide.”

You were at one of Cody's games sitting by the players wives. They had gladly accepted you into their group, each and everyone of them have been so kind and supportive of your condition. So when you collapsed on your way to your seat, they had held your unconscious body upright struggling to get the attention of the medical crew.

“No time.”

You were struggling to breathe. Your body was there but your mind was in a different place, struggling to get back to reality. You were so weak and drained from the previous battles you have fought.

With yourself.

“No time.”

Finally you were rushed to the hospital and thankfully the game was at a close so Doc made the arrangements to take Cody out for the rest of the game. You didn't have much time. You couldn't remember how you got here, it may have been because your medication wasn't working. Or maybe it was because you had ran out of time.

Maybe it was because of that boy.

So you fought. Once more you fought the same battle, trying to win the war. You fought and fought to consciousness and a sickening pain from your abdomen. Everything and everyone was moving in slow motion. You had a mask on pumping useless air into your system. All you wanted was him. All you wanted was to be with him. And just like that day four years ago, your wish was granted. You were surrounded by your entire family.

"I'm sorry baby, where does it hurt?"

Everywhere. Unbearable.

“There’s no end. There is no goodbye.”

"Come closer to me." You managed to croak out, your voice hoarse and weak just like the rest of yourself. You wanted to tell him so much, in such little time. You knew you couldn't. Cody knew it too.

“Disappear with the night.”

"Save your breath darling" He removed his shoes and laid his body next to yours. He touched you with such care as if you were glass. You had the courage to look up to him, tears pooling his eyes.

Those eyes that made the pain bearable.

“No time.”

"They said you wouldn't survive the surgery (Y/N)" Your parents spoke up from the room. You knew it before anyone had to say it. You were too weak, too unhealthy. Your body was giving up on you.

“No time.”

But you still kept fighting.

For the man who had made you feel alive.

So you had to stay alive for him.

“No time.”

But his mind screamed at him to leave you on life support but his heart yearned for him to let you go. He couldn't be selfish, and you felt terrible that you were holding him down.

“No time.”

So you stopped.

You stopped fighting.

“No time.”

And just like that your life flashed before your eyes. From the second you were diagnosed to the moment you were a married woman. You were lucky, so lucky to live your life out to the fullest. Sometimes people measure life by the years instead of what they do within those years. But there you were, doomed to die but yet you wouldn't have traded it for the world. You had people who loved you, and who cared for you. And that was more than enough.

So Cody stayed with you. He held you, the girl he loved for what felt like forever. "I will always love you baby girl." Cody kissed you, the taste of his salty tears lingering in your mouth. His voice was cracking and it took you the last of your strength not to cry. You had to be tough, even in your final hours you couldn’t waste the time on crying about the things that didn’t work out, but be happy of what did. You got to do so much that you think you would never have done. You got to see the Dodgers win the World Series. You were right beside the love of your life. In those moments you’ve never felt so alive. You had so much to thank Cody for, but you couldn't wait on your mistakes.

You stayed alive for him, until you weren't.

"No, no.. please please!" Cody pleased, rocking your lifeless body in his arms. Just like that the most important person to him was gone. He was a mess, sobbing and he couldn’t let you go. Not again, and you watched from the other side, but the pain was still there. Cody yelled and sobbed so hard he wanted to end it all.

“No take me! Take me instead not her!”

Cody loved you so much that when you died a piece of himself went with you. A hole no one will be able to fix.

“I don’t want any of it! Take it all away and bring her back!”

It's amazing how just because we're alive we think we're invincible. In the moment, in the memories just feeling alive, taking things for granted and not realizing what we had until we lose it.

Until Cody lost it.

Until Cody lost you.

I am not depressed guys I swear. (Well maybe now because of Willie)

Hence the warning because this kinda got a bit outta hand...

I’m sorry if this wasn’t the ending you guys wanted, I can do an alternative ending if you guys would like with a much happier outcome! But here it is, I hope you guys liked it. 😌

#cody bellinger #dodger imagines #dodgers #dodger imagine

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totallyrhettro · 7 years

Text

Adrift, chapter 9 (final)

Word Count: 2289 Rating: This chapter: PG; Overall story rating: Explicit Warnings: Kissing Summary: After almost drowning in the Cape Fear River as a young man, Rhett can’t seem to get over his fear of swimming. Link is a swim instructor who offers to help. Notes: AU. Rhett and Link have never met and are in their late 20s. Based on the events described in GMCL 24, but Rhett was there alone.

Chapter 1 Previous Chapter

“Are you doing okay?” Link asked, taking Rhett’s hand in his own. The taller man felt dorky in his board shorts, stripe tee and a orange life jacket. Still he felt a great deal better having it on, considering what he was planning to do.

It had been several years since the two of them had met, since Rhett had first seen Link teaching swimming classes at the gym. It seemed like ages ago. It seemed like yesterday. Rhett had managed so much in the past years, with Link by his side. He gave him the courage to face his fears and the strength to overcome them. Even better than helping Rhett with his nightmares, which he hadn’t had for months, Link lightened up his life, filling every day with sunshine, every night with passion. In so many ways Rhett’s life had been made better by having Link be part of it. For that he was eternally grateful.

“I’m fine,” he assured his boyfriend, squeezing his hand. “It's not my first dive. Just show me to the boat.” Boat didn’t quite do it justice. Turning a corner on the maze of docks, Link led Rhett to one of the many boats tied up at the marina. At twenty-five feet, it was a fairly impressive craft with neat letters painted on the back forming the words: ‘Sail On’. Rhett always appreciated the Lionel Richie reference.

It had a pilothouse, so the pilot could be high and dry, and there was a full galley below deck. It was a bit short for Rhett, but he was used to it and besides he planned on sitting a lot. Hopping onto the edge of the boat, Link climbed aboard before holding out his hand to help his boyfriend. At first Rhett wanted to ignore the offered hand and use his long legs to get onto the boat with ease, but the smile on Link’s face was too much to brush off. He took the hand, trying not to blush, and let his boyfriend pull him onto the boat.

“Permission to come aboard, captain?” he joked.

“Permission granted, sir,” Link said with an exaggerated salute, and a cheerful grin. “Welcome aboard.” Pulling Rhett closer he stood on his tiptoes to give him a quick peck. “Did you ever think, before we met, you’d ever be able to step onto a boat floating on the ocean?”

“Definitely not.” He didn’t quite have his sea legs yet and he walked over to sit on the bench situated at the stern. “I’ve been doing a lot of things I never imagined, lately.” Link sat beside him and put his arm around his waist to pull him closer.

They sat there for sometime, not saying anything, just thinking about the past years, ago the past evening. How to brave great watery depths wasn’t the only thing Link had been teaching him. Holding Rhett close he placed a sweet kiss on the man’s lips, relishing in his taste, his smell. Rhett kissed him back with just as much vigor, just as much love, and for a time they both forgot why they had boarded their ship in the first place. Eventually Link broke away, with some effort, and got to his feet. It was time to go.

“Shall we then?” As he walked about the boat, untying the vessel from the dock, Rhett watched him very closely. The ocean breeze was blowing through his dark hair, the warm sun revealing the brown that normally looked black in dimmer lights. The muscles of his arms flexed as he worked on the thick ropes tying the boat to shore and he chewed his lip in concentration as his lover checked on numerous instruments.

As they set out on the open ocean, Link moved with untold grace and certainty; this was a man who had been boating for a long time, who knew his ship inside and out. This was a man who tamed the sea and didn't let the water tame him.

They cruised for a while, shooting the breeze. Rhett managed to stumble his way to Link’s side, sitting in the pilot seat while they talked. It wasn't so bad, being around so much water, as long as his love was in easy grabbing distance. Link did his best to keep their course smooth and it wasn't long before they reached their destination.

A hide-away beach, probably privately owned by someone neither of them knew, was a secret spot was far out of view of the public. Link slowed the boat to a stop before turning to Rhett.

“Is this what you wanted to show me?” Rhett wondered. It was a lovely spot, very isolated and serine. Link gave a noncommittal head tilt.

“Partially. Come on; let’s go for a swim.” It hadn’t been the first time Rhett had braved the waters of the great deep ocean, but he still could not help but feel a twinge of nervousness every time he found himself poised to venture in once again. As he opened the seat in the back of the boat, that doubled as storage, and began looking for their snorkels and flippers, he happened to glance over at Link taking off his shorts. Like Rhett, he had worn his speedos on under his other clothes and now he was bending over to reveal them. Bending over and pointing his perfectly round butt right towards Rhett.

“You’re doing that on purpose,” Rhett accused with a chuckle. Link didn’t answer but wiggled his adorable behind as he squirmed out of his shorts. Rhett shook his head as he removed his own non-swimming attire. “You’re going to pay for that.”

“I can’t wait,” Link giggled, slipping on his flippers. Grabbing up one of the sets of snorkeling goggles, he leaned backwards over the boat and flopped into the crystal clear waters with a lovely splash. Rhett wasn’t in a hurry to follow but he knew he would. He would follow that man anywhere.

It wasn’t long before the two of them were swimming effortlessly through the shallows. Since his first venture into the salty depths, Rhett had shown himself to be a very strong swimmer. Working out at the gym once a week helped quite a bit. Link had taken him places he never thought possible, places that made overcoming his fears worth it. Today they were in a simple cove, not a lot of coral or fish. These were Rhett’s favorites, actually. Little to hurt himself on, not far from surface to sandy floor, and a clear view as far as his eyes could see. Perfect.

He treasured moments like this. During these past few years he and Link had become very successful in their respective fields of engineering. More than making them enough money to purchase a sea-faring vessel, it kept them rather busy. Vacations were rare these days. These times when they were able to get away, be with just each other and no one else, these were the more precious. Not long ago Rhett had moved into Link’s place. They told each other it was for convenience, but they both knew it was more. Rhett wanted to spend every waking moment, every moment he wasn’t awake as well, with the man he loved.

Rhett took off his snorkel mask, floating on his back. He thought about their busy lives, as he had many times before. He had gotten everything he wanted, everything he thought he wanted, and more. He had a good job, a nice house, and a wonderful boyfriend. Yet he missed the days when he was living paycheck to paycheck because he had his music. He had time for his music. He missed playing the guitar. If only there was a way to be a musician instead of an engineer. What would his life be like then?

“Getting tired?” Link’s voice drifted through the air like a gentle breeze as he slowly floated by. He bumped his hand against Rhett’s and the taller man turned to smile at his love.

“Just thinking.” Looking back up at the sky, he look Link’s hand in his own. “Wondering what my life would be like if I went off and became a musician.”

“You are a musician. I’ve heard you play.”

“You know what I mean. Like, for a living. Instead of an engineer.”

“Would you be happier?” A fair question. One Rhett wasn’t sure he knew how to answer. He squeezed Link’s hand.

“I am happy,” he promised. “Did I sound like I wasn’t happy?” For a moment they were quiet, just floating there, holding hands like otters, watching the gentle clouds drift by, listening to the water slosh around them and the occasional seagull flying above.

“I wanted to make films,” Link confessed after the longest time. “I came to California to write comedy films, but it’s a tough industry. I had to fall back on my engineering major. It worked out okay, but I always regret not trying harder.”

“It’s not too late. You can still be a film writer.”

“And you can still be a musician,” Link countered. “Anyone can these days. There’s this online thing called YouTube...”

The two men swam for a bit longer before heading back to the boat. Rhett was the first one aboard, pulling himself up easily. He quickly turned to help Link up, but he was pushing himself backwards.

“I’m just gonna take one last dive,” he said, pulling his snorkeling mask back on. “Be right back.” With a wink he ducked down under the waves and disappeared. Rhett gave a very understanding smile, chuckling under a sigh as he took off his flippers. He knew Link would be along in his own time. Meanwhile he changed back into his dry clothes.

When Link returned he burst from the waters, grasping onto the side of the boat and splashing water all about. He tossed his goggles onto the deck and wiped the wet hair from his face

“You're like Poseidon,” Rhett noted once he got over his surprise. Link laughed as he pulled himself up.

“Look who's talking. Put a trident in your hand and you’d be a spitting image of the god of the ocean.” Sitting on the gunwale of the ship, he placed a small orange box on the seat next to him.

“What’s that?” Rhett didn’t wait for an answer before picking it up and turning it over. It said ‘ultrabox’ on the side, but little else. It looked almost brand new. “Did you find this down there?”

“I did.” Link looked rather suave but at the same time there was a hint of something else in his eyes. Rhett had seen it so rarely in his lover’s eyes he almost didn’t recognize it. After a moment he was sure; Link was nervous. “Why don’t you open it?” Cocking an eyebrow Rhett shrugged and looked to see how the strange box opened. He didn’t notice, as he found the latch, that Link had moved from his spot on the ledge. As he flipped open the lid, revealing a smaller box inside, he didn’t see how Link had bent down on one knee and was now kneeling before him.

“What’s this?” he asked, curious and confused. “What-?” Looking up he saw Link, his eyes far too blue to be real, his smile far too beautiful for anything less than an angel. “Link?” Rhett voice barely made it out to ask. “...Link?”

“Open it,” Link whispered, hopeful and scared. As Rhett’s eyes turned down to the second box, black and velvet, Link bit his lip. Time was slowing down to a near standstill and he could barely breathe. Rhett was holding his breath too as he picked up the black box. His fingers felt so weak as they lifted the lid revealing the band inside.

“Link.” A simple band, titanium inlaid with one large strip of Hawaiian Koa wood and a smaller one of pure turquoise. “It’s beautiful.” More than it’s gorgeous colors, and the thought that had gone into picking it out, what it symbolized was beautiful. “You found this?” He was highly doubtful.

“I did… It was right where I left it.” Taking Rhett’s shaking hand in his own Link took a deep breath. “Rhett… You’ve set my entire life on it’s head, from the day I saved your life to the day I saw you in that gym. You changed my life for the better- you make me better, every day, every moment. I don’t deserve you, but still here I am. Asking...” Tears formed in Rhett’s eyes and he could barely blink them away.

“You saved my life, Link,” he choked, remembering. “I don’t want to spend it with anyone else.”

“Does that mean you’ll-?”

“Yes!” Rhett shouted, nearly dropping the ring as he rushed to hug Link. “I’ll marry you.” Tears fell from both of their eyes now, the sweetest tears of joy. After a minute of hugging and crying and sputtering happy nonsense, Rhett pulled away. “What am I going to tell my parents?”

“I already told them.”

“You what?” Link rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

“They sort of found out by accident,” Link explained. “Last time I went back home with you. You’re brother caught me rummaging through your stuff, looking for a class ring.” He gestured to the ring still in Rhett’s hand. “I wanted to make sure I got the right size.” Flustered, Rhett slipped the ring onto his finger, staring at it like he still couldn’t believe his life.

“It’s perfect.” He kissed Link’s cheek. “Just like you. I love you so much.”

“I love you, too, Rhett,” Link replied, kissing back. “Always and forever.”

The End

More Fics

#rhett #link #rhink #fanfic #adrift #sorry if my attempt at fluff goes cheesy

17 notes · View notes

jeonxgkook · 7 years

Text

Not My Problem | 03

cr.

↠ pt. 1 | pt. 2 | pt. 3 | pt. 4 | pt. 5 | pt. 6 |

Words: 8.118

Genre: Modern kingdom au + angst

Summary: If you were to ask your parents, they’d burst out sobbing. Just looking at their picture was enough for you. You may have seemed rough on the outside, but inside, you were just as broken as everyone else. And there was nothing wrong with that.

A/N: there’s a lot of storytelling in this chap, so I’m sorry for that. to make it up, there’s a special surprise in this part ;)

Jungkook woke up to the sound of your breathing, your demented hair tickling his tiny nose. He’d never done this before — waking up with someone and seeing their morning face for the first time — so he couldn’t say for sure if he was supposed to wake you or not; his mind drifted into thinking about last night but erased the very thought, afraid of the amount of guilt that would pop up. He glanced at the clock. It was past seven; he needed to get up or else his mother would be screaming up and down like a madwoman fresh out of an asylum.

Instead of shaking you awake and hoping for a death wish, he pinched the tip of your nose jokingly. Your sleepy face scrunched up in a grimace, shoving him away and turning your body away from him.

“Leave me alone,” you snapped, laying your tired head back down on the soft, fluffy pillow.

Jungkook chuckled, a sheepish grin spreading over his lips. “Guess, you’re not a morning person.”

You groaned again, kicking him away this time, which further proved his point and portrayed your tetchy mood. He stood from the bed and was about to head to the bathroom when there was a knock at the door.

Jungkook opened it to find Jimin waiting there patiently, his arms filled with clothing and the usual smile on his bright face.

“Good morning. I brought you these for extra,” he greeted.

Jungkook thanked him, setting the clothes on the edge of the bed. Jimin noticed you on the bed, eyeing the mess around the room, then gaped at Jungkook and his mess.

He gasped loudly, “Oh, my god, you two had sex!”

What the hell? Jungkook’s eyes widened, slapping a head over Jimin’s tiny mouth (which has proven to not be so tiny).

“Sh, you’ll wake Y/N,” Jungkook whispered, ushering Jimin outside the room and into the isolated hallway, then he shut the door behind him, praying to whoever was listening that Jimin wouldn’t blow up.

Jungkook paused before peeking. He explained, “Okay —”

“YOU TWO HAD SEX!” Jimin shouted. His eyes were about to pop out of his head in shock and he thought he knew damn well what happened.

He flailed his arms around, trying to grasp onto the situation. “Well, did you?”

Jungkook shrugged nonchalantly, his back against the door. His mind was trying to search for the appropriate words for this kind of situation.

“No, we didn’t… we just kissed, that’s all,” Jungkook explained.

Jimin gasped, “That’s still bad!”

“Sh! ”

Jimin gasped again, this time louder that the whole castle could hear it. “Oh, my god,” he mumbled to himself, walking back and forth, and rubbing his temples in hopes of the train of thought losing track. “But how — why?”

“Well… first, it was with the fountain,” Jungkook began carefully, scared of what Jimin would blurt out again, “Then, she came to my room after the party and one thing led to another… and we kissed. Then she spent the night.”

He could practically feel his dignity plummeting into the lowest circle of hell.

“On your bed. Next to you, sleeping. This isn’t good.” Jimin’s voice worried him. “You can’t be together. You’re supposed to get married to Tania!”

“Don’t you think I know that?” Jungkook glared nervously, trying to capture the image and compose himself. He went silent, contemplating.

Jimin asked, “Do you regret it?”

It was a good question. The truth was, Jungkook had no idea whether he regretted kissing you or not. On one hand, he cheated on his wife-to-be. On the other, he got to be with you and finally realize just how much you mean to him, how much he loves being next to you and feeling your skin next to his.

All of this drama was just a bundle of disaster.

Jungkook simply didn’t answer the question at all, terrified he’d end up saying the wrong thing, and his state of mind was bad enough.

Jimin asked silently, “Are you two gonna be, like, a thing now?”

The door opened before Jungkook could answer, making him fall back onto the floor. He grunted, rubbing his sore head from bumping on the doorknob. He looked up to see you gazing down at him, a concerned spread across your face.

“Are you okay?�� You asked, gazing down at his vegetable-like position. “You look a little dead.”

You have no idea. He nodded and sat up, rubbing his agonizing shoulders. You bent down and slowly massaged his shoulder, hoping to rid some of the pain away.

You said, “I gotta go — have to explain to my parents where I’ve been.”

Jungkook raised a brow. “Are you gonna tell them you spent the night here?”

“Oh, no!” You giggled, your eyes brightening up like the stars he saw last night in the fountain. “I’ll tell them I had to work overtime and slept on the job. My work today is across town, so try to stay alive without me.”

You headed out after saying goodbye to Jimin, to which the older boy looked down at Jungkook, crossing his arm and raising an eyebrow, mimicking the ‘parent’ talk. “Are you?”

“I don’t know.” Jungkook looked down at his hands laying on his lap, angst filling his chest. Suddenly, he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t grasp the final stages of oxygen and finally relieve his lungs.

“I’ll figure it out. I gotta get ready, anyway. We have to go into town later on.” He slammed the door in Jimin’s face, the sudden worry swallowing him whole. He felt like crying, just bawling his eyes out until his tear ducts didn’t work anymore. He glided down the door, staring into oblivion.

What had he done? He kissed another woman. Granted, it was nice, but still.

He was engaged. He couldn’t go off and kiss someone he wasn’t married to.

He screwed up. Big time.

The entire trek home, you fumbled around with your apron, practically ripping the hems off in anxiety. You were so nervous, so terrified that your parents would be up and waiting for you. Your heart dropped to your stomach when your house came into view.

You piled inside, quietly closing the door behind you. You tiptoed to the living room, your steps lighter than air.

The lights flipped on and you stopped dead in your tracks. You were caught.

“Y/N, you’re in big trouble.” Your father stood near the window with your mother, tapping his foot in disappointment and glaring at you immensely. “You better have a good explanation for this kind of stunt.”

You told them the lie about working overtime, trying to keep your voice steady and your heart beating slower. You didn’t want to give yourself away by sweating too much, enough of that was already presented. You didn’t see a reason to sweat a storm.

“I would have called but my phone died,” you seethe through your tight lips, attempting to contain the actual reason. You were never good at lying to their faces.

“Why do I have a feeling you’re lying?”

Shit. Your mother had the knack for spotting little details and exploiting them, like a vampire ready to suck you dry.

“Were you out again?” she asked, pointing to the front door as if that was going to help clear the image.

You knew exactly what ‘out’ meant — hitting up the streets and stealing again, from either old women and men, or some rich sucker. You couldn’t blame your parents for worrying, knowing you probably would have been in the slammer or, worse, dead, and they wouldn’t have any way to know; but you also couldn’t help feeling ashamed and embarrassed, that they thought of you as nothing more than a street-rat, a thief.

“No, I wasn’t,” you said, peering down at the ground, shamefaced.

You didn’t have the courage or strength to tell the lie again; no, not to them, so it seemed to be the better option to not speak. You wished your parents would stop assuming you were out stealing whenever you were nowhere near the house. But you knew they had reasons for believing that.

After they gave the “no stealing” speech again, you trudged to your room in despair. Wanting to see something and distract your inner disgust, you opened the windows to the peach sky of sunrise. You grumbled on the windowsill, burying your face in your dainty arms.

Why couldn’t things go back to the way they used to be? Before your siblings had died? All of life seemed simpler back then.

Ever since the family incident a few years back, you had been completely distant from your parents, barely told them anything, you dare say you didn’t even trust them with certain things.

For the rest of the miserable day, you stayed intact in your own little prison, finishing any schoolwork, shipping it off to the principal, and lying in your bed, sulking about the disappointments of being not only a thief but also a terrible daughter. You didn’t want to steal, you really, really didn’t want to; but it was the only way to put your family through.

You grabbed a picture frame from the nightstand, hoisting it on your lap.

It was one of your siblings when they were 15 and older, and you were just a child, barely able to walk. You wished you remembered them, your siblings. They had worked at a minefield, and one day the caverns caved in. Unfortunately, they weren’t able to make it out before it fell apart and crushed it. No one knew why it caved, but you really didn’t want to know.

If you were to ask your parents, they’d burst out sobbing. Just looking at their picture was enough for you. You may have seemed rough on the outside, but inside, you were just as broken as everyone else. And there was nothing wrong with that. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

You placed the picture back on the table, sniffing away the salty tears racing down your face. You pulled yourself back into bed, snuggling against your stiff pillow, sincerely wishing you were in Jungkook’s bed. At least the pillows in his room were softer and cozier.

You fell asleep to the dancing moonlight gleam reflecting off the window and on the carpet, wishing so hard that you could disappear to where the moon went during the day.

Something hit the window.

Your eyes shot open and peeked up, a small rock hitting the glass of the window again. You looked out to see your ‘friends’ down on the ground, waving up at you.

“Y/N, come down!” they urged.

What the hell were they doing up at this time of night? Granted, you all would always steal at night, but this was ridiculous. It was nearly past two in the morning. Morning. As Jungkook clearly made known, you weren’t a morning person. Never was, never will be.

“Not now, guys,” you murmured, setting your head back between your arms, vexing to shut your eyes. “I’m not in the mood.”

But they were the most impatient, inconsiderate human beings alive and didn’t allow you your precious slumber.

One of them — you couldn’t tell which one — whispered loudly, “Y/N, get down here right now. We’re robbing the royal car, and it’s fucking huge! Biggest deal since the incident of ‘O9.”

This caught your attention. You snapped your head up and peered back down at them. “What royal car?”

One of the girls from another gang from downtown, Irene, giggled, her menacing grin glistening under the moon. “Of course after hearing royal car you get all curious — the one from the palace, dumbass! If we’re lucky, the princess could be in there. Or the king!”

You reeled under the windowsill, scrutinizing whether or not you should go. You couldn’t let them rob the car, not if Tania was in there. Or worse — Jungkook was there. No way you’d let your so-called friends harm them. You snatched your coat and climbed down the building.

“Atta boy!” Your friends smacked your back, hooting like a bunch of crazed owls in the night.

You needed to make sure they didn’t do anything stupid, or at least try and convince them. “Guys, I don’t think this is a good idea,” you explain, hugging your jacket to your form. “What if someone gets hurt?”

“Oh, now you’re growing a conscience?” Irene chuckled and elbowed your arm, shoving your rib-cage.

“C’mon, have some fun,” she scolded. “After all, it’s the fucking royal car. Damn them to hell, right?”

You paused, your voice nonfunctional and lost in route. “But I’ve met some of them, and they’re really nice. You don’t have to steal from them.”

Irene stopped dead, along with the others. Out of everyone, you were always the more ruthless when it came to stealing from the rich, or anyone for that matter, so you denying the opportunity to steal from royals caused your friends to question you.

“‘Don’t have to steal from them?’” Irene repeated exactly what you said, spitting at every word. “What the hell happened to you?”

“I just —”

“Quit it, you two,” the leader of the group demanded. You didn’t even know his name. “The car is coming.” They all started climbing the trees, getting a higher ground advantage to view their target, leaving you on the ground behind a couple of shrubs.

The leader commanded, “Remember, jump as soon as they reach the end of the path.”

A black car, almost a limousine, rode smoothly down the road, right in between the trees. The thieves were ready to jump the hood.

You needed to think — fast.

You couldn’t let them rob a car that could potentially have your friends in. You threw a rock near the bumper, causing a ruckus. The car came to a halt. Before anyone realized it was a rock and nothing too serious, you lied down on the ground, right in front of the stationary car, making it seem as if you had fallen in front of the car.

“Y/N!” It was Tania. She and a guard ran out of the car, rushing towards you. You could tell your friends in the trees were pissed off at your dick-head move, but as long as Tania was okay, you were fine with living down the glares.

“My goodness, are you okay? Any bruising?” Tania asked and bent down to grab your head, making sure your skull wasn’t fractured or cracked.

Though you were surprised she was being genuinely nice to you, you shook your head, laughing nervously. “I’m such a klutz. I must have gone sleepwalking again.”

“What the hell are you doing out here at this time?” She took off her jacket and landed it on your shoulders. “You must be freezing. Are you headed home?”

You nodded. You wanted to get out there as fast as humanly possible. The guard ushered you inside the car after making sure you were able to walk properly. You sat next to Tania, peeking out the window to see your friends — you shouldn’t even call them that anymore, maybe dumbasses? Acquaintances? Whoever they were called, they were gone, nowhere in sight.

The car backed away after you gave directions to your house, making sure to give the long way around, so you’d had to avoid seeing the dumbasses again. You noticed Tania kept her distance, scooting away from you whenever you accidentally got too close. You were really starting to get annoyed by that but, most of all, curious.

Why did she hate you so much? No, scratch that. Why did she hate the lower-class so much? You decided not to press it, keeping your mouth shut.

When they pulled up on your street, you quickly asked, “Tania, can you come inside with me?”

“I beg your pardon?” She wasn’t paying attention, too focused on the window.

“Can you stay with me? To make sure I don’t go sleepwalking again?”

She hesitated, eyeing your house. It was a little run-down, but not bad, for royal taste anyway. Nonetheless, she still cringed. She might have tried hiding it but, obviously, couldn’t repress her repulsed anguish.

Despite her disgust, she replied, “Sure. Why not?” She told the driver to wait out until she returned as you both head out the car, walked to the front door, and stepped inside the house.

You held out her jacket back, offering it back to her now that you were in a room temperature again and not the freezing cold.

“No, you can keep it,” Tania said, waving her hand dismissively. She probably thought, now that it touched your skin, that it was tainted with some contagious infestation, like lice.

You shrugged and hung it up in the closet. She sat on the seat (after not-so-secretly checking to make sure it wasn’t covered in dust), overviewing everything in sight, and you knew she was silently judging your living conditions.

“Do you want anything to eat?”

“Umm…” She inhaled deeply, mentally weighing her options, like she was thinking Die of battle or die of disease in peasant’s home? “What do you have?”

You smirked, thanking god that the lights were dim so she couldn’t see the devious knots tying in your mind. “Oh, ya know, the usual peasant stuff,” you chimed perilously, “frog legs, old tomatoes, egg salad —”

She immediately jumped from her seat. “I think I better go.”

You laughed, sitting her back down and patting her shoulder. “I’m just kidding,” you reassured her. “We don’t have those things — well, at least not the frog legs. But we have fruit salad.”

She nodded, relaxing back into the seat. “Okay. I’d like that.”

As you put the salad together, you looked over your shoulder to see her body getting anxious, her fingers fidgeting with her dress, her knee bopping up and down. You gave her the dish, also handing her a drink of cold orange juice. You sat across from her as she ate silently.

You blurted out, “Why do hate me?”

She stopped her hand, her fork halfway to her mouth. “What?”

“Why do you hate me? Why do you hate people like me?” You really wanted to add that you’d never done anything to her, but after the incident last night, you had no place to lie about that.

Tania put her drink down, sighing deeply through her nose; she was embarrassed by something.

“I don’t hate you,” she said, emphasizing the last part very clearly.

You got comfy on the couch next to her, your full attention was given.

She paused before continuing, “A couple of years ago, I fell in love with a boy, a prince from a different kingdom. Oh, he was beautiful — so kind, generous… loving.”

Tania glanced at her cup as if remembering a terrible memory.

You could tell the story was going downhill. You saw the look in her eyes, her flashing green eyes turning into dark pine.

“Anyway, um,” she cleared her scratchy throat, “one day he came over for a meal with my parents. Everything went amazing. My parents loved him so much. And that night, we announced that were to be married somewhere in the spring, and of course, my parents were as happy as I.”

That wasn’t the downhill you were expecting, but you didn’t mind. You were kind of hoping for a reason soon, though.

“What happened?” you asked.

“Well, you know how there aren’t many people, well… like you, in the palace staff? It wasn’t always like that. The reason being: when we announced our engagement, we were attacked and robbed.”

Your eyes widened. That’s some turn. “By who?”

“The entire staff. Apparently, they were all part of some sort of thieving-gang.” She scoffed in disbelief. “That’s when I realized that nothing can change how people think — doesn’t matter who you are or how you grow up. It’s what you do that really gets me mad. And I know you used to steal! There’s no difference.”

“No, that’s not true. I had different reasons.” You gulped. This conversation wasn’t going in the direction you would have hoped. “So, what happened to the prince?”

“I have to go. Sorry.” She rushed to the door, slammed it open, and ran down the street, entering the car faster than the naked human eye could see. By the time you reached the sidewalk, the car was racing down the opposite road, far from your reach.

“Dammit,” you groaned, kicking aside rock.

All you got from that was something bad happened on that engagement night. And it was the major part of her hatred. You felt it; you knew damn well she was missing the big picture and decided to avoid telling you.

You walked back up to your room, rested on the bed, and tried to obtain sleep, but that story never left your mind.

Clearly, that prince wasn’t around at the moment. So something must have happened!

You tossed and turned at the thought, trying to consume what could have been so bad that made Tania hate you?

The floor creaked.

You raised your head over the bed, glancing around the room. The window was wide open. You could have sworn you locked it before you left. You walked over and shut the window, glancing at the reflection.

There was a dark figure behind you.

A hand clapped over your mouth, something sharp at your back. “Shh…” The voice was chilling, and not the good kind.

It was too dark to see anything, to react to anything invisible to you, but you weren’t totally helpless. You elbowed whoever was behind you, pushing their body off you ferociously, making your way to the door, and then more people seemed to emerge from the shadows like mist. One popped in front of you, snatched your wrist and pushed you back on the ground, the others securing your flaring arms and feet.

“Shh, Y/N,” the voice cooed near your ear. “You don’t want to wake your parents, right? Wouldn’t want to have to kill them, too.”

It was Irene’s voice.

You growled under her hand, shoving her knife away with your knee, but inevitably giving up on fighting against her. Irene was freakishly strong and you knew better to waste your energy on her.

As the dumbasses pinned your body down, Irene let go of your mouth, which was instantly blocked with another hand from one of them. Of course, all the strong people went after. Why not the scrawny, weak ones who feared you? You were seriously pissed off, your heart pumping in your ear with rage.

Irene hovered over your head, staring down at you like a predator looking at helpless prey.

“You know you could have helped,” she whispered, softly moving pieces of your hair from your face. You jerked her touch away, not letting her have the satisfaction of seeing how you reacted emotionally.

“Damn, you’ve got some fire left.” She pulled her knife out from her belt, where it had been sitting peacefully up until this point.

“You must be exhausted from fighting.” With the knife’s edge, she pressed it against your cheek deep enough to sink into your skin, blood exuding from your cheekbone.

You winced in agony, and, even if you were pinned down, moved her hand away and looked away from her, making sure she didn’t see the weakness in your eyes.

“Get her out of here,” Irene demanded, pulling her knife back in her belt, the blood still racing down your face. You let them drag you out the house and into a vehicle, a dirty, smelly sack over your head, your hands tied behind your back.

They pulled you in the trunk of the car, shoving your body inside so you could fit. This told you that it must have been a small car, possibly an old model. You tried analyzing everything in your head, forcing yourself to remember every single detail.

But, even with the rag over your head, you were certain of one thing.

This night wasn’t going well and more than likely going to die at the hands of angry thieves.

With his toes pointed against the surface of the chair, Jungkook held the candle up higher, his feet burning to be freed from their torture.

“Can I stop now?” he asked desperately, keeping his gaze high up.

“Not until you perfect —”

Jungkook crashed on the ground, toppling over the chairs and carpet he was attempting to balance on. He grunted, pulling off the chairs and throwing the useless candle holder.

“I don’t understand why we have to do this,” he commented. “This is literally more exhausting than learning how to fucking dance!”

Jimin rolled his eyes and helped him get up, pulling Jungkook up on his feet. “Because balance is key to walking. And you know what walking you’ll have to do? Walking down the aisle. With Tania.”

“Yes, I know that last part, thank you,” Jungkook snapped. He couldn’t take this anymore. Jimin’s knackering had been going on since yesterday morning, since he discovered that you and Jungkook had kissed.

“So are you gonna tell Tania or not?”

Jungkook held Jimin back from tackling him, handling a chair, as if daring the older to try and attack him.

“No,” Jungkook said, his tone stern and controlled. “The kiss meant nothing. Just the heat of the moment stuff. It won’t ever happen again, with anyone. Y/N and I are going to get through this, and pretend this never happened.”

Jimin chuckled in disbelief. “You’re joking, right? That’s your plan?”

“Yes.”

“Wait, like yes, you’re joking, or yes, that’s your plan?”

“Yes, that’s my plan.”

Jimin flailed around, putting chairs back together and shouting, “You’re fucking screwed. That’s the dumbest plan ever!”

Jungkook shrugged his shoulders. “How is that a dumb plan?”

“Well, for one, it’s the palace; and Tania is the princess. She’s going to find out somehow. That’s how things work here.” He paused to examine Jungkook, a smirk playing across his playful features. “And you’re lying.”

The younger boy quirked his brows, surprised that Jimin caught him. “How am I lying?”

“No way in hell or heaven that the kiss meant nothing to you.”

Jungkook stopped, chair in mid-air. He put it down then sat. “Oh, god, you’re right.” He buried his face in his hands, groaning in agony. He really was screwed. “What am I supposed to do?”

“You have to tell Tania and Y/N about your feelings. They’ll understand. Then you three come up with a plan. Either way, the marriage has to happen.” Jimin gestured to him, trying to emphasize his point. “Otherwise the kingdoms’ empires will fall.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get it.”

The door swung open, one of the head chefs from the kitchen — Jin? — came running down the ballroom, his breath heaving heavily. He was a very broad boy, a few years older than Jungkook, but he could tell Jin’s attitude was going to be anything but mature.

“Give me a minute,” he heaved, placing his hands on his knees. “Damn, why’s the ballroom so far away from the main kitchen?”

“What do you want, Jin?” Only Jimin would be allowed to boss around other staff members and not get in trouble for it. Because, in reality, Jimin was part of the staff also.

Jin’s smile faded at the sound of Jimin’s tone. “Well, hello to you, asshole. Good to see you’re still a maid.”

“I’m actually a butler, who’s now helping trainees. Get your facts straight.”

“Let me know when that happens,” he retorted. “Just came to ask if any of you have seen Y/N?”

Both Jimin and Jungkook shook their head.

With his heart growing heavy and sweat forming in his palms, Jungkook said, “Haven’t seen her since this morning.”

Jin groaned, snapping his fingers and ripping his chef’s hat off. “Damn. Y/N’s supposed to help me cater for the party tomorrow.”

“Is that what you guys always do here? Pary?”

Jin stopped him, holding his hand up. “Oh, trust me, this one is really important. I’m talking like if we don’t have Y/N to help us, we’re fucked.”

His tone was way too nice for Jungkook could take the cuss word seriously. “Look, I have to get back to the kitchen. Could you two please look for her?” Jin ran back out the room, leaving behind two very confused boys.

“Okay, she has to be around here somewhere,” Jungkook said. “You search everywhere in the palace, and I’ll pop by her house.”

He knocked on the front door, sweating for some reason. He couldn’t help feel nervous like he was meeting your parents under different circumstances. The door swung open, revealing what he believed to be your father.

“Hi, sir, I’m Jungkook from the palace. I’m terribly sorry to barge in, but I do need to talk to Y/N. It’s an emergency.” He tried getting out as many words as possible, hoping they could all get straight to the point.

Your mother popped up, wiping her hands with a towel. “Oh, sorry, dear, she’s supposed to be at the palace.”

Your father retaliated, “No, she’s upstairs. She hasn’t left the house.”

She laughed, patting her husband’s back. “You’re funny. Remember you came into the bedroom at, like, three in the morning and told me Y/N was working overtime?”

Your father’s face scrunched up in confusion. “Sweetie, I was next to you the whole time, and asleep, for that matter. I couldn’t have said.”

“Well someone must have been in the room and told me Y/N’s at work.”

Jungkook rushed past them, too terrified to say anything more and reveal just how anxious he was. He raced up the stairs, assuming that was where your room was located.

There was a door at the end of the hall and he inched closer, opening the door, your parents rushing up the stairs.

“Is this Y/N’s room?” he asked, examining the room.

He’d never seen your room before, but it was a pretty good guess to what he pictured it would be. But it was messy, almost like there was a struggle or fight of some sort. Now, you were a control freak. You wouldn’t let a room get this messy.

Something was definitely up.

Your mother gasped at a broken picture frame. She picked it up, shoving off the pieces of glass, and released the picture. She looked down at the photo, hot tears streaming across her face. Jungkook guessed that that photo must have been important and cherished.

“Is there anywhere she’d go?” he asked.

Your father pat his wife’s shoulder, comforting her. “No, even while she’s — No, she wouldn’t.”

Your mother looked up, her eyes red and her cheekbones puffy. “Are you sure she’s not at the palace?”

As if right on cue, there was a knock on the front door. Your parents jumped — they probably weren’t expecting anyone. “Maybe it’s Y/N.”

Jungkook held his hand out, his tone dead on serious. “Stay here. I’ll check it out.”

They were still, too terrified that it wasn’t you as they traveled down the stairs and scooted closer to the door. Jungkook grabbed the closest object and swiped the door wide open, revealing someone who most definitely wasn’t you.

Your parents shrieked and attacked the person, whacking candle holders on their head.

“No, please stop!” the mystery person screeched, holding their hands up to defend themselves.

Jungkook recognized that voice, trying very delicately to stop your parents. “Jimin?”

The older boy had his body scrunched up into a little ball. He stood up and pat the dirt off his shirt, your parents apologizing profusely. “No, it’s okay. I promise, no hard feelings.”

Jimin faced them dead on. “I couldn’t find Y/N anywhere near the palace. I checked every nook and cranny. Nada.”

Your mother cried, “Where the hell can she be!”

Jungkook heaved himself and Jimin outside, holding the door handle. “I’ll find Y/N. I promise. Just stay here and call the palace if anything happens.”

Jin barged into the ballroom again, where Jimin and Jungkook both told him to meet. “What the hell? Did you find her?”

Jimin rolled his eyes at the back of his head, his annoyance level rising through the roof and practically into heaven. “Yes, she’s here; she’s just invisible.”

“Not funny.” Jin crossed his arms, his broad shoulders rising and falling faintly for every breath he took. “How are we gonna find her?”

“Someone must have seen her after she left to go home yesterday morning.”

So that’s what they did. They jumped all over the palace, asking anyone who’d listen if they’d seen you. Jungkook was so desperate that he even asked his parents, who dismissed the concept of missing and went straight into “being out” during the night, whatever that meant.

When he asked his mother what ‘being out’ meant, she simply chided, “Please, honey it’s not the first time Y/N’s ‘disappeared.’ We’ve only been here for a little while, and already, I know about her little problem.”

“No, not on a day like this. Y/N wouldn’t betray her dignity on a special occasion, especially one this important.”

She scoffed, a maid hand fanning her face. “Oh, sweetie, you still have much to learn about her. She may be the best caterer this kingdom has seen, but she has an addiction to stealing anything that’s considered valuable. It’s not like it’s a secret. In fact, I’m quite surprised that they even hired her.”

“Stealing? Y/N doesn’t steal…”

She powdered her nose, glancing in the mirror. “Oh, yeah, she does. Why do you care so much anyway?”

“Mom, I already told you. She’s missing.” He stormed out the room and entered the hallway near the giant staircase, his anger filling up in his blood. No way you were capable of what she said. Right?

Jimin ran up to him, asking, “Anything?”

Jungkook gazed at the older boy, embarrassed by what was about to come out of his mouth. “D-did you know Y/N used to s-steal?”

“Yeah, but she wouldn’t do it again.” Jimin didn’t take any hesitating second.

The older boy shook his head in disbelief, but more towards something else. “She’s been doing so well! I swear on everything I believe in, she’s not out stealing. She’d never put her parents through that again.”

“Does everyone know about this?” It was a pretty dumb question Jungkook knew the answer to, but he asked anyway.

“Yeah, pretty much. When the ambassadors, nobles, king and queen found out, Y/N had to take counseling if she still wanted to work here.” Jimin grumbled, his face turning bright red. “And that counselor doesn’t know what meaning of privacy means. He blabbered on and on to his buddies about how she stole —”

He couldn’t believe you used to do that. It was too much for him to comprehend. “There’s a lot I’m missing out.” He sighed, leaning against the wall.

“You have no idea.”

Jungkook saw Tania leaving the ballroom, a bouquet in her hands. He ran over to her, leaving Jimin to fend for himself near the staircase. “Hey, Tania, have you seen Y/N?”

“Not since last night.”

He groaned. “Ah, fuck, how are we — wait, you saw her last night?”

Clearly, this made her uncomfortable, because she started biting the inside of her cheek and staring at Jungkook like he caught her doing something illegal. “No…”

“But you just said —”

“I know what I said!” she snapped at him, shoving the flowers on the floor. “I was out last night on a ride around two, and she was on the road. She invited me inside, had a cup of juice, talked, then I left. End of story.”

He wasn’t buying it. “Why were you out on a ride at two in the morning?”

“I needed some fresh air, and Y/N happened to be there.”

There was something off about her story, but he felt that if he pressed it, she’d burst. So, he decided to play it safe. “So, when you two talked, did she see agitated, or worried, maybe? Did she seem off?”

Picking up the flowers, she rolled her eyes, grumbling, “Do we have to talk about this?”

“Yes, because Y/N’s missing.”

“What a shame. I don’t really care for her.” She put the flowers in a vase on the side of the hallway, standing on a nightstand. “She could drop dead for all I care?”

This ticked a nerve for him. “What the hell is wrong with you? Why the fuck do you hate her so much? Is it because she’s not a noble? Is because she threatened you in some way? Is it because she used to steal —”

She turned and shoved him back, the flying vase missing his head by an inch, glass shattering around the wall behind him. Saying he was shocked would be the understatement of the year. His heart skipped a few beats, and his brain shut down for a mili-second.

Tania nearly took his head off! She simply stalked away, shoving Jimin as he ran for Jungkook.

“Dude, what the hell happened?” he asked, helping Jungkook off the floor. “She totally lashed out at you!”

Jungkook stood up by himself, pushing some broken glass off his shoulder. “Tania saw Y/N last night. Then she completely busted when I mentioned that Y/N used to steal —”

Jimin hit him upside the head. Hard.

Jungkook shouted, “Ow! What was that for?”

“For mentioning the stealing,” Jimin said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You’re an absolute dumbass, I swear. Do you seriously not know the story of Tania’s first love?”

Jungkook sat down at the ends of the staircase, rubbing the back of the head. “What part of ‘there’s a lot I’m missing out’ do you not understand?”

Jimin glumly sat next to him, putting his hands on his knees. “I guess I should explain, then.”

“You think?”

“I may be small, but I swear I’ll whack you again.” He sighed and pulled his feet apart, preparing for the terrible memory.

“Well, once Tania fell in love with this foreign prince. They were head-over-heels in love with each other. They planned an amazing party to celebrate their upcoming marriage — now, keep in mind, back then, the staff was made of, let’s say, normal people from town, and not noble chefs and butlers.

“So, the entire staff was filled with jealousy — because they were secretly gang-thieves who hated all royalty in general — and decided to attack and rob the royals at the party.”

“I can see how that’s hard. But why does Tania take it so personally?”

Jimin glared at him as if to ask Really? “Whacking!”

“Okay. Sorry. Continue.”

“Anyway… The thieves stole everything — wallets, watches, jewelry, shoes, clothes, anything they could carry. The guards had been limited because Tania and her family trusted them. And the attack was so calculated, so thought out ahead of time, that someone must have been on the inside of the thieving gang, to make Tania let her guard down. And guess who it was?”

“I swear, if it’s Y/N, I’m gonna whack you in the head.”

“No, dumbass.” Jimin sighed, leaning in real close for the big reveal. “It was the prince Tania fell in love with.”

Jungkook’s jaw dropped to the steps. “No!”

“Yes. He was behind the whole thing. He gained Tania’s trust and had her take the security down at the party. He took it as his opportunity to attack them. Then he and his gang of thieves fled the scene, with no lead as to where they went.”

“Wow.” It took a second for Jungkook’s brain to process the story. “So, whenever someone steals —”

“Tania immediately hates them. She felt betrayed. And she’s still not healed entirely, to this day. You should have heard her crying in her room when her parents told her she was marrying you. She was heartbroken. In fact, up until you came along, she never looked at another man like that.”

“Well, now, I feel bad.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. It’s okay. You didn’t know better.” He pulled Jungkook on his feet. “Now, we have to find Y/N… and we still don’t know where she could be. Shit.”

“Let’s not panic, okay? Maybe she’s —”

“KIDNAPPED!” Jin’s voice appeared out of nowhere as he ran down the hall, waving around a piece of metal. When he finally caught up to the duo, he held the metal up.

“Y/N’s parents dropped this off,” he explained. “Jungkook, they thought it was yours and accidentally left it behind at their house.”

Jungkook shook his head, gazing deeply at the metal piece, studying it. “I’ve never seen that before in my life.”

“How clueless are you?” Jin asked, raising a brow. “Do you seriously not know what pendant this is?”

Jimin shook his head. “Oh, god no. He doesn’t know anything.” He snatched the pendant from Jin’s open hands and held it up to his face. “It’s the symbol for this gang downtown affiliated with looting, stealing. It’s the one Y/N used to be in.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Jin groaned. “Wow, you need to be up to date. Y/N’s parents found it in her room. If one of those gangster-thieving people was there, it would explain why she’s gone. Typically, when one of their best’s given up stealing — which rarely happens, by the way — the gang leader has to cut off loose ends.”

“Loose ends?” Jungkook asked. “LIKE KILL HER?”

“Usually. Or relocation… by force.”

“Okay. Then all we have to do is get her. Should be easy.” Jungkook rubbed his head again, straightening his back. “All we have to do is tell the guards and they’ll take care of it.”

“And tell them what?” Jin snapped at him, his tall figure towering over Jungkook. “They think we’re disposable, even specially hired ones like us.” He gestured towards himself and Jimin. “Don’t you get it? People don’t care about us. If we’re doing this, we’re doing it ourselves.”

“Do we tell Tania?”

“Hell no. She’ll ridicule us and that rat us out for being mad enough to go after someone like Y/N. She’s not very fond of thieves, or even ones who used to be.”

“Fine. Let’s just go before anyone notices we’re gone. We’ll scope the gang out, see if Y/N is okay, and that should probably cause for the guards to get involved, right?”

“I guess.” Jin turned his body around, handing Jimin the pendant. “I have to stay here or they’ll know something up, and you could get busted for snooping on private property. Good luck, you two.”

We’re gonna need it. Jungkook sighed, grabbed Jimin, and headed out, with the older boy telling him directions to downtown.

The trek is tedious, tiring, and down-right exhausting.

The roads seemed endless, just going on and on. The sun gave them mercy and headed down for the night, the moon grazing their skins and gracing them with a little cold chill.

After an hour or two of wandering around the city, they became irritable.

Jimin growled, “I can’t keep walking like this. Where the hell is the stupid gang?” He shivered closer to Jungkook, capturing all his body heat.

Jungkook eyed a dark alley they came around, the wind whistling their way. The alley was dark and definitely dangerous at this part of town and this time of night, but he had a gut conscious, something that told him this was a good way to go if they wanted to find you.

“I have a feeling we’re getting closer,” Jungkook whispered, pulling Jimin through the alleyway, treading extremely softly.

They tried not making any noise, afraid that if they did, some terrible person would come out and attack them. And tonight was just scoping and snooping. Nothing too serious. They’d rather lay off the attacks and kidnappings.

“I really don’t like it here.” Jimin gripped his shoulders, hanging on for dear life. “I feel like someone’s watching us.

“Sh. We need to keep quiet. We don’t know what’s down here with us.”

“Yeah, for all we know, there could be fucking gremlins.”

“Gremlins, seriously? We have bigger issues that a mythical creature.” Jungkook grasped hold of Jimin side, keeping him hidden behind him. “By the way, if we die, I just want you to know… I may have eaten your breakfast dessert.”

“YOU DID WHAT?”

A trashcan twirled in their direction. Jungkook chucked down, dragging Jimin with him to the muddy ground. “Shh…” He clapped his hand over Jimin’s mouth before the older boy could respond to his demand.

The trashcan landed somewhere the boys had come from, breaking the silence again with a big crash! A cat, at least Jungkook thought it was a cat, shrieked and scurried off into the fire escape on the side of the building on the right.

Jungkook loosened his hand on Jimin’s mouth, gazing forward, to whoever threw the trashcan. As Jungkook silently studied the darkness, footsteps echoed off the small walls.

Anxiety filling his stomach, Jimin fumbled with the pendant, studying it again. “Oh, god… Jungkook, we have to go.” He ferociously pat Jungkook’s back. “We have to go now and tell Tania.”

“No. I’m not leaving without Y/N.”

“But… it’s him,” Jimin whispered as the footsteps came closer. Neither of them seemed content on moving anytime soon.

“Who’s ‘him?’��

Jimin rustled to his feet, pulling Jungkook back up. He pointed to the name on the pendant. “Right there. It spells Yoongi.”

Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his confusion spreading even further, along with his anxiety as the footsteps got louder. He quickly asked, “Who’s Yoongi?”

“Jungkook…”

As the owner of the footsteps entered in the light, Jimin gasped, keeping his voice very minimal. “Yoongi was Tania’s first love — the one who robbed her and her family and shamed her and made her hate Y/N and anyone who steals!”

The figure stepped forward, making the two boys jump back and have their bums on the ground, looking up at a boy — a boy barely older than them. His face was barely visible, but his smile was. And it wasn’t a warming, summer-feel smile. Quite the opposite.

“Yoongi,” Jimin squealed. Jungkook didn’t know whether or not that was for him or just for the sake of himself.

Yoongi’s grin widened when he saw the two boys jumping in fear. The man clapped his hands together repeatedly, like he just saw the end of an amazing play.

“Welcome, lads. I’m sincerely glad you could make it. We’ve been waiting.”

200 notes · View notes

dailychapel · 5 years

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O God, Creator and Redeemer of human nature, who willed that your Word should take flesh in an ever-virgin womb, look with favor on our prayers, that your Only Begotten Son, having taken to himself our humanity, may be pleased to grant us a share in his divinity. Who lives and reigns with you in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, for ever and ever

Psalm 107:1-43 NLT - 1 Give thanks to the LORD, for he is good! His faithful love endures forever. 2 Has the LORD redeemed you? Then speak out! Tell others he has redeemed you from your enemies. 3 For he has gathered the exiles from many lands, from east and west, from north and south. 4 Some wandered in the wilderness, lost and homeless. 5 Hungry and thirsty, they nearly died. 6 "LORD, help!" they cried in their trouble, and he rescued them from their distress. 7 He led them straight to safety, to a city where they could live. 8 Let them praise the LORD for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 9 For he satisfies the thirsty and fills the hungry with good things. 10 Some sat in darkness and deepest gloom, imprisoned in iron chains of misery. 11 They rebelled against the words of God, scorning the counsel of the Most High. 12 That is why he broke them with hard labor; they fell, and no one was there to help them. 13 "LORD, help!" they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 14 He led them from the darkness and deepest gloom; he snapped their chains. 15 Let them praise the LORD for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 16 For he broke down their prison gates of bronze; he cut apart their bars of iron. 17 Some were fools; they rebelled and suffered for their sins. 18 They couldn't stand the thought of food, and they were knocking on death's door. 19 "LORD, help!" they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 20 He sent out his word and healed them, snatching them from the door of death. 21 Let them praise the LORD for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 22 Let them offer sacrifices of thanksgiving and sing joyfully about his glorious acts. 23 Some went off to sea in ships, plying the trade routes of the world. 24 They, too, observed the LORD's power in action, his impressive works on the deepest seas. 25 He spoke, and the winds rose, stirring up the waves. 26 Their ships were tossed to the heavens and plunged again to the depths; the sailors cringed in terror. 27 They reeled and staggered like drunkards and were at their wits' end. 28 "LORD, help!" they cried in their trouble, and he saved them from their distress. 29 He calmed the storm to a whisper and stilled the waves. 30 What a blessing was that stillness as he brought them safely into harbor! 31 Let them praise the LORD for his great love and for the wonderful things he has done for them. 32 Let them exalt him publicly before the congregation and before the leaders of the nation. 33 He changes rivers into deserts, and springs of water into dry, thirsty land. 34 He turns the fruitful land into salty wastelands, because of the wickedness of those who live there. 35 But he also turns deserts into pools of water, the dry land into springs of water. 36 He brings the hungry to settle there and to build their cities. 37 They sow their fields, plant their vineyards, and harvest their bumper crops. 38 How he blesses them! They raise large families there, and their herds of livestock increase. 39 When they decrease in number and become impoverished through oppression, trouble, and sorrow, 40 the LORD pours contempt on their princes, causing them to wander in trackless wastelands. 41 But he rescues the poor from trouble and increases their families like flocks of sheep. 42 The godly will see these things and be glad, while the wicked are struck silent. 43 Those who are wise will take all this to heart; they will see in our history the faithful love of the LORD.

Mark 10:17-22 NLT - 17 As Jesus was starting out on his way to Jerusalem, a man came running up to him, knelt down, and asked, "Good Teacher, what must I do to inherit eternal life?" 18 "Why do you call me good?" Jesus asked. "Only God is truly good. 19 But to answer your question, you know the commandments: 'You must not murder. You must not commit adultery. You must not steal. You must not testify falsely. You must not cheat anyone. Honor your father and mother.'" 20 "Teacher," the man replied, "I've obeyed all these commandments since I was young." 21 Looking at the man, Jesus felt genuine love for him. "There is still one thing you haven't done," he told him. "Go and sell all your possessions and give the money to the poor, and you will have treasure in heaven. Then come, follow me." 22 At this the man's face fell, and he went away sad, for he had many possessions.

Prayer for Others

Lord’s Prayer Our Father Who art in heaven. Hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven. Give us this day our daily bread. Forgive us our trespasses, as we forgive those who trespass against us. Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil. For Thine is the kingdom and the power and the glory forever. Amen

Oh, God of wisdom, I want to praise you and give you my life.

Like a loving parent, you bless me. You have watched over me, knowing my history and the path that led me to you.

Thank you for the peace you promise peace in my life. I ask that I be always aware of the strength of your great power. May it never leave me.

So many people before me in so many generations, have served you so humbly, answering your call. Please give me the wisdom and courage to be your humble servant.

Rejoice! Rejoice! Emmanuel Shall come to thee, O Israel

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thereliquarian · 7 years

Text

A Second Succession

Since I was a child I was enamored with antique keys, skeleton keys, old house keys. I’ve seen projects and thoughts, ideas, and inspirations from childhood weave their way into the reliquarian from so many directions. I believe there are certain interests and predispositions we have, that manifest in us in our childhood. As this journey has continued I am unsure if everything about my life and creative visions has been bringing me to this point, or if it is the sum of my experiences and endeavors. Years of exploration of artistry, and self, seeping into the culmination of all my talent, experience, and expression. Artists are infamous for being tortured souls, and in many ways I suppose that is what makes the art… we use it to connect, through joy and suffering, but the source is the same… Love. The Reliquarian has so many subtle messages and mantras, but like roots traveling back to the tree, the heart of it is that all things come from the source of love… the shadow and the light. We like to ignore that part; the shadow. We’re only hurt by what we care for… if we don’t care we don’t hurt. We suffer loss, and heartache, frustration, loneliness, and fear… things I’ve known intimately from a very young age. I got lost in the shadow for a lot of my childhood and young adult years, and I forgot shadows are cast by obstacles that stand between you and the light. Nothing more… Shadows do not denote the absence of light, but the presence of it. That was a really hard lesson for me, and one that I rejected, because like most people, holding to our obstacles, our shadows in the path, excuses of from having to make the effort. From showing up. From taking ownership of our journey.

Patience is a virtue… one that I am still mastering, and it does not come naturally to me. I’m learning both more and less of it with age. Some things just take time… as I age I learn to wait. Not for the answers, not for the right moment, but for the emotions to pass. {Artists are notorious for being emotional as well.} Once, Michael told me “People don’t love like you do, you feel things deeper than others} I, to this day don’t know if it was a criticism or a compliment. He also teases that others sing praises for my devotion to the cause {whatever cause it may be} but they confuse persistence with stubbornness. That too was a moment of realization for me: Everything is two sides of the same coin.

Every trait and quality has both the potential for good and for bad. It is both an ally and a foe, situationally influenced. My emotional side, my passion in particular is both the best and the worst thing about me. It has helped me create my greatest art pieces, it has seen me through and given me courage to continue walking when my strength failed me. I have loved fiercely, and overcome things that would break most people, through sheer will power at times… but it has caused a lot of heartache, a lot of suffocation within my own emotions, a lot of wallowing, and tethering myself to the past, which has pulled me from the present.

If I glance behind me now, I find gratitude for my struggles and hardships in youth. It has taught me to know the value of a good person, to not take for granted the love and support of a good person, to be a good person. To teach my children to be good, and kind to others, especially when they are hurting and struggling, which is when we often are least lovable.

My daughter sees my husband write little hearts on paper towels, and feed me when I’m immersed in a project, and she mimics by leaving me pretzel sticks and coffee on my writing desk in the morning. Even my students and apprentices send thoughtful gifts to encourage creativity and writing, and I hope what I give them is of equal value. My little boy learns how to be a man by watching his father, and I have no concern that he will learn to be a good one by following in those footsteps. After the Butterfly Book shoot, I can’t see butterflies without feeling dad’s presence, so when this little black and blue butterfly landed on me, that too was perceived as a gift of love. Love is the source.

I myself am more a bumble bee than a butterfly. If you don’t know me {and even if you do} a lot of time, what seems like disoriented chaotic flitting to and fro is really an obsessive love for all projects, I can’t choose between the flowers. I have always appreciated dichotomy. Even the sound of the word appeals to my writer, but also comes into play in much of my artistry. Lacey dresses against rough backgrounds, humanity within nature. I appreciate duality, visually and in life. Warm apple pie, and ice cream, salty and sweet. The allure of the nostalgic in the present. I think a lot of who I am exists in duality and dichotomy as well. My mind operates in a very entrepreneurial state of project starting, and loves the artistry and passionate emotion of being a photographer, painter, sculptor. I am both the visual artist, and the writer. The lover, and the independent wanderlust afflicted spirit. Siena once said to me that I arrange everything in my life like little still-lifes to be painted, and I don’t know if I do this because I see in pictures, or if I see in pictures because I do this.

I was feeling incredibly down about the lack of progress with the Reliquarian. If you’ve been following since the beginning, or have wandered back through past posts then you know this has been literally years of work… and to only have 12 images complete at this point is incredibly disheartening for a girl who is still learning the virtue of patience.

Being the emotional person I am, I tend to make decisions from a place of heart, so when I received the call that Kellie McGinn had passed away unexpectedly, leaving her parents with a studio business to deal with that they were now responsible for legally and financially it tugged on my heart strings. Photo Express Inc. had been started by her father and his brothers in the 80s, primarily as a film development company, then shifted towards portraiture. Eventually Kellie took over it as the second generation, and her daughter Page, who spent as much time in her studio as my kids have in mine stood as a likely candidate for the 3rd generation. Page was 9 when Kellie passed unexpectedly, her and I were only a few months apart in age. To add even more strife to their family sorrow, her mother Judie, who had helped manage all the books was battling stage 4 cancer. Out of nowhere a friend of hers called me and asked me if I would buy out the company from her parents and take it over so they could retire.

It wasn’t more than a few weeks after I had cleared more things from my way to make room for the Reliquarian that I received the call. Life has been pulling me many different directions, and Michael had been talking only the day before about his options as he nears the end of his 20 years of service… he considered banking on the name I had built and taking over the photography studio, building a high volume, service based company where I had been rooted in the artistry and taken a very low volume at a much higher price tag. We pacted to undertake the challenge together. I liked the idea that the McGinns who had built this family business over nearly 30 years would have something to show for the efforts they had given for a third, to half of the years they were gifted in life. Hopefully it would grant them some peace and hope towards the future, that their legacy continue onward.

I agreed to build and run the company for the next few years until Michael’s service time was complete, and then Michael could choose to take it over and allow me to focus on the Reliquarian. {I have now resigned to the fact that this project will be the culmination of years to come, that water cuts through rock with persistence and time… and patience is a virtue.} As I scavenged and found furniture, set up framing options, and we put in new floors and cabinets I was overwhelmed and unsure of what I was doing. I still am, if we’re being honest. I remind myself there are many roads that travel towards the destination.

As I sat alone in the studio late one evening by myself, I went to turn off the light, and found my shoes lying next to the drill. Dichotomy. A visual mantra that I was not sacrificing artistry for entrepreneurism. I am both. This was another path, but it was still capable of leading towards and not away from the destination.

I, of all things am a project starter. I am enamored with beginnings, and challenges. I have poor follow through, not because I am bored, but because I am so excited about the possibilities, the untraveled paths. My wanderlust spirit is easily allured by the unfamiliar, and the beauty that comes with the exploration of new places, and the lessons they have to offer. It would seem this is a year of exploration. I opened the doors with the possibility of new genres, new people, new experiences. I hired new artist to offer them a beginning towards their dreams, a collective vision. Still, though I knew it would require months of my undivided attention, I made it a point to surround myself in the new Turning Page Studio with the Reliquarian so that I might remember the destination, and make sure to remain pointed towards that ultimate North.

I have a great love as an entrepreneur, an artist and writer, and the third corner of this trinity is rooted in education. I have been lucky to be offered opportunity to speak at some of the largest photography conventions and expos in the world. I have built many wonderful relationships with companies whose practices and products I admire, and align myself with. I now call many of those whom I so admired, friend, and colleague. I aspire to remain humble, and being amidst them certainly keeps me thus. It reminds me to hold to the mantra that a good teacher is first a good student, and in their company I have so much to learn.

I believe their different genres, their unique artistic perspectives has taught me to see differently, and it certainly has influenced the Reliquarian. Shooting with Alan Shapiro gave me all the flower images for Forlorn in the Forest of Essence, but it changed the way I look at and notice little things, and the Reliquarian has very much been about the little things since the beginning. It is a sort of massive landscape of macro elements. The new love specifically of flowers influenced the next incarnation of the key as well. Art Imitates Life, Imitates Art. The Reliquarian itself seems to grow and blossom at it’s own pace and season. My husband buys me flowers for holidays, but planted ones we can plant in the garden, so at the end of our lives, in the home we raised our children in, I might look and see a lifetime of love from him, rather than a few moments or days of cut flowers on a table. Looking at the purple tulips that opened so beautifully this year, the notion of stamens made of keys emerged.

Most of this is a learning process for me. I hold closely to the story of Edison creating the lightbulb, and how he supposedly mused “I didn’t fail 1000 times, I simply learned 1000 ways not to make a light bulb.” There have been plenty of failures in the Reliquarian thus far… story line issues, timelines that don’t match up, confusion in plot and character and settings. Lots of mistakes and failed attempts at different art pieces… beautiful images that I still, years later love, but that won’t be in the final story, but received their own post just the same in The First Failures. I’ve noticed, now that I’ve been at this for more than three years, that the failures and frustrations of the moment end up saving so much time, and aiding in the navigation through creative waters as we make other props and costuming. The first key flower illustrated the concept, but the petals were thick and clunky, I bought colored clay but solid colored petals added to unrealistic feel and there was a disconnect between what I saw in my mind and what I created… the woe of every artist perfecting their craft.

It took some time and play with colors but eventually we created these beautiful petals that had texture and shape and color to them that were more lifelike, while still holding the whimsy and fantasy I want the Reliquarian to embody. I envisioned the first key as growing, spreading vines across her and into the earth, drawing the energy and healing her.

The challenge has been that in a world of amazing technological development everything exists is CGI and photoshop, and I have been deeply rooted in the attachment of these things physically manifesting… though I admit my quaint cottage studio seems to grow smaller as it fills with the props and pieces from this series. I hold great hope for an amazing art gallery show and book release in the future, perhaps the near future where one might appreciate all these visual nuances in their own glory as well as within the imagery.

A lot of our work becomes play. At times we are all childlike in this process, amused in texture and color, and experimentation. In this case we needed the greens to fade to blues in the forestry she would be in. This image done later, actually falls before Unsung in the Bleeding Wood. Our need for blue, led to an evening of creating our own Holi Powder, and dying Mackenzie’s hands in the process.

The beautiful juxtaposition of this project is that the writing inspires the art, inspires the writing. Often times I have the silhouette of ideas and themes, that I am fleshing out in words and prose, and as I write, the image itself materializes into forms and colors. In turn when the set is done, the photographs captured, and I am in the editing room I find the writer strolls around the image and learns other pieces of the story. Uncovering them from the depths they are buried within. The Bleeding Wood holds red trees and tones within it, a lifeblood in the forest. In this element of the scene the forest turns blue as it heals her. Pulling the life energy from the wood. Like blood swimming to and from the heart, oxygen offering the blood life to carry, and gift elsewhere. It wasn’t until I saw the blue in contrast to the red that the parallel to actual blood appeared for me. There they sat side by side, the healing of the forest, and the warrior child within the wood, invigorated and encouraged by the energy of the world coursing within her.

And so the next image: A Second Succession is born. Named for the process started by a catastrophic event, a forest fire, a harvesting, a hurricane; that reduces an already established ecosystem to a smaller population of species, and a new rebirth that occurs after. So the key roots within the forest, draws the life energy of it in, and heals a gravely wounded child. At the sacrifice of the forest, and her original being, a second birth occurs and like all things, she grows into something new, her losses and woundings the price of such transcendence… A lesson that has come only with time, and has required patience to learn. Perhaps more than anyone else I write this book and create this imagery for myself. To help understand the lessons life is trying to teach me, and to make my way through my emotional bias towards the truth of the places within me I encounter. I am still learning who I am, and I find pieces of myself within the pages of this project. In the midst of all the images thus far, this might have been one of the most simple in terms of setup and creation… however it has also become one of if not the favorite image I’ve created in the series. There is something organic, and holistic about this one that really speaks to me. It echoes a growing sense of responsibility I feel in making decisions which benefit the earth and its creatures. In continued pursuit of that quest, all sales from prints within the Reliquarian series will now benefit humanitarian and philanthropic endeavors that are close to my heart. The first of which will be a new school house in Cambodia… but more on that in the next post.

from A Second Succession

#A Second Succession #Reliquarian #book #quote #art #photography #fantasy #Jessica Lark

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akissatmidnight · 7 years

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We received so much interest in our last clan history post, which you can read here, that we thought it was a good idea to do a second. This installment is made entirely of clans that you readers wanted to know more about! In fact, so many of our followers asked to learn more about their personal clans, a part 3 is currently in the works, so make sure to check back in!

Clan Armstrong

Clan Motto: Invictus Maneo- I Remain Unvanquished

Let’s learn some fun clan facts!

There hasn’t been an Armstrong chief since the clan was outlawed by the British in the 17th century, after decades of unrest between them.

Neil Armstrong took a piece of the Armstrong tartan up to him when he went to the moon!

The Armstrong clan was so wild with their raids and battles, it is said that in 1524 the Bishop of Glasgow cursed them. He said something like this…

“I curse their head and all the hairs of their head; I curse their face, their eyes, their mouth, their nose, their tongue, their teeth, their neck, their shoulders, their breast, their heart, their stomach, their back, their belly, their arms, their legs, their hands, their feet, and each and every part of their body, from the top of their head to the soles of their feet, before and behind…”

Lord John Grey’s full name is John William Bertrand Armstrong Grey!

Clan Fergusson

Clan Motto: Dulcius Ex Asperis- Sweeter After Difficulties

War Cry: Clann Fhearghuis gu brath!- Clan Fergusson goes on forever!

Here are some interesting things about this clan…

They are widely known as “The Sons of Fergus”.

They claim to be descended from Fergus Mór, the king of Dál Riata (an area that encompass parts of Scotland and Ireland. In turn, King Fergus claimed to be descended from King Arthur, the legendary British leader. So if you’re a Fergusson, there’s a chance you could be double royal!

There aren’t any Fergussons in Outlander, but here’s a wee Fergus to tide you over!

Clan Donnachiadh/Clan Robertson

Clan Motto: Virtutis Gloria Merces- Glory is the reward for valor

War Cry: Garg ‘nuair dhùisgear!- Fierce when roused!

hunting tartan

modern tartan

Let’s learn a few fun things about this clan…

One of the oldest clans, the Donnachiadhs took on the secondary name of Robertson when they were hearty supporters of Robert the Bruce, AKA King Robert I, in the 1300s.

This clan is in possession of the Clach na Bratach, a sacred quartz stone that is said to have been pulled from the ground by their King Duncan in the 1300s on the eve of a battle. They say it has healing powers and has been carried into battle by every chief since.

Clan Ross

Clan Motto: Spem suvvessus alit- Success nourishes hope

Here are a few things to know about this clan…

In 1689, a hundred Ross men were sent to spy on the Mackenzies at Castle Leod to ensure there wasn’t any Jacobite uprisings in the works.

Their traditional seat, Balnagowan Castle, is now owned by Mohammed Al-Fayed, former owner of the Harrod’s Department Store. If the name sounds familiar, it’s because his son Dodi was killed with Princess Diana in 1997. Thankfully, Al-Fayed is in the process of restoring it.

Shout out to Ross!

Clan Gordon

Clan Motto: Bydand- Steadfast

Clan War Cry: A Gordon! A Gordon!

dress tartan

traditional tartan

Here are a few facts about the Gordon clan:

They supported Robert the Bruce and William Wallace in the Scottish Wars of Independence.

Clan Forbes were their bitter enemies and they spend decades killing each other. Like the Forbes once invited some Gordons to dine, only to murder them and then the Gordons turned right around and slaughtered a tower full of Forbes. It took two Acts of Parliament to get them to stop killing each other every other week.

then chief of Clan Gordon is always known as the “Cock o’ the North”.

And here’s Sir Fletcher Gordon, the governor of Wentworth Prison!

Clan MacNeil

Clan Motto: Cuaidh No Bas- Victory or Death

Macneil of Barra tartan

MacNeil of Collonsay tartan

Let’s learn about the MacNeil Clan!

They are said to be descendents of the Irish King Niall of the Nine Hostages, who lived in the 300s. In the legend of his birth, it’s said that his dad was such a d*ick, he forced Niall’s mom to do hard labor, hoping she would miscarry. When Niall was finally born, his mother abandoned him out of fear and he was brought up by a poet. He later returns to his rightful home and rescues his mom. When it comes time for his bio-dad to name his successor, he gives his sons, including Niall, different tasks. One was kissing a hideous monster. The other guys chickened out, but old Niall gave that nasty beast the time of her life and was rewarded by her turning into a beautiful maiden and giving him the fealty of the people for many generations.

There is also a large number of MacNeil’s of African descent, more so than any other clan name. It came from the Scotch-Irish servants who served with them or the MacNeil slave masters. While there is no data showing exactly how many, a DNA test could prove to almost any MacNeil, regardless of race, if they had come from the historic MacNeil clan.

The Grant Clan

Clan Motto: Craig Elachie- this was the name of the rallying point for the Grants. They would light signal fires at the bottom of Craig Elachie, also known as “The Rock of Alarm” to call the clan.

Clan War Cry: Stand fast, stand sure!

New tartan

old tartan

Here are some fun things about the Grant clan!

They most likely descended from Normans who came to Scotland with the British.

During the 1600s, the Grants hid a number of MacGregor outlaws from the British crown, resulting in fines and threats.

After the Battle of Culloden, eighty-four Grants were taken to Barbados and sold as slaves.

Clan Grant was affected little by the great Highland clearance that affected many other clans. This is because their chief during that time cultivated a town called Granton-on-Spey that provided enough work to sustain the clan.

Clan Stewart

Clan Motto: Virescit Vulnere Vistus- Courage Grows Strong at a Wound

The Stewarts originally came from Brittany, France, during the Norman conquest of England.

During the Wars of Independence, they were originally sided with the British, then quickly turned to support Robert the Bruce.

The Stewarts took the crown of Scotland when Walter Stewart married Robert the Bruce’s daughter, Marjorie. When Robert died, the crown passed to Water and Marjorie’s son, also named Robert. The Stewarts firmly held the crown until 1714.

There are 21 sub-clans of Stewarts.

Mary Queen of Scots and “Bonnie” Prince Charles Stuart descended from this line.

Here are some lovely Charlie gifs…

The MacDougall Clan

Clan Motto: Buaidh no bàs– Victory or Death

Let’s get a little historical up in here…

They got their name from their first chief Dougall, who descends from the royals of Norway. In fact, one of his sons, was given the title “King of the Isles” by the King of Norway in the 1200s.

The MacDougalls kept the vikings out of Scotland and even won the country the Hebrides from the Norse in the 1260s.

The Bruces and MacDougalls hated each other, which made things pretty awkward during the Scottish Wars for Independence, when they both supported William Wallace and independence from England. The MacDougalls kept things chill until Robert the Bruce was crowned king, then they went wild and ambushed him, defeating the Bruces in battle and taking some rather expensive jewelry for their troubles. But Robert was like, “nah, f*uck this,”and overtook the MacDougals three years later. Robert gave all their lands to the Campbells, who have always been loyal to him.

Clan Shaw

Clan Motto: Fide et Fortitudine- By Fidelity and Fortitude

War Cry:Na Bean Ris A Chat! Touch not the cat! (Because even the Scots know that cats can be as*holes)

Clan Chattan tartan

Green Shaw

Red Shaw (most common)

The history of how Clan Shaw came to be is fuzzy, and it seems to be as a result of a mixture of marriages, chiefs, and second sons wishing for power, but they’re greatly connected to the Macintosh clan.

They are a part of Chattan Confederation, a federation of twelve smaller clans, who often worked together. The Shaws were known for their strength and bravery in battle.

Mackintosh Clan

Clan Motto: Touch not the cat bot a glove-Touch not the cat without a glove (Scots and their cats…)

Clan War Cry: Loch Moigh- the name of a lake where the clan would rally

They are the chiefs of the Chattan Confederation.

They are descendents from Shaw MacDuff, making them the “cousins” of the Shaw Clan.

They were heavily involved in an ongoing feud with Clan Cameron that lasted 250 years.

The clan saved Prince Charlie during the Jacobite Rebellion. When she heard that the British were coming to get Charlie, Lady Macintosh rallied the men to hide along the road. When the British troops passed, the Macintosh men began shooting and calling for the Cameron and Donald men to advance. It was a buff, neither of those clans were there, but it worked and British retreated.

The Forbes Clan

Clan Motto: Grace, me guide

Clan War Cry: Lonach!- a mountain on their lands where they would rally

The name “Forbes” refers more to an area than a family name. The first record of Forbes referring to a person was in 1271.

The Forbes, who were Protestant, were really salty that the Gordons remained Catholic after the reformation. So, naturally, the Fobes killed a bunch of Gordons then the Gordons killed the Forbes…they stopped, eventually, but it took two Acts of Parliament.

Clan Bruce

Clan Motto: Fuimus- We Have Been

Ancient tartan

Modern tartan

Lets learn about the Bruce clan!

This clan came from the French de Brus in Normandy.

in 1219 Robert the Bruce married the wealthy Isobel of Huntingdon, the niece of King William the Lion, who has a king of Scotland. When King Edward I of England forced the King of Scotland, John, to abdicate, the Scots were left without a king. Robert, who was made the ‘Guardian of Scotland’ along with John Comyn after Willaim Wallace was executed was all, “hey, you know what Isobel? I should be king, not just guidian. I gotta ditch Comyn. He’s cramping my style!” So Robert stabbed him, was excommunicated by the Catholic Church, and crowned king. But the Bruce reign ended when Robert’s son David died without an Heir.

Robert the Bruce was the real “Braveheart” and had his heart removed from from his body after he died, because he wanted his heart to go on a crusade, because who said adventure ends when you die? It was taken for a ride, but the holder died in battle and Robert’s heart was sent back to Scotland all willy nilly. It finally found a resting place in Melrose, Scotland.

A reconstruction of what Robert the Bruce looked like.

Are you a member of any of those clans? Didn’t see your clan? Let us know, because a third installment of Outlandish Clan History is in the works and we can add your family name to the list!

Look what contemporary romances Sarah is working on here and read about Kelsey’s Contemporary and Scottish historical romances here!

An Outlandish Clan History Part2 We received so much interest in our last clan history post, which you can read here…

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