#he is the epitome of ‘we must stay focused brothers’

[new-ronantics]

“act cool” “no! don’t focus on him.”

will byers you are too fucking cute. look at you doing your best not to get caught up in your best friend’s pretty eyes. you are hopeless.

#he is the epitome of ‘we must stay focused brothers’ #byler #byler script #will byers #mike wheeler #stranger things

[earthfluuke]

tine teepakorn is a very important boy to me, and i don’t think i’ve expressed that a lot. hopefully, this fic does just that. everything in here is incredibly true and personal to me. and seeing how so many people relate to tine, i hope others can relate as well.

after some reflection on the show (and after a discussion with @emisfritish), i realized that despite how different type and tine are, they have something in common: they both have a ton of anxiety and a constant need to be perfect. they just express that in different ways. there was only one common denominator i could find: their parents.

i hope you all enjoy this! and tine...i’m so sorry, you have become the punching bag for all my insecurities.

Tine Teepakorn is confident. He’s charismatic and cool with a perfectly prim image. His Instagram aesthetic is carefully crafted, and each picture is chosen with the utmost care. He’s well groomed, has impeccable style, is the epitome of chicness.

Tine Teepakorn is confident, because that is what he wants people to see. It is much easier, much more widely accepted, to be the shoulders back, chin held high type of guy rather than the one with nerves bubbling in his stomach or swirls of self-sabotaging thoughts whipping through his head.

It’s easier, until he goes back home. Until it’s eyes focused on his plate, monotone answers to monotone questions, snide remarks that are meant to go in one ear and out the other but instead stick to his brain and batter his heart.

Being at college with people who care, with people who know him, has blurred the lines of what is okay where. His excitement about making the university cheerleading team is met with praise and congratulations at school. Here, it’s the scrape of a knife against ceramic, downturned eyes that don’t meet his own, the sneer of, “cheerleading, Tine, really?”

He sinks back into his chair, takes a long sip of water. This is who Tine Teepakorn is. He’s bubbly and fun and more insecure than he will ever admit.

…

“Breathe, Tine,” Type soothes softly. “You’re okay. Just breathe.”

Holding his brother’s hands, Tine squeezes as he desperately tries to take in air. His breath is staggered, stiff, quick, and everything is spinning. A numbness aches through his body as he tries to remember what his father had said to send him into this spiral, but nothing comes to him.

Whatever it was, it had to have been bad if he’d excused himself to the bathroom in the middle of dinner, only to be found by Type when his parents started the dishes. It isn’t their first time in this position; it won’t be their last.

He can vaguely make out voices through the cracks in the door. Hushed and muffled, they speak fast, tones harsh. Eyes blown wide, they hyper fixate on the yellow light streaming in from the kitchen. What they’re talking about isn’t clear but who they’re talking about is crystal.

Before his breath can pick up pace again, Type tugs on his hands, pulls his focus back to him. “Look at me,” he says, just the right amount of calm and serious. “Only at me. You’re okay. Keep breathing. Like me, watch.”

They stay there for another ten minutes, until Tine’s breath is no longer ragged. Type fixes the shirt collar he’d viciously pulled at and pushes his hair back into place. He then asks if he’s okay, and Tine can only nod; because that’s what he must be as he forces a neutral smile back onto his face and leaves the bathroom to reenter the lion’s den.

…

His only solace is his mother’s cooking. It’s warm and comforting and gives him something to hold onto when the tidal waves come and try to knock him overboard.

But then there’s the disapproving hum, followed by, “your body is going to catch up to all that sooner or later.”

He drops the spoon he’s holding, forgoes the idea of a second helping. He’s become so accustomed to late dinners out with his friends and the snacks Sarawat gives him from his ever growing pile of fan gifts that he’s forgotten the countless times his father has made the remark before.

…

Silence is better than defense. It’s something he’s learned long ago. Arguing is futile, because I am right; you are wrong. It’s tiring, more work than it’s worth.

There’s no fight in him when he relays his first semester results. They’re nice, high marks, but that doesn’t mean they’re enough.

“Your brother was in much better standing his first semester of college,” his father says. Nothing follows except a swig of his wine and a heaviness in the air.

Type looks like he wants to say something, to jump to his side and make things better like big brothers should. But Tine shoots him a look, one that begs him to stay quiet, lest the real claws come out. In comparison, this is barely a scratch.

Bless his brother; he says nothing, only lets out a breath from his nose and chews the inside of his cheek. He’s clearly conflicted, wants to do something more, but this is enough for Tine. Supportive brothers take out some of the sting that comes from unsupportive parents.

“I’ll get them up,” he says. There’s no response.

…

Returning to his apartment after the weekend ends is always the same. It’s quiet, dark, something smells good. By the time his shoes are off, Sarawat is by his side, and in an instant, Tine is falling directly into him.

Everything is clockwork from there. Arms wrap around him and hold him tight. Neither of them speak. Sarawat has never asked about his trips home; not because he doesn’t care, but because he knows Tine wants to leave that at the door and lock it away from the safe space they’ve created in this apartment.

He has so many questions; Tine can tell from the tension in his jaw and fire in his eyes. He wants to do better, help more, but just having him here to care for him is enough.

From there, they find themselves in the kitchen. A bowl is pushed in front of him, and even though he claims he’s not hungry, Sarawat pushes a fork into his palm. Yes, you are, it says. You’re starving.

And he must be with the way he clears the dish in no time. It’s not the same as the family recipes his mother prepares for him, but Sarawat doesn’t hesitate to refill his bowl and offer him more. There’s a warmth there that doesn’t come from the food.

Shower, pajamas, under the covers. Their routine ends when Sarawat offers him a place on his chest, and he takes it. Feeling his steady heart beat and his fingers through his hair brings Tine back to the place he’d left a few days prior. It’s the place he always wishes to be, but that is simply a luxury he can’t be granted. At least when he’s with Sarawat, he never has to leave.

…

He has been dating Sarawat for six months, three weeks, and two days when his father says, “Now that you have a proper job, it’s about time you start looking for someone to settle down with. Don’t you think, Type?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Tine sees his brother’s shoulders hunch. He says nothing, only gives a stiff nod before shoving a spoonful of rice into his mouth. He’s then given a list of criteria that their father finds fit for a Teepakorn son, but Tine has stopped listening.

He and Sarawat haven’t made a formal announcement that they’re dating, but everyone knows. They’ve never hidden who they are to each other; there’s always been Instagram posts, hand holds, flirtatious teasing in the back of the music club room.

The logical next step is to tell their families. Phukong knows. Even though she hasn’t mentioned it, Tine has a sneaking suspicion Sarawat’s mother does as well. Maybe it’s time his family knows.

He has a lot to think about.

…

Tine doesn’t blame Sarawat for the look of confusion he sends his way; he would have looked the same if he was in his shoes.

“You want to introduce me to your family?” he asks, words sounding unsure on his tongue.

Sitting next to him on the edge of the bed, Tine, unable to meet his eyes, looks to his knees. “I want them to know who I’m dating. Since, you know, I’m pretty serious about you. If you’re really it for me, I want to tell them.” Fingers digging into the underside of the mattress, he adds, “But if you’re not ready for that, I won’t force you.”

Sarawat’s hand finds his hair and pushes some back behind his ears. When Tine finally looks up, he’s offering him a soft smile. “If that’s what you want to do, then I’ll be right there with you.”

Returning the grin Sarawat sends him, Tine lifts a hand to grab one of his and squeeze. It’s reassuring to know that no matter what happens – and he has a sneaking suspicion something will – he has Sarawat by his side.

…

Just like every other person who has ever met him, his parents are taken with Sarawat the moment Tine walks him through the door. They barely make it to the dinner table before his father is talking his ear off, asking him every question under the sun.

“You’re in a band, you said?” he asks as he cuts through his slice of meat. “What instrument do you play?”

“Guitar, sir,” he answers. Tine doesn’t think he’s ever seen him so formal. He’s trying hard to make a good impression, and it’s just as sweet as it is worthless. His words mean so little in the eyes of the one who is always in the right.

He hums in thought and sends a grin over the rim of his wine glass. “Very impressive.”

“Actually,” he adds. “Tine has been learning how to play too, and he’s improved a lot.”

Cut off before he can say more, his father continues, “You’re on the football team too?” You could teach Tine a thing or two. Maybe then he could join his faculty’s team next year.”

Clearly taken aback, Sarawat swallows hard before commenting, “Well, we wouldn’t be anywhere without our cheerleaders.”

Tine bites his lip. He knows what Sarawat is trying to do, and while it’s sweet, he wishes he would stop. He doesn’t know – he couldn’t know, because Tine has never explained any of this to him – but it will only make the situation worse.

“Oh? Someone special on the team?” he infers. “What is this lucky lady like?”

“Well…” Sarawat begins to say, voice trailed off and unsure.

“That’s actually why I invited him here,” Tine picks up for him, voice shaky. His heart beats double in speed, but he doesn’t stop himself. He wants this to be said; he needs it to be. “You see, Sarawat and I–”

“She must be quite the catch to land a young man like yourself, hm?”

“What I’m trying to say is that we–”

“Perhaps she has a friend you can set Tine up with? He’s never been very good at finding someone for himself.”

“It’s me!”

The table grows silent, and the air suddenly feels cooler. A shiver runs down his spine as all eyes look to him in varying degrees of emotion. The floor feels as though it’s dropping out from under him, but he uses the table as an anchor. Holding on tight, he hardens his jaw. He’s pent up, and he’s so very, very tired. This has to be it.

“Sarawat and I are dating,” he says, the smallest bits of confidence holding his chin up. “That’s why I brought him here. To tell you that.”

It doesn’t surprise him that his father is the first to speak. “You’re dating,” he says, not believing it until he says it himself. The confusion turns to shock then to anger, and he whips his head to the opposite end of the table. “Did you know about this?”

Slack jawed and wide eyed, all Type can do is stare, and for once, Tine is the one doing the protecting. “Leave P’Type out of this,” he says. “This has nothing to do with him.”

“And what were you going to prove by bringing him here?” he barks. All of that praise he’d had only moments ago is gone as he bores fire into Sarawat. “Did you think we’d be so quick to accept this? To welcome him into the family with open arms?”

He doesn’t know what he expected. All he knows is that he doesn’t want Sarawat to be a secret, that he doesn’t want to hide. He’s not ashamed of them. And there had been a smidge of hope that his parents wouldn’t be ashamed of them either.

But that hope is dead and gone as he looks his father in the eye for what feels like the first time in years. He’s always ducked his head, found a piece of a wall more interesting, shut them tight in fear of what he’d see if he opened them. Not this time.

“I didn’t bring him here for you to accept us,” he says. “I brought him here to tell you that we’re together. And now that I have, we’ll be going.”

Chair scraping against the wooden floor, he pushes it back under the table as he looks at his mother. Always silent, never one to disobey who she’s been convinced is in charge – of her, their family, the entire world – she stares at him with a mixture of sadness and distrust. “Thank you for the food,” he says.

Turning on his heel, he goes for the door. Another chair scrape alerts him that Sarawat is following him, and his hand just meets the knob when his father shouts, “It will never last, you know. Not just because you’re two men. Has Tine told you about his past relationships?”

Every drop of confidence – and there are so few of those – flows out of him and leaves him cold. Replacing them are the bitter, awful thoughts he’s done so well to keep at bay. They’re the ones that tell him that Sarawat can do far better, has a line of potentials that reaches the entire length of Thailand waiting for him. Earn and Pam are just the start; there are so many girls, boys, people they have yet to meet who can outshine him and uproot his spot in Sarawat’s heart.

“None of them have lasted,” his father repeats, as if to wedge the knife in deeper. “What makes you think yours will?”

Sarawat replies before any words can even come to mind. “I can’t speak on Tine’s other relationships,” he says. “But I can speak on mine. I love your son, and I believe him when he says he loves me. I’ll be with him for as long as he’ll have me.”

Gently taking his hand from the door, Sarawat opens it for him. As he leads him out, he leaves them with, “And when he tells me that’s forever, I trust him.”

…

They sit in his parent’s driveway until he’s breathing normally again. He just manages to get his seatbelt buckled when he hears the shouts of “Tine!” coming from the front porch.

Type runs to the car, waits for Sarawat to roll down the window, but he says nothing. Their eyes lock, and there’s a silent understanding. There’s guilt in his gaze, apologies that go unspoken. His face is heavy and sad, and Tine wishes he could say something to comfort him but nothing comes out.

It’s Sarawat who speaks up, “Do you want to get out of here?”

Glancing back towards the house, bottom lip worried between his teeth, Type doesn’t answer, but Sarawat seems to understand. Unlocking the doors, he nudges his head towards the empty back seat. “Get in,” he says. “I’ll drop you off at Man’s.”

Engine roaring to life, they back out onto the street, and slowly, the lights dim in the distance. The irony is, the farther away they get, the brighter Tine feels.

…

“I can’t believe them,” Sarawat mutters. The two of them have cocooned under the blankets, tucked together as closely as possible. “I had a feeling it was bad, but I didn’t think it was that bad.”

“It’s okay,” Tine soothes, a hand petting over his chest next to where his head lays.

“No,” he says seriously, arms tightening around him. “It’s not okay. Don’t ever think that.”

Fingers curling into the fabric of Sarawat’s night shirt, he murmurs, “But this…we’re okay. Right?”

“Of course we are.” There’s no hesitation in his voice. Hands cupping the sides of his face, Sarawat drags him up to look at him. “Who you’ve dated, how long you’ve dated them, doesn’t matter to me. What matters is how you feel about me. And I meant it when I said I believed that you love me.”

Stroking his thumbs over his cheeks, he says, “I don’t care about the past; I care about the present.”

“And the future?” Tine asks, smiling into the kiss he presses into his lips.

“Especially the future.”

Tine Teepakorn is a lot of things. He’s confident, yet insecure; happy, yet so terribly anxious. But regardless of who he is, he finally has a place where he belongs. There are no blurred lines, no doubt. It doesn’t fix everything, doesn’t solve all of his problems. But it certainly makes things better.

#2gether #2gether the series #saratine #sarawatine #sarawattine #sarawat x tine #fic #fanfic #my writing #this is very meaningful to me #and it's kinda scary putting this out there but ya know #it's important

[naerysthelonesome]

Time spent together

Part 6:

The narrator returns

Apollo and Lit are very, very close to Artemis’ place now. Apollo looks splotchy and nervous. I don’t like it. Clashes too much with his outfit. Lit, on the other hand looks cool and calm. That’s weird. Probably a façade.

Apollo finally makes a turn, and pulls into a driveway in this really nice neighborhood. I’d consider living here, if I could… live, you know? He parks the car and just sits there, like an idiot. I’m sure Lit notices because he punches Apollo lightly in the arm, and steps out. Apollo follows soon after, and Lit moves to the backseat to get his bag, but the former flaps at his arms in impatience. Boi does he not look the epitome of grace today.

Lit shoots him a look, and shoulders his bag anyway.

They both make their way to the front door of the pretty, baby blue house. It looks quaint, and cozy, and not really someplace I’d imagine Apollo’s cool sister Artemis living, but maybe she’s into the whole cottagecore thing. I wouldn’t know. I’m supposed to keep focused on Apollo and Lit.

Speaking of, Apollo is trying to look collected and nonchalant as he knocks on the door, but it’s (incredibly) clear that he isn’t. Lit inches just a little bit closer, trying to offer his support, but of course Apollo doesn’t notice. At least not at first. Then Lit’s hand brushes against his own, and, I kid you not, his eyes spark. His breath hitches in his chest, and he goes completely still. Simp.

The door bangs open to reveal a silver woman. No seriously, she’s silvery all over. Her hair and eyebrows have been dyed a most mesmerizing silvery-white, her skin glows in places (silver highlighter methinks), and all the delicate silver jewelry over the lacy, dark green tank top and gray shorts makes her look ethereal and fairylike. DAMN she is really taking the Artemis thing seriously.

“Big brother!”

“We’re twins, and you’re unoriginal”, Apollo says resignedly. Like he’s had this exact conversation before. He probably has. Artemis simply smiles.

“Aw don’t be like that!”

She turns toward Lit, who’s been standing there awkwardly, and offers him her hand. Palm facing down, snowy white fingers curled, like she expects him to kiss it.

Lit looks like he’s visibly restraining himself from turning to Apollo in bewilderment.

“Aren’t you going to take my hand?” Artemis asks, with a fake pout.

Lit reaches out and takes it, completely unsure of what to do next. He just holds it like it’s an unwanted bug someone’s placed in his hand.

“Must all your dates be so rude, Apollo?” Artemis questions, with a huff.

“Must you always act like a twat that doesn’t know what century it is, Artemis?” he replies, turning to Lit. “She’s just playing with you”.

Artemis laughs, and walks away. It’s a normal laugh, no tinkling wind chimes, or tumbling rivers. I don’t even know if that’s humanly possible. Stephanie must have been on something.

“Something tells me it’s best if I play along”, Lit says, following Apollo through the door.

“Definitely. Oh, and leave your shoes here.”

Two of the girls Artemis lives with are insanely pretty. (But then, all humans look insanely pretty to me… oh to have a physical form). And they look like polar opposites. The bigger one is wearing a flowy summer dress that perfectly complements her wheatish skin, her pink and brown hair in a neatly curled high pony, winged eyeliner on point. The other one has her orange-red hair hanging about her face, some of it still fixed in the messiest messy bun I’ve ever seen. She stays seated on the sofa, in her dull grey sweats, and simply turns to wave at the boys when they walk in, eyes still on the tv.

“Hi! I’m Arson”, says they pink-haired one, “And that’s Claire. She’s normally the active one, but it’s shark week so she’ll just lie there like that all day, useless”. She (they?) swiftly catches they pillow that’s been chucked at them, and grins. “Oh and Thalia’ll be out in a sec”.

“Your name’s Arson?” Lit asks, politely trying not to sound shocked or confused.

“Heh yeah. Of all the non-binary names someone like me could have picked, right?” They say, with a short laugh. “It was a close call between this, and Twig.”

“Her pronouns are she and they, btw”, Apollo says walking up from where he’d been talking to his sister, to envelop Arson in a hug, “Hey Ari!”

“Ah jeez. The hugging still isn’t over?” A raven haired girl says, walking into the now slightly crowded living room. “Well I’m Thalia. Do no touch me”. That last part was spit at Apollo. Her tone is menacing, but her little smirk shows otherwise.

“Hey Thalia”, Apollo says, reaching over to pat the red-head, Claire, on the shoulder, and ruffle her already ruffled hair. Please somebody comb it already!

“This is Lit, Apollo’s newest fling”, Artemis says, gesturing to the boy who looks like he can’t decide whether he wants to live here, or run away. He gives the room a shy smile. (Aww)

“Great! Now that we all know each other,” Get out of Pridelands? Sorry sorry. Just couldn’t miss out the opportunity to quote Lion King: Simba’s Pride. Artemis simply continues on with something about lunch and rotisserie chicken.

It’s been quite an uneventful couple hours, but oh, how could that possibly last? In a room full of people, half with names with mythological roots, and the one named after a crime? There’s bound to be some drama. No, calm down, there isn’t going to be a fire. Unless it’s Lit’s heart flaming for Apollo, or vice versa. ANYWAY I’m going way off script.

“So Lit, how’d you guys meet?” Claire asks around a mouthful of veggies, feet nestled comfortably on Arson’s lap. I’m starting to think they might be more than friends, but what do I know?

“Oh we had to do a project together. Obviously, we’d seen each other around before then, but yeah… that’s the first time we really interacted”, Lit answered, awkwardly trailing off at end, as if he thought he’d said to much. Seriously Lit? That was barely anything.

“And how long ago was that?” Arson asked.

“Uh-”

“About a month ago”, Apollo supplied, lacing his fingers through Lit’s, their hands clearly visible from the sofa they were seated on.

Lit’s adam’s apple bobbed, and he shifted slightly in his seat, but managed to keep calm, even lifting their conjoined hands into his lap.

“Huh. How long have you guys been together, then?” Thalia asked, staring to look interested.

“A couple weeks.” Apollo’s voice was calm, at startling odds with the red of his face.

“Oh?” Artemis said finally, her eyes moving from their linked hands, to Apollo’s face. “You move awfully fast brother.”

“Well, we both wanted it”, Lit tried to cut in. The sudden tension between the twins is so thick, even oblivious Lit notices.

Artemis ignores him and continues, “Don’t you remember what happened last time you moved this quickly?”

“Artemis, please”, Apollo says, starting to sound irritated, “You wanted me to stop fucking around, and I did. You seem to have a problem with everything I do.”

“Oh is that why you’re dating him? Because of me?” Oh shit… we’re getting awfully close to the truth now, huh?

“No. No, of course not”, Apollo lies quietly. Lit manages to discreetly untangle their fingers and pull away, looking a little hurt. “I like Lit”. So not all lies then? If only Lit knew that, then he’d stop looking like a kicked puppy.

“Just make sure he isn’t another Daphne”, Artemis says, a challenging look in her eyes.

“That was a mistake and you know it! When are you going to stop bringing it up?” Apollo spits angrily, before he gets up and walks out the front door.

Lit sits there in shock for a second, before deciding that an angry Apollo was easier to deal with that a room full of upset and curious people, and follows behind him. Damnit! I wanted to stay behind and listen to the gossip. Would you mind terribly if I did that?

Yea, I suppose you would.

Lit is leaning against the wall of the house, hands in his pockets, while Apollo leans over the porch railing, and stares at his car.

“So who’s Daphne?”

Apollo sighs in defeat, before saying, “My ex. One of my only two exes”. Then he turns around before almost hastily adding, “Exes being people I’ve actually dated, that is. Not just people I’ve slept with”.

“Of course. Of course you still care about your reputation as a fuckboy”, Lit says, sounding disappointed more than anything else. Look, I’m a sucker for drama, but what the hell is this?! I don’t like this.

“What? No”. Apollo sounds... scared? “No I’m just trying to be as clear as possible.”

Lit doesn’t say anything.

“Besides, why are you even mad? It’s not like we’re actually dating”.

“No.” Lit whispers, “We’re not”.

“Hey”, Apollo pleads, “I can’t handle you being mad at me too, Lit. I’m sorry you got dragged into this shit”.

Lit waves the apology away. “Why is Artemis so mad about Daphne?” If I were even a little less intuitive, I would’ve missed the hopeful tone of that question.

“Oh. Um- Daphne was one of Artemis’ best friends. That’s how we got close in the first place. Sometime last year, we started seeing each other, and eventually became official. We’d moved really quickly, and honestly didn’t have much in common except Artemis” And divinely good looks, if Apollo’s many flings are anything to go by. “But everything went great, nonetheless. Better than great, even. I started to think I loved her. Until it didn’t. Around the three month mark, things started to go sour. We’d disagree about pretty much everything, and we’d fight and argue all the time. Then it started to get monotonous and boring and we were just going through the motions. I couldn’t take it anymore, so I broke up with her, and…” That’s the one place he hesitates. “Left. I just left for college, and Artemis had to deal with Daphne, who apparently took it hard. I didn’t speak to her at all until just a few months ago.

We’re okay now, by the way. She says that I’m a better friend that boyfriend, and I can’t say I disagree. Lucky for you that we’re just faking it, right?” I notice the slight hitch in his voice, but Lit apparently doesn’t. He lets out a dry chuckle. “Artemis, on the other hand, is still obviously pissed. I don’t blame her. She said that Daphne only dated me at all because I seduced her. At first, I thought that was ridiculous, but if all the hoes on campus are anything to go by, it seems that was entirely possible”, he finishes bitterly. Well... that was quite a speech.

“I don’t know whether to be impressed or exasperated by your unwavering level of self-confidence”, Lit says tiredly, after a brief pause. “Well that wasn’t as bad as I expected”.

“Yea, Artemis has been known to overreact”.

“I think her reaction was warranted”. Lit himself looks surprised at having defended Artemis.

“Maybe it was”, Apollo amends, eager to get back on Lit’s good side, I suppose. “You’re not still mad, are you?”

“I’m not mad at you, no” comes the curt reply, suggesting that he is still mad at something. This whole situation, probably. This trip was supposed to be romantic for God’s sake!

“Good, because we have a little party to attend this evening”.

#don't really know where i was going with this one tbh #litpollo #litpollo fanfiction #lityerses #apollo #toa apollo #trials of apollo #modern day au #riordanverse #angst #eh kinda

[writingfromkitchenator]

Loki ~ Pride

1,000 Followers Challenge!

Bonus fic

Sequel to Villain

Words: 1,945

Warnings: Intentional wound, blood, mind control, power out of control

There was a storm brewing on the horizon.  Dark clouds were rolling in, impeccably black, but the air was dead still and cold, as if nothing could live in its radius.

Loki stared at it, a little irritated, his hands bound in front of him, his feet sunken into the ground and held still by darkness.  “Are the bindings really necessary?”

You stood ahead of him, watching the storm build.  “I know you, of course they are.”

He shifts as much as he can, feeling uncomfortable, not enjoying seeing you like this at all.  “It’s not like I can do anything, not against that.”

Loki still got a chill when you looked at him with those black eyes, they weren’t yours, not by a long shot, and each time he saw them, a little bit of hope went away that he could get you back.  “Perhaps I should bind your mouth as well?  You did always have a way of using it.”

He snorts.  “And there was a time that you used to love it, or has that changed?”

The smirk wasn’t you, but there was a faint flicker, one that Loki had seen only a couple of times, a flicker that told him that maybe you were still fighting what had been done to you, what your power was doing to you. “If it’s any consolation, it won’t kill everyone, some will survive.”

“Aren't you just the epitome of good and evil.”  Loki said bitterly.  “Since when did mass slaughter interest you?”

You stepped in close to him and for a moment Loki allowed himself to think of everything that had been between the two of you, of before this had happened, how you were in control of your power before that bastard had destroyed it all, how it was you that had convinced him to stay.  “It is necessary.  After what I’ve been shown, with everything that is to come, this is what must be done.”

“Y/N…”  Loki’s voice went soft, quiet.  “This isn’t what you want, I know you better than that.”

Reaching up, you gently brush his cheek, making him tense a little, although he kept his expression passive.  “You don’t know me now Loki.”

He watched as you stepped away again, returning to your viewpoint, the dark storm now closer.  They needed to contain this power again, needed you back in control, this dark force was not you and that sorcerer, wherever he was now, was going to pay desperately for this.

“I still love you,” Loki continued in the same voice.  “That has never, and will never, change.”

You don’t react straight away, a long silence hanging between the two of you, before there is a small shudder, barely noticeable, through your shoulders, but Loki noticed, Loki always noticed.

“That’s enough Y/N,” He watched as you looked down at your feet. “Please, don’t make me do this.”

Your head snapped up and you looked around to him.  “Do what?”

His smile is sad.  “This.”

With that, he vanished, making you tense, your power reaching out for him but finding nothing.

It was odd suddenly being alone, you’d gotten used to him being there, even though it had taken so long for him to find you.  He’d found and tried to help you, but there was no more to be done, so you’d kept him aside, safe, protected, and now he was gone.

That was when something sharp dug into your side, making you stumble, but an arm wraps around you, pulling you close keeping you up.

“Easy love,” Loki’s voice was quiet in your ear.  “I’ve got you, you’ll be alright, it wasn’t a critical wound, just enough to give me a moment.”

You wanted to ask for what, but then something crept into your mind, worked its way through all the barriers that had been put up in your mind, and before you knew it, your vision went black.

Loki didn’t like this, he didn’t like one bit, he didn’t want to do this to you, but as that storm grew even closer, he knew that he didn’t have much of a choice.  He held your now unconscious form up and then looked towards the back of the room. “Can we get this over with please?”

Thor, Stephen and Tony stood there, looking a little unsure and concerned.

Tony stared at the dark clouds that were almost on them. “Can we stop that?”

“If we can get Y/N back.”  Loki said, gently lowering you down, but keeping his hand firm on the knife that was still in your side.  “It’s the sorcerer, his made his way into her mind, found the source of her power and made a little home there for himself.”

Stephen frowned at this.  “Are you certain?”

Loki’s expression is grim.  “Oh, I’m very sure.  Y/N breaks through from time to time, it’s not easy, but she’s still there, she’s hurting.”

Thor looks over Loki, over the tiredness hidden in his eyes, over the clear pain it was causing him to keep that knife buried in your side. “We’ll do what we can brother.”

“I’m not sure what help I can be against this, but I’ll do what I can.”  Tony said as he took to the sky with Thor, leaving Stephen, Loki and yourself in the room which was growing dark.

Stephen knelt next to you and Loki, his expression worried. “This is not any sort of normal magic. This could hurt her more.”

Loki’s expression quickly tells him that he knew, Loki knew magic and its limits, knew the dangers it posed, and he knew more than anything what it was doing to you.  “I can hold her, hold him, but I am not sure for how long.”

Nodding, Stephen remains silent and gets to work.

Loki feels the darkness react almost instantly to the new wave of magic, and he has to get a firm grip on his own to make sure that it didn’t affect what Stephen was trying to do.  He hadn’t wanted to ask for help, he hadn’t wanted anyone else involved, as far as he was concerned, it had been his problem to solve, but after seeing what you could do, after observing you for longer than you knew, he knew that this wasn’t going to be easy.

His heart raced a little faster than he would’ve liked as his gaze kept darting between Stephen and you, adjusting as needed as your power strained and struggled, as the sorcerer grew more and more agitated in the far corners of your mind.

Sweat beaded on Stephen’s brow and he meets Loki’s eye. “I may need your assistance with this.”

Loki grimaced.  “With holding this cretin back as well?”

Stephen shakes his head.  “What I’ve done should be enough to keep him and her power back for a moment, but if we’re going to save her, it’s going to take both of us.”

Swallowing, Loki nods.  He had trusted them this far, and it was only because of you that he did, it was because you’d spent as much with him as he had with you.

There was a loud crack of thunder outside and the dark room was lit up momentarily by a large bolt of lightning.  Loki knew that they were running out of time.

He pulls his magic away from you and focuses on Stephen instead, it was strange shift in the air as his magic followed the trail of Stephen’s and soon there was white light crackling in the air between them above you.

Your body arches and Loki manages to just hold you down with his free hand, ignoring your eyes opening and the scream leaving your lips.

This had to work.  There was no other choice.

Stephen guided the magic and soon it broke through the last of the defences.

All the power outside in the growing storm suddenly crashed inside.  There was chaos and it was hard to tell exactly what was happening.  Shouts sounded distant and it was hard to breath, flashing light hurting the eyes as they struggled and fought to hold the spell.

Stephen’s magic snapped and Loki sensed him being thrown back. Loki wasn’t sure how he managed to stay by your side, but he did, his hand clutching hard over you as he continued with just his own magic.

This bastard wasn’t going to turn you into this, you deserved better and Loki was going to do all he had to to ensure that this didn’t come into reality.

There was another loud crack of thunder, one that hurt Loki’s ears, and just as suddenly as the chaos started, it was broken away.

It took him a moment to focus, to see the black mass across the other side of the room being held by Stephen, who had a trickle of blood creeping down his forehead.  The sorcerer struggled in the hold, but Loki knew, in that instance, it was fruitless.

You were trembling beneath him and Loki quickly pulled the knife free and pulled you into his arms, holding you close, hating that he could feel your terror and pain.  “Please tell me you have that.”

“Thor!”  Stephen roared loudly.  “Hit him again!”

The hair stood up on Loki’s arms this time and he blinked as Thor, who he hadn’t notice enter the room, sent a powerful bolt straight into the mass of darkness, making it writhe in pain and agony.  This was clearly what Stephen needed, working his magic around it until it was trapped and he slowly shrank it down until it disappeared.

Stephen stood there breathing hard, the air in the room settling, the light from the setting sun starting to filter through as the clouds begin to move.  Thor hurries over to Tony and helps him to his feet with a heavy groan, he used Thor for support but looked otherwise fine.

“I hope you sent him somewhere foul.”  Loki said quietly, breaking the silence in the room.

Stephen nods slowly, but his gaze is on you.  “He won’t get out of there any time soon.  How are you feeling Y/N?”

You held onto Loki tightly, your mind a whirl of confused thoughts, your power still feeling chaotic at your fingertips, and you weren’t sure that you could answer; your mind was reeling, your side hurting, and right now you just needed Loki.

Loki seemed to understand this when you didn’t answer. “Leave her with me.”

The three of them seemed unsure of this, but Loki shakes his head.  “Please. If I need your help again, I will call.”

It was Thor that got them moving and soon it was just you and Loki alone again.

He gets you both settled back onto the ground, not letting you go and not pushing you to meet his gaze.  “It just the two of us now, you’re safe.”

You shuddered and drew in a hard breath, tears starting. “I don’t feel safe.”

“Hush now love,” Loki said quietly.  “I’m here and not going anywhere.”

“I’m sorry Loki,” You gasped through the tears. “I’m so sorry.”

He kissed the top of your head and brushes his hand over the wound in your side, healing it, before conjuring a blanket and putting it over you. “You have nothing to be sorry for.”

The tears hurt, each one feeling like it was going to push you back to what you had been, out of control and lost in a storm.  It was terrifying, but Loki was making it clearer and clearer that he wasn’t going anywhere.

So you focused on him, and slowly, the darkness began to ease.

#marvel #avengers #loki #loki x reader #short #drabbles #Sequel #1000 followers challenge

[kaigogo]

hoo boy here we go.

Original Text

魔道祖师

作者: 墨香铜臭

第一章：重生

“魏无羡死了。大快人心！”

乱葬岗大围剿刚刚结束，未及第二日，这个消息便插翅一般飞遍了整个修真界，比之当初战火蔓延的速度有过之而无不及。

一时之间，无论是世家名门，还是山野散修，人人都在议论此次由四大玄门世家联率、大小百家参与混战的围剿行动。

“好好好，果然是大快人心！手刃这夷陵老祖的是哪位名士英豪？”

“还能是谁。他师弟小江宗主江澄呗，云梦江氏、兰陵金氏、姑苏蓝氏、清河聂氏四大家族打头阵，大义灭亲，把魏无羡那老巢‘乱葬岗’一锅端了。”

“我得说句公道话：杀得好。”

立即有人抚掌亮声应和：“不错，杀得好！要不是云梦江氏收养他栽培他，他魏婴这辈子就是个混迹乡野市井的庸徒……还谈什么别的。原先的江宗主可是把他当亲儿子在养，他倒好，公然叛逃，与百家为敌，丢尽了云梦江氏的脸，还害得江家几乎满门惨死。什么叫忘恩负义白眼狼？这就是！”

“江澄居然就让这厮嚣张了这么久，换了是我，当初魏某人叛逃时就不是只捅他一刀，而是直接清理门户，否则他也没机会做出后来那些丧心病狂之事。对这种人，还讲什么同门同修青梅竹马的情面。”

“可我听到的不是这样的啊？魏婴不是因为自己修炼邪术遭受反噬、受手下鬼将撕咬蚕食而死的吗？听说活活被咬碎成了齑粉呢。”

“哈哈哈哈……这就叫现世报。我早就想说了，他养的那批鬼将就像一群没拴好的疯狗到处咬人，最后咬死自己，活该！”

“话虽如此，可此次围剿乱葬岗，若不是小江宗主依夷陵老祖的弱点拟定计划，成功与否还难说呢。你们可别忘了魏无羡手上有什么东西，当初一晚上三千多个成名修士是怎么全军覆没的。”

“不是五千吗？”

“三千五千都差不多。我觉得五千更有可能。”

“果真丧心病狂……”

“他死之前毁掉了阴虎符，倒也算积了点阴德，否则留下那鬼东西继续贻害人间，更加罪孽深重喽。”

“阴虎符”三字一出，忽然一阵静默，似乎都在顾忌着什么。

片刻之后，一人慨叹道：

“哎……要说这魏无羡，当年也是仙门之中极富盛名的世家公子，并非不曾有过佳迹。年少成名，何等风光恣意……究竟他是怎么走到这一步的……”

话题转移，议论声又纷纷然起来。

“由此可见，修炼终归是非走正统路子不可。邪魔歪道，一时风光无限，好像很嚣张很了不起？嘿，最后是什么下场？”

掷地有声：“死无全尸！”

“也不全是修炼之道害的，归根结底还是魏无羡此人人品太差，天怒人怨啊。所谓善恶终有报，天道好轮回……”

……

身死之后，盖棺定论。所论内容大同小异，偶有微弱的异声，也会立刻被压了下去。

只是每个人的心头都还有一缕阴霾挥之不去。

虽说夷陵老祖魏无羡已身死乱葬岗，但事成之后，却无法召唤他的残魂。

他的魂魄，也许是在被万鬼吞噬之时一同被分食了，又也许是逃逸了。

若是前者，自然皆大欢喜普天同庆。然而，夷陵老祖有翻天灭地、移山倒海之能——至少传闻中是这样的，他若要抗拒召魂，也不是什么难事。一旦他来日元神复位，夺舍重生，届时，玄门百家甚至整个人间必将迎来更加丧心病狂的报复和诅咒，陷入暗无天日和腥风血雨之中。

因此，将一百二十座镇山石兽压在乱葬岗顶后，各大家族开始进行频繁的召魂仪式，同时严查夺舍，搜集各地异象，全力警戒。

第一年，风平浪静。

第二年，风平浪静。

第三年，风平浪静。

……

第十三年，依然风平浪静。

至此，终于越来越多的人相信，也许魏无羡也没那么了不起，也许他真的神魂俱灭了。

纵使曾经翻手为云覆手雨，也终归有一日成为被翻覆的那一个。

没有人会被永远奉在神坛之上，传说也仅仅只是传说而已。

-------------------

作者有话要说：

夶夶们久等了！

这篇文实在是卡的很厉害，也因为三次元的各种情况拖了很久……总之接受殴打（抱头）

魏无羡是主，主受，不要站逆_(:з)∠)_

看上去人品非常糟糕对不对，请相信我不会让主角人品太差劲的。

是跟渣反不太一样的一篇文。

总之，希望大家喜欢 ^_^

当然，不喜欢也不要勉强啊哈哈哈哈……

Translation

The Founder of Demon Cultivation 

Author: Mo Xiang Tong Xiu

Chapter 1: Rebirth

“Wei Wu Xian is dead! Everyone rejoice!”

The siege at Luanzang Hill (The Burial Mounds) had recently come to an end and in less than two days, the news had flew around the entire cultivation world as if it had wings, spreading faster than that of war. 

For a while, regardless if one was from a prestigious clan or an independent cultivator, everyone talked about the time the four great clans united to lead hundreds to participate in the siege.

“Well, well, well! This is indeed something to celebrate! Which worthy Master was the hero that killed the Yiling Patriarch? 

“Who else could it have been? His younger brother Jiang Cheng of the Yunmeng Clan, along with the Jin Clan of Lanling, the Lan Clan of Gusu, and the Nie Clan of Qinghe. The four great families were the ones to justly wipe out Wei Wu Xian’s old lair.

“Fairly speaking, I must say it’s poetic justice.” 

Someone immediately clapped their hands in agreement. “Yes, it is indeed! If it weren’t for the Jiang clan of Yunmeng adopting and educating him, that Wei Ying would have just been a mediocre cultivator....that’s all there is to say. The former head of the Jiang Clan raised Wei Ying as if he were his own son, yet he publicly betrayed them, became an enemy to all cultivators, brought shame upon the Jiang name, and was even the reason nearly all the family members died tragically. He’s the epitome of an ingrate that bit the hand that fed him!

“I’m surprised Jiang Cheng allowed this guy to act so arrogantly for such a long time. If it were me, as soon as that Wei defected, I would not have only stabbed him; I would have immediately disposed of his clan so that he wouldn’t have had an opportunity to do the insane things he did later. Growing up together as friends and fellow cultivators of the same clan wouldn’t matter when dealing with a sort of person like him.”

“But that’s not what I heard? Didn’t practicing demonic cultivation backfire on Wei Ying, causing him to be devoured by his Ghost General and demons? I heard that he was completely torn to pieces.”

“Hahahaha...that’s what I call karma. Earlier I was saying that those ghosts of his were like a pack of unleashed wild dogs biting people everywhere. And, ultimately, he was bitten to death himself. Serves him right!” 

“Be that as it may, the siege on Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds) was successful because it depended on Jiang Cheng’s plan which focused on the Yiling Patriarch’s weakness. Don’t forget about the object Wei Wu Xian possessed or how he slaughtered three thousand accomplished cultivators in one night.”

“Wasn’t it five thousand?”

“Three thousand, five thousand, it’s practically the same. I think it’s more likely five thousand.”

“He really was deranged....”

“Well it’s good that the Yin Tiger Amulet (Stygian Tiger Amulet) was destroyed before he died. Otherwise, had that evil thing been left behind to continue harming mankind, he would have even more sins to answer for.”

“The Yin Tiger Amulet (Stygian Tiger Amulet).” As soon as those words were uttered, there was a sudden silence and everyone seemed apprehensive as if something worried them.

After a moment, there was a reluctant sigh from someone who said, “Well… Back then, Wei Wu Xian was a gifted cultivator from a highly respectable clan who made a name for himself when he was young. How did he end up walking down this path…”

At this change of topic, voices rang out with numerous comments.

“This just shows that, in the end, cultivators must not stray from the correct, traditional path. Using evil, crafty tricks briefly give one boundless possibilities and it would seem great, right? But what ends up happening?”

“There wasn’t even a corpse left!”

“You know, the path he chose isn’t the only reason for all the trouble he caused. Ultimately, Wei Wu Xian thought he was better than everyone else. But everyone pays the price for their actions, good or evil, and it follows into the next life.”

......

After his death, there was not much to say about Wei Wu Xian. Most discussions were the same, though not without a few unusual theories that when thrown out were promptly shut down.

Still, the thought of him lingered in the back of everyone’s mind. Although Wei Wu Xian died at Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds), the issue remained that his soul could not be summoned. His soul may have been consumed by ten thousand demons. 

Or it may have escaped.

If it were the former, then naturally everything was fine. However, the Yiling Patriarch was capable of shaking the heavens and moving mountains—— Or at least that was the rumor. Therefore, if it were the latter, it wouldn’t be difficult for him to resist being summoned.  And if his soul ever returned to his body or was reborn in the near future, then one could be sure of mysterious evils and even worse vengeful curses plaguing mankind, plunging the world into complete darkness and terror. 

And so, as a result, after placing one hundred and twenty mountain stone beasts at Luan Zang Hill (The Burial Mounds), each and every clan began conducting frequent soul-summoning rituals all while remaining alert to and investigating any unusual activity within the various regions. 

In the first year, nothing happened.

In the second year, nothing happened.

In the third year, nothing happened.

....

Thirteen years passed and still nothing had happened.

At this point, more and more people had become convinced that, perhaps, Wei Wu Xian wasn’t that extraordinary and that maybe his soul really was gone. Because even though Wei Wu Xian had upended the sky itself, the day had finally come for him to be flipped upside down. 

But of course, no one can stay on a pedestal forever. Legends are just legends.

-----------------

Author’s Note:

You’ve all been waiting for so long! This story has been delayed due to writer’s block and because of real life problems.... still, I’m ready to be hit (covers head with hands)

Wei Wu Xian is the main protagonist and someone you don’t want to mess with. _(:з)∠)_

It seems like this character is very terrible, right? Please believe that I won’t make him be too horrible. This story isn’t too similar to Zha Fan (Scum Villain).

Still, I hope you all like it ^_^ Of course, if you don’t like it I don’t want you to force yourself hahahaha....

#mdzs * translation #the good thing is i already know some of the backstory #since i watched the untamed #but translating a story i have never read? HA HA #i can't wait to die but at least it'll be the gays that take me outta this world

[dudeandduchess]

Peach(es) and Cream [Tomioka Giyuu x F!Reader] Chapter 2

Rating: E! NSFW Characters: Tomioka Giyuu x F!Reader Chapters: 5/5 Summary: Wherein Giyuu is betrothed to a noble woman, and visits her with a present. Tags: Smut, Fluff, Short Series, Fingering, Creampie, Established Relationship, Arranged Marriage

Note: Hello, everyone! This chapter is slightly SFW; meaning there’s no heavy smut. Just some kissing action going on. Enjoy!

Giyuu’s eyes widened in surprise, as his face heated up with a blush. He scrambled up and away from (Y/n), which made him hiss as his sensitive length came springing back against his abdomen. “W-what?”

With a roll of her eyes, the (L/n) heiress propped herself up, before adjusting her kimono to cover her modesty. Frankly speaking, she expected her lover’s reaction to be a thousand times worse than a stuttered question; she was fully prepared for an affronted look on his face, and so much thinly veiled insults to come her way… but that wasn’t it. 

It didn’t mean that she wasn’t happy about the turn of events; far from it, really. (Y/n) was relieved, though a bit perturbed because her brother still kept hurling threats at Giyuu. From outside her bedroom, Toshiro had escalated to drawing his sword— judging by the gasps of terror from all the maids.

“Nothing. Never mind what I said, Tomioka.” His surname slipped from her lips with practiced ease— devoid of any honorifics, but still filled with respect. Had she called him by just his name with other people, everyone would have something to say about her blatant disrespect. 

She was so tired of people putting their noses in everyone else’s business, so she tried to be the epitome of a well-bred heiress. The less mistakes she made, the less people would talk about her behind her back.

Dark blue eyes pinned (Y/n) under their scrutiny, but she merely ignored it. After years of being engaged to the man, she was already used to his intense gaze. And she was also used to the nonchalant way that he tucked himself back into his pants; as if his world wasn’t just rocked on its axis. “Are you staying the night? Should I ask Yuriko to prepare a room for you?” 

He didn’t have any missions at the moment, so it was practically a no-brainer for him: he wanted to stay with (Y/n), so he would. They had so much lost time to make up for, anyway. “I’d like to stay here… in your room. With you.”

‘That answer was certainly different,’ (Y/n) thought to herself, while she tried to calm her suddenly racing heart. She looked unruffled about the sudden turn of events, but deep down she feared as though her brain had already melted with the sheer effort she put into trying to formulate a coherent sentence. “I… alright.”

“Toshiro-sama, please! My mistress is tending to her betrothed.” Yuriko’s voice rang out over the din of frantic voices, which made (Y/n) smile. She knew that she could always count on Yuriko, despite the younger woman’s childish antics to get her and Giyuu even closer. “Tomioka-sama is heavily injured and he needs to rest. I’m politely asking you to step back for now.”

A giggle slipped through the (h/c) haired woman’s lips, which she immediately silenced by pressing the tips of her fingers to her lips. Her handmaiden was now lying out of her ass, unless a couple of bruises and some fractured ribs were heavy injuries— considering Giyuu’s occupation. 

“You must have had quite the fall…” 

Giyuu’s intense gaze had let up at that conversational piece, which put his expression back to his normal, apathetic one. “The tree was on a cliff.”

(Y/n) couldn’t help it, a small smile crossed her face at the butterflies that invaded her stomach. To know that he had risked that much just to get her something that she loved, well… if that wasn’t sweet, then she didn’t know what was.

“I’ll take care of you,” She whispered through the fond smile, before scurrying to one of her chests and procuring the medicine box that she kept just for him. With that in hand, she sat back down across from him and took out the supplies that she needed. It helped that he had already taken off his haori and uniform top ealier; it saved them some time.

Slowly, with nimble fingers, she rubbed a soothing salve across her lover’s skin. The feel of his hard muscles beneath her hands made her body hot for him, but she pushed the urge to have a repeat of earlier to the back of her mind. And when she was done rubbing the balm into his shoulders, she gave in to the tiniest urge to place a kiss along his jaw. 

In response, Giyuu tensed up, before relaxing as his lover started sucking and nibbling at the side of his neck. A quiet sigh escaped his lips, just as his mind focused on the heavenly feel of her kisses upon him. 

He wanted to tell her that he loved her as well, but he couldn’t. He didn’t want to hurt her like that; to give her his heart, and also reaffirm it with his words, only to have death constantly hanging above his head. That would be unfair to her; much more unfair than not saying the words. 

Maybe, when the war against Kibutsuji Muzan was over, he could say it back.

For now, he could settle for saying it in his head.

‘I love you, (Y/n).’

  ***

 “It’s been weeks since your last visit, Tomioka-san,” (L/n) Eiji began conversationally, all while picking at the piece of simmered salmon laid out in front of him. He was about to continue, when his eldest— and only— son cut him off.

“Yes, you should have never returned,” Toshiro snapped, which earned the ire of both his family members. Still, he went on— seemingly undeterred by the deadly glares that (Y/n) and their father aimed at him. “Stayed away from my sister; the farther the better.” 

With a scowl on her face, (Y/n) shot at her brother, “Onii-san, don’t disrespect Tomioka-san like that.”

“(Y/n)-chan, there are a lot more men out there; ones that don’t put themselves on the line on a daily basis. Ones that don’t kill demons for a living.” 

Giyuu paid no mind to the older male’s chatter, as it was a regular topic when he visited (Y/n). He had already grown desensitized to the scathing remarks and thinly veiled threats that his betrothed’s brother always spat at him, but he’d be damned if he didn’t admit that it was starting to get annoying.

“We may as well get married tomorrow, just to spite you,” The sole woman in the room answered with an irate click of her tongue.

“Toshiro, kami-sama help me, I will disown you if you keep this up,” Eiji gave the ultimatum, which surprised everyone— even Giyuu himself. Never had the head of the (L/n) clan ever issued such a threat, and it served to silence the babbling Toshiro into a dumbstruck stupor. “Tomioka-san is as part of this family as you are; and we owe him more than this…”

“Gochiso sama deshita,” Giyuu muttered softly, before putting his chopsticks back against the rest that was set up on the table. “May I be excused?”

“Ah yes, of course, Tomioka-san,” The (L/n) patriarch answered, before silencing his son with a well-aimed glare. 

“May I be excused as well, otou-san?” (Y/n) asked in a tone that brooked no room for arguments.

Blue eyes eyed her suspiciously, but flitted back to the well-illuminated garden a few ways away. The sun was barely setting over the horizon, and with the chill of the night starting to draw closer, it seemed a good time as any for the Demon Slayer to squeeze in a leisurely walk. 

And to also patrol for the demon that he had sensed lurking around the area. 

The demonic presence was extremely faint, but it was there. He would have to see about getting a new set of Wisteria charms for the (L/n) estate.

“Tomioka-san, please wait for me,” (Y/n) called softly, as she hastened after the man himself. It stung that he had snubbed her, but that was Giyuu’s normal attitude. The (h/c) haired woman would be more worried had he started acting any differently. 

To her genuine surprise, the raven-haired man did stop and wait for her. And beside herself, a flustered smile crossed her lips as she picked up the pace to get to him. Normally, he would ignore her and keep walking— which irritated her to no end.

But it seemed that her confession from earlier had stirred something inside him; enough to get him to be more considerate of her feelings. And that made her happy; ecstatic, even.

Still, even the feeling of walking beside him wasn’t enough for her. So, she glanced down at their hands that were mere inches apart, only to jump almost a foot in the air when she looked up and saw Giyuu’s intense stare pinned on her.

She had been caught.

“D-Do you…” The Demon Slayer stuttered out, just as a bright blush colored his cheeks. He immediately snapped his gaze forward, and proceeded to glower at the poor cobblestone path. “Do you want to hold my hand?”

Butterflies immediately assaulted (Y/n)’s stomach at that. They had done things much more lascivious than holding hands but, for some reason, the mere question served to fluster the (h/c) haired woman. She had never even felt flustered when Giyuu ate her out; but to have the simplest and most innocent of questions be the catalyst to making her heart pound was laughable.

Gingerly, (Y/n) reached out and slid her hand into her lover’s, averting her gaze from the scene as if it was the most lascivious thing in the world. When really, she was looking away so that Giyuu wouldn’t see the blush that had taken over her face, even going as far as to heat up the tips of her ears.

Giyuu’s hand felt rough and hard in hers, but she couldn’t deny the fact that it made her feel safe. The man himself might have been glacial and awkward at best, but his touch was anything but; it was warm and comforting— like getting back home after being away for so long. 

And so, their walk around the spacious garden was spent in relative silence, until they sat down on the stone bench beneath the barren sakura tree. Their hands were still entwined, and (Y/n) had taken to cradling her lover’s left hand in her lap— admiring the way that his larger hand curled around her own dainty one.

The silence between them was thick, but it was anything but awkward; it was relaxing, like a small piece of solace in the chaotic world that they lived in. 

From where he sat, Giyuu shamelessly ogled his lover. His eyes ran over her distinctly delicate features; the slight upward tilt of her eyes, the high arches of her cheek bones, her cute nose, and those pillowy-soft lips of hers. He loved every inch of her, and the words were burning on the tip of his tongue, yet he could never allow himself to be the cause of her eventual grief. 

He could, however, afford to admit one harmless truth to her. Just that one time, he could be honest with her. 

“The reason I came here…” Giyuu began softly, hesitantly. His throat got all thick, but he swallowed past the lump inside it and gathered up the courage to admit his main agenda.

(Y/n)’s eyes stared into him earnestly; the curiosity in them shining brightly beneath the rays of the setting sun. And even though he felt as if he couldn’t speak, he pushed past the dreadful feeling and spoke, “Was because I missed you, (Y/n).”

Her answering smile was enough to knock the breath out of him; it was so radiant in and of itself that he felt himself returning her expression with a milder one of his own. It was as if the entire world had stopped turning, and there was only her.

And it was at that moment that he realized just how much he loved her; it was too much that he felt himself falling for her all over again.

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

#giyuu tomioka x reader #kimetsu no yaiba tomioka #tomioka giyuu #tomioka giyū #kimetsu no yaiba fanfic #kimetsu no yaiba #x reader fanfic #fanfic #fluff #demon slayer fanfic #peach(es) and cream #tomioka giyuu x reader

[plumoh]

[NishiNatsu] By your side

Word count: 1800

Summary: You can always find happiness in the simple things of life.

Note: AO3 link. Written for Chocolate Box 2019!

One-shot: By your side

Here is the thing. Natsume acts like he doesn't know what hands and legs are supposed to do, like he's an infant discovering the use of limbs by flailing and making distressed noises, and that's alright because he's prone to this bout of panicking once in a while.

The other thing is that usually, Nishimura isn't the one to cause such a state.

“Hey, relax, I'm sure Touko-san and Shigeru-san won't mind! And I know for sure that my brother and my mom won't mind, either.”

Natsume opens and closes his mouth several times, eyes so focused on what to say that he looks on the verge of imploding. His cat sits at his feet and yawns, bored out of his mind as he watches a butterfly fly by, and attempts a swipe at it. Nishimura is convinced that this is the epitome of normalcy.

“It's okay if you don't want to,” Nishimura says, furrowing his brows. “We've only had sleepovers with the other guys in the past, I understand if you're not comfortable with the idea yet.”

It's not the truth but it's not wrong either, because Nishimura will never be mad about this sort of subject. He did have an outburst, once upon a time, when he was still learning what kind of person Natsume was, and trying to wrap his mind around the fact such a nice guy was despised by basically everyone he met. He knows that things have been difficult, but if he doesn't push a bit, nothing will change.

Natsume recovers abruptly, his arms falling limp against his sides, and he doesn’t quite meet Nishimura’s eyes but he tries, and that’s the most important part.

“I was just surprised by your suggestion. Sorry if I seemed too weirded out, Nishimura.”

The light comes back in these clear eyes, bright and unashamed, emanating sincerity like a perfect-fit cloak. Nishimura loves the feeling of pride he gets from that; above all, he loves how at ease Natsume is—it took some time and Nishimura sometimes fears he will retreat back into his shell, but it happens very rarely, now.

“Don’t worry, it’s alright.” He grins, and wraps an arm around Natsume’s shoulders. “I’m glad you’re okay with it.”

Natsume smiles, and Nishimura’s heart melts, again.

***

Some people would think they’re being paranoid or extremely slow, which might be true to some extent, but better be safe than sorry, right? It’s not like they can decide what to do without taking into account every factor they know, unless they wish to make mistakes they’d regret. Nishimura’s mother told him that teenagers are supposed to make mistakes, and that was how they learn life, but Nishimura thinks it’s way too painful to rely on deeds that could have been prevented and saved them a lot of grief. He doesn’t want Natsume to freak out, and from what he’s gathered (with a little bit of help since he's apparently too blind), Natsume is afraid of messing up, so that’s fifty-fifty. No big deal, if they’re on the same page. People shouldn’t meddle, anyway, so the accusations are irrelevant.

He doesn’t want to be inconsiderate, and he wants to make Natsume happy. If they need to take baby steps to do so, then Nishimura will keep this pace; seeing him smile and get flustered at the small attentions is worth everything, and Nishimura will fight anyone who tries to push them into a direction they don’t plan on following.

He takes Natsume’s hand in his, gently intertwining their fingers, holding him tight. He doesn’t look at his boyfriend’s reaction, but from the way he stiffens then immediately relaxes, it feels perfectly safe and how it should be. He doesn’t have any frame of reference regarding this kind of experience, but Nishimura is positive this is the best feeling he could have plucked from his heart.

They reach Natsume’s home, where they let the cat rush into the house probably to get snacks, while Natsume announces his arrival.

“Thank you for having me!” Nishimura says enthusiastically, removing his shoes and lining them up with Natsume’s.

Touko-san greets them with her warm smile and her bright energy, like she’s never running out of supply to make guests feel at home.

“Welcome back, Takashi-kun. Satoru-kun, please make yourself at home!”

She is so kind and so reassuring Nishimura can’t even believe she isn’t an actual angel blessing them all. He is so, so glad that Natsume lives with the Fujiwaras and found somewhere he can call a home.

“Touko-san, can I help you prepare dinner?” he asks earnestly. “I brought tomatoes from our garden!”

Touko-san looks surprised at his request, a refusal at her lips, but she casts a quick look at Natsume then at Nishimura, and her decision is made.

“That's very kind of you Satoru-kun. Takashi-kun, we are out of green onions, could you pick up some at the store? I forgot to ask you to buy it on your way home.”

Nishimura’s smile grows wider at the confusion written all over Natsume's face, and has to bite his cheeks to contain his laughter. He squeezes his shoulder and gestures towards the door.

“Don't worry, I'm not going to break anything,” he teases. “And Touko-san won't let me anyway.”

“But Nishimura—”

“It's okay, just go, we need our green onions!”

The cat chooses that moment to resurface, what looks suspiciously like anpan in his mouth, striding towards Natsume's feet and brushing against his ankles. Natsume looks down with a crease between his brows, and falls into a deep silent conversation with his pet. Nishimura can't believe that a cat manages to pull a deadpan expression while being smug, but that’s the reality he’s living—this creature has always been weird, and oddly reassuring at the most random times, but he seems to understand Natsume on a whole other level than people. Whatever communication that happened between the two pushed Natsume to agree to leave the house. He shoots a smile at Nishimura over his shoulder and promises to be quick, his cat in tow.

When the door slides closed, silence reigns for a few seconds before Touko-san chuckles. The sound doesn’t startle Nishimura, but he does turn around to stare at her, not without joy of his own.

“Takashi-kun must be thinking I want to tell you embarrassing things about him,” she says.

“I already see him embarrass himself every day, but I wouldn’t be against more information,” Nishimura laughs.

He picks up the bag of tomatoes and deposits it on the kitchen counter. Touko-san was already cutting vegetables before they arrived, while the meat is marinating. She instructs him to slice them in small pieces, which he does diligently—he has never been the best cook in the vicinity, but at least he can make good use of a knife.

They take their time. Nishimura knows that getting Natsume out of the house isn’t insignificant, especially since Touko-san is being quiet about it. So he waits for her to speak, while he pretends he’s able to focus on his task without freaking out.

“You and Atsushi-kun have been such good friends to Takashi-kun,” Touko-san whispers. “I was so relieved to see there were people willing to become his friends. You know how hard it has been for him.”

Oh he knows, he knows nothing has ever been kind to Natsume, but he wishes he knew more; not to do something about it, because he can’t, but because it would lift a bit the weight of this burden constantly crushing Natsume, even when the situation is nothing like anything he’s lived before. Nishimura wants him to know it’s alright to talk about it.

“I just wish he’d be more open about his past.” His grip around the knife tightens. “We trust him and he trusts us. And now we’re, uh, closer.”

Touko-san stops stirring the soup and turns to him, her eyes crinkling with unconcealed happiness. “Takashi-kun always needs time to adjust to something, I wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to tell you stories he never told us after a few months.”

The implicit affirmation she expected them to be together for a long time, maybe forever, makes Nishimura’s heart skip a beat and stay stuck in his throat. He averts his eyes and swallows, unable to hold Touko-san’s gentle gaze without feeling he’s drowning.

“Thank you so much for everything you’re doing for my son, Satoru-kun. I wanted to tell you that. Shigeru-san isn’t here yet, but once he returns, I’m sure he will say the same.”

She puts a hand on his arm, silently nudging him to look at her. Her infinite love for Nasume is so palpable, but it extends to everything beyond its simple form—Nishimura senses her affection for him, her wishes and expectations, and he wants to fulfill them. He wants to wrap his arms around this world of love and keep it in his pocket, to remember how lucky he is, how much it means to him.

He meets Touko-san’s gaze, lips curling upwards in a grin. “I won’t disappoint you. Thank you for trusting me with Natsume.”

Touko-san nods, and she pulls him close for a hug. Nishimura embraces her just as tightly, remembering that this is a woman who wanted to pour all her energy into a child and who finally has the chance to do so. They stay like this a moment longer before pulling away, both of them showing so much gratitude Nishimura is surprised they can’t grasp it.

“I know you’ll care for him.” Touko-san pats his arm.

“I will, don’t worry!”

Later, when Natsume comes back with the requested green onions, Touko-san greets him with an even more cheerful smile and asks him if he plans on going on any dates with Nishimura soon. Both boys flush a deep red and Natsume stammers out an answer Nishimura isn’t sure makes sense, but Touko-san laughs behind her hand and tells them they’re being cute—which, admittedly, is the case for Natsume, at least.

Natsume’s cat settles at the foot of the table, patiently waiting for his food (or so it seems), though his piercing eyes are gauging Nishimura, as lazily as they are judgmental. He doesn’t make any sounds, he’s just being his brand of strange, so Nishimura raises an eyebrow at him, even if he feels silly for starting a staring match with a cat. It doesn’t last long, though, as Nyanko-sensei breaks eye contact with a snort and decides that bothering Natsume is more entertaining. The cat is very weird, the experience was very weird, but Nishimura can’t help thinking that he just passed a test with flying colors.

Well. He can deal with cryptic cats, if it’s Natsume’s and an essential companion to the family.

#natsuyuu #nishinatsu #natsume takashi #nishimura satoru #fujiwara touko #natsume yuujinchou #my fanfic

[imagine-loki]

Unofferable

TITLE: Unofferable

CHAPTER NO./ONE SHOT: Chapter 22, Ambush AUTHOR: unofferable-fic ORIGINAL IMAGINE: Imagine Frigga bringing you to Asgard as a child after finding you abandoned and injured on Midgard. Uncertain as to what happened to you, Odin allows the healers save your life, and the Allmother makes it her duty to ensure your safety. 

RATING: M

NOTES/WARNINGS: Language, implied violence. Playlist: “Any Other Name” — Thomas Newman, “I’m Like a Lawyer with the Way I’m Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You)” — Fall Out Boy, “Black Out Days” — Phantogram

Ellie had not thought she would be sitting the the private chambers of the Allfather and Allmother after seeing Loki off. And yet, here she was, sitting at a table and resisting the urge to nervously wring her hands. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t panicking over the possibility of Frigga knowing exactly what she was doing with her son.

That would be an insanely awkward conversation, given the goin’s on in his bed this morning… 

“Tea?” Frigga asked her, cutting through her thoughts. 

Ellie nodded calmly.  “Yes, please. Do you want me to—?”

“Not at all,” she hushed her, pouring two cups of tea. “I can manage just fine. There is nothing formal about this conversation, little one. It is merely a chat.”

“Merely a chat,” Ellie repeated with a small smile, watching the Allmother take a seat across from her. “Can I ask as to what we’re chattin’ about?”

 Frigga paused for a moment, focusing her attention on putting some milk in their cups. While the silence wasn’t doing Ellie’s nerves any favours, she kept her mouth shut and waited for her to start talking.

“Fourteen years ago,” Frigga began. “I brought you here after finding you on Midgard and have never regretted the decision for a moment — not that any parent would if they were a decent person. I know that there have been occasions where your time here has been difficult, but you have grown into your own, and I hope you know that having you on Asgard has been a pleasure. No matter what anyone may say to you, this is your home and you are always welcome here.”

“Thank you, My Queen. Although I acknowledge that there’ve been some difficult days, especially at first, I’ve met some great people who’ve made me feel more than welcome here.”

She grinned at that, holding her cup in her hands. “I’m glad. I think you have settled into your role here in the palace exceptionally and it is good that you have made some friends along the way.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ellie agreed and mimicked her movements by wrapping her hands around her hot cup. “I’m eternally grateful for the friends I’ve made here. They have made my life far more bearable than it could’ve been otherwise. Not only that, but they have been so helpful in terms of becomin’ a good handmaiden.”

“I think it is safe to say that you are better than merely good. After all, you are now the personal handmaiden to a prince.”

Ellie chuckled lightly, masking her unease at the mention of Loki. With a light shrug, she raised her cup to her lips. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“He requested you personally for the position.”

“He did briefly mention that. I was humbled to accept.” 

“And how are you finding it? I know Loki is not an easy one to work under.”

Ellie had to suppress the very vivid image of being under Loki earlier in the more literal sense. “He is very particular, I’ll admit, but he’s been nothin’ but fair to me.”

“I am glad,” Frigga said with a smile. “The hand servants before Radburn were not his biggest fan. They found him tough to please.”

The young woman shrugged and raised her cup to her lips. “He seems t’be quite reasonable once you listen to what he asks.”

“That is a logical way to look at it,” she agreed, and met her gaze. “I am sure it also helps that he is in love with you.”

Ellie froze, hot tea already scalding her tongue.

Her eyes met those of the Queen, who wore a calm expression, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Oh, shit.

“I’m sorry?” she asked after swallowing the drink. She knew she had to stay calm. There was a reason as to why their relationship was a secret, and she had learned how to lie from none other than the God of Lies himself. And yet, she knew that she had little hope convincing Frigga otherwise. For now, she would carefully assess and play dumb.

The Allmother’s tone was the epitome of casual, as if they were not talking about love declarations and secret feelings. “Loki is in love with you, of course. And it is simply wonderful considering you are in love with him too.”

Oh, fuck.

“Allmother, I don’t know what you mean—”

Frigga laughed, taking another sip of her tea. “Come now, Ellie. You know, my son may be a master of lying, but I am one of the few people in the Nine Realms able to recognise his honeyed words. I can see them in you now, so you are better off being honest with me.”

Ellie hesitated, pulse quickening knowing that there was no way out of this. It felt like silence consumed the room for the longest time. She could only stare in disbelief as the Queen patiently waited for a response while thoroughly enjoying her tea. It didn’t matter if she incessantly denied the claim; Frigga knew. “How long have you known?”

Another pleasant laugh. “Probably longer than you both. It seemed like I realised before you two began courting.”

Is there anythin’ she doesn’t fuckin’ know?

“But we were careful—”

“That you were,” she concurred. “I cannot fault you both for the effort put into concealing your relationship, considering no one else has a notion of its existence, but I could see it quite clearly.”

Ellie was baffled. Truly baffled at this confession. “How?”

“It is quite obvious if you know what love looks like. It is not all physical or hushed confessions of adoration; it was clear in how you treated and cared for one another. From the very beginning you latched on to him, and never strayed even when others found Loki to be overbearing or too intense. You saw the positive qualities he had to offer and embraced them. You confided in him and treated him as an equal as opposed to ‘Thor’s younger brother’. Most of all, you trusted him.

“He saw similarities in you as well, knowing that it would be hard for you to adjust here as an outsider. So he stayed by your side when in harms way, and taught you how to defend yourself when you asked for assistance. All these things were clear to me, but it was also too obvious when you were in a room together. Even if it was at a feast of ball, you always looked for each other across the crowds. I have never seen my son look at someone in such a manner, and given your young age, I imagine you have not looked at another similarly either. Do not be ashamed, little one. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

“You were not meant to find out,” Ellie mumbled, hanging her head. “I’m assumin’ you haven’t had this discussion with him?”

She shook her head. “I wished to speak with you first. That, and I would also rather let him keep thinking he can lie to me.” She rolled her eyes. “How he ever thought he could successfully fool his own mother is beyond me.” Frigga looked at her for a moment and added. “You can relax, Ellie. Why are you so tense?”

“Are you goin’ to tell the Allfather?” she asked. “Because his disapproval was the reason we kept our relationship secret in the first place. He didn’t even like the fact we were friends.”

“I can assure you that my knowledge of your relationship will be kept between you and I. The reason I spoke with you now is because if, in the time Loki is away, you miss him greatly, know that I am here if you need to vent or talk about it. I know you cannot go to your friends about it for obvious reasons, so know that I am here if you need me.”

“Oh.” Ellie sat there for a moment, suddenly happier that they had been figured out. She had never considered the possibility of having someone to talk to in Loki’s absence. She could never tell Fen or Sevda about how much she missed him, but at least Frigga would be there to acknowledge her feelings. “I wasn’t expectin’ that, but I do appreciate it. Bein’ able to talk to you would make his absence easier to manage. Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. Know that your secret is safe with me. I’m glad you have found each other. You both deserve happiness.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I know that sometimes Loki feels as though he is not Thor’s equal. It breaks my heart knowing that he questions his own worth. I think he sometimes does not realise that we truly do love and care for him — we are his family, how could we not love him? I hope that you have helped him realise that he is more than he thinks he is. Maybe if he sees how worthy he is in your eyes, he will realise how short he has been selling himself. He is certainly not without flaws — as is the case with everyone — but I hope he won’t let his insecurities prevent you from being happy together.”

Ellie nodded in understanding. “Thankfully we’re both gettin’ better at communication, so right now we’re in a good place. Hopefully it stays that way.”

“Hopefully. But while I may worry over my own son, I hope you know that he really does love you, Ellie. I can see it in him.”

“I do believe him when he tells me of his feelings,” she admitted. “There’s not doubt in my mind there. But I am more worried about…well, Odin, if you must know.”

“What about him exactly?”

Although she hesitated, Ellie knew she could trust Frigga not to spread the information she was sharing. “If he was to find out about my relationship with a Prince of Asgard, I do not think he would allow it to continue. When you look at the whole picture, I’m still but a mortal in a realm of gods. It was somethin’ that I overlooked when I agreed to court Loki, but it is a constant naggin’ in the back of my mind. If he were to demand we cut all ties, how could we go against the order of the Allfather?”

“While your worries are valid,” Frigga began slowly. “Please know that if you find yourself in such a position, I will do everything in my power to hopefully convince my husband otherwise. While Odin may have the priorities of a king, I have the priorities of a mother, and my son’s happiness is my main concern. As is yours, might I add.”

For a moment, all the younger woman could do was look at her is surprise. There was no way she had expected any support from the Queen. Sure, Frigga was a great woman, but knowingly disagreeing with her King for the sake of their happiness was a shock to the system. “Thank you, My Queen. I know you told me thank you’s weren’t necessary, but I need to assure you how important that would be to me. I’m sure Loki would feel the same way.”

“He can be a handful sometimes,” she said with a slight laugh. “But I am delighting in seeing another woman in his life. I am still baffled that that boy thought he could lie to me, but if it was for your sake, then how could I fault him for trying?”

“I would do the same for him, I’ll admit.”

“Of course you would, but that is no surprise, not when you feel that way about another.”

“It’s a new and scary feelin’,” Ellie pondered, lightly tracing the rim of her cup. “But I’m glad that I fell for him. As cheesy as it sounds, he makes it worth the risk.” She momentarily cringed and hung her head. “Ugh, that was painful… Did I really just say that out loud?”

“That you did, but who am I to judge? I understand, trust me.” With a soft smile, Frigga gave her hand a squeeze and then reached for a nearby deck of cards sitting on the edge of the table. “Now, Sevda informed me that your card skills are constantly improving. Let’s test that, shall we?”

Ellie grinned at the casual gesture, appreciating how the atmosphere instantly changed with it. She watched as the Queen drew them a hand each. Taking it happily, they settled into a competitive game. A new ease fell over the young woman, suddenly feeling a lot less worried after Loki’s departure with the addition of a trustworthy confidante.

* * *

A month.

A solid month Loki had spent on Vanaheim helping to solve the Marauder crisis. He knew it wasn’t going to be solved overnight, but the time away from home and Ellie was beginning to grate him. He was kept busy, that much was certain, but his mind drifted at night when the Asgardian forces took their rest. Tonight, however, the Odinson brothers readied themselves to battle once more. Odin was currently arranging a smaller group of forces to take out the last of the Marauders, the remainder of their raiders dwindled down from constant attacks. Thor and Loki were tucked away in one of the royal tents as they gathered their weapons and armour, waiting to meet with their father and be told what the plan was.

“Tell me, brother,” Thor said, twirling Mjölnir in his grasp. “Did you speak with your secret beloved?”

Loki hesitated as he strapped on his vambraces. “Say it louder. I don’t think Mother heard you back on Asgard.”

The God of Thunder actually held up a hand. “My apologies. I will keep my voice down, but tell me, have you?”

“I did,” he replied with a nod. “And she forgave my crass words after receiving a well-deserved apology.”

“By Odin! That is wonderful.” He bound across the tent and pulled his younger sibling into a crushing hug. “I am glad she accepted your apology and I am so happy for you!”

“Alright,” Loki grumbled, awkwardly patting his back. “You can get off me now.”

Thor released him before laying a firm hand on the back of his neck. “You are practically grinning at the thought of her! It is amazing and slightly frightening to see.”

The Trickster waved him off, but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. Enough.”

“Never! So, does this mean I will get to meet her?”

Loki was quick to shoot him down. “Not a chance!”

“But why?” Thor whined, face having fallen completely. “I need to meet this woman who is seemingly more patient than anyone else in the Nine Realms! She sounds wonderful.”

“That she is,” Loki confirmed and turned back to grab his cape. “And meet her you shan’t.”

“You are cruel, brother,” Thor whinged, mirroring his actions. “Are you afraid I will steal her away?”

While the comment was said in jest — hopefully — Loki still sent Thor a very genuine scowl in response.

Immediately, the older son’s smile fell. “Alright, not a fan of jesting, I see.”

“Not about her.”

“I gathered. All joking aside, if she truly loves you, I doubt she has eyes for any other.”

Loki said nothing in response, but looked at his sibling briefly to let him know he at least acknowledged the statement.

“For what it’s worth,” Thor began as he headed towards the tent’s entrance. “I hope I get to meet this special woman some day.” With that, he took his leave.

Loki stood gazing at the spot for a moment of two, surprised by the unusually serious tone with which his brother had spoken. He had no idea whether someday he could tell Thor that Ellie was the woman he was so eager to meet. Given the circumstances, he doubted it would ever happen. If Thor ever found out, then Odin and Frigga would be next to hear the news. Then, they would have to kiss their relationship goodbye if Odin had his way. With a heavy sigh, he steadied himself. Quickly grabbing his knives, he headed after Thor, knowing that the sooner they got rid of these Marauders, the sooner he could return to her. 

As it turned out, disposing of the last of the Marauders was manageable with their dwindled numbers. Together, with his sons and the formidable Einherjar forces, Odin killed the remainder and pushed what survivors there were out of Vanaheim. Thor and Loki survived mostly unscathed, bar a few cuts and bruises. Thankfully, the courageous actions of the Asgardians helped to somewhat ease the political tension between Vanaheim and Asgard. The land’s rulers were grateful for the assistance and gave their genuine thanks when meeting Odin in the company of his sons. They were invited to a celebratory feast the following day, a gesture their hosts hoped would accurately convey their gratitude. Odin humbly agreed to attend before announcing that they would take their leave the day after.

Upon hearing his father’s statement, Thor turned to send his brother a suggestive grin. “Did you hear that? You will only have to wait another day before we return home.”

A very genuine smile found its way on to Loki’s face. He wouldn’t have to wait much longer before he saw her again.

* * *

A month.

Really? Did it really have’ta be a month?

While Ellie prided herself on her patience, she was nearing the end of it at this rate. She wasn’t sure what she had expected upon hearing Loki would have to attend to matters in Vanaheim, but she hoped it wouldn’t take this long. She was aware they had been away for far longer times — lest she forget the whole year he spent on Alfheim during her youth — but now it was far different. She had grown so used to seeing him daily, and now she had nothing.

Given his absence, Ellie had temporarily returned to her previous position as Frigga’s handmaiden. It was fantastic to work alongside her friends again and their presence did help distract her from the mild loneliness she felt. Thankfully, after being assured by the Allmother that it would get easier as time passed, she grew somewhat used to the new arrangements. She spent her free time pouring over seiðr books, focusing most of her attention on learning how to conjure the dagger that continued to plague her. She was getting gradually closer, even if practice left her feeling completely draining. She had hoped she could have learned how to do it before Loki’s return just so she could see his face when she displayed her new ability. When she wasn’t practicing seiðr, she either spent time in Fen and Sevda’s company, or accepted an invite for tea and card games with Frigga. Despite the fact she was currently not serving the absent prince, she still slept in her private quarters next to his, hoping that one of these days she would wake up to discover he had returned. Unfortunately, each morning proved to be no different from the others, and she had to accept that this was not a quick little trip.

One evening, she sat at her desk, writing into the notebook Loki bought for her on Midgard. As per his suggestion, she took to writing her more favourable childhood memories as soon as they returned from their trip all those years ago. That night, she happily wrote about a particular memory that occurred soon after her arrival on Asgard. Of late, she noticed happy memories from her childhood in this realm slipping into her entries along with those she recalled on Midgard with her family. She was content thinking about them and browsing through the ones she had first written down in detail so that she would never forget. While she sat writing, a knock on her door cut through the sound of the record player. She raised her head and halted writing mid-sentence, the interruption having stopped her flow. When she opened the door, she was surprised with who she saw standing on the other side.

“Dagny,” she said, giving the fellow handmaiden a once over. “What brings you here so late?”

The woman smiled at her and explained. “The Allfather and princes have returned.”

Ellie did her best to hold back a hopeful expression and settled for looking at her with wide eyes. “They have? Are they alright?”

“Just now, yes, and they are perfectly fine. Prince Loki has asked for his handmaiden and I was sent by the Allmother to fetch you.”

“Oh! Alright, one moment.” She quickly rushed to grab her overcoat and shrugged it on before exiting her chambers. “Where are they?”

“In the main courtyard,” Dagny replied as they hurried off through the empty halls, Ellie trailing behind slightly. “Come, we will take the shortcut. The prince seemed rather impatient.”

“No surprises there,” she sniggered as they headed towards the clockwise spiralling staircase that would bring them to one of the palace’s side entrances. Their heels clinked on the floors as they descended the stairs quickly. Ellie carefully hid her excitement, aware that Dagny would probably question her if she displayed anything other than casual happiness and relief at her employer’s return. Inside, however, she embraced the delight she felt at the realisation that she would see Loki again after missing him as much as she did. She couldn’t wait to see him again and thankfully unharmed from the fray. She was sure Thor would demand she finally come drink with them now that they had returned victorious. The thought of hearing all about their battles and adventures on Vanaheim over some much deserved drinks made her smile. Perhaps Frigga would call for her and Loki and inform him that his lies were practically transparent to her. Most importantly, she simply relished the idea of pulling Loki into a long sought after embrace. 

As they hurried down the deserted spiral staircase, Dagny took the lead and was the first to disappear out the door before Ellie reached it a few seconds later. 

Somehow, Dagny was nowhere to be seen once the young woman emerged into the cool night air. She didn’t get a second to question how her fellow worker had managed to disappear or turn to see which direction she had left in before searing pain erupted in the back of her head.

The cracking of her skull rang in her ears, but no scream escaped her in the split second she had.

She never had enough time to call for help. 

Even her panic was short-lived.

The pain throbbed and burned through her quickly numbing senses.

The surprise attack left her with no chance.

Ellie fell awkwardly to her hands and knees as her world faded to black.

#Loki #Lover #Angst #Others #Submitted fic #submission #unofferable #Chapter 22 #unofferable-fic #frigga #asgard #child #abandoned #midgard #injured #odin #healers #duty #allmother #thor #intrigued

[unofferable-fic]

UNOFFERABLE: 22 - AMBUSH

Summary: The unexpected arrival of an injured Midgardian child clinging to life causes a ruckus on Asgard. The princes, Thor and Loki, are somewhat intrigued by this unusual guest, unsure as to how and why she ended up in such a state. What they did not expect, however, was the turn of events her appearance would inevitably cause.

Originally posted by Vudozahn

————

Set Pre-Thor 1

Pairing: Loki x OFC

Inspired by this imagine

Warnings: Language, Frigga being a bamf.

Word Count: 3,819

Previous Chapter    Next Chapter

Playlist: “Any Other Name” — Thomas Newman, “I'm Like a Lawyer with the Way I'm Always Trying to Get You Off (Me & You)” — Fall Out Boy, “Black Out Days” — Phantogram

————

A/N: Also available on AO3  and FanFiction.net.

Ellie had not thought she would be sitting the the private chambers of the Allfather and Allmother after seeing Loki off. And yet, here she was, sitting at a table and resisting the urge to nervously wring her hands. She would be lying if she said she wasn’t panicking over the possibility of Frigga knowing exactly what she was doing with her son.

That would be an insanely awkward conversation, given the goin’s on in his bed this morning…

“Tea?” Frigga asked her, cutting through her thoughts.

Ellie nodded calmly.  “Yes, please. Do you want me to—?”

“Not at all,” she hushed her, pouring two cups of tea. “I can manage just fine. There is nothing formal about this conversation, little one. It is merely a chat.”

“Merely a chat,” Ellie repeated with a small smile, watching the Allmother take a seat across from her. “Can I ask as to what we’re chattin’ about?”

Frigga paused for a moment, focusing her attention on putting some milk in their cups. While the silence wasn’t doing Ellie’s nerves any favours, she kept her mouth shut and waited for her to start talking.

“Fourteen years ago,” Frigga began. “I brought you here after finding you on Midgard and have never regretted the decision for a moment — not that any parent would if they were a decent person. I know that there have been occasions where your time here has been difficult, but you have grown into your own, and I hope you know that having you on Asgard has been a pleasure. No matter what anyone may say to you, this is your home and you are always welcome here.”

“Thank you, My Queen. Although I acknowledge that there’ve been some difficult days, especially at first, I’ve met some great people who’ve made me feel more than welcome here.”

She grinned at that, holding her cup in her hands. “I’m glad. I think you have settled into your role here in the palace exceptionally and it is good that you have made some friends along the way.”

“Oh, yeah,” Ellie agreed and mimicked her movements by wrapping her hands around her hot cup. “I’m eternally grateful for the friends I’ve made here. They have made my life far more bearable than it could’ve been otherwise. Not only that, but they have been so helpful in terms of becomin’ a good handmaiden.”

“I think it is safe to say that you are better than merely good. After all, you are now the personal handmaiden to a prince.”

Ellie chuckled lightly, masking her unease at the mention of Loki. With a light shrug, she raised her cup to her lips. “I suppose I can’t argue with that.”

“He requested you personally for the position.”

“He did briefly mention that. I was humbled to accept.”

“And how are you finding it? I know Loki is not an easy one to work under.”

Ellie had to suppress the very vivid image of being under Loki earlier in the more literal sense. “He is very particular, I’ll admit, but he’s been nothin’ but fair to me.”

“I am glad,” Frigga said with a smile. “The hand servants before Radburn were not his biggest fan. They found him tough to please.”

The young woman shrugged and raised her cup to her lips. “He seems t’be quite reasonable once you listen to what he asks.”

“That is a logical way to look at it,” she agreed, and met her gaze. “I am sure it also helps that he is in love with you.”

Ellie froze, hot tea already scalding her tongue.

Her eyes met those of the Queen, who wore a calm expression, the hint of a smile on her lips.

Oh, shit.

“I’m sorry?” she asked after swallowing the drink. She knew she had to stay calm. There was a reason as to why their relationship was a secret, and she had learned how to lie from none other than the God of Lies himself. And yet, she knew that she had little hope convincing Frigga otherwise. For now, she would carefully assess and play dumb.

The Allmother’s tone was the epitome of casual, as if they were not talking about love declarations and secret feelings. “Loki is in love with you, of course. And it is simply wonderful considering you are in love with him too.”

Oh, fuck.

“Allmother, I don’t know what you mean—”

Frigga laughed, taking another sip of her tea. “Come now, Ellie. You know, my son may be a master of lying, but I am one of the few people in the Nine Realms able to recognise his honeyed words. I can see them in you now, so you are better off being honest with me.”

Ellie hesitated, pulse quickening knowing that there was no way out of this. It felt like silence consumed the room for the longest time. She could only stare in disbelief as the Queen patiently waited for a response while thoroughly enjoying her tea. It didn’t matter if she incessantly denied the claim; Frigga knew. “How long have you known?”

Another pleasant laugh. “Probably longer than you both. It seemed like I realised before you two began courting.”

Is there anythin’ she doesn’t fuckin’ know?

“But we were careful—”

“That you were,” she concurred. “I cannot fault you both for the effort put into concealing your relationship, considering no one else has a notion of its existence, but I could see it quite clearly.”

Ellie was baffled. Truly baffled at this confession. “How?”

“It is quite obvious if you know what love looks like. It is not all physical or hushed confessions of adoration; it was clear in how you treated and cared for one another. From the very beginning you latched on to him, and never strayed even when others found Loki to be overbearing or too intense. You saw the positive qualities he had to offer and embraced them. You confided in him and treated him as an equal as opposed to ‘Thor’s younger brother’. Most of all, you trusted him.

“He saw similarities in you as well, knowing that it would be hard for you to adjust here as an outsider. So he stayed by your side when in harms way, and taught you how to defend yourself when you asked for assistance. All these things were clear to me, but it was also too obvious when you were in a room together. Even if it was at a feast of ball, you always looked for each other across the crowds. I have never seen my son look at someone in such a manner, and given your young age, I imagine you have not looked at another similarly either. Do not be ashamed, little one. There is nothing to be ashamed about.”

“You were not meant to find out,” Ellie mumbled, hanging her head. “I’m assumin’ you haven’t had this discussion with him?”

She shook her head. “I wished to speak with you first. That, and I would also rather let him keep thinking he can lie to me.” She rolled her eyes. “How he ever thought he could successfully fool his own mother is beyond me.” Frigga looked at her for a moment and added. “You can relax, Ellie. Why are you so tense?”

“Are you goin’ to tell the Allfather?” she asked. “Because his disapproval was the reason we kept our relationship secret in the first place. He didn’t even like the fact we were friends.”

“I can assure you that my knowledge of your relationship will be kept between you and I. The reason I spoke with you now is because if, in the time Loki is away, you miss him greatly, know that I am here if you need to vent or talk about it. I know you cannot go to your friends about it for obvious reasons, so know that I am here if you need me.”

“Oh.” Ellie sat there for a moment, suddenly happier that they had been figured out. She had never considered the possibility of having someone to talk to in Loki’s absence. She could never tell Fen or Sevda about how much she missed him, but at least Frigga would be there to acknowledge her feelings. “I wasn’t expectin’ that, but I do appreciate it. Bein’ able to talk to you would make his absence easier to manage. Thank you.”

“No need for thanks. Know that your secret is safe with me. I’m glad you have found each other. You both deserve happiness.” She paused for a moment before continuing. “I know that sometimes Loki feels as though he is not Thor’s equal. It breaks my heart knowing that he questions his own worth. I think he sometimes does not realise that we truly do love and care for him — we are his family, how could we not love him? I hope that you have helped him realise that he is more than he thinks he is. Maybe if he sees how worthy he is in your eyes, he will realise how short he has been selling himself. He is certainly not without flaws — as is the case with everyone — but I hope he won’t let his insecurities prevent you from being happy together.”

Ellie nodded in understanding. “Thankfully we’re both gettin’ better at communication, so right now we’re in a good place. Hopefully it stays that way.”

“Hopefully. But while I may worry over my own son, I hope you know that he really does love you, Ellie. I can see it in him.”

“I do believe him when he tells me of his feelings,” she admitted. “There’s not doubt in my mind there. But I am more worried about…well, Odin, if you must know.”

“What about him exactly?”

Although she hesitated, Ellie knew she could trust Frigga not to spread the information she was sharing. “If he was to find out about my relationship with a Prince of Asgard, I do not think he would allow it to continue. When you look at the whole picture, I’m still but a mortal in a realm of gods. It was somethin’ that I overlooked when I agreed to court Loki, but it is a constant naggin’ in the back of my mind. If he were to demand we cut all ties, how could we go against the order of the Allfather?”

“While your worries are valid,” Frigga began slowly. “Please know that if you find yourself in such a position, I will do everything in my power to hopefully convince my husband otherwise. While Odin may have the priorities of a king, I have the priorities of a mother, and my son’s happiness is my main concern. As is yours, might I add.”

For a moment, all the younger woman could do was look at her is surprise. There was no way she had expected any support from the Queen. Sure, Frigga was a great woman, but knowingly disagreeing with her King for the sake of their happiness was a shock to the system. “Thank you, My Queen. I know you told me thank you’s weren’t necessary, but I need to assure you how important that would be to me. I’m sure Loki would feel the same way.”

“He can be a handful sometimes,” she said with a slight laugh. “But I am delighting in seeing another woman in his life. I am still baffled that that boy thought he could lie to me, but if it was for your sake, then how could I fault him for trying?”

“I would do the same for him, I’ll admit.”

“Of course you would, but that is no surprise, not when you feel that way about another.”

“It’s a new and scary feelin’,” Ellie pondered, lightly tracing the rim of her cup. “But I’m glad that I fell for him. As cheesy as it sounds, he makes it worth the risk.” She momentarily cringed and hung her head. “Ugh, that was painful… Did I really just say that out loud?”

“That you did, but who am I to judge? I understand, trust me.” With a soft smile, Frigga gave her hand a squeeze and then reached for a nearby deck of cards sitting on the edge of the table. “Now, Sevda informed me that your card skills are constantly improving. Let’s test that, shall we?”

Ellie grinned at the casual gesture, appreciating how the atmosphere instantly changed with it. She watched as the Queen drew them a hand each. Taking it happily, they settled into a competitive game. A new ease fell over the young woman, suddenly feeling a lot less worried after Loki’s departure with the addition of a trustworthy confidante.

* * *

A month.

A solid month Loki had spent on Vanaheim helping to solve the Marauder crisis. He knew it wasn’t going to be solved overnight, but the time away from home and Ellie was beginning to grate him. He was kept busy, that much was certain, but his mind drifted at night when the Asgardian forces took their rest. Tonight, however, the Odinson brothers readied themselves to battle once more. Odin was currently arranging a smaller group of forces to take out the last of the Marauders, the remainder of their raiders dwindled down from constant attacks. Thor and Loki were tucked away in one of the royal tents as they gathered their weapons and armour, waiting to meet with their father and be told what the plan was.

“Tell me, brother,” Thor said, twirling Mjölnir in his grasp. “Did you speak with your secret beloved?”

Loki hesitated as he strapped on his vambraces. “Say it louder. I don’t think Mother heard you back on Asgard.”

The God of Thunder actually held up a hand. “My apologies. I will keep my voice down, but tell me, have you?”

“I did,” he replied with a nod. “And she forgave my crass words after receiving a well-deserved apology.”

“By Odin! That is wonderful.” He bound across the tent and pulled his younger sibling into a crushing hug. “I am glad she accepted your apology and I am so happy for you!”

“Alright,” Loki grumbled, awkwardly patting his back. “You can get off me now.”

Thor released him before laying a firm hand on the back of his neck. “You are practically grinning at the thought of her! It is amazing and slightly frightening to see.”

The Trickster waved him off, but couldn’t help smiling. “Alright, alright. Enough.”

“Never! So, does this mean I will get to meet her?”

Loki was quick to shoot him down. “Not a chance!”

“But why?” Thor whined, face having fallen completely. “I need to meet this woman who is seemingly more patient than anyone else in the Nine Realms! She sounds wonderful.”

“That she is,” Loki confirmed and turned back to grab his cape. “And meet her you shan’t.”

“You are cruel, brother,” Thor whinged, mirroring his actions. “Are you afraid I will steal her away?”

While the comment was said in jest — hopefully — Loki still sent Thor a very genuine scowl in response.

Immediately, the older son’s smile fell. “Alright, not a fan of jesting, I see.”

“Not about her.”

“I gathered. All joking aside, if she truly loves you, I doubt she has eyes for any other.”

Loki said nothing in response, but looked at his sibling briefly to let him know he at least acknowledged the statement.

“For what it’s worth,” Thor began as he headed towards the tent’s entrance. “I hope I get to meet this special woman some day.” With that, he took his leave.

Loki stood gazing at the spot for a moment of two, surprised by the unusually serious tone with which his brother had spoken. He had no idea whether someday he could tell Thor that Ellie was the woman he was so eager to meet. Given the circumstances, he doubted it would ever happen. If Thor ever found out, then Odin and Frigga would be next to hear the news. Then, they would have to kiss their relationship goodbye if Odin had his way. With a heavy sigh, he steadied himself. Quickly grabbing his knives, he headed after Thor, knowing that the sooner they got rid of these Marauders, the sooner he could return to her.

As it turned out, disposing of the last of the Marauders was manageable with their dwindled numbers. Together, with his sons and the formidable Einherjar forces, Odin killed the remainder and pushed what survivors there were out of Vanaheim. Thor and Loki survived mostly unscathed, bar a few cuts and bruises. Thankfully, the courageous actions of the Asgardians helped to somewhat ease the political tension between Vanaheim and Asgard. The land’s rulers were grateful for the assistance and gave their genuine thanks when meeting Odin in the company of his sons. They were invited to a celebratory feast the following day, a gesture their hosts hoped would accurately convey their gratitude. Odin humbly agreed to attend before announcing that they would take their leave the day after.

Upon hearing his father’s statement, Thor turned to send his brother a suggestive grin. “Did you hear that? You will only have to wait another day before we return home.”

A very genuine smile found its way on to Loki’s face. He wouldn’t have to wait much longer before he saw her again.

* * *

A month.

Really? Did it really have’ta be a month?

While Ellie prided herself on her patience, she was nearing the end of it at this rate. She wasn’t sure what she had expected upon hearing Loki would have to attend to matters in Vanaheim, but she hoped it wouldn’t take this long. She was aware they had been away for far longer times — lest she forget the whole year he spent on Alfheim during her youth — but now it was far different. She had grown so used to seeing him daily, and now she had nothing.

Given his absence, Ellie had temporarily returned to her previous position as Frigga’s handmaiden. It was fantastic to work alongside her friends again and their presence did help distract her from the mild loneliness she felt. Thankfully, after being assured by the Allmother that it would get easier as time passed, she grew somewhat used to the new arrangements. She spent her free time pouring over seiðr books, focusing most of her attention on learning how to conjure the dagger that continued to plague her. She was getting gradually closer, even if practice left her feeling completely draining. She had hoped she could have learned how to do it before Loki’s return just so she could see his face when she displayed her new ability. When she wasn’t practicing seiðr, she either spent time in Fen and Sevda’s company, or accepted an invite for tea and card games with Frigga. Despite the fact she was currently not serving the absent prince, she still slept in her private quarters next to his, hoping that one of these days she would wake up to discover he had returned. Unfortunately, each morning proved to be no different from the others, and she had to accept that this was not a quick little trip.

One evening, she sat at her desk, writing into the notebook Loki bought for her on Midgard. As per his suggestion, she took to writing her more favourable childhood memories as soon as they returned from their trip all those years ago. That night, she happily wrote about a particular memory that occurred soon after her arrival on Asgard. Of late, she noticed happy memories from her childhood in this realm slipping into her entries along with those she recalled on Midgard with her family. She was content thinking about them and browsing through the ones she had first written down in detail so that she would never forget. While she sat writing, a knock on her door cut through the sound of the record player. She raised her head and halted writing mid-sentence, the interruption having stopped her flow. When she opened the door, she was surprised with who she saw standing on the other side.

“Dagny,” she said, giving the fellow handmaiden a once over. “What brings you here so late?”

The woman smiled at her and explained. “The Allfather and princes have returned.”

Ellie did her best to hold back a hopeful expression and settled for looking at her with wide eyes. “They have? Are they alright?”

“Just now, yes, and they are perfectly fine. Prince Loki has asked for his handmaiden and I was sent by the Allmother to fetch you.”

“Oh! Alright, one moment.” She quickly rushed to grab her overcoat and shrugged it on before exiting her chambers. “Where are they?”

“In the main courtyard,” Dagny replied as they hurried off through the empty halls, Ellie trailing behind slightly. “Come, we will take the shortcut. The prince seemed rather impatient.”

“No surprises there,” she sniggered as they headed towards the clockwise spiralling staircase that would bring them to one of the palace’s side entrances. Their heels clinked on the floors as they descended the stairs quickly. Ellie carefully hid her excitement, aware that Dagny would probably question her if she displayed anything other than casual happiness and relief at her employer’s return. Inside, however, she embraced the delight she felt at the realisation that she would see Loki again after missing him as much as she did. She couldn’t wait to see him again and thankfully unharmed from the fray. She was sure Thor would demand she finally come drink with them now that they had returned victorious. The thought of hearing all about their battles and adventures on Vanaheim over some much deserved drinks made her smile. Perhaps Frigga would call for her and Loki and inform him that his lies were practically transparent to her. Most importantly, she simply relished the idea of pulling Loki into a long sought after embrace.

As they hurried down the deserted spiral staircase, Dagny took the lead and was the first to disappear out the door before Ellie reached it a few seconds later.

Somehow, Dagny was nowhere to be seen once the young woman emerged into the cool night air. She didn’t get a second to question how her fellow worker had managed to disappear or turn to see which direction she had left in before searing pain erupted in the back of her head.

The cracking of her skull rang in her ears, but no scream escaped her in the split second she had.

She never had enough time to call for help.

Even her panic was short-lived.

The pain throbbed and burned through her quickly numbing senses.

The surprise attack left her with no chance.

Ellie fell awkwardly to her hands and knees as her world faded to black.

Taglist: @jonsaiscomiing @wrappedinlokisarms @unseelie1963 @talinalani @fightmelight@spookass @myinnerkemono @tumbler-bumblr @jclements919 @ao3-hipster-fangirl-trash @proactiveturtles

#loki #loki x ofc #loki x ofc fanfiction #unofferable fic #fanfiction #fanfic #thor odinson #frigga #odin #mcu #marvel #marvel cinematic universe #tom hiddleston #avengers #loki x oc #god of mischief #loki fandom #thor ragnarok #asgard #loki laufeyson

[nikanndros]

Hennike (and Auguste) Lives AU

*This is the first 6.5k ish of an unedited, unfinished fic that I probably won’t finish. So, like, read at your own risk. HAHA Just kidding, it’s finished now. [Part 2]

One

Kempt is a small palace. Hennike is the youngest of three brothers and five sisters, and she’s never been shown a lot of attention. When Prince Aleron of Vere arrives, dark haired and handsome, the first thing he does is kiss her hand and gift her with a heavy sapphire necklace. Becoming a Queen was never something she’d imagined would happen to her, but Aleron is taken with her. She is taken enough to wear the necklace every day until her wedding, regardless of the shade of her dress, and then many days after that.

She still wonders whether he noticed the first time she went without it.

-

Her life is wonderful, at first. The court at Vere is a little excessive, but she likes parties and she can look past the pets and focus on the architecture and the literature. When Auguste is born, he is the happiest, most beautiful baby in the world.

On Auguste’s seventh birthday, she spends the morning out in the gardens with him. He is not, as she’d privately hoped, the clingy sort of child. He’s happy to swing his wooden sword and play by himself and with the other children.

Hennike is sitting on a blanket, reading aloud a fairy story, while Auguste plays, when Regnier approaches. She doesn’t know much about her husband’s younger brother. Regnier has always been perfectly polite to her, but she can’t kick the feeling that he’s never liked her much at all. It’s rare that he approaches her like this.

He’s walking with a child, a boy no older than thirteen who is holding his hand with all the clinginess that Auguste has never displayed. His ward, then. Aleron had mentioned, once, that Regnier had never developed an interest in marriage or even in employing a pet as a lover. He is bound by intellectual pursuits, Aleron said, and charitable ones. He adopts young, disadvantaged children as his wards and raises them until they’re old enough to step out on their own.

“Queen Hennike,” Regnier says. “Prince Auguste. Many happy returns.”

Auguste smiles up at him. “Thank you, Uncle.”

“Perhaps,” Regnier says, “Now that you are so old, I can take you hunting in the future.”

Auguste is delighted by the idea.

Later, when Hennike is retiring to bed, she mentions the offer to Aleron.

Aleron frowns. “Regnier said this?” he asks.

She nods, brushing out her long blonde hair that Auguste inherited.

One week later, Aleron gifts his brother with the property at Chastillon. “The hunt is much better there,” the King says, “since I have heard you are so fond of the activity.”

“Can I visit?” Auguste says, sweetly.

Regnier looks down at him, his ward clutching at his pants. “No,” Regnier says, tightly. “I don’t suppose you will.”

Despite the generous gift, the tension between the brothers is palpable. Aleron nods once, and that is the last that the royal family sees of Regnier for quite some time.

-

It took Auguste six hours to be born, a feat many had been impressed with. Laurent takes eighteen in total, and Hennike spends those hours fearing for her and her newest child’s lives. When the boy is placed in her arms - so tiny, Hennike had forgotten how tiny babies were - she feels as if they have been through a great calamity together and bonded for it.

Older now, and more willing to make queenly demands, Hennike sends away the nursemaids and spends the next few months feeding her newborn at her own breast. Aleron is displeased, especially on the nights when she has a chaise brought into Laurent’s room so that she can sleep beside his crib, but he focuses his energy on raising Auguste to be the future King.

Laurent, the second son and the sweetest, fussiest baby she has known, has the privilege of being her child first and a royal second. Auguste is equally enamored with his little brother. He loves to carry him around, introducing him to courtiers proudly.

Perhaps her life isn’t as divinely happy as she’d imagined, but Auguste and Laurent make it worth every moment. They are her truest loves.

-

“There’s trouble on the border,” Aleron says, at a family dinner one evening. “Akielons.”

Auguste, the golden epitome of princehood at just nineteen, nods. “What shall we do about it, father?”

Aleron looks to Hennike, “Auguste and I will travel to the border and get the men prepared and in line.”

Laurent is sitting at the table with a book hidden on his lap. They all pretend not to notice. The boy is advanced for his age. Aleron is pleased in that distant way of his, that Laurent will be an asset to Auguste’s future rule. For years now, Auguste has been the light of Aleron’s life.

At this though, Laurent looks up. “But why?” he says. “Vere and Akielos were one kingdom once. Shouldn’t we offer a negotiation first? Surely there is some arrangement better than war for both kingdoms.”

Aleron frowns, but before he can berate Laurent, Auguste laughs.

“It’s not always that easy,” Auguste says, adoring, “But thank you for your input, Laurent. It’s important to consider these things from many angles.”

The King nods, appeased. “We leave the day after tomorrow. Choose six men from your guard to bring.”

-

After they leave, Regnier makes his return. “The court needs a man who can take charge in these tough times,” he says, “since Aleron and Auguste are away.”

-

The border difficulties continue on for the next two years, with Aleron and Auguste making only short, infrequent returns. “The Akielons are preparing for war,” Aleron says, grim faced. “The forts will hold, but they have more men than us. It will be difficult.”

Hennike kisses both his cheeks. “I don’t care what happens,” she says, “only that you return to me, and you bring our son with you.”

Laurent sleeps in Auguste’s room every night that they’re returned. It hurts her heart to see them together, they are like the two halves of one soul. The separation is hard for them both. The next time Auguste leaves, he gives Laurent a gift. It’s a little fairytale book.

“I’m too old for books like this,” Laurent says, “I’m twelve. Men don’t read fairy stories.”

He’s had a sudden preoccupation with his age lately, Hennike notices. He keeps insisting to be a man already. She worries he’s planning to use that to insist he go to war with his brother later.

Auguste just smiles and ruffles Laurent’s hair. “I’ve read it,” he says. “And I’m an adult as well.”

When she turns away from the two, Hennike can see Aleron and Regnier talking. Aleron looks angry at first, but Regnier is speaking calmly and eventually Aleron calms down as well.

-

There’s a brunette pet at the court, maybe seventeen, that keeps making longing looks at Regnier. Hennike can’t understand the appeal, other than that Regnier is very rich and influential. He was never gifted with the regal handsomeness that Aleron and his sons were.

One evening, when she’s making her way to a dinner, she catches Regnier and the pet in an argument.

“You told me you loved me,” the pet says. “You told me you wanted us to be together but that I deserved a better life in Arles.”

“You do,” Regnier says. “You’ve been flourishing here.”

“You said you loved me,” the boy says, “but you won’t even look at me now that you’re here.”

“Be reasonable,” he replies, “you have a contract.”

“You could afford to buy it out,” he insists.

“Oh, Maximilien,” Regnier says, affectionately. Maximilien, Hennike recalls, was the name of his latest ward. “I don’t want to.”

-

Hennike has to do the rounds at dinner. War encroaches in all their futures, and it is her job to reassure the courtiers that they’ll still get to live in comfort with their sons while all the other young men are sent to their deaths. She has to garner their support.

“The pheasant is absolutely sublime this evening,” one councillor’s wife says.

Hennike smiles and agrees and pretends she isn’t thinking about the argument she’d overheard. She cannot abide by this, a man who takes advantage of his wards and then turns them out when they get older. Aleron must know, she thinks, and that’s why Regnier was sent to Chastillon.

Being sent away is too good for him, but she can hardly arrest the King’s brother. Especially since her marriage has lost its early fervor.

“Is there any news from the border?” Guion’s wife asks, as Hennike’s eyes seek out Laurent.

He’s standing at the far side of the room, his laced brocade a decadent crimson that he chose himself. He’s looking up, nodding very seriously at something-

-something Regnier is saying.

Hennike rises, and makes straight for her son, too fast to look casual. She interrupts their conversation by putting a hand on Laurent’s shoulder, and Laurent, her sweet, clever child - who used to climb into her lap when she read to him - flinches.

Her blood runs cold. “Mother,” Laurent says, looking shocked and guilty. He used to call her Maman. She didn’t notice when he’d stopped.

“Hennike,” Regnier says. “Are you well? You look pale.”

“Laurent,” she says, voice tight, “go to your rooms, my love. I will come see you shortly.”

“I haven’t eaten,” Laurent argues.

“I’ll have the servants bring you something. Go now.” She signals one of the guards to follow him.

Laurent has barely left the room when she rounds on Regnier.

“I will kill you,” she says. “I will have your name struck from the histories. Your head will be spiked on the gates and your body will be thrown to the crows, and you will never be able to touch another little boy again.”

“Hennike,” Regnier says, holding up his hands. “Calm down, please. What is this about?”

“I heard you,” she says. “I heard you fighting with that pet, Maximilien.”

“You would execute me for a discussion with a pet?”

“Laurent flinched when I touched his shoulder.” She feels like she’s choking, fighting back tears.

“Sister,” Regnier says. “I don’t like what you’re implying. My private life has nothing to do with Laurent. He is my nephew. You’re being unseemly.”

“Stay away from him,” she says. “I will kill you myself if you so much as lay eyes on my son again. You leave for Chastillon tomorrow.”

“I am offended,” Regnier says. “But I can understand a mother’s love and fear. I’ll go until this all gets cleared up. You should ask Laurent yourself.”

-

She makes quick apologies, citing a headache, and leaves for her rooms. Her first task is to dismiss her guards to go wait outside Laurent’s room. She will not leave her son vulnerable to any more trauma. Part of her hopes fervently that Regnier was telling the truth, that his devious tendencies don’t include incest. That hope is the worst part, because it feels like a lie. She can now fully see the change that has overcome Laurent in the past few months.

Hennike is unlacing her evening gown - she wants to look as approachable as possible when she talks to Laurent - when she hears the door open and shut.

She looks up. There is a man, he looks handsome and not yet thirty, standing not ten feet away.

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry. He’s threatened my family.”

A man, not her husband, alone with her in her own rooms and the guards sent away. This alone has ruined her reputation already. But Regnier, Hennike realises with her dress still halfway unlaced, will not stop at that alone.

The man advances on her, and she grabs at the items on her dressing table. She throws a brush at him, he knocks it aside. She throws a jewellery box. The trinkets clatter across the floor. The man grabs her by the arms and pushes her against the table. Her things fall loudly. Glass breaks.

“Stop,” she demands, trying to struggle free. “Stop.”

“I can’t,” the man says.

Hennike jerks her arm and splashes perfume in his face. He rears back, eyes burning. She grabs a candelabrum and hits him violently across his head once, twice, three times. He falls to his knees and she continues to hit him until there is so much blood she can barely breathe.

She’s never killed a man before, there are tears on her face. The moment his body is found, Regnier will step in and spin the story. A lover’s quarrel gone wrong, probably. Vere abhors bastards so much that they spurn people for extramarital affairs even when a child isn’t produced. She will be executed for adultery. Laurent’s legitimacy will be in question. Auguste should be safe, she knows. The dead man in her rooms is too young to be plausible as his father.

Too young, she thinks, and then her knees are suddenly on the ground and she is retching uselessly.

-

By the time she makes it to Laurent’s rooms, she’s washed her face and dressed in riding clothes. She looks at the guards and sends them all away except for one: Jord. He’s a member of Auguste’s guards and one of his most promising soldiers. He’d left the man behind to keep an eye on Hennike and Laurent. Hennike wants to strangle him for watching her at all. He should have been by Laurent’s side every night to keep that vile uncle away.

But Auguste trusts him, and Jord has never seemed anything but loyal. She needs someone to help her and this is her best option.

-

Hennike has Laurent pack a bag of things - one change of clothes and only the most expensive jewels he has.

“We’re going on a trip for a little while,” she says.

“To see Auguste?” Laurent asks, sweetly excited. She doesn’t have the heart to deny it.

She has her own bag, with the same things as he does, but also some food, water, and coin.

“You know what to do?” Hennike says to Jord, as she pulls the hood of her cloak over her head. Laurent is saddling her horse.

Jord looks grim. He nods. She’s already had him quietly steal two corpses - a woman and a child - and lay them out in Laurent’s room. “I set the fire,” he says.

“Yes,” she replies. “Knock the door down when the bodies have been burnt beyond recognition. Call the other guards. I went into Laurent’s room and locked you all out.”

“I didn’t realise anything was wrong until I saw the smoke,” Jord recites. “By the time I got the door down, it was too late.”

“Yes,” she says. “I know it will be hard, but you cannot tell anyone the truth. Not Aleron. Not Auguste. Everyone must think we are dead.”

Jord nods. She turns to leave but pauses, turns back. “One more thing,” Hennike says, as Laurent quietly leads their horse out of the stables. “Don’t trust Regnier. Lead Auguste away from his influence. This is important.”

-

She rides through the night, Laurent asleep at the front of the saddle, leaning into her. The next day they ride through as well. They cannot go to Kempt. Her father is long dead and her brother, the King, cares more for the alliance than he does his youngest sister.

They cannot go to Vask. She’s not a warrior and they’ll want to send Laurent to a men’s camp. Patras is an option, but it’s also the first place anyone who knew her would look. The best route, is to go to Akielos. Even if someone finds out they faked their deaths, no one would expect them in enemy territory.

“We’re not going to see Auguste,” Laurent says, on the third day. They’ve done little but ride and take breaks to eat and sleep. They sleep on the ground, cuddled together under their cloaks.

“No,” Hennike says.

“Are you mad at me?” he asks, in a small voice.

“Why would I be?”

“You caught me talking to uncle,” he speaks softly. “Uncle said if you found us together, you wouldn’t love me anymore.”

She pulls him closer and he clings to her like he used to, before Auguste went off to the border. “No,” she says. “Nothing is your fault. I love you. I’ll always love you no matter what, my little star.”

“He’ll be mad,” Laurent says, muffled by her cloak, “that we didn’t say goodbye.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she promises. “We’ll never see him again.”

He’s old enough to know, she thinks. She tells him about her confrontation with Regnier and the attack in her rooms. She explains why they have to leave, and why they can’t be Queen Hennike and Prince Laurent anymore.

When he cries into her shoulder that night, wishing he could see Auguste just once more, it’s the last time she sees him cry for a long while.

-

Two

They end up at an inn in Sicyon. The plan, more solid now, is to settle in Aegina. There they’ll be far away from Vere and the border conflicts, near Patras, and near a port. They sit at a table together, eating a meagre meal of bread and meat. It will do them no good to flash coin here, so the basics it is.

“Ah,” a man from the table over says, when he overhears her asking for more wine. “Veretians.”

She learnt Akielon in Vere, and thus speaks it with a Veretian accent. She chooses not to answer the man.

Men don’t typically like being ignored. He approaches her table.

“Leave them, Gregor,” one of his tablemates groans. “Do you have to start something at every inn?”

“I’m just talking,” Gregor says, smiling down at them in an unfriendly manner.

“We don’t want to talk to you,” Laurent says, before Hennike can stop him. “Fuck off.”

“That’s not very polite,” Gregor says. “Only a whoreson would speak like that.” He turns to Hennike. “How much, darling?”

“More than you can afford,” Hennike replies. She’s hoping the innkeeper will step in. There’s a knife in her cloak but she doubts she’ll be able to take on Gregor and his two friends alone.

“You might be pretty,” he says, offended. “But you’re old, bitch.” He throws a coin at her. It’s not enough to even buy a piece of bread with. “You should be begging me for that alone.”

Hennike is a princess turned Queen. She has never been spoken to like this. She doesn’t know what to say, how to diffuse the situation.

“Gregor!” booms a loud voice. “What are you doing?”

Gregor goes pale in the space of a second. He spins around to face an interloper. “Sir!” he says, rather more high pitched than before.

“Answer me,” the man demands. He looks like a man who’s seen many battles. Broad and dark, with a long scar across his face. He stands like a commander who only ever receives absolute respect. He looks about forty.

“I was just having a conversation. I haven’t seen them around here before.”

“You were being a fucking shit,” the commander says.

“The boy sassed me,” Gregor says.

“The boy is half your age.”

“And,” Laurent cuts in. Hennike makes a note to teach him tact as soon as possible. “You were being a cunt first.”

“Laurent!” Hennike says, shocked.

The commander looks at Laurent for a long moment, judging. Hennike wonders what the chances are that Laurent will actually run if she tells him to, if she has to try and fight this man off.

“Ha,” the commander says, “ha, ha. Well said.” He turns to Gregor. “If you’re going to act like an animal, we’ll treat you like one. Sleep in the stables with the horse shit, tonight.”

Gregor hastily escapes before more punishments can be made.

He turns to the two boys still at the table. “You should have stopped him.”

“I did try,” one of them says.

“Try harder next time,” he replies. “Take down your tents ten times before you retire.”

“Yes sir,” the boys say, clearly relieved they aren’t also being sent to sleep in shit.

“Now.”

They run off.

The commander turns to Hennike and Laurent. “Don’t worry,” he says, “by the time I’m through with them they’ll be afraid to even look at a woman wrong.”

“Thank you,” Hennike says carefully.

He nods. “You must be in a lot of trouble if you’re willing to travel down this way.”

“Yes,” Hennike agrees. “Would you like to join us for a drink?” She’d like to avoid any more run ins with rude soldiers.

The man sits down. “My name is Makedon,” he says.

Hennike knows the name. He’s Commander of the largest independent army of Akielos. If she killed him here and now, there’d be a chance that the ensuing chaos would stop the war efforts against Vere. Then again, it might just make all his men angrier.

“Henrietta,” she says. “This is my son, Laurent.” She’d already said his name earlier unthinkingly. It’s not too dire a slip. Laurent is a common name, and everyone knows that the Veretian King’s wife and youngest son are dead. Suicide, everyone whispers. The wife had an affair and killed herself and her probable bastard. As she should have.

“Henrietta,” Makedon says. “You should leave here as soon as you can. War is coming.”

“We plan to,” she answers.

-

They don’t.

Makedon, it turns out, is strict and proud, but also honourable. They spend the evening talking, Laurent asleep against her shoulder on that bench well into the night. The next night, they’re still there and Makedon returns. By the third night, Hennike has agreed to go back to his fort with him, temporarily. Until she has more solid plans.

Three

Laurent is almost fourteen by the time war is officially declared between Akielos and Vere. The Akielons want Delfeur back. The Veretians aren’t amenable. From what Laurent hears, Auguste leads many successful campaigns. But he cannot be at every skirmish at once, the Akielons make their own successes.

“Boy,” Makedon says. He’s frowning up at Laurent, who is perched in a tree, reading. “You should be training.”

“I’m not going to war,” he says. “I won’t fight for your barbarian country.”

Makedon, despite being an Akielon brute with a scarred face, has somehow charmed Laurent’s mother. They’ve been here for over a year and Laurent has lost all hope of them moving on. He only tolerates the situation because every now and then his mother smiles like she used to in the gardens at Arles.

“You’re scrawny and clumsy,” Makedon says, “we don’t want you to.”

“Then I shouldn’t have to spend my days hitting brutes with sticks.”

“You’re a Veretian brat, and a pretty boy” - he says the last part like it’s a bad thing to be pretty - “and you live in a military province. You need to learn how to defend yourself when someone tries to break your nose.”

Another thing about Makedon is that he’s blunt. No-one would ever talk to him like this in Vere. But despite his harsh words and his clear strength, Makedon has never raised a fist or made Laurent feel threatened. If Laurent were ever to find a grudging respect for an Akielon - it’d be for Makedon.

Laurent sighs and climbs down from his spot in the tree. “Fine,” he says.”

-

King Theomedes and his two sons, Prince Damianos and the bastard Prince Kastor, are personally joining the war effort. They are riding through Akielos and collecting soldiers along the way to Delfeur.

“I think it’s time to move on,” Laurent’s mother says quietly.

The Royal family’s last stop before the border is Makedon’s home for his army. Laurent doesn’t want to see them, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with these barbarians attacking his brother, but he also knows that his mother is at least close to happiness here.

(He overheard Makedon - who is a widower with a married off daughter and a dead son - speak to his mother of marriage.

She had sounded truly regretful to have to tell him no. “Not yet,” she had said. It wasn’t a no. Laurent didn’t want a new father, but he did want his mother to smile more).

“No,” Laurent says. “We are safe enough here. You can feign sick when the Akielon excuse for royalty shows up, if you don’t want to see them.”

-

There’s a subtle alcove in the main hall of Makedon’s property. Laurent uses it to spy from time to time. He uses it when the royals show up.

They are all sun-dark and showing an embarrassing amount of skin. Theomedes looks strong despite his age. Kastor looks like he’d had too many blows to the face to ever be considered handsome. Damianos looks like the brute that he is. His dimples are incongruent with Laurent’s former mental image of him. He smiles too much.

-

Laurent doesn’t know what possesses him, but he sneaks into Damianos’ room one night.

“Who,” the Prince says, shocked, “are you?”

“Makedon is besotted with my mother,” Laurent says. “I live here.”

“Ah,” he smiles (as always). “Laurent, was it?”

“Are you going to try to kill Prince Auguste?”

Damianos shrugs. “Perhaps. If it’ll end the war.”

“You started the war,” Laurent says. “Not him. He shouldn’t have to fight you just because you want more land.”

Damianos sits down. “This might be hard for you,” he says, “because for a time, Vere was your home. But we fight with honour in Akielos. I won’t fight any man who doesn’t choose to pick up his sword against me.”

“You’re a bad prince,” Laurent says, then rushes on at Damianos’ offended look. “You’re prideful and foolhardy and you’ll probably get killed in battle. You should consider a treaty. You should consider that maybe your men staying alive and well is more important than a small patch of dirt. Vere doesn’t want to fight you, you’re forcing their hand. Treat with them.”

Damianos is staring at Laurent, open-mouthed. Then he snaps it shut. “It’s past your bedtime,” he says. “Go kiss your mother goodnight.”

-

Four

The Crown Prince of Vere is a beacon of gold, even when covered in all the blood and dirt of the battlefield. Damen watches him cut through men like butter, an elegant dance that only he knows. It’s captivating.

“Father,” Damen says. “I can beat him.” He thinks. Probably.

“Go,” his father says, absolute in his faith for Damen’s abilities.

It’s only when Damen cuts his way through to the Prince that he sees how he really is. His hair is shorn, blonde cropped close to his head. He used to have long hair, Damen had heard, until his brother and his mother killed themselves and then he cut it all off in his grief.

He doesn’t look like the beam of hope that the Veretian’s rally behind. He looks like a man, resplendent in armour, but tired and hurt and fighting only because he doesn’t know what else he can do.

Auguste stabs a man through the chest and continues on like it’s nothing. He makes a reckless swing as if he doesn’t entirely value his own life. He stops when he comes face to face with Damen.

“Ah,” Auguste says. “It’s time to end this.” He sounds resigned. An actor in a play who hates the role he’s been given.

Men create space around them, eager to see their Prince’s fight.

Auguste knocks Damen’s sword out of his hand.

“Pick it up,” Auguste says. “Once more.”

They fight. They swing, dodge, parry. Auguste stabs Damen’s shoulder. Damen swipes Auguste’s collar bone. Eventually, he knocks Auguste to his knees. He raises his sword for the killing blow and -- freezes. Auguste doesn’t look afraid to die. It’s rumoured that he’s still wearing black to mourn his dead brother and mother, which is looked upon badly in Arles because of the scandal of their deaths.

Damen thinks of Makedon’s boy, the Veretian who spoke lovingly of his former Prince. He thinks of all the death and destruction he’s seen today and how war is nothing like the glory that men sing of. It’s ugly and harsh, and he suddenly doesn’t want to be the kind of King that disregards other’s lives for glory.

“Perhaps,” Damen says, tasting the words as he says them, “there’s an arrangement better than war, that we can make.”

Auguste looks up at Damen with the most emotion he’s shown so far. “You sound,” Auguste laughs in a way that pierces the heart with sorrow, “like my brother.”

A child killed by a scared woman who felt she had no other choice. Damen breathes out, lowers his sword. In that moment, Auguste is just a man who has faced too much hurt already. “Let’s treat,” he says.

-

A treaty is made. Akielos receives Delpha, and Auguste - who now only has one living relative in an uncle - receives his life. The people of Vere have taken too many blows in the last few years, and Damen hopes for Auguste’s sake that this one doesn’t result in too much unrest.

When everything is signed and witnessed, there is a moment where Damen and Auguste are left alone in the tent.

“I suppose I should thank you,” Auguste says, looking anything but thankful, “for not killing me.”

“You knocked the sword out of my hand first,” Damen replies.

Auguste takes a deep breath. “To be honest, I don’t know what I’m to do now that I’m alone.”

“You still have an uncle, don’t you?” Damen says awkwardly.

Auguste laughs bitterly. “I never knew him well,” he says. “And when I came back to court and Laurent was-- there was a pet who told me he’d seen my uncle and my mother arguing shortly before she-- and that my uncle had seemed angry afterwards. Then my most trusted friend advised me not to trust my uncle, but that he couldn’t tell me why.”

“That doesn’t mean,” Damen pauses. “Whenever there’s a tragedy, people try to make sense of what happened in whatever way they can.” He thinks of nursemaids telling him that his mother loved him so much that she traded her life for his. He thinks of Kastor saying once that all he was good for was killing, like he’d murdered his mother.

“I thought that,” Auguste says. “But this war. We were safe in our fort. It was my uncle that convinced us to meet you on the field. That we could beat you. He has this way with words that makes you believe anything until…”

“You’re alone,” Damen says. “If you had died today…”

“My uncle would be King.”

“Send him away,” Damen advises. “To better relations somewhere like Vask where the women won’t respect him. Get married and have heirs while you can.”

“So that I have more people to lose?” Auguste frowns. “I should have just let uncle come here in my place. He’ll probably be king soon enough.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Damen says, feeling helpless.

“Who else is there to tell?” Auguste says. “I can trust no-one in my court. At least I know you’re my enemy. I’m not good with deception, I can’t predict it.”

“We’re allies now.” Damen is thoughtful for a long moment. “You need someone cunning to help you. Someone who won’t benefit from your downfall.”

“There is no Veretian alive that my uncle can’t plausibly get to.”

Damen doesn’t know why he feels compelled to help Auguste, when he was ready to kill him just hours ago. Maybe it’s just because he’s sympathetic to his issues, or that he’d rather face the man as king than his allegedly treacherous uncle.

“Stay alive,” Damen says. “Give me a month, and I’m going to send you someone that can help you. “

-

It’s not long before they’re back at Makedon’s fort, and Damen is sending his father and brother home ahead of him. “I’ll stay to celebrate with Makedon and his men,” Damen tells them. “They’re a little unhappy that the war ended without the anticipated amount of bloodshed, but it’s nothing a bit of griva can’t fix.”

Theomedes, who has had enough griva in his earlier days to last him a lifetime, just claps Damen on the shoulder and agrees. “You’re starting to think like a King,” he says. “Keep it that way.”

There’s a lot of revelry, but Damen finds a moment to send off a quick letter.

-

Makedon’s boy approaches him again a couple of night’s later.

“I heard,” he says, “that you could have killed the Veretian Prince but you chose to treat instead.”

Damen smiles at the boy. He’s laced up tightly, but his long golden hair spills over his shoulders in waves. “It was good advice,” Damen says. “Keep it up and I might let you be one of my advisors when I’m King.”

The boy looks pleased by this. “What was Prince Auguste like?”

“He’ll make a fine King,” Damen says. He looks out at the soldiers, celebrating the victory at Delpha, and when he looks back, the boy is gone.

-

Jokaste arrives to the sound of wolf-whistles.

Damen met her very briefly before he left for the war, but he saw enough to know that she was determined, devious and very, very beautiful.

She curtsies playfully to her admirers and the soldiers laugh. She’s also very charming. She smiles at Damen.

“My Prince,” she says, kissing his face. “I was surprised you wanted me out here, with all of these men, but I have answered your request.”

“Jokaste,” Damen says. “Let’s talk inside.”

-

He tells her everything about his conversation with Auguste. “I need you to go to Arles,” he finishes with.

Jokaste raises an eyebrow. “To help King Auguste with his situation.”

“You’re the most devious mind I know,” Damen says.

“You barely know me,” Jokaste replies, “if you think I’m going to risk my life for a shaky at best alliance with nothing to show for it.”

“When Prince Regnier has been dealt with,” Damen says, “come back and I’ll make you a queen.”

-

He takes Jokaste and a selection of men and women, under the guise of a diplomatic trip, as far as Delpha, where they cross the new border on their own. Delpha, which was last under Akielon rule a hundred years ago, is facing its own difficulties.

“The people are displeased,” Nikandros, who has been left behind to become the Kyros of Delpha once he’s tamed it, says. “They’re worried about food and taxes and the family they’ve left behind in Vere. I can barely speak enough of the language to console them.”

It isn’t often that Nik talks like this. Damen is always secretly touched when his friend feels comfortable enough to discuss his problems as if they are equals. “Do you want me to stay for a few weeks?” Damen offers. “I can teach you some.”

“Can you teach me the magic words that will make everyone acknowledge that they are Akielons again?”

Damen speaks in Veretian.

Nik laughs and gently nudges their shoulders together. “Even I know how to say ‘fuck off’ in Veretian, thank you Damen.”

Before he leaves, Damen tells Nik about the plan with Jokaste. It will be good to have someone trustworthy near the border who knows, just in case. Nik frowns but doesn’t dispute the plans.

“I just hope,” Nik says, “that you’re as aware of traitors in your own court as you are in King Auguste’s.”

-

Five

Laurent’s sword hits the dirt with a thud.

“Ha!” Makedon says, victorious. “I’ve still got it.”

Laurent picks up his weapon. “Maybe once every three attempts, you do,” he says, drily.

Makedon laughs, while Laurent dusts himself off and they return back to the house together. Laurent has been officially resigned to his life here ever since they’d found out his father had died (a soldier in the war, Hennike had told Makedon), and Makedon had convinced his mother to marry him. It’s not so bad, really, if it weren’t for the sharp pain Laurent gets every time he thinks of Auguste.

“Laurent,” Makedon says, when they’re inside. “Joyeux Anniversaire,” he says, awkwardly.

It’s oddly touching, for a man who hated everything Veretian with a passion a few years ago to learn this phrase just for Laurent. Laurent blinks away his surprise. “Thank you,” he says, quietly.

“Eighteen now,” Makedon continues on, blustering past the almost fatherly moment. “I suppose you’re going to reject my present for you again this year.”

“Yes,” Laurent says. “No slave girls, please.”

“Slave boys?” Makedon offers, as he has every year since Laurent turned fifteen.

“No,” Laurent says, “Thank you.”

“How about another gift?” he offers. “Come with me to Ios for the wedding.”

Prince Kastor is marrying a Patran princess next month. Rumour has it, the Princess was intended for Damianos, but he had claimed that he planned to marry someone else. The country was abuzz with who Damianos’ mystery woman could be.

“Is mother going?” Laurent asks, already knowing she isn’t.

“Someone needs to keep the soldiers in line while I’m gone,” Makedon jokes. They both know that Laurent’s mother has a distaste for courts and royalty. Makedon thinks it’s because her last lover - the mystery man who sired Laurent the bastard - was a member of court. He’s not entirely wrong.

“Alright,” Laurent says. Unlike his mother, sometimes he misses what court was like, all the parties and decadence and silly people who don’t think about the evils in the world. “I’ll go.”

-

Makedon is a big enough deal to warrant a greeting from the King upon arrival. Theomedes slings an arm around Makedon’s shoulder like the young soldiers they surely once were together, and pulls him away.

Laurent watches them retreat and the casts his eyes over to Damianos, who seems to be frozen and staring at him.

“You have,” he says. “Grown.”

“Yes,” Laurent replies. “That tends to happen with time.”

Laurent is not the only one to have changed in the last four years. Damen had been tall and broad before, but now at twenty three, he looks truly formidable. Laurent, who has been hoping for a final growth spurt, barely comes up to Damen’s shoulder. His skin is dark, in an evenly coloured way that makes Laurent think of Akielon soldiers, wrestling in the nude.

He feels, rather absurdly, his cheeks begin to flush.

Damen smiles. His dimple hasn’t changed. “Come,” he says, “Let me show you around.”

-

The next morning a servant shows up at Laurent’s door with a golden brooch in the shape of a rose and hands it to him.

“What’s this?” Laurent says, surprised.

“It’s a gift from Prince Damianos,” the boy says, head bowed respectfully. “He wishes to invite you on a ride this morning, before the festivities start.”

Laurent opens his mouth and then closes it.

“Will you accept?” The boy asks.

“No,” Laurent replies. “Tell Damianos that if he wishes for my company, he can ask for it himself.”

-

#captive prince #i might actually finish this at some point i just #am bad at motivating myself #and im not sure i like the story hahaha #writing #involves canon typical regent related grossness

[sopaipillasvoladoras]

Fire Lady

"A fire Lady must be proper. Must only speak when spoken to. Shall always carry herself with grace. She is, after all, the epitome of grace and etiquette. And a Fire Lady should, above all, respect her husband for he is the Nation, our Honor and our Lord.” Those words echoed in her head as she stared at the silky red gown on her bed. She reached forward and picked the delicate gown. "This is it” She thought, it was the last night before the real thing; the official announcement of her engagement with Zuko. “Is this what being the Fire Lady feels like?”

For Zutara Week, Day 1

Also in Ao3!

"A fire Lady must be proper. Must only speak when spoken to. Shall always carry herself with grace. She is, after all, the epitome of grace and etiquette. And a Fire Lady should, above all, respect her husband for he is the Nation, our Honor and our Lord.” Those words echoed in her head as she stared at the silky red gown on her bed. She reached forward and picked the delicate gown. "This is it” She thought, it was the last night before the real thing; the official announcement of her engagement with Zuko. “Is this what being the Fire Lady feels like?” The thought haunted her as she laid down the red gown over the bed again, straightening the creases of the silk. Is not that she was unhappy, but she was definitely uneasy, something about this felt off, and she couldn’t put her finger on it. Before Katara knew it, she found herself wandering nearby one of the garden’s biggest ponds, looking at the reflection of the moon on the still water.

“Can’t sleep?” Katara looked around, not really surprised “Are this things always this complicated here?” she asked. Sokka walked out of the shadows of the garden’s hallway and walked towards Katara, they sat by the edge of the pond. “Well, apparently firefolk like their fancy ways too much and have to do everything big and exaggerated, you know. But, you gotta admit this is unprecedented sis, after all, how many times has a Fire Lord married someone form outside the Fire Nation? Or an ambassador from another Nation?” “Right” Katara smiled as she leaned to Sokka’s side. She let out a sight. Sokka rubbed her shoulder tenderly, his eyebrows frowning slightly when his sister smile dropped to fine line “…Are you having second thoughts about this?” Katara straightened up immediately, her eyes opening wide “What? Sokka! No, of course not“ “Hey, don’t look at me like that! You’ve been acting weird lately, you can’t blame me for worrying” Ugh Katara rested her head on her knees, grunting. She just couldn’t make sense of it. She was so sure this is what she wanted, after years of traveling together, fighting together, flirting, secret relationships and an outrageous public announcement of their status as a couple, she thought marring Zuko would feel right. She wasn’t really having cold feet, was she?

“Hey, hey– Katara! There’s smoke coming out of your ears, you’re overthinking this” Katara turned her face to the side, cheek squeezing against her knee. “I… I don’t know what’s bothering me so much. I don’t want to get cold feet Sokka, I love Zuko” Sokka scratched his chin, as if he was thinking hard.

“Well, if you’re not sure about this whole thing, we can still make a run for it. I can create a diversion” “Sokka!” Katara slapped her bother’s arm and giggled —when was the last time she even laughed?— “You know I can make some mean stinking bombs, and we can take Zuzu if you want, you know, make him take some forced vacations. He probs needs them anyway” “Yeah, sure Sokka. We’ll just bomb the announcement, probably causing caos, making a huge drawback in the Water Tribe and Fire Nation’s relationship and then kidnap the Fire Lord. Solid plan.” They laughed. Katara sure missed this, just laughing with her brother, may be later going around helping Aang, visiting Toph and getting to kick some ass along side Zuko, like the old days.

Sokka whipped a tear from his eyes “Aw man, it sure is hard the Royal Life, uh?” “Yeah” Katara laid back, feeling the moonlight soak her in light “I guess I’m afraid that I’m not cut for this fancy life, you know?” “Actually, I don’t Katara. I’m not the one who’s been living in a palace for the past year” “But it’s not usually this hard Sokka. Or at least, it didn’t used to, this whole week —since we announced we wanted to get married to the council— has been about Fire Ladies do this, Fire ladies do that, you have to wear this, blah, blah, blah” Now she was gesturing, voice getting louder “We’ve had three, Sokka, three rehearsals for the announcement, can you imagine how the wedding’s gonna be like then?” “—Yeah, fucking nuts” “Exactly! I don’t— I don’t know if this is what I want! I mean, I want Zuko, but, I’m not sure I want to be The Fire Lady” Katara let her arms fall loose at her sides. So this was it, this is what has been troubling her. All this week has been about making her fitting of the Fire Lady name, learning how to stand, how to sit, where to walk, how to talk, how to dress and even how do her make up, as if she were hiding herself underneath all those red silky robes and coats of light powder to make her skin fairer. As if being Katara wasn’t good enough to be the Fire Lady. Katara closed her eyes, forcing the tears to stay put, she breathed in… May be she should put a stop to this, for now. Talk to Zuko, he’d understand, and since they haven’t announced it yet it wouldn’t be much trouble for the council. May be it was time for her to go back home, for a while. Zuko would be hurt, sure, but she needed to think this though better. She needed–

“Then don’t” Sokka’s voice interrupted Katara’s thought, her train of thought disappeared and it took her a moment to understand what her brother was talking about. “What? What do you mean don’t?” Sokka put a hand over his chest dramatically “Wow Katara, may be being inside this fancy walls has been affecting you” he deadpanned. “Look, you’re not getting into this to become the Fire Lady –that’s just colateral damage of loving fire boy I guess– You’re marrying Zuko because you love him, right? End of discussion. I mean where’s that sister of mine who literally fought the patriarchy and kicked Grandpakku’s ass? Where’s the Katara that pulled the Water Tribes closer than ever and put a stop to the nonsense and prejudice of our tribe and the Fire Nation? The first female water bender master recognized by all nations, the Katara I know? C’mon, after saving the world and putting it pack together, facing a little traditionalist Nation should be an easy thing for you, honestly”

Katara looked at her brother in disbelief, sure, it has been almost a decade since they fought Ozai and tried to bring balance to the world again, but sometimes she still forgot how much Sokka and herself had gone through, how much that experience had made them grown since they first left the Water Tribe all those years ago. Katara smiled and Sokka put his arms around his sister, softly petting her hair "Don’t let them bully you into being what they want, just be you” Katara cried a single tear of relief, and thanked her brother. “Sokka, about that diversion…"

———————————————

They had finally stopped pulling her hair. Granted, her thick, brown southern-tribe waves of hair are not easy to tame, but boy did this Fire Nation girls try. They had been at it for at least an hour. Now it was only about one and a half more hours to style it and do her make up, then she’d be ready to get into the four layered red gown sitting on her bed. “Breath Katara, just breath” She thought to herself; she had to control her temper, after all, she had a plan and she did not sleep two hours to let it out of the window because she couldn’t sit still, for the fourth time in a week, as they finished her “proper Fire Lady look”.

When Katara was finally ready, she asked the styling group and dressing helpers to go to the party, she’d be in the main hall in a few minutes. After the door closed Katara quickly locked it and went to looked in her desk, finally finding the small letter her father had sent her with Sokka: “I’m sorry I can’t be there this time, but I’ll make sure to be there for the real thing. Gran Gran would have liked to give you this herself. I had to have it altered, but I hope you’ll still like it like you used to. You’ve always been a smart girl, and I’m proud to see you become a wonderful woman, intelligent and strong. We could not have a better person representing the Water Tribe out there to the world, a true warrior of our clan with a wise mind and a big heart. I love you and I’m so proud of you Katara, your mother would be so proud. We are all so proud of you. We’ll see each other soon, Dad.” Katara pressed the letter to her chest tightly, her resolution only growing stronger “Yeah, I'll see you soon, Dad” Katara took a deep breath and whispered to herself “Lets do this” as she peeled off the layers of red clothing and looked for the package in her old traveling bag.

————————————————

Katara was thirty minutes late, but Zuko tried not to think of it, nor did he wanted to excuse his future fiancé’s tardiness with the grumpy council elders again. He just focused on Sokka’s stories –quite popular with the bored crowd– and Aang’s air bending tricks. This had been a very stressful week for both of them and he didn’t wanted to end it badly with a fight and ruining the engagement party over such a petty thing. So what if he was stood up in front of 500 important guests, right? ...May be he should check if she was fine. May be.

Just when Zuko was wondering where the maidens he sent to check up on Katara were, the hall’s doors opened, and with a gasp the crowd split, making room for the lady walking through.

Zuko was in awe, he didn’t even notice the council’s members jaws dropping and their reddening faces, nor their questions “What is the meaning of this?”

Katara looked incredible; in the red of sea, she stood up in a long gown with different shades of blue, with touches of purple and white, traditional of the Water Tribes. Somewhere on the back of his mind, Zuko thought it must have been altered to fit better for the hot Fire Nation spring, with no sleeves, full of intricate decorations and fur in strategic places, but he didn’t really care. He was transfixed by the way Katara moved: she was taking powerful strides, unlike the short and soft steps the aristocracy girls are taught, head held high and her hands joined to the front. Her voluminous wavy dark hair was half up in an intricate pattern of braids with accent accessories holding it together. Her brown skin was practically glowing, free of any trace of make up and whitening powder that dulled the rich color.

Without noticing, Zuko walked towards Katara, and met her half way though the hall. Only when Zuko reached for Katara’s hand did he notice the redness in her cheeks and the subtle tremble of her hand. “Kata–“ “Sorry–“ she said almost breathlessly “Let me say something first” Katara cared her throat and turned to the guests, without letting Zuko’s hand go.

“Thank you all for being here today. My apologies for the tardiness, but there has been a mistake” Zuko’s heart skipped a beat, Katara’s hand tightened around his own “I presume that the reason most of you think we are gathered here today is because I am to become, officially, the future Fire Lady. But that is not the case” Katara made pause to steady herself, the crowd was already whispering among themselves “In the past days I have been taught how to become the perfect Fire Lady, worthy of the Fire Lord, but the reason I am here today is not to announce my marriage to the Fire Lord, but to ask Zuko, the man I am in love with, the man I want to be by my side for the rest of my life, to marry me.” Katara looked around to the crowd, making sure everyone was listening “I want to make clear that, despite that I know that by teaching me your ways you only mean the best for your Nation and your Lord, but this is something else. Today I am not sanding here as an ambassador. Today I am standing here as myself, and I want you to know that the person I choose to love will not determine how or who I am, because, above all, before any kind of Lady, I am Katara, Water Bender Master of The Southern Water Tribe. And I will be given the respect and place I rightfully deserve in this court for my merits in combat and diplomacy, not as a trophy wife. The fact that the person I love happens to be the Fire Lord is another matter altogether. This said–” Katara turned to Zuko, her hand shaking and her eyes full of resolution “Zuko, I want you to know that this is in no way for diplomacy, and I am going to ask you this not as the Fire Lord, but as a man. I love you, like I never thought I could love anyone. We’ve been though so much, good and bad. We come from different paths, opposite sides of the world even, but somehow we always found our way to one another in the end, and that’s how I want us to be for the rest of our lives, together. I don’t know if this royal life is for me but I love you and I will take everything that it means to be your wife with open arms, even if it means to be the Fire Lady. I can’t promise I will be the perfect one, I know I’m stubborn and loud and bossy, but I’m also a water bender master, and if water can do something, is to flow and adjust. So, if you–“ Katara stopped for a second, lowering her eyes as she cupped Zuko’s hand with both her hands. She was shaking "If– If you, want to, would you, marry me?” Only then did her eyes look at Zuko’s again, her hands receding, leaving a necklace into Zuko’s hand. He looked down, the necklace was similar to Sokka’s bone necklace, but this one had black stones instead of the white bone. And in the center it had a deep blue rock, perfectly polished, with a symbol he knew only too well in the center; Katara had once show it to him, it was a symbol for the tides in her tribe. It meant the push and pull of the ocean and the moon, the give and take, two forces working together in harmony, both so different, but always in sync.

Before Katara could put her hands away Zuko reached forward, gently pulling her close. He placed the necklace back on Katara's hand “…May be you can help me put it on?” Katara chocked up a laugh —or was it a sob?— and reached forward, locking the necklace snuggly around her fiancé’s neck. She let her hands rest on his chest for a few seconds as she looked at her work. The choice of colors had been right, the dark stones didn’t clash with Zukos usual red clothes and matched his skin nicely, but the necklace still had a very Water Tribe air she was very proud of. She’d have to thank Aang again for staying up all night helping her make the necklace, she wouldn’t have been able to make it without him.

Slow clapping started filling the room. Some of the elders still looked in shock, some even angry. Zuko and Katara would deal with them later, now it was all about them and celebrating.

#zutara week 2017 #zutara week #zuko #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #i was ready i promise #but life got in the way #so here i am posting this late #i wanted to make a comic of it #but it was to fucking long #be gentle pls I'm not used to writing #fire lady

[lazyladyworld]

You know what? I’m gonna say it here, I don’t give a fuck

Ok so, I was in a “abusive relationship” and quite recently i broke up with him. This is gonna be a long post so TL;DR in the end.

I’m putting in quotations abusive cuz he never beat me or abused me physically, just mentally, being a manipulator.

He at first started messaging me a lot, and by a lot I mean it was taking 50% of my phone battery life just because of his texts. Every fucking 10 minutes tops he texted saying “what u doing? Who u with? What u talking about?” Or “I’m doing this, I’m doing that”.

At first u think, ok, cute but a bit too clingy, but u go “whatever, he will give me a break after this high of ‘we just started dating’” but that didn’t happen.

I told him to “slow down, keep calm, u going too fast” and once i simply said “jesus fuck just shut up for a second”. Which he didn’t like, and told me that “it hurt his feelings” and that he “didn’t deal ok with yelling” even tho he yells at everyone and everything.

It was ok at first, lovey dovey couple, first few months and all, and then, a few things happened:

We used to work together and it was getting extremely overwhelming and extrapolated my boundaries of “it’s getting too toxic working for this boss who lies and gets the credits of my work and even belittle me in front of everyone like I’m just a doormat”. And after talking to my parents, who I’m lucky and grateful for them, I quit it and went to stay home doing house chores, taking care of my baby dogs (pics) and focusing on my college work. (I live in Brazil so college and student loans are different here, just pointing out)

Aren’t my puppies cute? The one on the right is Bebê and the one on the left is Dudu. Both brothers and at the time of writing it, both 1 year old.)

Now that i fangirled over my puppies, here we go.

Since i decided to focus on my college life while trying to find a new job, i tried to review a few of my “old” dreams, as in “My dream since 15 y’o wanting to study abroad plan has been reopened”. And i started to look a bit into it, but more into finding new things to do like drawing and exercising, having fun and some time for myself.

Now you think as u read this (it’s 00:50 am right now), “but I don’t understand why u telling this info, whats ur point?”

The point is for u to know that I wanna have a future as a woman who lived the fullest of my choices and studied what I loved and did what I loved. This is the dream my mom had before she had me and it’s a dream she wants me to fulfill. Again, I’m thankful for both of my parents who have been supportive over my college choices and my choices of my future. I really wanna point it out.

And i had been holding this ideia for a while and I thought: I should let my boyfriend know, this is the plan of my future.

So we were 7 months into dating, he can take the news. But then I didnt say it, i held it cuz “some things came up” and we couldn’t talk and when I had the opportunity once again to tell him, he dodged anything so we didn’t have any kind of strong conversation.

I have been thinking of breaking up a few times by then because of boundaries that he didn’t respect. Like texting at 5:30 in the morning or in the middle of class at night, or when I didn’t answer the phone he tried to guilt trip me into being with my phone almost shoved into my eyes. And if u think “he just being trying to make u happy by waking up in the morning with cute or funny message” no, it wasn’t. He texted me to tell me his sister was being an asshole to him, his bus/train was late or anything trivial, but if it was 1 message, I would still be saying “nah, it’s ok, it’s not that bad” but waking me up at 5:30 with 7 text messages of “my sister has been a bitch” and then at 5:50 “im getting on the train” and then at 5:54 “just got into the wrong train”, “silly me”, “I have to pay more attention” and no joke, it was every god damn day like that.

This is a personal story, I’m just venting so, again, sorry for being long.

I became tired the more he did it, even tho I told him, many times, stop texting me a thousand times about 1 thing u can text once. And he heard for 1 day.

And then after 9 months of me saying “dude, chill” and him being a paranoid man and not knowing boundaries, I tried being a good person and say “we can work this out, we can do this”, but it was starting to become too much.

And I was feeling pressured every single time he said “but our kids in the future, our future, our everything, our our our”, I noticed it wasn’t “our” it was his. “His kids, his future, his house”. And I snaped and said “I have to tell u something. I don’t want any kids.”

I don’t want to have kids of my own for many reasons, but it’s not this detail u should focus. I will paint a picture:

Imagine going up the subway staircase and u look at the guy who u are tired of hiding “I don’t want to do something u want because reasons that should be respected” and him stopping holding ur hand, dropping his face and saying “u just destroyed my dream”.

HIS DREAM????

HIS FUCKING DREAM???

At that point I became tired of that and said “what the fuck u mean ur dream, it’s my god damn body, if I even wanna change fucking sex and become a man, u should either say ���I understand” and keep dating or say “I understand” and break up with me. I would be fine with that.

BUT TELLING ME THAT I DESTROYED UR DREAM BECAUSE I DECIDED I DIDNT WANNA HAVE KIDS, THATS THE EPITOME OF FUCKING REDFLAG.

But what did I do? I tried to explain why, saying all kinds of stuff until he would look at me again as a human being, not a fucking “body to fuck and make litle humans”.

Since I was on a roll I said “and I also decided I wanna study abroad after college and do (insert subject that I chose)”. He couldn’t even look at me straight, just looking “pained” like I had broke his 3DS or erased his gaming safe with +300h. Then he said the last thing u can say to me:

“Your mom is making ur head.”

Anyone who knows me in person, knows I’m a hardheaded person, who will do thousands of research just to be right and prove u are telling the truth or lying through ur teeth.

Tho he was not exactly wrong either. Someone indeed was making my mind, but it was him, not my mom, and when i said “this is my future and it’s decided” he wasn’t happy I didn’t make him my “priority”.

I became angry and said “would u like to change what u said?” As in “repeat what u said so i can justify breaking up with u”. And he must have noticed my change in my voice and said “it’s not what I meant, what i mean was” and started with his manipulation once again.

After 2 weeks or so of that, I called my best friend (V for reference) and said “I need to talk to u about something” and she said “where is the body? U want me to hide it?” This is how u know they are at ur side. And after i met her at a restaurant, she told me what was up with her, i told her what was happening to me, and she helped me pinpoint how abusive emotionally he was being.

I then went to class in which i prepared to do college work and talk to another friend (L for reference) to keep my head occupied while I thought, how should I break up with him. He then texted me at 8pm asking what V and I talked about and since I was more focused on the class and I was nervous about doing a presentation, I simply said “we talked some girl talk, between just us girls”, but that didnt cut it for him. I said I was focusing on my presentation and I had to go and he said “ok”.

(Side note: it’s 1:37 am and I’m trying not to laugh at hearing my mom snoring at the other room.)

After 2h30 of just talking about the project and the presentation, everyone decided to call it a day and everyone went home.

And I got a text saying “I’m tired of not being ur priority, of u not telling me what is going on and hiding things between ur girlfriend private and not caring about me.”

His text was huge and I had to calm myself down and call a cab to go home cuz I just couldn’t even walk properly. L was with my phone, sent him a message letting him know that im not ok and he should step aside and let me breathe, tho while she texted, he kept calling and calling until she picked up and said “stop calling, ffs” snd he saying “u are destroying this relationship, I hope u know that.”

After she said “shut up I’m taking her home”, he texting “ok”, 15 minutes into the uber, I get a call from my mom, at 11pm. My stomach became strange and I thought “my familia is not ok, or my grandparents are not ok”, but it was her telling me he called her, desperate asking where I was.

I became pissed off to the point of no return. Told my mom to black him and that i was gonna get home in 20min. I got there in 10 minutes and immediately got a call from him. And before I got even a word in he started saying “I’m sorry I know I screwed up and I’m sorry” and i said:

“Stop, we are not happy, what where u even doing, why even try? Not like this”

And then he took himself to the memory land and started to say “I know i I can change, give me a chance”

“No.”

Just “no”.

And when I said I was tired of doing his life for him, that he didn’t accept my decisions. We just have to stop.

He then asked for 2 weeks of thinking of everything, but my mind was set. And I didn’t change my mind. The week was supposed to be radio silent, no talking from both ends. But of course, he couldn’t just leave me be, he texted saying “I wanna talk this week, I have been thinking and I know we can still be happy.” And I said “ok, let’s talk, but in public, with V by my side.” He tried to say no, “for us to reconsider, since it was the biggest fight and we deserve a new beginning.”

He then next day texted “oh my sister is gonna pick my stuff at ur house Saturday. And i said ok, whatever coward.

Then I had to take my pets at the vets to see how they were and was pissed cuz he was trying to be “lol idgaf im edgy”. I texted him saying at 15h I will be leaving, ur shit is gonna be at a bag with the doorman at my apartment. He could have burned my shit, I wouldn’t give a shit.

Saturday passes, Sunday arrives and i go out with V and I laugh about everything that has happened. Then I got a text from mom saying “HE went to pick up, expecting to see u, tried to talk to me, and I simply said ‘good day’”.

I got back a few hours later, played video game and talked to my mom about how ridiculous all of this was, and went to sleep, until the next day I wake up and felt light, happy, joyful and great.

Everything was perfect, I was doing my stuff, had a bit of fun cooking and spet time playing with my puppies, until 6pm, which is the time I usually leave to go to college, I got an email from him, since I blocked him everywhere else. Asking me to go back to him, he wasn’t fine and all those things u come ti recognize after the first signal of manipulation, and as I read, I laughed at it all.

He even accepting V being with us while we talked on a public place. I got tired at some point of the “please let’s get back together”, went to class and texted my friends the email. We talked and laughed at it and I said that his window of opportunity closed after all this “we are made for each other, I know we can be happy again”. He had denied me having a friend with me to talk to him before, now I don’t want to see his face, simply because I can choose to.

I sure hope he findes someone who can be his better half, but not me. And I hope he forgets about me, or at least back off. It came to the point of ridiculousness.

I now am gonna leave saying I dodged a bullet and never again make the mistake to ignore a bunch of red flags.

TL;DR mentally abusive ex was being a bitch and I noticed and said “enough is enough”.

#personal story #long text post #long post #personal post

[langedeversailles]

Safe Haven: A MonChevy Ficlet

Please read the tags before reading.

Philippe squinted ahead as daybreak burned the horizon. His breathes came in hushed pants as he kept moving forward through the forest. The thin trees stood tall and densely packed together, and the soft wet ground was like dirt sand beneath his boots. He stepped over a tree root as he heard the birds calling. To his right, and just a pace or so behind, Le Chevalier walked in numb silence. Philippe did not look back, but instead focused his eyes forward and to the direction of hope.

There had been word several weeks ago that a safe haven had been built in Honfleur. His brother had stubbornly refused to leave his beloved palace, and had been quick to assure everybody that Versailles was impenetrable. Safe.

Philippe did not allow himself to think of his brother now. He pushed forward, focusing on staying on course, and surviving. He did not look back at the burning remains of Versailles. He did not acknowledge the smell of burning flesh that hit him like a punch in the gut.

A mangled howl had Philippe and Le Chevalier come to a stop. Heart pumping faster, and senses peaking to high alert, Philippe scoped the land before them for a sign of the beasts. Beside him, he could feel Le Chevalier tense, and fear ignite in the wide eyes.

“Sire, we must evacuate,” François-Michel le Tellier said as he crowded the king, slightly out of breath after bursting into the meeting with news of Paris falling.

“No,” Louis had said firmly, with a touch of the petulant tone he had used so often when Philippe and he had been children. “We will remain in Versailles. I will not be driven from my home.”

François-Michel’s eyes lowered immediately to the ground, and the king took it as a victory of his established authority. Philippe saw it as the terror in the advisor’s eyes as realization sunk in that their king was dooming them all to a painful death. The large man walked off, quickly pulled into an urgently whispered conversation with several other men. Their gazes darted periodically to the king.

“Brother,” Philippe started, voice carefully light. Stubborn blue eyes flicked to him before going back to the window that they had been staring out. “Perhaps it is wise to listen to them?”

“I will not change my mind.”

“The reports –“

“Are brought in by traumatized men that rave about beasts that cannot exist,” Louis interrupted. “They cannot be trusted, and I am surprised at you for being so quick to fall for their lies.”

“But if –“

“Versailles is the safest place in France.”

“And Honfleur?”

His brother did not reply. Philippe watched as his eyes scrutinized the gardens, and he could see the smallest flicker of doubt in them. Not that his brother would ever admit to it.

“They say they���ve built a safe haven there. One specifically in response to this…” Philippe searched for the right word, but found none. “It’s a refuge for all,” he said instead, carrying on as he tried to ease his brother into understanding that he is wrong to order them to stay like pigs for a slaughter. “We could leave immediately, and –“

“And what?” Louis asked, turning to face him. His face was shadowed in anger and he was almost vibrating with intensity. “Leave Versailles to fall? Leave France to fall?”

“You are France. What do we do if you fall?”

“That’s why there’s an heir,” Louis answered, and turned back to the window.

Philippe watched in shock, waiting for his brother to say something. Anything else. Instead, Louis watched the gardens again in stony silence.

“You’re stubbornness is going to kill us all. Your heir included.”

Louis did not reply, and Philippe did not wait to see if he eventually would. He stormed from the room, ignoring the worried faces of the nobles and servants in the palace. If noticed some of the women crying over letters clutched in their hands with blood droplets smearing the words, he did not act on it.

Stepping over a fallen tree, Philippe drowned out the wails of the dying. His jaw was tight, aching with the intensity that he locked it. His right foot came down on a fallen branch and snapped it with a reverberating crack. Le Chevalier nearly jumped out of his skin.

Philippe did not comment on it. He kept moving. He kept pushing the howling out of his mind. He pushed away memories that threatened to claw their way into his mind and drown him. He refused to think about anything other than the sanctuary that awaited them.

A blood-curdling scream ripped from someone far away.

“I think they’re close,” Alexandre Bontemps whispered with his head pressed against the door to the king’s chambers. His harsh breathing drowned out anything he could really hear, but he strained his ears to try to pick up the sounds in the palace. “They’re coming,” he said. “What do we do, your majesty?” he asked as he turned around quickly and looked at his king.

Louis was sitting on the floor, his back resting against the end of his bed. He must have been freezing without either his coat or waistcoat, and drying blood soaking his right side. The contrast between the dark dry blood and the shining red blood that covered his clothing, his hands, and marked the side of his face, was startling.

Philippe wondered if the mutilated body of Fabien Marchal still lay in the main hall, or if it had been devoured yet. The gardens of Versailles were watered with blood, the walls of the palace streaked and dripping with it, the grounds decorated with entrails of the people that once inhabited the epitome of nobility and luxury that was the king’s prideful home. Philippe’s morbid musings were interrupted by the shuddering wet attempts to breathe by the Marquise de Montespan.

Whether his brother heard her or not, he couldn’t be sure. Louis had been staring with dead eyes at a spot on the wall for what felt like an eternity. He had not spoken since they’d dragged his mistress’s body into the room to die beside her king.

“We have to get out,” Bontemps said. “We have to do it now while we still have the chance.” He came to crouch in front of his king, watching for a sign of consciousness or life, but the king showed neither. “What do we do, sire?” Bontemps asked again, desperation oozing from him as blood oozed from the Marquise de Montespan’s neck. “Sire?” He prompted frantically. “Orders, sire? Orders!” he half yelled.

Beside Philippe, Le Chevalier flinched at the volume. He was pressed against Philippe, their thighs touching lightly, making Philippe feel each tremble that coursed through his lovers’ body.

Philippe did not offer him comfort because there was nothing for him to say. He instead turned his head to look at his brother. His brother who was an empty shell, numb and lost. He wasn’t sure if his thoughts were racing or if there was nothing at all in his elder brother’s mind, but he realized it did not matter.

He looked to Bontemps. The man looked at his king utterly lost. The look was as clear as anything: he did not understand. He did not understand how his king, who had always been so authoritative when it came to decisions for the good of his country, his people, his home, was unresponsive. He did not understand why his king had not moved for hours, or why his pale face, streaked with drying blood, did not acknowledge the dying woman lying against the wall several feet away. He did not understand how his king could not care about his country falling. He did not understand that his king was broken.

His king was no longer a king at all, for who is a king without a people to govern?

Louis had spent his entire life being told who he was, and who that meant he had to become. He had spent his entire life being The King of France. He knew nothing but his duty to his country and his responsibility to lead. He was never a man, but always a king. Louis didn’t know who he was if not a king. He had never the reason to find out. So who was he now that he was no longer the king?

He was a man that had lost everything. A man with no identity. He had no hopes. No dreams. No idea who he was or how he would figure it out. He had no desire to find out. He tied himself so fully to his identity as the king. He was France. And France was lost. So who was he? What was he?

The man Bontemps was looking for would never be found. What sat before them all was a defeated and hollow shell of a man that had once been King Louis XIV, the sun king. The light for France to follow. Now there wasn’t even a flicker of it. Louis XIV was dead. The bloodied and broken man that sat in his chambers and wore his clothes didn’t even resemble the person he once had been.  

Louis’s lifeless gaze stayed on the wall. The only sign of life being the slow rise of his chest as he breathed.

Bontemps accepted this reality with a stagger backwards. Emotions flicked across his face so fast that it was a blur of facial ticks. When his gaze turned away from the lost king, they caught Philippe’s.

A silent conversation that lasted less than a second passed between them. An understanding and an accord was struck as they both admitted to each other, though not aloud – never aloud; not even to themselves – that the king was not fit to lead. And more importantly, Philippe was.

Pushing himself to a standing position, Philippe ignored the flinch of Le Chevalier as his lover was jolted from his own fear-clouded thoughts. He felt his eyes follow his every move, confused and scared as he clung to Philippe’s existence like he’d crumble to nothing without it.

“We need to get out into the gardens,” Philippe stated, keeping his voice low.

The sound of destruction and death had been steadily getting louder as the time went on. As the cries of those still alive in the palace as their hiding places were found managed to penetrate the room every so often, their chances of escape dropped further and further.

A thud rocked the bowl of fruit on the table, and the crash of shattering glass echoed in the palace. Philippe did not need to see it to know that the Hall of Mirrors was no more. His gaze was drawn to his brother instantly, but there was not a single piece of acknowledgment on his face. Staring, eyes glazed, ahead of himself as everything fell apart around him.

“If we can make it into the woods, we can stay under cover and climb the trees if we need to. I can get us to Honfleur,” Philippe said, moving further into the room. “We cover each other’s blind points, and we stick together. Follow every order without question, and we can make it,” Philippe finished, sounding more confident than he felt.

As he strapped three guns to his person, hoping to god that they had gunpowder in them as there was none in the room, he heard the strangled wet distressed gasp for air from the Marquise de Montespan, and froze. Five vain attempts to fill her lungs came in quick succession. A ruined sob came from her lips as she cried at the failure to breathe. The sob turned sickeningly wet as blood bubbled up from her throat and chocked her again. Bontemps no longer rushed to her side to aid her, as there was no hope. The understanding of his lack of action caused another sob to break out of her throat against her body’s wishes, and it quickly turned into a garbled blood bath.

Louis’s head lolled to the side, his eyes traveling slowly away from his wall to look at her body, soon to be corpse. She had been wearing a light colored dress today, but the original color was lost to the soaking of blood. Slashes across her abdomen, thigh, and neck were gushing blood and what had been brilliant red that oozed from between her lips was darkening to almost black as it pooled in her mouth and choked her again and again. Some would call it a miracle she hadn’t died yet. They would be wrong. With this type of death, it was a curse to have the end pulled so far away. Her open eyes, with a continuous flow of tears burning hot down her cheeks, were on Louis.

Philippe would have shot her hours ago if it weren’t for the sound of the gunshot alerting the beasts to where they were.

Louis turned his head back to face forward, and his eyes found the same spot on the wall just as slowly as they’d left it.

“Get as many supplies as you can,” Philippe said, breaking the silence. Bontemps moved to comply, as did Le Chevalier.

Philippe was tightening his belt after he slipped in a small knife – not that it would do anything against the beasts, but any weapon was better than no weapon – when the loud clattering came from the corner of the room. His attention snapped up to see Le Chevalier staring at a wobbling silver bowl on the ground. His hands were shaking.

Philippe walked over slowly, watching his lover’s state and trying to gauge what had happened. Le Chevalier had been silent almost as long as his brother, but he still had life. He kept himself as close to Philippe as he could, as if a reminder to them both that they were still breathing was enough to keep hold of sanity. He wasn’t wrong.

As he approached, Philippe realized that Le Chevalier was not staring down at the bowl, but a single pastry that had fallen, it’s sugar-sweet face down onto the floor just beside the bowl. Philippe’s eyes took in the items on the table in front of his lover, and saw his own small lace handkerchief, something he had given to Le Chevalier that morning without a thought and without meaning, containing several more of the same pastries. Philippe looked back to his lover, and watched as a tear dropped silently down onto the ground, barely missing the fallen pastry.

A shuddered breath came from Le Chevalier, and Philippe came to a stop in front of him. He tried to think of something to say. Anything to stop Le Chevalier’s tears. He wished for something to tell him what the right thing to whisper to him was. He tried to think of a speech, or even a single phrase that would make it better, but it had never been Philippe that was so talented with speeches. His brother was the one who could talk anyone into believing whatever he had to say. No matter how mad, and to whisper an assurance of their survival was mad, but Louis would be able to do it.

Without his brother’s talent, or even his brother’s guidance to seek, Philippe tried to string together something to keep Le Chevalier together. It may have been selfish to be so desperate to stop him from falling apart, but Philippe knew if his lover shattered so would he. Yet, no sentence that came to him was nearly good enough. He opened his mouth to say something anyway. Anything, as long as Le Chevalier would hear him and know he wanted to say what he needed. He would try. He would always try for him.

“I was trying to wrap them up,” Le Chevalier explained, cutting him off before he could even start. Philippe frowned in confusion, and watched as more tears fell to the ground. Le Chevalier’s face was hidden from view as it was tilted down towards the ground, his golden ringlets a curtain over his features. “They’ve always been your favorite,” Le Chevalier said, and Philippe realized he meant the pastries. “I – I thought you’d like them if we stopped to eat something on the way. And we don’t know if they have them at the safe haven, so I thought –“

Le Chevalier’s breath caught painfully, and he broke off abruptly. Philippe felt himself turn ice cold and his heart twist and ach at the sight before him. He watched as Le Chevalier lifted a shaking hand to the handkerchief once more, and attempted to fold it. There were too many pastries in the small handkerchief for it to have enough material to knot. Le Chevalier tried anyway, his numb fingers fumbling as he tried to tie it.

His trembling hand started to shake too hard for him to pinch the material, and the handkerchief fell open. Le Chevalier’s breath caught again, wet with tears. Philippe was aware that the attempts of breathing from Marquise de Montespan had stopped, and it was deafeningly quite in the king’s chambers.

Le Chevalier must have noticed too, as he froze before setting back to his impossible task with urgency. Philippe’s hand slowly slipped to cover his lovers own, stopping the movements. Le Chevalier vibrated in fear. Philippe stepped closer and pulled the hands away. Le Chevalier looked up with red rimmed eyes. Philippe felt his own eyes moisten threateningly as his heart broke that little bit more.

“I’m just trying to take care of you,” Le Chevalier told him. “It’s my job. It’s my duty –  and my honor –  as someone who lov –“ Le Chevalier cut himself off, tears overflowing and his breathing broke again.

Silence passed between them, neither daring to move. Barely to breathe.

“What if we don’t make it?” Le Chevalier asked in barely a whisper.

Philippe moved forward and cupped his lover’s face delicately in his hands. His thumb brushed across the man’s jawline, in the softest caress he could manage. Le Chevalier trembled harder with his touch and his eyes burned bright with fear and tears.

“What if –“

“Shhh,” Philippe hushed him softly, closing his eyes as he touched his forehead against Le Chevalier’s own. He held them there, pushing everything out of his mind and focused on the sensation of being close to his lover. He was thinking about how best to word his next thought when Le Chevalier’s breath brushed across his lips.

“I’m scared,” Le Chevalier whispered, his tears running onto and over Philippe’s hands.

“I’ll protect you,” Philippe vowed in an equal whisper.

“Who’s going to protect you?” Le Chevalier asked, fear seeping into every word at the very thought that unfathomable path lead down.

Against rational thought, and the logical reaction of any human being, Philippe’s reaction was to smile. A genuine smile that cracked his lips and made him look half-mad as he felt his spirits soar. It was the first time he’d smiled in what felt like centuries, and the first time he wasn’t terrified in what felt like longer. Philippe pressed a tender kiss to his lover’s lips.

“We’ll protect each other,” he said against the lips he loved so much that belonged to the man he loved more than he ever thought possible. “We’ll survive this together. And when we do, we’ll have all the pastries we want,” he smiled.

“All of them?” Le Chevalier breathed.

“We’ll have a whole room dedicated to them. Filled to bursting,” Philippe promised.

“Filled to bursting,” Le Chevalier repeated, sounding like he was taking the most important and serious of oaths.

Philippe brushed his lips against his lovers again, swearing to keep all his promises.

Hissing that made skin crawl with revulsion and frigid lead weights appear in ones stomach rolled over them as they walked. Birds no longer sang. Eyes felt like they were everywhere. Watching. Waiting. Hungry, with the dripping blood of their last victim still clinging to their mouths, the stench of rotting flesh and hot blood on their breath.  

Would they be the beasts’ next kill? Would it even wait to kill them before it started its meal? They had certainly demonstrated their prey had no need to be completely dead before they began their feast. Would they even be a meal? Or a kill for sport? To kill was as necessary to these beasts as breathing if the rumors were to be believed. Philippe thought all rumors should be believed about them just in case, as if they’d believed the first rumors all those weeks ago, perhaps it would have been more than he and his lover that were leaving Versailles.

If the beasts were out there or if it was paranoia, they wouldn’t know until it was too late. All they could do was keep moving and try to survive. Philippe had promises to keep.

“Come on,” he said quietly to Le Chevalier, his eyes darting around their surroundings.

He continued walking, heading towards the sun. Le Chevalier was right beside him, their footsteps falling in sync and their shoulders brushing. They didn’t speak. They didn’t look back. They walked towards hope as the world burned.

Together.

#monchevy #ficlet #au #Apocalypse!MonChevy #apocalypse au #philippe d'orléans #le chevalier de lorraine #louis xiv #François-Michel le Tellier #Alexandre Bontemps #Fabien Marchal #Marquise de Montespan #graphic violence #ish #death #dark #trigger warning #probably #violence #description of anyway #fear #paranoia #? #let me know if there is anything else you want tagged #i don't know why i wrote this #it just sort of came to me at 2 in the morning a couple nights ago #and i decided i'd write it down eventually #so here it is #this is my first monchevy fic of any sort #i promise i'm not usually this morbid

[elesianne]

A Silmarillion fanfic

Summary: Not all of the Noldor who rebelled were great lords or warriors. Here we meet one woman who with her family follows Fëanor to Beleriand.

Genre: Gen; Rating: Teenage audiences and up; Warning for blood

Some keywords: flight of the Noldor, Formenos, Alqualondë, Losgar, family, hurt/comfort, canon compliant because the OCs exist between the lines of canon

A/N: Originally posted for Legendarium Ladies April. This is the first part of a longer story that works as a standalone. I might rework and post later parts of this OC’s story later. On its own, this 2,000-word fic shows some of the tumultuous events among the Noldor as seen through the eyes a Noldorin OFC, a seamstress called Alasselië. (AO3 link)

This OC was born out of a desire to examine famous events from the point of view of someone who is neither nobility nor a warrior – after all, most of the Noldor who went to Beleriand were ordinary people, though Tolkien tells us little about them.

Alasselië is close to people in positions of power but she herself has no power over anything except her own decisions, and sometimes not even those. Even so, she encompasses many of the same virtues and flaws as the more well-known, more aristocratic Noldor. I hope you like her; we'll see if I ever get more of her story into publishable shape.

Some quotes about the Noldor that inspired this fic:

‘--- the Noldor advanced ever in skill and knowledge; and the long years were filled with their joyful labours, in which many things new and wonderful were devised.’ (The Silmarillion, p.64)

‘--- the high courage of the Noldor and --- their eagerness and unrest ---’ (The Book of Unfinished Tales, p.296)

*

Eagerness and unrest

I // FORMENOS

When Fëanáro is exiled from Tirion, Alasselië has to choose between her parents for the second time in her short life. Her father Quildalacon, who has served Fëanáro for years as his seneschal, is going to Formenos, but her mother is staying in Tirion.

It is no surprise to her: her parents have been estranged for several years now, and besides, her mother has her workshop, apprentices and clients in Tirion. It is also no surprise that Alasselië's older brother Hendunáron is going to Formenos, as he has been a trusted companion of Fëanáro's eldest son Nelyafinwë for years.

That's what decides it for her. If two of her three family members are going to Formenos, so is she. Her mother Vorondië doesn't approve, but Alasselië doesn't feel too bad about that. She has been both living and working together with her mother ever since her parents separated, and she thinks that a little distance will be good for both of them.

For the large workshop where they both work creating beautiful and luxurious clothes, curtains, tapestries and other textiles for the nobles of Noldor has been feeling too small for the both of them lately. Ever since her mother declared Alassë's apprenticeship over a decade ago, she was supposed to get to work independently. However, it has proved hard for Vorondië to keep her fingers out of her daughter's work and her opinions to herself.

Their differing approaches to their working environment don't help them stay away from discord. Alasselië likes her workspace to be in perfect order, every supply and tool in its own place, whereas Vorondië thrives amidst a creative chaos. There isn't really room for both in the workshop.

So Alasselië goes readily with the rest of Fëanáro's folk. They ride out from Tirion in high spirits though they go into exile, for Fëanáro and his sons are much too proud to do anything else and the rest follow suit. Alasselië rides beside her father and doesn't glance back at the city where she has lived all her life. She is resolved and eager to get a chance to practise her talents independently, and there will certainly be work enough for a skilled weaver and seamstress in Formenos while the new settlement is built and decorated.

*

Life in Formenos is different, even if it is still good. The atmosphere is very different, more focused on work – the crafting of many things, from glittering jewels to fell weapons – and less on courtly affairs, even though the main residents of the stronghold are the king of the Noldor, his eldest son and his grandsons. People are also more serious and there is less laughter than before, especially among the sons of Fëanor who until now had lived a charmed life at the top of society in Tirion.

The one who seems most altered by the change in circumstances is Fëanáro's eldest son who has always felt his station and responsibilities very keenly and seems to have taken his father's exile and the strife among their people more heavily than Fëanáro himself. He is much more serious now, appearing to have moved from a long, gilded youth to adulthood overnight.

But even if he now smiles less often his luminous smile that no one can resist, he is still heartbreakingly beautiful and the epitome of powerful masculinity with his tall form that towers above everyone else, that perfectly proportioned, slender body for which his mother gave him the name Maitimo. And of course those shining, flowing locks of dark red hair that are rare and admired among the Noldor.

Alasselië kicks herself when one day she finds herself listing all of his attractive qualities. She resolves to keep an ever firmer eye on herself to not join the ranks of infatuated girls who stare at Nelyafinwë and by turns giggle and sigh after him. She concentrates instead on enjoying the company of the group of textile artisans that she is part of, and the new friends she has made at Formenos. For here there is still laughter and friendship and pleasure in work well done, in new methods and patterns invented.

*

The next time she has to decide between her parents is much harder, as this time the distance will be vastly greater and there is no guarantee of ever again seeing the one she doesn't choose. Her father and brother are joined in Fëanáro's rebellion and will follow him to Middle-Earth. Her mother is again staying in Tirion, for her heart does not rebel against the Valar so much nor does she long for other lands.

Vorondië begs her daughter not to go, not to leave her again when Alasselië has already been absent for years, not to leave her alone. (For Vorondië knows that she cannot with any amount of pleading persuade her son to not follow Nelyafinwë to whom Hendunáron has been devoted practically ever since the two were born within the same month.)

Choosing is already a heartbreak. Alasselië thinks that it must be part of the darkness that Moringotto brought upon Valinor, for she could not have even imagined such a wicked choice and such anguish of the heart before the light was destroyed. For many days she paces at her mother's house and agonises over her decision while around her the city of Tirion bustles with preparations. Nine tenths of the Noldor are going, among them all of her friends from Formenos and most from Tirion, too.

It is impossible for her to choose which one of her parents she loves more, this she knows of old. In the end, seeing no better way to make her choice, she lets cold numbers choose for her as before. All whom she loves except her mother are going, so she shall go too.

And she does have in her heart a curiosity to see other lands, though she has spoken of it little, and a desire to carve out a place for herself in a new realm like she did in Formenos. She would also do her part, however small, in vanquishing the enemy who darkened her people's home and killed their king.

But it is a bitter thing to have to leave her mother, and Alasselië cries when she tells her, and she cries herself to sleep that night, terrified to leave the only country she has ever known even though she is also excited to see new lands. Yet she is able to gather her courage again by the time they leave: when she rides from Tirion in Fëanáro's host by her father's side once again, she waves at her mother and then does not look back and does not cry.

*

II // ALQUALONDË

She is one of the many who stay behind at camp when Fëanáro goes with the strongest of his host to take the ships of Alqualondë by force. Her brother goes, of course, as Nelyafinwë's right-hand man, and her father goes as well. The swords in their hands gleam with red in the light of torches when they bid goodbye to Alasselië.

It is still a shock when those that stayed behind realise that the taking of ships has turned into fierce fighting, and a coldness fills Alasselië's heart at the thought of her folk slaying their own kin. Yet the cold is nothing compared to how it feels when the first wounded are brought back into the camp. Unaccustomed to seeing violence, all who stayed behind are horrified and disgusted but hurry to help.

Alasselië has no training as a healer, but one of the healers present knows that she is good with a needle and recruits her to stitch up some of the wounded. The first time she feels her needle pierce skin instead of cloth and sees blood welling up around her fingers, slick and warm, she almost throws up. With difficulty she forces the sick feeling away and does as she is instructed. After she's closed the wound and knotted the thread, she runs off and throws up behind a tent, and then goes back and stitches more.

*

'Alassë', says a familiar voice behind her and she turns and sees her brother returned from the battle. 'I'm all right', Hendunáron tells her. 'I'm not hurt. Father's well too.'

She is relieved to see him and to learn that he is unhurt, and she goes to embrace him but as he steps into torchlight she realises that he is covered in blood. It's on his tabard and the mail beneath and on his face, and hair, and hands, and his shield that was bright as sparkling silver just hours ago and is now stained dim.

She takes a step back from her brother, as dear to her as her own heart, the earlier nausea returning as she sees the evidence of him killing their own kin. She can also see in his eyes the familiar fire that their mother named him after, but it is grim and fades away as he watches her face.

'I'm glad you're well', she forces herself to say though speaking is hard. She knows that if seeing him like this is difficult for her, it must be a thousand times worse for him who spilled the blood.

She lifts a hand to touch his cheek to comfort him, and maybe herself, but now he is the one to step away. 'You shouldn't touch me', he says. 'You'll get blood on your hands.'

She glances at her hands that still bear traces of red from the last man whose wounds she stitched up, for she hasn't had time to wash properly. And she touches Hendunáron anyway, a fleeting brush that joins Teleri blood into the Noldor blood on her hand. If he can withstand the blood, so can she. 'Where is father?'

'He got on a ship. Come on, we have to go too, quickly.'

He turns from her to go help the wounded get up and she follows. She still finds it hard to believe that her brother would kill other Eldar, but at the same time she knows that Hendunáron would walk into fire for Nelyafinwë. And their family, her father and brother and herself, are all bound to the fate of Fëanáro's house now, however bloody it may be in the end.

*

III // LOSGAR

In Losgar Alasselië watches the burning boats, and she shivers in spite of the heat of the fire and her heavy cloak and her father's arm around her shoulders. The red-hot flames remind her of the blood in the city of the Falmari. Though the burning swanships light up the ever-night and banish for a moment the darkness that has plagued them since Moringotto's evil deeds, she cannot rejoice in the light.

This new betrayal of their own kin brings back the nausea she felt in Alqualondë and she mutters something to her father, then flees to a remote spot on the cliffs to fight the sick feeling in private.

Many people she knows, some of them her good friends, were in Nolofinwë's host, and now she is sundered from them by an ocean and a betrayal. She'd promised Laniel, a weaver and her closest friend, that she would see her again soon. Clutching Laniel's hand fervently on their last night in Tirion, Alassë  had sworn that she wouldn't let the fact that her own family serves Fëanáro and Laniel's follows Fingolfin separate them for good. Though it is not through her own actions, the promise is broken now.

When Alassë is confident that her mind has regained control of her body she goes to return to the others, but as she turns back towards the sea she notices a man standing alone on the shore. There is no mistaking the tall figure as the flames he is staring at turn his dark auburn hair into a brilliant red-gold.

As she walks back Alasselië goes as quietly as she can and chooses a route far from him, not wishing to disturb. She knows now the pain of grieving for decisions that others have made.

*

A/N: Thanks for reading! I apologise for this being a bit clunky, it's because this is actually one of the first bits of Silmarillion fanfiction that I ever wrote.

EDIT 1st December 2018: There is now a sequel!

#legendarium ladies april #the formatting of this post looks all messed up in my mobile app?? #but it's fine on laptop #so I'm sorry if it's messed up for you too – try non-mobile browser or AO3! #silmarillion fanfiction #tolkien fanfiction #noldor #my fics #alasselië aka merelaineth #eagerness and unrest #darker threads series #elesianne's fics