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idyllic-affections · 8 months

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HI can you do me a favor and help me figure out baizhu?? i love his character but i have never played genshin impact and watching through walkthroughs? yeah no thanks (i mean cmon 48 hour walkthrough JUST for inazuma??

like, his personality and lore? i mean, i'm doing my own research about him rn by reading through the wiki and ill also watch cutscenes later but i just need some insight!! u can 100% just use this to rant about him, i am desperate 💔 how does one write for him!! how do you write for him!? help 😭😭i love him sm i wanna write him AT LEAST a bit accurate to character

if you don't mind of course! feel free to ignore this! take it easy aph, have a great day!!💞💞

aph's baizhu analysis.

hi kaiser hello <333 that is SOOO valid tbh inazuma specifically is a headache for multiple reasons... i think i'm going to watch someone else play the fontaine archon quest (...i did this with baizhu's story quest too LMAO) because i have no genshin motivation, but there are a couple people who are wanting to hear my thoughts about lyney lynette & freminet. THAT'S NOT THE POINT THOUGH I WOULD BE SO DELIGHTED TO HELP YOU FIGURE OUT BAIZHU i love him so much he is so dear to me... as a professional baizhu liker i would be glad to help you out. if you need me to, i can explain anything in more detail! just let me know <33

first and foremost, baizhu is generally a very gentle, benevolent, and patient character. he's got sass to him, but generally is very kindly about everything he does. also my guy is so stubborn. god. he is so stubborn.

^ additionally, he is well-trusted by children because of his soft demeanor. they generally aren't scared of check-ups performed by him.

regarding his stubborness, baizhu tests his own medication on himself. he will also poison himself to gain a better understanding of what poison he's working with. he's stubborn with things like his own health and the way he tests medications.

now, this may be more of a headcanon, but... about baizhu's supposed cowardice. yeah. i don't think that's true. do you know the distinction between being harmless and being peaceful? one who is harmless can cause no damage. one who is peaceful can cause damage, but chooses not to. i believe baizhu is peaceful, not harmless. to me, his supposed cowardice is... not genuine. i don't see it, but this opinion may vary depending on who you ask i think.

he is a good-hearted person canonically...

...however.

bro also, canonically, has shady business practices. i personally write these business practices in a very particular way; that being, baizhu overcharges people who he knows can afford to be overcharged. he overcharges the wealthy.

^ similarly, baizhu may sometimes charge nothing at all. he does this when he knows someone can't afford what they need. he generally does his best to make healthcare accessible. he's so real for that.

this is a little headcanon-y, but baizhu cannot stand people claiming to heal illness through piety and faith. he fucking hates that.

^ that headcanon is based off of the fact that he has legal dealings with yanfei about people selling fake medication and whatnot.

i don't know if you know baizhu's entire backstory yet, but the general idea is that changsheng is something akin to an adeptus and has been making contracts with people to keep herself alive for (presumably) a few centuries.

her power enables her hosts to use what baizhu refers to as a "secret art" to heal folks ailed by anything from injuries to poisonings... but of course, there is a drawback. the user of this art transfers whatever their patient is suffering from onto their own body. this is why baizhu is disabled and chronically ill; he has taken on probably every condition known to man fr but we love him for being so kind.

changsheng can only make contracts with pure of heart people. people who aren't genuinely, truly good literally are not viable for her contract. she will die without a host (presumably because her power is slowly draining and she can no longer sustain herself without the support of another being's life force).

^ going off of that, this is part of the reason why baizhu seeks immortality (and do be sure to remember that his pursuit is not a secret. literally all of liyue knows AJSKSHAKFHF... but do also keep in mind that changsheng's contract is a secret so he doesn't tell people about that part). he doesn't want her to die, but he also doesn't want another person to take up her contract and continue the cycle. i also like to think that he doesn't want to leave qiqi alone but that's just me being insane over dad!baizhu he's so fatherly in my brain please hear me out on this one /lh

to stop qiqi from fulfilling orders, if i recall correctly, someone would have to hug her and tell her they love her the most. baizhu does this, but the effect is greatly diminished when he says it. the only reason baizhu sounds insincere when he tells qiqi "i love you the most" is because he believes every life has equal value. he loves her, but not the most, because he is enamored with life in general. this detail about his character is often the topic of angst in fic, but it's important to remember that baizhu is not incapable of love because of it. he is just... not someone who would put ultimate value on one life, because again, he believes all life has equal value.

yes, he does use qiqi for his own ends and research about immortality HOWEVER. however. he is not neglectful or abusive in any way towards her. he treats her well.

because she is a character closely related to baizhu, here's a little detail for the silly snake: changsheng canonically has no filter. she says whatever the fuck comes into her little brain. she's silly. i adore her. she is not bad though! her intentions are generally good.

baizhu doesn't like taking things from people for free. he has difficulty accepting gifts... which often come from the general population of liyue.

generally, what i find to be helpful when learning to write a new (playable) character is reading their voicelines and lore. reading voicelines can help you figure out any particular speech patterns or diction that characters are inclined towards using!

i promise i am not trying to advertise my fics LMAO but if you need a reference, and you want to see how i write him personally, please let me know! i have a few pieces in which i feel like i wrote him well.

i love when people ask me to help with characterization ausskgkgng so if there's anything else i can do please don't hesitate to say so <3

#aphelion speaks 🌸#genshin impact #baizhu #baizhu gi

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throughtrialbyfire · 8 months

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WIP Wednesday ♥

a HUGE thank you to @dirty-bosmer @v1ctory-or-sovngarde @skyrim-forever and @umbracirrus for tagging me this week!! i appreciate it so dearly, and i hope everyone's having a good wednesday. <3

i'm tagging @aphocryphas @thequeenofthewinter @gilgamish @totally-not-deacon and @thana-topsy !! and of course, anyone who wants to do this and i didn't directly tag, please feel free to say i tagged you! no pressure as always, can't wait to see what you're all working on!

this week, i have two bits to share. one's from Cycle of the Serpent, chapter 18, and the other is a one-shot i'm slowly piecing together about athenath's mother, Lorasephona, and how she met their family friends. i like working on backstory stuff, and i hope you'll all appreciate it, as well!

Cycle of the Serpent - Chapter 18

Wind raked its strong fingers through the plains. He tugged his cowl over his head to escape the sudden chill. The scent of wood-smoke from chimneys perfumed the air, stirring up against the indigo skies. Houses lined one district of Whiterun, businesses in another. A world of grids and winding streets atop rolling hills, with Dragonsreach perched high above it all, the ground it crested like the great claw of one of those heinous beasts. All of it stuck to him, the images of the houses and trees, the stones and the wood posts, the sound of night birds and insects in their natural chorus. At one time, he'd been adrift in the world. At one time, he'd known nothing but long roads and surface-level observations of towns, and here, he became keenly reminded of that life. After all, it was one he'd sunk back into before he'd crossed into Skyrim.

Briefly, he allowed his memories to play out before his eyes as he walked cautiously through the Whiterun streets. He'd made a good living in his travels, selling wares, healing the sick, even tending to ailing animals when called upon to do so. While he'd never called himself a physick, some did. Saving a few lives would do that to a man's reputation.

As he gazed out on the city, passing through narrow streets, his expectations of Skyrim unwound from his tight hand. Did he truly expect Nurelion to drop everything and take him on as an apprentice? He scoffed at it now. Still, it was worth a shot. He did not intend to give up, quite the opposite. But for now, just for now, a larger purpose presented itself in the wingspan of a beast and the path up a mountain.

Purpose. Lives needed no purpose to exist. He'd shake his head and deny it all he wanted, but in the back of the Bosmer's mind, the longing for it remained. To be known, to have his name scrawled across academic papers and his work lauded far and wide, an alchemist who did things none else could do, who created potions none else could make, who had lived and worked with purpose.

He didn't think his life would ever involve dragons, but c'est la vie.

Guards patrolled long into the night, bearing small torches whose flames starved for more oil. One passed him as he approached the temple of Kynareth, turning his metal face to Emeros. He only stopped momentarily to take a look at the Mer, then muttered an apology upon realizing this was one of the Thanes, and marched off into the dark. Emeros wondered what had passed through his mind.

He figured he didn't want to know.

With trepidation carrying his steps, he approached the Gildergreen. The tree startled him in its stark contrast to the land; where the city lived, breathed, and buzzed, this tree was cold, a husk, discarded shell. He scanned the upper branches, peering into the dark, the torches of passing guards giving him enough illumination to glimpse the wooden carcass before him, the warping in the branches, the angles and jutting shards of the once-living center of Whiterun. He found himself on a bench, allowing the night air to take hold of him. He tugged at his cowl like a shield against the withering breeze, a reflection of the week's past events crawling up from the streams of his consciousness. A week, that's all it had been? Disbelief rattled against him, but he shouldered it anyways.

He'd heard whispers of the Civil War. He had only heeded them as rumors, something that would surely not affect him. If he made it to Windhelm, to the White Phial, he would be so engrossed in work and conversations with Nurelion that the war wouldn't brandish a single thought to his neck. He'd been crossing the border, right before dawn, the thick of night's last breath still coating layers of pink against the horizon. He could remember a struggle, words exchanged, something murky in his memory, people in blue and silver mixed frantically with red and brown armor.

Then, he'd woken up in a cart with two other elves, and quite a few Nords.

The shock of the bindings set his nerves alight and he struggled against the tight-bound leather, but Wyndrelis - apathy coating his features, defeat, even - explained that it was no use, that he had already tried. Together, an idea formed, and they attempted to pry the bindings off one another. An Imperial soldier leading another cart observed them carefully, and they realized with dread pitting their stomachs that this was no use.

Then, Athenath, the wide-eyed Altmer awoke. Last to be tossed on the carts. Last to struggle. His fearful gaze grasped each face for a sign of help, from himself to Wyndrelis to Ralof to Lokir. All of these men were certain that they were going to die. Emeros swallowed the fear. He would go to the axe with dignity. Aldmeri pride, perhaps, stemming from his father.

Of course, they wouldn't make it that far. And with their former captor now a possible ally, they'd promised to warn of the dragon, and made their careful way to Whiterun.

Emeros rested his chin in his hands, watching the dim puff of torchlight and smoke, light passing over the houses, Nord architecture steadfast and hardy, stubborn and proud, much like the people inhabiting each home. He thought back on his companions. Wyndrelis, a mage with strange eyes and a calm demeanor. Athenath, a bard with a bright, silvery laugh and a bitter temper.

And of himself? There wasn't much to tell.

One-shot (unnamed atm)

The night threatened to clasp its hard fingers around her. As she was about to give up any chance of finding another living soul in these woods, a torch landed from a tree above her, plotting down into grasses below. She closed her eyes, the image of her surroundings in flames springing to her mind, but when she opened them, she saw nothing but the torch and it's decisively controlled flickering.

"What brings you here, elf?" Came a voice, roughened against and deep inside the throat of the speaker. Lorasephona slashed her gaze through the trunks of the trees, but catching nothing, she turned her eyes upwards.

Concealed in the darkness, an Alfiq, black as night, golden eyes narrowed down at her curiously. The Khajiit swished her tail lazily from the branch she rested, comfortable, it seems. Perhaps she'd been waiting for someone, Lorasephona thought as she backed slowly from the torch. She knew better than to try to defend herself from bandits, it did more good to outrun them, and Lorasephona was a very good runner.

"I don't-" she swallowed the lump in her throat, "I don't know, I'm quite-" she didn't know why she was admitting her situation, but the Alfiq raised her chin, inquisitive in her posture. "I'm lost, dreadfully, and-"

The Alfiq woman put up a paw, silencing the elf. "Mhm," she hummed, rising to her feet, slinking down to a fork in the branches where they thickened against the body of the tree, hunching down, tail swishing down against the bark. "Ka'taaji thinks, perhaps, you are more lost than you dreamed."

Lorasephona knit her brow. "Was that a threat?"

Swish.

"Only if you make it so."

Swish.

Lorasephona frowned, brow knitting. The Khajiit sighed, and with a controlled motion of her paw, the torch levitated. It found it's way to Lorasephona's hand, nervously outstretched, fingers clasping the handle.

"This one has no ill will for you, but… Wary, perhaps. These are unkind lands, and far from home, one must be prepared for whatever comes their way."

The elf nodded slowly, strings of her blond hair curling around her cheeks. The pallor of her face seemed to alarm the small Alfiq momentarily, golden eyes widening. She wiggled for a moment, cautious of the jump, before leaping down into the grass with an elegance and grace that betrayed her possible upbringing, images of wide, sprawling woods and golden-adorned mages of Elseweyr padding around Lorasephona's thoughts.

"Are you ill, elf?" Ka'taaji asked, tilting her head. Lorasephona paused, knitting her brow.

"What do you mean?"

"If the elf girl is ill, Ka'taaji will take her to Dra'khurra. Simple."

She weighed the options for a moment, but lying felt worse in these circumstances. Biting back the urge to say yes, on the off-chance that these people had food and a spare bed, she closed her eyes and ran her fingers through a stray curl at her cheek.

"No, I'm just… I'm not ill."

Ka'taaji waited, but with Lorasephona's refusal to elaborate, she gave a small shrug. After a moment, she turned, the grass prickling under her paws. "Follow this one, you must be hungry. And take care of that torch, Ka'taaji is using much of her magicka to keep it lit."

So it was magic. Lorasephona, confusion matting her expression, decided not to question the Alfiq, and followed.

#tes fic #skyrim fic #skyrim fanfiction #ficblr #tesblr #tes v #bishop.txt #oc ; athenath #oc ; emeros #my writing #cycle of the serpent #oc ; wyndrelis #oc ; ka'taaji #oc ; lorasephona #elder scrolls

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i-did-not-mean-to · 2 years

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Hello, it's me 😈

I came here to ask you to please write that fic - Cyrano de Bergerac style - with this storyline: "Fíli and Thorin getting in a political fiasco over a woman - the advisors choosing a woman for Fí and Thorin starts liking her for himself".

Thank youuu! 💙💙💙 (And please tag me!)

Sincerely,

Lathalea the Enabler 😈

Dear @lathalea, I am sorry to say that this will be in 2 parts (at least)...

So, here we go <3

A queen

Words: 1,6k

Warnings: None

Characters: Thorin x OC

“Don’t you think that’s a bit excessive?” Thorin leaned against the doorframe, watching his sister scribble invitations furiously; the look of ice-cold impatience she threw him chased a shiver down his spine, but he conjured up a half-hearted smirk just to annoy his little sister.

“I’ve given up on you,” she replied acidly, “but I will not let my son dawdle away his best years waiting for the right dam to just fall into his lap.”

The king found that assessment rather unfair and more than just a little insulting; after having healed from his near-fatal wounds, sustained in an epic battle that had rid the earth of Azog once and for all, he had focused all his strength on rebuilding his kingdom.

It was hardly his fault that wooing shell-shocked maidens had not been amongst his highest priorities.

His sister’s amazing battle plan – temerity as well as a dash of foolish hope truly seemed to run in the family – was not exactly confidence-inducing though; she had foreseen to submit her poor son, his heir, to a string of young, to a parade of available maidens in hopes that at least one would catch his eye…and his fancy.

Thorin knew that Fíli was not excessively interested in that kind of proceeding – having taken the boy all the way to Erebor, where he had almost died, had allowed the king to get to know his nephew in ways his own mother could not fathom – but that he’d agree nonetheless to assuage his own guilt; relations had been tense since Dís’ arrival in the ancestral halls of her family.

Of course, she was relieved and happy to see the men she loved most regain their colour and their health, but the long months of doubt and anxiety had worn deep grooves into her fierce heart and beautiful complexion; therefore, the boys were ever eager to make her smile and so was Thorin.

“I shall be in attendance,” he grumbled reluctantly.

“You will?” Her luminous eyes settled on him with that mix of mischievous joy and affectionate mocking that had mellowed his heart countless times in their childhood; she was his baby-sister still and he would have dared much more than to merely accept one boring evening to soothe the burning agony still lingering just beneath the surface. He knew that he had done her wrong when he had risked leaving her life as abruptly as their father and grandfather had, taking her two young sons with him as he fell; until the end of his days, he would carry the memory of her first cry – harsh and wailing as the one a wounded beast uttered before expiring – upon seeing them bandaged and ailing.

“Anything for you,” he assured her and – unable to restrain himself – strode over and pressed an insistent kiss onto the top of her head, hoping she’d read the gratitude in it; he had lost her good graces – even if only temporarily – but never her love, and he would owe her reparations for that loyalty alone until the end of time.

Thorin was bored out of his mind; most of these young dams – paraded like pedigreed beasts – were much more interested in the king’s halls than in the young prince who was still bearing the marks of exhaustion and injury in his sallow complexion and slightly limp posture that was so unlike the vibrant energy he had once been known for.

“What about this one?” Kíli – who could not have been prevented from attending this charade by guards and locks – leaned over and nodded jerkily at a lady who reminded Thorin of a garment washed too often and too vigorously; everything about her seemed somewhat faded and diluted, from her indecisive smile to the mousy brown of her wispy hair.

Fíli made a face before declaring quickly but with little conviction that he was sure that this particular candidate was a lovely, kind, and caring dam; for someone who had stood at death’s door though, she was not invigorating enough by far to stand any chance of dispelling the tenacious shadow of gloom dogging their every step. Not like the young woman probably already waiting for him in the stables; impatience started needling him and he waved the dam aside with a harsh fluck of his wrist.

Just when they were about to give up on their unsuccessful scheme though, the door was flung open and a last dam hurried in; her hair – of a charming strawberry blonde that shimmered with echoes of copper and gold as she moved purposefully to catch up with the end of the line – had partially escaped the simple bun at the nape of her neck, and her dark grey eyes flashed like polished steel as she looked up at the dais, undaunted.

Thorin’s heart gave a small leap at her sight; she was visibly older than most of the others – barely out of their mothers’ arms – and she moved with the self-possessed confidence of a woman who could take care of herself. Even though she was nowhere near traditionally beautiful, her deportment spoke of pride and decisiveness which piqued his interest.

“This one,” he proclaimed sternly, much to the surprise of his family who had not expected him to take an active part in choosing a bride for his nephew.

“I don’t know,” Fíli mumbled, “she looks feisty, and not in the fun way.” He shrugged apologetically, unlike his uncle, he had never intensively thought about what women’s lives had been like in the refugee settlements or in their absence during the quest; his mother had shielded him from the bitter truths as much as possible to keep his childhood and youth unblemished.

Hence, he only saw a dam who looked almost angry at being ushered forth in so dispassionate a manner; his thoughts were oriented towards the future and this lady’s mind and soul seemed veiled in the frayed raiment of a bitter past. From the archaic and simplistic garments on her back to the stubborn set of her full mouth, she radiated a hardness that did in no way correspond to his desire for rejuvenating growth in Erebor.

“She looks too pretty and too old to have wanted a husband and not found one,” Kíli agreed; he was a notorious charmer and would – one day – have his pick among the girls of the realm for, by the time he was called upon to find a wife, Thorin envisioned Erebor to be stable and thriving once more.

“Maybe she had other priorities,” he echoed his own previous thoughts absent-mindedly; he was enthralled by the gravitas of this stranger in whose eyes he read the echo of his own suffering, and he was strangely comforted by her calm gaze meeting his own unflinchingly.

With a shrug, Fíli waved the lady closer and dismissed the others; he did not yet have the courage to tell his mother and uncle that he had already found the woman his favour had settled on, mainly because he was afraid that they’d refuse and reject the truth of his soul in favour of a more advantageous match.

He would play this charade a little longer, he decided, maybe even pretend to be heartbroken in hopes that his misery would mellow their own hearts and minds so that they’d agree to let him court – and eventually marry – the young warrior dam whose riding skills and joyous laughter made his heart soar.

“You shall join us for dinner tomorrow,” Thorin declared imperiously before turning away abruptly when her stormy eyes settled on his countenance once more with a mix of shock and challenge.

Fíli had to ram his elbow into his brother’s side to keep him from looking to and fro between the quickly retreating silhouette of the king and the flabbergasted dam who – just a second too late – curtsied elegantly and retreated as well.

“Hmmm, that went rather swimmingly,” his mother commented in a tone that betrayed her own doubts in regards to what she had just witnessed.

“I guess so,” Fíli replied with another shrug and – the ordeal apparently over – he got up with a hasty explanation that he wanted to go out for a ride to clear his head; in truth, he was about to tackle the second torturous duty of the day: telling the one who held his heart that he – at least on the surface and for all eyes to see – was to court another dam he had no real interest in.

Thorin cursed himself; of course, he had seen that dam before when she and her friends walked around the courtyard, laughing in subdued, pealing voices, but he had never given her a second glance.

He had not sought a bride and he did not want to find one for himself now either, not really, but the mere idea that his foolhardy nephew might ruin her reputation by starting to court her only to lose interest midway angered him more than it should have.

Fíli was a good man, a good prince, and a good nephew; he had learned at Thorin’s elbow, and he would not bring disgrace upon his family.

That had ever been enough, so why did the king doubt him now?

Oh, but she was precious – gleaming and beautiful as a pearl in his eyes – and he didn’t want her to be handled carelessly.

There was but one solution to this dilemma; he would have to guide his nephew in this courtship as he had done with every other skill mastered by the young prince, yes, that was a perfectly reasonable and unselfish plan.

Despite the fatigue weighing heavily on his limbs and minds, Thorin started making a list right away, drawing on court gossip and his own limited experiences with the fairer sex as he chose appropriate pieces of poetry and entertaining activities that he’d chaperone personally…to make sure nothing went wrong.

Indeed, Fíli’s happiness and success were of the utmost importance.

As he lay in bed – too tired to write anymore but too mysteriously miserable to sleep – he almost believed himself.

So there's the beginning of this :D

I hope you've enjoyed this <3

-> Part 2

Taglist:

@laurfilijames, @fizzyxcustard, @linasofia, @myselfandfantasy, @legolasbadass, @midearthwritings, @guardianofrivendell, @mismaeve, @middleearthpixie

#request #IDNMT answers #fanfiction #hobbit #Thorin #thorin x OC #cyrano de bergerac #Fíli #arranged marriage #a dash of romeo and juliet

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yhwhrulz · 1 year

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Today's Daily Encounter Friday, May 5, 2023

The True Rock

For who is God besides the Lord? And who is the Rock except our God?1

In this day and age, when life runs extremely fast and our days get so filled and busy, it is common to hear people say how tired and stressed out they are. Others complain that they have no time to rest or relax. Over the last few decades, burning candles or incense has become a popular method of aromatherapy that creates a calming environment. Recently, in a gift shop, there was a display of colorful crystals and meditation stones surrounding a calming water fountain. The advertisement read "Bring Balance to Your Life and Mind with the Powerful, Healing Energy of Crystals". The crystals claiming to relieve stress and anxiety seemed to be the most popular. The rocks are truly beautiful, and even mesmerizing, as their prismatic colors catch the light. But those who are seeking true healing powers from these crystals are looking to the wrong "rock"!

In Psalm 62, David says that he has found his rest in God and goes on to call Him his Rock, Salvation, and Fortress. David had found the true healing power in God the Solid Rock; the only Rock that could bring relief from stress and anxiety. God has the power to give us rest and healing from anything ailing us today! Too many people are putting their faith in objects that will only bring them temporary healing. Placing crystals around your home or wearing them around your neck will surely look lovely but they will not bring you the rest you are seeking. They become idols—dead objects that people turn to for help. Don't let Satan fool you into thinking that those things can heal you. When you seek rest and relief, help or strength, it should be crystal clear that Jesus is the only Rock with the power to heal your soul and your mind!

Suggested Prayer: Dear God, what a relief it is to me that I can come to you whenever I am in need of rest and find it in you! You are the Rock upon which I place my faith, and nothing can replace you. I lay all of my anxiety and stress at your feet today and exchange it for peace in your presence. In Jesus' Holy name. Amen.

2 Samuel 22:32.

Today's Encounter was written by: Veronica B.

NOTE: If you would like to accept God's forgiveness for all your sins and His invitation for a full pardon Click on: http://www.actsweb.org/invitation.php. Or if you would like to re-commit your life to Jesus Christ, please click on http://www.actsweb.org/decision.php to note this.

Daily Encounter is published at no charge by ACTS International, a non-profit organization, and made possible through the donations of interested friends. Donations can be sent at: http://www.actscom.com

ACTS International P.O. Box 73545 San Clemente, California 92673-0119 U.S.A.

Phone: 949-940-9050 http://www.actsweb.org

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lostincoloste · 1 year

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Act One, Chapter 3

Day 5:

I awoke much later than I intended to. What I had intended to do was awake before morning, and slip out without saying anything. I know, I know, unkind. But saying goodbye is so hard, when I know I’ll likely never come back. I got up and stretched, my body complaining with sharp shards of pain shooting through my body, but quickly dull as I continue to move. The house was warm, and cozy. I could hear the gentle crackle of a fir in the main room, and smell the earthy scents amidst an undertone of medicinal herbs and blends, almost functioning like a smelling salt and jolting me awake.

The main room was cozy, dried herbs and flowers on the walls, jars and pots and containers of every possible plant one can find, all meticulously labeled and clearly sorted. I shambled in, and couldn’t hold back a small smile when I saw Lila, who was tracing her fingerts along the runes engraved in Castlello’s body. “Good morning, sleepy” she softly said to me, turning her head to look at me from the side of her eye. “This one was worried about you, y’know. They really care for you.” She looked back at Castlello. “Do they have a name?” “Castlello.” I said, a little curt. I’d never heard anyone refer to a rook or rookling like it was a living thing, anything more than a simple construct powered by some weird magic. “It’s been with me since I was a kid, woke up one day out of the old family heirloom room and walked up to me.” I could tell she caught my choice of pronoun for Castlello, and for a second I saw something in her expression, disappointment? “Well, they’re a good caretaker for you. I saw how they they saved your life from the Rook yesterday. I truly think you would have died had Castlello here not rushed in for you.” I stood for a few seconds, in silence, before she turned, and smiled at me. “I made you some more nettle tea, for the pain.” She offered me a metal cannister, sealed shut. “O-oh, thanks. You didn’t have to-” “I know I didn’t have to” She said, smugly. “But you saved my life, I probably owe you more than I’ve given” She cut me off “I really don’t-” “Just take the damn tea and some breakfast, and get going, or else I’m gonna be forced to put on my doctor hat and make you stay longer to fully heal!” “Er, right m’am” I tried to match her joking tone, but for me it was a facade. I wanted to tell her that I wanted to stay. That my body hurt and I was lonely, and she made me feel better. I think I’m not made to be a solo traveler, with how bitingly lonely it gets. I took the tea, and sat down with her to eat what she had cooked. Let me tell you, there is nothing quite like a well seasoned mix of roasted squash and potato. I’d kill a rook any day if that was the reward. I devoured it like it was the cure to all that ails me. Lila watched and smirked at me, and picked at her food with her fork. Fork. I was eating with my hands, like I’d forgotten how to be civilized in the 3 days I’d been on my own. When she saw me realize, she laughed, and then we laughed together.

Outside was significantly less cozy. I wrapped my cloak around myself better as the breeze was still cold enough to bite; and as I stepped out, my boots made a crunching noise beneath my feet, as I unexpectedly stepped out into a light dusting of snow. My breath swirled like smoke through the air, and Castlello began walking in circles to make designs, or maybe simply because it liked the feeling of snow under it. I didn’t know, and I’d never really thought about it. The fallen rook on the street almost looked peaceful with the dusting of snow over it, and had a sense of beauty. Terrifying beauty, as I felt the bruises on my body, but some form of beauty nonetheless. I walked over to it, taking long strides to get to my sword, and secured it to my back. I knew my direction; ruins, towards the nearest pillar. I took a deep breath, and looked around at the village, taking it in and remembering it, before starting to walk towards the massive pillar I could see in the near distance, climbing into the heavens and disappearing.

Luckily, nothing stood in my path as I trudged towards the ruins, like the Colostle itself was willing to give me a break. It was easier to leave home, since I know I’ll be back, than it was to leave Rovalley. I’ll likely never be able to find the secluded village again. Hopefully they remember me, though I imagine with a literal monument to my victory in the rook husk I left behind, there will be some piece of me imprinted in the town forever. I smiled to myself, and turned to Castlello. “Heroes, buddy. You ‘n me, big damn heroes.” And I’m not sure if it understood, but it felt right to let it in on my thoughts. Sure enough, after a few hours of travel, the ruins stood in front of me, jagged and broken, like a broken bone sticking out of someone. The ancient stone walls were weathered, and covered in moss and vines, lichen and weeds growing through the cracks. The ruins themself were partially submerged in a small lake, the rippling water distorting the reflections of the trees around me and the grey clouds above me, heavy with snow and blotting out the brazier altogether. I couldn’t even see the tops of many of the trees. In front of me stood a dark doorway, an archway leading down into a thick inky darkness, some long forgotten place left alone for perhaps centuries. As I approached, the carvings on the walls stood out to me. As Lila had described, there was old faded carvings of Rooks, a legion of them, depicted as running away from a carving of a village, that looked like some sort of… I want to say Harp, or Lyre instrument. That’s not what I was expecting when I felt so sure it was a weapon in my vision. Was it? I never truly saw what it was, just knew it as a concept. I Feel lost about it, but if it can control or scare away Rooks, I need it. I took a swig of my tea, somehow still warm, to brace myself for descending into this underground. Then, I lit my torch, and held it aloft in front of me, and began to step into the unknown.

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genyawritesshizz · 2 years

Text

Nobody wanted this but I felt angsty and wanted to write a bowser x reader with hanahaki disease so here it is. Be sad with me. Vent piece. Lots of sad flashbacks. Very long one shot.

Trigger warning: blood, choking (not sexually), death, mentions of death,mentions of sex (not detailed), swearing

It’s been years since you first coughed up one of those beautiful petals. You’ve been in denial ever since, despite occasionally hacking up whole flowers. Their stems ripping your throat apart leaving a blood mess in the sink. You couldn’t be dying, not like this. You had a whole kingdom to rule, dozens of citizens counting on you to lead them. But the longer you ignored it the worse it became. Your healing abilities could only delay the inevitable for so long.

“Your majesty, princess peach of the mushroom kingdom is here!” You had scheduled a meeting with peach and bowser to discuss this pressing matter. It hurt to think you’d have to tell your two closest friends that you where dying… that they’d need to take care of your people. Just the thought of what was about to happen made your gut twist.

Even if the they where the very reason you are facing an early demise…

Whipping off the spit and specks of blood from your lips with a hankerchief you quickly responded to your dear servant.

“Thank you for informing me, please show her to the counsel room.”

“Yes my lady.”

You looked at the mirror before you.

There stood a shell of the women you used to be. Hollow eyes and dark bags stared back at you. Your skin had paled and check bones hollowed. You reminded yourself of a corpse. Dead on your feet.

Your dress barely clung to your frail frame.

You once filled this dress out completely. Wearing it to all kind of festivals your people held. The fondest memories you had where held within this dress…

This is why you hid away. Rarely stepping outside. You wanted your people to remember you as who you used to be.

Not this.

Not a sickly frail women.

This dress was also the dress you wore when signing a peace treaty with a certain Koopa king.

The very man who you found yourself helplessly devoted to.

The man who will inevitably kill you.

The man who…

“My lady are you alright?” You shook yourself out of your thoughts. “Princess peach is awaiting your arrival”

“Yes I’ll be right out.”

“Are you sure you do not require my assistance my lady?”

Your staff knew that you where ailing. They would see it plain as day. Their once beautiful princess required they’re undevoted attention. You praised your lady in waiting. She had stepped up since you first began succumbing to the sickness. Forcing you to eat and even helping you dress on days you felt truly helpless. Yet you refused to allow her to take you to a doctor. She herself had never witnessed you spit the petals out. Nor will she ever. These vile episodes where only for you to see. Nobody else needed to.

You opened the door to see her smiling at you. She offered you her hand which you took. Feeling weak after just hacking up a bushel of flowers.

“Princess peach lady (y/n)” peach gasped loudly. She quickly ran from her seat to your side.

“OH my stars (y/n)! What’s wrong?! What’s going on?!” Your dear friend had tears in her eyes as she took in your appearance.

“Let’s have a talk” you motioned to the three chairs that sat around a table.

Though peach was your friend you couldn’t help but be envious of her. She had it all. She was stunningly beautiful, with plump pink lips, long golden locks, and sapphire eyes. She had captured the heart of the one person you yearned for. Yet, the worst part of it all was she didn’t even want him. She wanted Mario, a human man. Perhaps is she returned his feelings it wouldn’t hurt so bad but the fact she had everything you wanted and didn’t even care about it sent you into a frenzy.

Peach helped you to the table sitting right next to you.

“Where is bowser? I requested he be here as well.” You turned to your lady in waiting. She looked down at the floor.

“King Bowser has declined your invitation to attend the meeting. He said that he was busy with a plot.” You scoffed loudly.

A plot huh probably another attempt at taking peach and her kingdom. How funny.

“No matter… it’ll be okay” your chest was on fire and you felt the need to hack another bundle of flowers at the mear thought of him.

“(Y/n) please talk to me! What is going on? What’s wrong? Why have you been hiding from me? Your obviously hurt! I can help you!” Peach held your hands in hers tightly desperately shaking them with each question wanting you attention. You couldn’t help but smile. Peach ever the kind one of course wanted to help fix the very problem she created.

“Peach. Listen to me and listen to me carefully.” You stared her in the eyes. “I’m dying…”

“NO! Please don’t say that (y/n)… w-we can help you! We have all kind of cures and me-”

“Peach please… there is no cure on earth to fix this… no mushroom no potion no food is going to fix what is happening.” The tears in her eyes spilled over as she leaped onto you. Burring her reddened face into your dress, clinging tightly to you she sobbed.

“Please (y/n) we have to try!”

“I have tried it all… this is inevitable I’m afraid.” You pet her hair to try and soother her, allowing your fingers to rake through the beautiful locks.

You remember being kids and braiding her hair into all kinds of styles. The two of you would always take turns doing each others hair.

Her sobs grew violent and her fists tightened in your dress.

“Peach, look at me” her face lifted up from the chest of your dress. Her blue eyes where puffy and she sniffled trying to hold back the tears. “When I’m gone, I need you to watch my people.” You felt your own tears welling up. “I-I can’t lead my people anymore… I” you brought both hands around her, this time your buried your face into her shoulder. “Please… just look after them.”

“Please.”

The two of you embraced eachother for hours sobbing until both your throats ran sore.

“I promise you (y/n), I promise. Your people will be safe with me.”

The paperwork you had drafted had been modified instead of half of the kingdom being divided between peach and bowser you gave full ruler ship to peach. It hurt to scribble out bowsers name from the recipients but it was for the best. He couldn’t even attend a meeting to discuss anything. Yes he had your heart but he couldn’t even stop for a few hours to talk to you when you needed him most.

When you presented the documents to your counsel they all where absolutely shocked, saddened and heart broken. But you where still queen, you still called the shots that they had to honor. So the bill was passed and upon your death would be announced to the entire kingdom. Though word would surly get out before that. You knew your poor servants would discuss it to others to grieve. It was natural.

“King bowser I bring you grave news!” Kamek zoomed into the castles library where bowser spent the majority of his time, writing plots for invading the mushroom kingdom.

“Not now Kamek im very busy!” He yelled at the magikoopa. Not even sparing him a glance, instead focusing on the blueprint for a new cannon design.

“Bowser this is important.” Kameks voice was stern. This shocked the giant Koopa. Kamek was rarely ever serious like this or used his real name instead of sir. Bowser quickly turned around facing the floating koopa. Kameks face: I held no joy, not even his usual smirk. Instead it looked conflicted, sad even. “Did you attend the meeting with princess (y/n)?”

“No, im way to busy with these-” Kamek rushed up into bowsers face staring him straight in the eyes.

“To busy trying to get peach?!” His beak knocked into bowsers.“(Y/n) is dying!” He screeched. Bowsers jaw dropped and eyes widened for a second before hardening.

“Hahaha very funny Kamek, you just want me to go over there. Like I said I’m to busy!” Bowser crossed his arms angrily, not finding kameks ‘joke’ funny.

“I’m not joking.” Kamek’s voice was dead panned.

“Huh?” There was no way Kamek had just said what he thought he said. Kamek sighed adjusting his glasses and backing away from bowser.

“Princess (y/n) is dying.”

“how is that possible Kamek?” The king of course didn’t, or couldn’t, believe the words the old koopa spoke. You where a princess, you had access to the most elite health care in all of the kingdoms, you yourself where a healer! The best healer in all of the land.

How could you be dying?

“I’m not sure my lord, whatever is ailing the princess, she will not tell.” It didn’t take an empath to understand that the old koopa was sad. He had watched you grow up after all.

He remembers the first time he met with your people to discuss a trade offer between the two kingdoms. In exchange for darklands weaponry your people would offer medicine. A very young bowser had insisted on tagging along, begging kemek to the point of annoyance for him to join. That’s when his little boy was introduced to a newly established and very young princess (y/n). Though he could tell you trying to pay attention to the adults talking your eyes kept wondering to the squirming bowser beside him.

“How about the kids go play while we talk business?” He suggested, everyone agreed it was for the best if you two played in the court yard.

Kemek swore bowser would never stop talking about you, how awesome and cool you where. He begged the older koopa to go over for play dates. Of course he agreed.

He honestly though he’d die long before either of you did. The news broke his little heart and to see bowser not even attend the very meeting where this was brought to light hurt.

“Go.”

“Bowser if yo-”

“LEAVE!”

“Very well”

In and instant the desk he had previously been working on flew across the room, knocking over book shelves and sending papers flying.

“GOD DAMNIT” fire spewed from his mouth lighting said papers on fire. Countless other items where sent smashing around the room. “FUCK” his tantrum ended in him crumpled on the floor with his head in his hands. An unfamiliar clear liquid began leaking from his eyes.

Could he be.. crying? Impossible the fearless, strong and unyielding leader of the Koopa’s couldn’t be crying. Yet his breaths became labored and the liquid continued to flow.

“Hey punk I’m king bowser! Bow before me!”

“Haha, King huh? You look a little young to be a king!” You laughed at him, an amused smirk on your face as bowser stood triumphantly on the fountain. You jumped up with him, you stood a bit taller than him at the time. To put prove your point you out your elbow on his head, leaning onto him. “And a little short!”

“Just you wait when I get older I’m going to be the biggest and strongest around!”

The two of you played around the fountain for hours. Eventually leading to both of you in the fountain splashing eachother with the water. Once you grew tired of this you both laid in the grass to sunbathe.

“Ya know punk, you’re not to bad.”

“Ya know bowser, for a short guy you’re not to bad yourself.”

“(Y/n)!” Bowser came leaping over to you making a point to absolutely plow into your bed, which you happened to still be sleeping in. “Wake up sleepy head! I got something cool to show you!” You groaned loudly when the ball of energy landed on top of you.

“What is it!” You peeked out from under your thick covers. His face was inches from yours.

“Get up and I’ll show you!” He began bouncing up and down.

“Okay okay jeez get off me! You weigh a ton!”

“Gotta get big remember!” Though his cocky attitude vanished when you crawled out of bed in only your night garments. Which was a beautiful long and lacy spaghetti strap dress. Though it didn’t show anything that your normal attire did it still felt… personal.

“We’ll see you going to show me or not!” In his state of dumbfoundness you’d already slipped on a cardigan over the dress and a pair of house slippers.

“Oh yeah! Come look!” He bounded over to your giant bedroom window, cracking it open and peering out. You stood behind him and watched as the young koopa king shot out a small but still impressive fire ball. Effectively catching a small bush on fire. “Did you see that (y/n)! Did you see that! I can breath fire!” he laughed loudly and you couldn’t help but laugh with him.

“God Kameks been putting me through the damn ringer with this training!” A now teenage bowser complained about the woes of his sore muscles. His now hulking body slumped on your bed. Well your second bed, you had to have another one made due to bowser constantly jumping, breaking the poor thing in two. So he had his bed and you had yours, though you never had sleepover anymore it was still nice to just relax in your room for awhile.

“My advisors have been cramming all this medical junk down my throat! How am I supposed to memories every bone in muscle in the body! And not just my body everyone’s body! There’s like fifty thousand different species out there!” While he complained about physically pain you complained about the mental struggles you’ve been through with learning your peoples healing techniques.

“Hey speaking of all that healing shit, do you know how to fix my back? Things been killing me! Ya know while your magic hands” ‘magic hands’ was bowsers word for your healing magic. You could channel it through your palms and into the effected area. You giggled,

“I can sure give it a try! But you gotta take off that damn shell!”

“Fine but don’t peek at me! I know I’m delicious but I’m off the menu!” He laughed shucking off his giant shell.

Huh, for some reason your face turned a weird shade of pink. Weird you’ve never had such a reaction to bowsers antics. Oh well.

Bowser laid on his stomach while you channeled your powers to his back.

“Hmmm yeah that’s the spot!” He sighed out.

Oh god… your face turned beat red, thank god he couldn’t see you right now.

This became a regular thing, bowser would complain about something sore and you would work your magic hands to help his pain.

“(Y/n) I met the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen today!”

That sentence was the beginning of your demise. The day bowser came over boasting about meeting a ‘princess peach’ it was over. You had met peach already during another business meeting. She was everything… you knew you could not compete with her.

All bowser remembers from this was you being a great friend and listening to him boast about how amazingly beautiful peach was.

It hurt.

“(Y/n)! what if I’m a bad kisser? I can’t be a bad kisser when I finally snag peach!”

“You can… practice on me?”

That was the night everything changed between you two. The night you kissed bowser changed how you felt about the king koopa.

That’s the night be realized you where helplessly in love with your best friends and the night you first coughed up a petal. You where in love with bowser but, he was in love with peach.

All bowser remembers from this is giving you the smooching of a life time….

“(Y/n)…” bowser had turned to you, battered and bloodied after being defeated by Mario. You collapsed in the main hall of your castle. You gasped, quickly running over to him. With the help of one of your guards you dragged bowser to your bed chambers.

The healing process took hours but eventually you managed to fix what had been done. The king laid in bed quietly, however as you turned to leave he grabbed your wrist.

One thing led to another and you ended up sleeping with the koopa king. A night of rough passion ended with you laying awake crying over the bathroom sink when more flowers crawled out. The sex wasn’t out of love, it was purely letting off frustration. It made you sick to think that bowser was most likely imagining it was with peach.

Unknown to you bowser remembers everything from this night. How hot and passionate it was. How utterly delicious you looked. He couldn’t resist going back for more.

So it became habit anytime bowser became frustrated with either peach Mario or his minions he’d run to you for stress relief. At least you got to be close with him. Even if it was just for an hour.

The following days after the two of you first slept together where agony. This is when whole flowers began to explode from your throat. If it wasn’t clear what it was then it sure was to you now.

Hanahaki disease, and the only cure was for him to love you back or death. Having the flowers removed, which would remove any memories you had with him was completely off the table. You’d rather die than forget . It was selfish on your end but it’s all you had.

Even thought it hurt you still couldn’t stay away from him. You remember the day he had Bowser Jr. he was so happy with the little baby. Yet he had no idea how to take care of him. Heavily relying on you to teach him how to care for a baby.

“(Y/n)! What do I do he won’t stop screaming!” Bowser called you desperately with a wailing baby in the background.

“Did you change him?”

“Yes!”

“Did you feed him?”

“Yes Of course! He’s gotta grow up to be big like his papa!”

“Well then he’s probably just tired! Rock him to sleep!”

“Rock him?”

“Yeah hold him close and rock him! Or just walk around with him!” Bowser became silent on the phone and eventually the whining stoped.

“(Y/n) you’re a damn life safer!” You laughed

“Any time bowser! Now get some sleep!”

You often babysat bowser Jr. when he was a youngster. You where practically his mother figure. It filled you with absolute joy to watch the little koopa.

That was until Bowser Jr. came over and proclaimed to finally know who his real momma was…

Of course Bowser told him it was peach. You had to bite your tongue to not scream and cry right then and there. Instead excusing yourself to your bedroom to cry and retch out more petals. You would have been more than happy to naturally give bowser an heir to his thrown. But no, he had to trick a stork into giving him a baby then of all things say peach was his mother.

Of course all bowser knows is that you where an amazing babysitter. Always so loving towards his son.

Bowser awoke from his emotional roller coaster of a nap. The flames from his outburst had died out leaving nothing but ashes around his study.

“Kemek!”

“Yes sir.”

“ready my ship, I’m leaving”

Bowser left at record breaking speed to your kingdom. Not caring if the engine was even warmed up.

“I’m sorry King Bowser but princes (y/n) has made a strict rule on no visitors!” Your poor castle guards attempted to keep the angry koopa away. Bowser knew that you had made a strict no visitor rule a few months back but unfortunately he was to focused on capturing peach to really care.

“I don’t care what she says! I’m coming in!”

“I’m sorry sir but-” He stormed past them, barreling through the castle doors and into the main hall. It looked like a ghost town. Not a soul occupied the hall. Unlike his castle where minions and guards lurked around every corner. Where are all of your staff? Your hand maids your butlers the house keepers? Empty. The only sounds where coming from a door down the hall. Bowser stormed down to it practically yanking the door off its hinges. There stood your lady in waiting, she shrieked at the sight of a very pissed off bowser.

“L-lord bowser !” Her voice quivered, it was obvious she had been crying. Her eyes puffy and her skin reddened.

“Where is she?!”

“My lady does not wish-”

“Cut the shit! Where is she!” The maid looked down to the floor, whipping her wet eyes on her sleeve before looking back at the king.

“Follow me.” She led him deep into the castle, through many doors and tunnels until finally reaching a giant metal door with your kingdoms crest on it. Her petite hands came up to knock on the door. “My lady! I have come to visit you!”

You couldn’t respond. A few minutes ago you had a horrible coughing fit, as if something had triggered it. You can’t seem to get it under control this time however. A giant flower clogged your trachea, you could feel it’s thorns dragging against the thin skin the harder you coughed. Before long each cough had spews of blood along with it.

“My lady?”

“I’m done waiting!” With that bowser rammed through this door as well. The sight before him looked straight out of a horror film. Your beautiful bed was littered with blood stains and petals. The petals piled up all over the corners of your room and with them the pungent stench of death and decay. What hit him next was the loud sounds coming from your connected bathroom. It sounded like … choking, you’re choking! Your hand maid beat him to the punch, banging on the door.

“Your majesty please let me in!” She yelled desperately. The noises only grew in volume.

“Get back!” Bowser punched right through the door and… Jesus. The once white walls where dotted with thick chunks of blood and some other material. His eyes trailed from the walls to the floor and….the maid screamed.

Your frail body curled in on itself, hands around your throat, eyes wide. Your face was a horrendous shade of purple and the only noises you could muster where gurgles and chokes.

On instinct bowser grabbed you by the feet and hoisted you upside down, shacking violently to get you to cough up whatever you had swallowed. He’d done this many times with Jr.

The rose came out with a sickening plop on the floor. The two stared at it.

Did you just choke out a flower?

He sat you back down and backed away from your heaving form. You breathed in and out quickly and the color slowly returned to your face. Your maid was down on her knees.

“Lady (y/n) what is going on! Please talk to me” you cough a few times a couple more petals falling to the floor.

“I guess the cats out of the bag now.” Your voice was scratches and horse, you sounded like hell. You looked up from the floor and to bowser. “Look who showed up.” Even when being moments away from choking to death you still managed to be sarcastic.

“What the fuck (y/n)! First Kamek tells me your dying now I find you choking on a damn flower what the hell is going on!” Bowser demanded an answer. You chuckled.

“Help me to bed.” Your maid lifted you up and walked you to the bed, setting you down on the edge. Bowser followed.

“It’s true, I am dying. I will no longer be able to rule over my kingdom. Therefore I am entrusting princes peach to look after my people.” Bowser grew angry smoke bellowing out of his nostrils.

Your maid took her leave so you two could discuss this privately.

“Why?! How?! You’re a god damn princess (y/n)! Whatever this shit is you…WE can heal it!”

“Unfortunately not, no power on earth can heal this.” He stomped over to you standing less than a few inches away. He looked over your form.

How long have you been sick? How long have you been hiding this from him? And how had he not noticed?! He just had a… ‘meeting’ with you like a month ago and now you looked like death warmed over.

“Bullshit! There has to be something!” You looked into his eyes, tears brimming your pale eyes.

“There is nothing, I can’t change destiny” you looked down and whispered so only you could hear “and I can’t change your heart.” Bowsers thoughts where loud and thundering in his ear. What is Jr. going to do without you? You where like his teacher! What was peach going to do without you, you where like her sister!

And… what was he going to do without you.. you where like his…

Ya know he had never put any real thought into what exactly you where to him.

“Bowser” he was reeled in by your voice. Looking back to you he saw the streams of tears pouring from your eyes. “I’m scared.” His heart sunk. “Im so scared” without thinking he wrapped you in his giant arms. Instantly you responded by wrapping your tiny arms around his neck, your face nuzzling in his thick neck. For this might be the last time you get to embrace him.

Your time was running out. It could be any day now. So why not just say what you needed to say to him right here right now.

“I… I’m scared too.” The koopa struggled to get those three words out. To admit he was scared was something he’d never done before. He’s faced Mario and his green brother hundred of times and not once had he been afraid but… the though of you passing frightened the shit out of him. It shocked you as well to hear him say this. You lifted your head up a bit just to be right next to his ear hole.

“Bowser…” you paused. “How do you feel about me?”

“What do you mean? You’re my best friend!” You sighed, forehead resting against the side of his face.

“But do you love me?” He was silenced by this. He had no words.

Did he love you?

His silence was loud. Of course he didn’t. You already knew the answer yet you had to ask just to dig it in further. Speaking of digging the longer the silence grew something within your lungs grew as well. It felt like you where about to explode.

Your head slackened against his shoulder, arms loosing their grip on his neck.

Bowsers poor brain was on over drive, did he love you? You where his first real friend. His first kiss. His first sexual partner. His first ally.

The two of you had spent your whole lives together. And he…

he did love you.

“I do.” He said so quiet it could barely be heard. Expecting you to say something he shifted you around in his arms while repeating it. Though when he placed you back on the bed to see your reacting his heart fell to the floor. You had a nose bleed and your eyes where closed. You weren’t… moving… at all. You weren’t even breathing.

You spent days on life support. You barely clung to life, hanging on by a thread. Bowser had decided it was best to break the news to Jr. that his beloved auntie (y/n) was passing. The tears his son shed didn’t go alone. Bowser often found himself crying with his son.

“B-Bu-But papa!” Jr. Begged and begged for his father to do something but there was nothing he could do. Finally the little koopa had convinced his father to let him see you, just one last time.

The sight was sad. His son curled up on your unconscious from crying his little eyes out. Screaming and crying for you to come back. Bowser scooped up his son to comfort him.

“No! No I want them! Please papa! I love them! No!” He screamed thrashing around desperately wanting his father to put him back down with you. Instead bowser held his son close squishing the little koopa into his chest.

“I…I love them to”

The heart monitor beeps picked up, your oxygen levels increase drastically and alarms started ringing around the castle.

You where improving in seconds right before their eyes. With bowser was distracted Jr. leaped out of his arms and back onto the bed.

What started them was the big ‘oof’ you let out when he landed.

“(Y-y/n)?” Bowser kneeled next to your bed bowser Jr. sat in your stomach looking at you with amazement.

Soon a whole team of doctors busted through the doors.

“Princess (y/n)!” They all shouted checking all the different machines that buzzed around them. “Vital signs are stabilizing!” “Heart beat has regulated!” “Blood O2 levels are returning to normal!”

While they where hustling around they missed the fact that you had opened your eyes, staring at a very confused yet happy Jr.

“Tough guys don’t cry” you said weakly bringing a hand out from under the covers to whip away his tears. He brought his little arms around you neck.

“Auntie (y/n)!”

“Hey champ” you rubbed the poor baby’s back. Finally taking notice of the giant shadow looming over you, you looked up to see bowser himself. “I-” before you could speak a word he crumbled onto you. The bed snapping in half.

“I love you”

“I love you too”

THE END

#bowser #x reader #fanfic #hanahaki #sad fic #character death #vent blog #vent post #vent #vent story #king koopa #bowser koopa #bowser jr #rejection

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flameohotwife · 3 years

Note

Okay, #41 for the fluff prompt!! (I feel so powerful, hahaha!)

41. "Darling, I love you and all but please step out of the kitchen."

This turned... long! And sad-ish in parts, so I'm sorry! Maybe more hurt/comfort? But there is still fluff. I hope you enjoy!

Rated T. 2.2k words.

“Aang? Have you seen the dumpling pan?” Katara was crouched down, head and shoulders deep in the cupboard, looking for the right pan to crisp the dumplings she was planning on making for dinner. Her husband was flitting about, albeit slower than he once could, on the other side of the kitchen with what she assumed were fruit pie ingredients for dessert. The original Team Avatar were travelling to Air Temple Island from all over the world in a few hours to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the war ending, and their 50th anniversary together. They always tried to get together the week they’d met in Ba Sing Se at the Jasmine Dragon to remember what they’d lost, and to see how far they’d come. Though Aang and Katara hadn’t gotten married until several years after the war, they always counted that day on the balcony as their anniversary, as the only thing that had truly changed with their marriage was the world’s recognition of their relationship and its permanence. They were devoted and dedicated from the very beginning. Perhaps even before that.

“Oh, I’ve got it over here, Sweetie,” Aang called back to her. She jumped up, almost bashing her head on the top of the cupboard before wriggling properly out to stand and face him. Even in his old age he still maintained a certain twinkle in his eye when he was up to something, and Katara’s hands flew to her hips when she saw it.

“What are you doing with my dumpling pan?” she asked, warily.

“I thought I’d cook tonight,” Aang replied, though his hand rubbed the tattoo on the back of his neck tellingly. “I wanted to add some Air Nomad dishes to the menu. Sokka will be bringing some Water Tribe food already, Toph and Suki will have Earth Kingdom, and Zuko and Mai will bring Fire Nation… I just thought I’d add something of my own in.”

Katara’s throat caught for a moment, as it always did when she remembered. His loss always felt bigger on anniversaries, though his grief was an ever-present emotion. It rose and fell like the tides, but was always there, under the surface. Most people saw his smiling face and kind, loving spirit and forgot that there were only two airbenders in the world and why. That Aang had actually known and loved so many of the ones Sozin had murdered. He masked his pain well, but took that mask off around Katara from time to time, when he needed to.

“Sweetie,” she began, stepping forward to grasp his wrinkled hands. “Oh Aang, I was going to make Air Nomad food, too. I would never leave you out like that.” Her tone wasn’t defensive, only calm and reassuring, as she rubbed gentle circles on the blue arrows that adorned the backs of his hands with her thumbs. She wanted to remind him with her touch that his grief didn’t have to be his alone to bear. That she would remember his people with him. Just as she had taught their children old Air Nomad fairytales when they were small, and celebrated their holidays with him, and learned to cook their food. Katara was Water Tribe through and through, but her soul was bound to an Air Nomad. Moreover, she was bound to Aang, and she always felt his loss. Even when he hid it well.

Aang melted into her, then. A hug that was so deeply meaningful it was reminiscent of the one they’d shared on Iroh’s balcony, but with all the weight of his pain crushing down on them along with that promise of love and acceptance. It was as though through this hug she was able to share that weight with him, so she held him tighter. Half a century after learning about the deaths of his people, sometimes the wound still felt fresh, and Katara was always the healing balm to whatever ailed him, even when she knew she could never heal it completely.

Katara stroked his back lovingly with one arm as he clung to her. She waited for his breathing to even out, for his muscles to relax. Waited for a sign that she had taken enough of his grief that he could function again. Finally, he moved his head to kiss her sweetly. It was wet, and salty, but his movements were lighter again. She moved her hands to his face, wiping his tears as she pulled him closer, and he deepened the kiss, wrapping his arms fully around her waist and pressing against her.

“Thank you,” he whispered. He knew his grief was never hers to bear, and yet she did so willingly and with so much love. He could never thank her enough for the way she cared for him when he hit his lowest points. He wasn’t sure he could have made it without her. Sometimes the weight on his shoulders was so heavy he felt like he would sink without her unending love and support buoying him up, keeping him afloat.

“You’re not alone, Sweetie. Never.” Katara continued to caress his face as she looked into his sparkling, sad eyes.”Do you want me to help? I can make the dumplings and the butter tea. I never quite mastered the tofu but I could try if you want…”

Aang silenced her with another kiss. “You’re wonderful,” he said, pressing his lips to hers again. “The best wife, partner, and friend in existence.” Yet another kiss. “I think I’ve got it from here. Why don’t you take a break before everyone gets here?”

Katara laughed, not quite knowing what to do with herself. She reluctantly removed her hands from her husband and settled on making herself some tea and sitting at the kitchen table to observe him. Even though he was aging, Katara still enjoyed watching him when she had a moment, whether it was bending practice, or working hard on something, or even something as simple as cooking. She still appreciated the lithe way his body moved, the smooth, airy motions he made, the way his tongue stuck out when he was concentrating…

She sat back in her chair, grinning over her teacup as she watched him chop vegetables and boil water and roll dough. Sometimes observing him do the most trivial things—like cooking dinner for friends, or braiding their daughter’s hair when she was small, or working in the garden—reminded her how lucky she was to have him in her life. He was the Avatar after all. He could have maids and cooks and servants and never lift a domestic finger in his life, but that was never in Aang’s nature. And he could have chosen anyone as his companion, but he had always and only ever chosen her. Over and over. It was somehow both humbling and assuring all at once.

After some time, she rose from her seat, walking behind him to wrap her arms around him, reveling in his warmth. She couldn’t see the smile on Aang’s face, but she knew it was there when he pressed one arm over her interlocking ones, squeezing lightly with his hand.

She leaned up to press a light kiss to the back of his neck.

“You’re awfully distracting, you know,” Aang chided. He turned in her arms to peck her on the nose. “I love you.”

“I love you, too. It’s been a while since I’ve gotten to watch you cook. I forgot how much I enjoy it.” She gave him a very pointed look and he laughed heartily.

“Well, by all means, enjoy the show,” he said, wiggling his hips for her benefit as he extricated himself from her grip to keep working. Katara giggled. She was about to return to her seat when she noticed the clutter Aang was leaving in the kitchen as he worked, and decided to help him by tackling some of that so he could focus on the food.

When Katara cooked, she was very methodical. Every ingredient, pot, pan, and chopstick had its place, and was immediately returned to that place when she had finished with it. She knew if she didn’t keep up with the mess as she worked, it would pile up to the point that she would feel overwhelmed at the end, so she tidied continually. Aang, on the other hand, was much more impulsive in his cooking. He would think of an ingredient to add mid-stir, and leave the remnants on the counter, never quite sure if he might want to add more later. He would wait to clean up all the messes at once.

There was a time in their marriage where this had driven Katara crazy. The kids were still very young at the time, and the extra mess on top of the cacophony of kid-sounds and clutter and Momo swooping around the house would become too much, so she would constantly buzz around him, taking things and washing and putting them away before he was even finished with them. He would turn around for more of an ingredient and find it wrapped up in the icebox. More than once, he had had to take Katara by the shoulders, kiss her gently, and exclaim, “Darling, I love you and all, but please step out of the kitchen.”

Now, much like in other parts of their relationship, she had learned which parts of the mess to let be, and which ones she could handle that would actually help him. She sat up with him at night while he transcribed ancient Air Nomad texts and histories; her presence a comfort as he worked through it all and felt the loss more keenly. Tenzin joined him now, of course, when he was home, but Aang still felt more able to work through his grief when she stayed too. When they were younger, she had sewn Air Nomad clothes for Aang and for the acolytes, and eventually taught the acolytes to make them herself not because Aang couldn’t sew or teach them, but because it was one of the things that they both could do. Something that she could take off of his already over-heaped plate.

They balanced each other. He was her rock on full-moon nights or when she missed her parents or when her emotional storm was raging. He was her center of calm when she was worried about the kids or about the world. But today, Aang needed her. So she washed the used dishes for him to use again if needed, and cleared the wrappings for him, being sure to leave the ingredients on the counter. She made sure to give him gentle touches as they worked; a hand to the small of his back as she passed him, a bump of the hip as they worked side by side. Loving smiles and stolen kisses as the afternoon sun fell lower in the sky.

Eventually their friends would arrive and they would be able to laugh and joke and remember together. There would be group hugs and arm-punches and happy sounds and smells would fill their home as they reminisced. Through all of it, Aang would sneak looks across the table at Katara, with a special smile reserved for her. Fifty years! They’d made it fifty years together, in no small part because of everything they had learned through their struggles as they grew together. Because of the weights and grief they shared with one another instead of bearing them alone.

“I may be old, Twinkletoes, but I can still feel your heartbeat when you look at Sugarqueen like that,” Toph jabbed as Aang snuck another glance at his wife. “How can you two be together for fifty years and still act as disgusting as when we were teenagers? I’m not going to have to pull you out of a linen closet at the official event tomorrow, am I? Because we are all too old for that.”

Knowing that she still sent his heart a-flutter the way he did to her warmed Katara’s old bones from head to toe, and she sent a look of her own towards her husband. Aang’s face reddened.

“Oh, no,” groaned Sokka. “Oogies! I’m out.” He rose from the table, pulling Suki along with him. “Dinner was great guys, and I’d like to keep it in my stomach, thanks. So, we’ll see you all in the morning when the kids get here?”

“Sounds good,” replied Zuko as he and Mai rose to join them. “We should probably turn in anyway. It’s getting late.” Aang and Katara stood as well to accompany their guests to the door before everyone went their separate ways.

“Thanks for a wonderful evening as always, guys,” Suki added as she hugged them both goodbye. “Try not to wear yourselves out too much tonight, hmm? It’s not as easy to recover as it used to be and we have a busy day tomorrow.”

Katara feigned shock at her sister-in-law’s tease but Aang only blushed further as Sokka faked retching and promptly exited with their friends. Aang was always so open about his emotions and intentions when it came to Katara, whether or not he intended to be. She simply smirked back up at him and took him by the hand, waving to everyone one last time before pulling him back to their bedroom. And, maybe they were a little extra tired the next day, but it was worth it. Loving each other through the many ups and downs of a lifetime together would always be worth it. Even when Toph berated them for it outside a linen closet door.

#kataang #kataang fanfiction #kataangtag #fluff prompts #katara #aang #atla #sweeties #slightly hurt/comfort #sorry!#adcurtis #asks

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hailbop1701 · 3 years

Text

Curing a Rainy Day

A sort of five times Star Trek gen fic for your viewing pleasure. I mentioned I would write it but please be aware that I wrote this on my phone late at night and I has no beta. Typos and mistakes will be found. 🤣

-H❤🖖

Word Count: 2,166

Sulu:

Leonard McCoy wasn’t a huge touchy-feely type of man. Well, that’s what he really wants folks to think anyway. He was a doctor and that meant it was his oath-bound duty to cure what ails his patients. Whether it was from a physical malady or an emotional one. The first time he initiated his “Rainy Day Cure” --title courtesy of his daughter-- to one of the command crew he was surprised that it was Sulu of all people. If Len were being honest he thought it would have been Jim. Sure he had hugged the kid in the past but he always let Jim be the one to initiate contact. The reason why is complicated and a story for another time.

When he found him the young pilot was huddled alone in Observation Room Five, his shoulders hunched, his down so his eyes were hidden and mind lightyears away. Leonard had a feeling he knew where. The chaos after Khan and Marcus had caused a lot of damage, and not all of it was physical. They were all still healing even a year later. They had left Kronos not three hours ago and according to the mission report, Sulu’s younger sister was…

Not who she claimed to be. ‘Yuki,’ McCoy recalled her name lamely as he made his way loudly over to the depressed man.

She revealed that she worked for Section 31 and was determined to fix the Federation the right way. Though the term “Right way” is skewed for many folks. War was almost started, again and the Enterprise had to stop it, again. Section 31 now had the last little pebble of Red Matter and was holding it like a…” Nuclear deterrent” as the old saying goes.

Shaking his head Leonard pushed recent events to the back of his mind and continued on his own mission. Plopping down on the couch that faced the giant window of stars, McCoy leaned forward so his elbows rested on his knees.

He didn’t offer his apologies or sympathies, he knew Sulu didn’t want them. So they sat in silence. Sulu just shook his head and looked up at the doctor with confusion and betrayal in his eyes. “I don’t - I” he stopped swallowing and the helmsman looked so young Leonard didn’t even think about it until after he had already done it.

He wrapped an arm over Hikaru’s shoulder and squeezed. Sulu stilled for a moment before relaxing and saying what needed to be said, a weight slowly lifting off his shoulders and his chest.

Scotty:

Leonard and Scotty were both having a terrible terrible time. The cold sucked in Leonard’s opinion and being trapped on an ice ball of a planet only confirmed his feelings. Looking over at the Enterprises Chief Engineer, Leonard had a feeling that he wasn’t alone in his thoughts and feelings.

The Scot was curled into a tight ball up against the last running console the entire ‘Fleet base had. He was shivering and muttering to himself, glaring at the distress signal he had rigged up. There was nothing they could do but wait. Rubbing his hands together to warm them Leonard moved toward the console and slid down to the floor next to Scotty. Touching shoulders with Scotty, McCoy tucked his hands under his arms and sighed. There was nothing he could really say to ease the engineer’s anxiety -- which stemmed from Delta Vega no doubt -- so he simply let his presence be enough.

Scotty glanced at Leonard to see that he was looking back at him with calm understanding. Grunting Scotty curled himself closer to the CMO and let the man wrap an arm around his shoulders. They didn’t speak a word and only moved when they heard the sounds of the rescue party on the other side of the sealed doors.

Chekov:

Pavel Chekov was the youngest of the command crew, so he was automatically protected and treated like the youngest sibling of a giant family. The navigator understood that his friends didn’t mean to and that it was just sometimes a reflex but he was getting damn tired of it. Today was his birthday, he had finally turned twenty! Chekov was so pleased to find that after the incident with Khan he was being treated like he should. There was one person who always treated him like he was young and precious.

Pavel found that he didn’t mind so much. Doctor McCoy treated almost everyone that way -- even though he wasn’t that much older than the rest of them -- in an almost fatherly manner. A true caretaker. Chekov allowed the behavior from no one but McCoy.

Leonard walked into “Rec Room Two” taking in the crowd with a softening scowl. A small wrapped parcel gripped in his hand. He looked down at the present, weighing it in his hands carefully. With a sigh, McCoy strode through the room looking for the birthday boy. Jim waved at him wildly from the other side of the room a huge grin on his face. Narrowing his eyes, Leonard saw that his captain wasn’t in fact drunk at all. Grunting in approval he smiled at Chekov who was hurrying over to greet him.

“Happy Birthday Pavel,”

Chekov grinned and his eyes widened at the present presented to him. Leonard gestured for him to open it and the young man did excitedly. The wrapping paper littered the floor a long black box in its place. Slowly opening the box the navigator knocked a silver antique pocket knife into his hands. Examining it closely he looked up at McCoy in confusion.

Leonard shifted nervously on his feet. Clearing his throat he pulled out a similar from his belt. “My daddy gave me this one to match his when I turned twenty. I know your pa wasn’t around as you grew up and so I thought…” his sentence fell into silence. For once Leonard McCoy was at a loss for words. Pavel quickly wiped a stray tear from his eye and grinned at his friend holding onto the gift tightly.

“Thank you doctor!” he said gratefully and Leonard understood that it was for more than just a knife. A small smile graced the CMO’s lips and pulled the kid in for a hug.

With anyone else, Pavel would have been annoyed. This was an exception.

Uhura:

Leonard was tired. He longed for his bed but as he looked around at all of the injured crew he pushed the longing away. There was no time for it. Rubbing the blurry fatigue from his eyes he pushed on. Triage, surgery, aftercare. He really didn’t truly stop to breathe until the middle of gamma shift when the ship was sleepy and quiet. The only noise was the soft beeps and whistles of monitors. His nurses quietly whispering and working.

Christine hours ago told him to stop worrying and to go to bed already but something in him just couldn’t. Blinking dumbly down at the PADD in his hands he sighed and signed off on the next round of Spock’s antibiotics. During the Enterprises most recent scuffle the bridge took a hit and the science station exploded sending the first officer flying, earning him a ticket to medical.

After the fight was over and things had only calmed down to a trickle of wounded instead of a flash flood, Nyota Uhura breezed through sickbay’s doors. She waited patiently and even helped where she could. When Spock came out of surgery and was placed in a private room she immediately went to his side and hasn’t moved an inch since. Jim would have been right beside her if he could afford to. But it appears the admiralty wanted words and had kept him busy since. McCoy had barely just convinced him to get some sleep saying that he would call if anything changes.

That was three hours ago.

Leonard walked -- though Nyota would say shuffled -- into Spock’s room, his eyes going straight to the monitors above the bed. The half Vulcan was resting peacefully. McCoy knew it was only a matter of time before he woke and would go into a healing trance. Something that should be monitored anyway. Leonard quietly wondered who he would grant the opportunity to slap Spock awake this time…

“Leonard!”

The sound of his name made the CMO snap his head in Uhura’s direction. Her eyes were fire, filled with frustration, exhaustion, and worry. McCoy winced, “Sorry Nyota, guess my mind wandered a bit,” he said somewhat sheepishly. Her expression softened a flash of guilt passing through her features.

“You need more rest. You’re going to run yourself into the ground at this rate,” she scolded half-heartedly. McCoy gave her a small smile and a shrug,

"I'll rest when I'm not needed." He whispered and badly covered up a yawn. The hidden meaning behind his words wasn't lost on the linguist though. She pressed her lips into a tight line deciding not to comment. Instead, she rested her gaze on Spock once more her hand inches away from his.

So deep in thought, Nyota hadn't even realized that McCoy had left and come back, a tray with a couple of hypos in his always unwavering hands. Catching her eyes he gave her another encouraging smile. He took care to tell her everything he was doing and how it would help keep infection away. Leonard knew he didn't have to explain but he felt it necessary to fill the quiet with "Illogical chatter" as Spock would surely call it.

Uhura was so tired and so frazzled that she was startled to find the CMO crouching in front of her with concern all over his face. "You need to get some rest Nyota. I can have a cot brought in if you'd like…"

Uhura, let a few tears fall before she bottled it up again. She shook her head wiping her face, "I'm alright Leo. Everything is just catching up to me…" she mumbled with a watery chuckle. Leonard snorted at the nickname she had given him,

"Just let me know darlin' "

And without truly thinking about it he pulled her into a hug. It only took Uhura a second to process what was happening before she wrapped her arms around him tightly. A genuine smile breaking across her face. The first time in hours she felt content, safe, and able to truly breathe.

Jim:

James T. Kirk was a touchy-feely type of man. Leonard supposed it may be from a less than stellar childhood. So whenever Jim would pull him into a one-armed hug or slapped his back or even leaned up against him, McCoy would let him. He would definitely bitch but only half-heartedly, Leonard needed to keep up appearances after all.

So when they found Jim partially dead, hanging from his wrists in a cave all smirks and charm…

Well, no one batted an eye when -- after he made sure that the man would live -- Leonard pulled his best friend in for a hug. Jim just laughed, laid an arm over McCoy's shoulder, and leaned into the hug.

"I only had to get tortured and offered to an alien God for you to hug me. Good to know,"

"Shut up Kid,"

Spock:

No one ever thought the words McCoy, Spock, and hug would ever be uttered but stranger things have happened on the Enterprise.

No stranger than an alien device that turned back time. In a physical sense anyway. Leonard looked down at his adolescent hands and sighed with a heavy eye roll. "Not this again," he grumbled with a shudder.

Looking around the room he saw Jim shouting at Mudd who had bought the alien weapon and decided to point it at him and Spock. McCoy tilted his head, his eyes going comically wide.

Spock!

Where was the green-blooded rugrat? Leonard looked around and sighed in relief at the sight of the first officer. He was hidden under a rickety wooden table. Crouching down Leonard gave Spock a small smile, he waved and gestured for the Vulcan to come closer. Apparently the younger you go the further your mind goes with it. Spock had a mentality of a...of well, a toddler. He couldn't have been more than two.

Spock stared at Leonard intensely before darting out and crashing into his legs. McCoy stumbled a little before he got his footing. Spock looked up at him with wide scared eyes, tears threatening to fall. 'Must have gotten all Vucan-y at four or five,' Leonard thought as he picked up his friend.

Leonard pulled Spock close, hugging him to his chest whispering softly. Spock seemed confused for only a moment before he buried his head into the young CMO's neck.

Jim of course saw it all and later under the threat of meeting his end via an airlock kept his mouth firmly shut. The only thing the Starship Captain said -- which everyone agreed-- Doctor Leonard McCoy could absolutely cure a rainy day.

Tags:

@lauraaan182, @chickadee-djarin, @cowenby2, @bluesclues-1234, @sayuri9908,

#star trek aos #leonard mccoy #leonard bones mccoy #jim kirk #james t kirk #spock #mister spick #nyota uhura #pavel chekov #hikaru sulu #montgomery scott #fanfiction #hailey the queen of typos

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rk1kheadcanons · 3 years

Note

Angst? Human AU? Connor temporarily flat lines

It wasn’t supposed to be this way.

The words would not stop circling in Markus’ head - ringing melancholic, incredulous, resigned with each repetition - as his eyes, burning with lack of sleep, stayed fixed on the man laying in the hospital bed. On the unsteady rise and fall of his chest, on the too still face as pale as the bed sheets covering him.

Markus was the one with the dangerous job - the loud and “cocky” (as the media so lovingly put it) politician, who openly sneered at Mega Corporation’s desperate attempts at bribery, who denounced his fiercest political opponents and the kowtowers to the status quo of his own party alike. He received death threats for breakfast every morning. His team had thwarted two assasination attempts these last few months alone, and he had every expectation that more would come in the near future.

So why then, Markus thought heavily, taking the man’s limp hand gently into his own. Why was his husband laying there in the hospital bed? Why was Connor the one suffering, struggling to stay alive?

Connor’s closed eyelids started to twitch. Markus braced himself. He’d awakened several times in the last couple of hours, disoriented and highly distressed until Markus broke past whatever demons he was reliving and was able to sooth him. This all usually only lasted for a few moments at most, and then he’d drop back off to sleep.

When Connor opened his eyes fully this time, there was that confusion, yes, but a clarity shining in the deep brown depths that made Markus sit up straighter and clasp his hand a little tighter. He stayed quiet though - as much as he wanted to ask a thousand questions about how he was feeling and if he needed anything in a single breath - and let Connor slowly look around as he oriented himself. The doctor had been stern about not startling him. She had gone at length about the “why’s” using a great deal of medical jargon that Markus would have a hard time understanding even if he wasn’t high strung and sleep deprived, but he understood the gist of it. Some old heart problems had been exacerbated by the injury, and it was imperative that Connor remained in a calm environment until he was more stable.

Several moments passed, with only the whirring of medical machines and the steady beep of the heart monitor as background noise, until Connor’s gaze finally found him. Something taught and painful, that Markus hadn’t even realized was inside him, let loose when recognition lit up in his eyes.

He parted his lips, but when only a pathetic croak came out (and a disgruntled brow furrow that Markus had to hold back a laugh at) Markus was quick to bring a small paper cup filled with ice chips to his mouth and gently guiding him into swallowing a few.

“Hi,” Connor murmured, after some amusing moments of him trying to hurry the ice chips into melting before giving up.

But as annoyed as he looked at all of these hindrances, all Markus could feel was a wave of relief so strong it was almost euphoric. Connor was awake, he was talking, he was coherent. Those were good signs, he was sure. It meant Connor had gotten past the worst of the injury. That recovery was over the hill and not across the ocean.

“Hey yourself,” Markus said, the words caught in his sigh as if all of his worries had been let out in that breath.

“Wha’ happened?”

Markus felt panic surge through him like lightning, fearing a sudden case of amnesia or some other issues with the brain (and goddamn all of his knowledge about surgeries stemming from media and hearsay!), but Connor weakly gesturing at himself immediately settled his nerves.

“You were...shot,” Markus said carefully. Connor showed no signs of being disturbed by the news, as Markus expected - what with him being ex-Military and all - but he would err on the side of caution until Connor was completely healed and not a second later. He made a noise for him to go on - he wanted the “how” he got shot. Markus grimaced. The entire incident had been insane, borderline ridiculous in it’s circumstantial, impossible nature. He was still trying to wrap his head around the situation, how something that started out so benign could end so catastrophically.

Connor had been making a follow up housecall for one of his clients at his veterinarian practice, Markus explained. It was just a simple check up on young Emma Phillips’ rabbit, Snowball, who had recently gotten some stitches on his hindleg. Everything was proceeding smoothly. Connor reassured Emma that Snowball would be a-ok, gave Mrs. Phillips’ the instructions on the ins and outs of post- surgery aftercare, and fed Snowball some treats for being a good bunny in general.

He was shaking Mrs. Phillips’ hand and giving Snowball a goodbye pet when all hell literally and figuratively exploded.

There was screaming, the sound of a gunshot, and then Mr. Phillips was stumbling out of the master bedroom - clutching his chest with blood pouring all over his front - where he collapsed face first onto the livingroom floor.

Emma was screaming and running towards Mr. Phillips before either Connor or Mrs. Phillips could move to stop her. Not long after Emma fell to her knees next to her dad’s body, another man came rushing out of the bedroom - Daniel, the Phillips’ long time babysitter - wild eyed and holding a gun.

From there the police report, news stations, and Mrs. Phillips’ own words all varied in detail, but from what Markus could gather out of all of that information (and he had hunted as much information as possible in those few hours when he’d seen his news and social media feed flooded with his husband’s face and received that awful call from the hospital. It was all he could do in those moments where he didn’t know if Connor was dead or not), Daniel had snatched up the little girl and, with the gun pressed to her head, headed out to the edge of their fenceless patio and threatened to hurl the both of them off of the roof.

Connor, miraculously, had managed to keep Daniel from making good on that threat by talking to him, while Mrs. Philips called the police. At some point during their back and forth Connor convinced him to let Emma go, but had gotten shot in the process.

Connor remained quiet at the end of his explanation, but he had his brow furrowed and was biting his lip in that way Markus knew he was over analyzing all of his previous actions, and finding himself wanting.

“God what a mess,” Connor finally said, voice soft from worry and exhaustion alike. “Do you...think I did the right thing?”

The police had arrived 30 minutes after the 911 call and, from what Mrs. Phillips had told him (voice thick, clutching her daughter close and unable to look him in the eye), Daniel had no intention of waiting for them.

“Yes,” Markus said easily, brushing back some stray curls that had fallen into Connor’s face. “I hate that it had to be you, but I know you did everything that you could.”

“But Mr. Phillips...I didn’t - ”

“There was nothing you could have done for him, Connor. You were there to see a client and nothing else - are you going to tell me that you had even an inkling that all of that...insanity was going to happen?”

“No b-but,” Connor’s voice broke, and there were shadows and an old pain in his eyes that Markus hadn’t seen in years. “I’m trained for this Markus…”

‘No! That isn’t your job anymore! You’re not just a human meat shield for everybody else!’ Markus wanted to snap, but the heart monitor beeping out of sync, as if in warning, the slight hitching of Connor’s breath, and the tears leaking unchecked from his eyes stayed his tongue. He swallowed back his rising anger, the target of which wasn’t even truly aimed at his ailing husband, but those horrible Child Soldier programs that Connor had been subjected to, and that the government liked to pretend didn’t exist.

(Every nightmare, every flashback, every incident where Connor questioned his worth as a human being that he suffered fueled Markus’ resolve to shut every one of them down.

And the more often it happened, the more Markus wondered if he should bother to do it legally.)

“You were operating on what information you had at the time,” Markus said, voice measured. Cold and factual. He didn’t particularly like speaking this way, like one of Connor’s old handlers, but this was the best method to reach him when he was in one of his guilt spirals.

Connor’s eyes were bright and attentive, almost fervent in his need to know how he could be better, which...God Markus hated that (he didn’t need to be better. He was so kind and just wanted to help and those monsters at the academy had done everything in their power to crush his spirit), but at least he was paying attention. He cupped his hand on his cheek and wiped another stray tear away with his thumb.

“You were not sent there to investigate the Phillips’. The only contractual obligation you had to them was taking care of their pet, which you did. There was nothing within those parameters that would allow you to foresee what happened. You did everything that you could,” Markus repeated. “And I’m so proud of you.”

Connor gave him a tremulous smile. His breathing finally evened out, and he looked a great deal calmer, if not like the last of his strength had been drained out of him. It seemed Markus had gotten through to him, for now at least.

Banging and clattering sounded outside the room. Both of them startled badly. Markus shot to his feet, instantly alert and moving between Connor’s bed and the door before he realized what he was doing. Connor sucked in air painfully between his teeth as he - Markus saw from his peripherals - tried to scramble into a sitting position. He was about to yell at Connor to lie back down, but the door slammed open.

In the doorway stood a man, a patient, judging by the hospital gown that exposed bandages - newly stained with blood - wrapped around his torso. The man’s chest was heaving and his teeth were bared. His hand was clutching the doorframe in a white knuckled grip, to keep him from falling over or lunging into the room was hard to say.

Markus recognized this man. It was impossible not to, with video clips from his standoff with Connor had dominated every newsfeed for the past 24 hours.

Daniel Park; in home nanny to the Phillips for six years, John Phillips’ murderer, the cause of some likely long term trauma to young Emma Phillips, and the one who had almost killed Markus’ husband.

“You bastard,” Daniel snarled. His eyes burned with fury, cutting past Markus to Connor like a homing device. “You said everything would be okay! You promised! You said - John isn’t - ” He choked back a sob. His face twisted - a mess of grief and desperation and rage, the feelings warring for dominance. It steadied on rage, as Daniel scowled fiercely and took a step forward.

Markus took his own step forward, getting in front of him so that the slightly shorter man would have to make an effort to see past him. He didn’t know what he was doing, squaring up against a known murderer like this. But it seemed that all of the pent up fear and horror and frustration had finally found an outlet, and it wasn’t about to start listening to reason.

“You need to leave, now.”

Daniel visibly flinched. Markus didn’t know that his voice could get that low and emit such a barely restrained promise of violence, but it did, and it put Daniel’s full attention on him now, which was what he wanted.

Daniel opened his mouth - Markus had no care of what he was about to say, because he was mentally giving him about ten seconds to comply with his demand before he lunged at the fucker - when two security guards and several orderlies finally arrived and grabbed him.

“LET ME GO!” Daniel screeched as they, and it did take every one of them to keep hold of the flailing man, dragged him away. “He has to pay! IT’S ALL HIS FAULT!! You lied to me Connor! YOU LIED TO ME YOU MONSTER...”

Markus intended to keep his eyes on the now empty doorway in case Daniel got free again (and he would be speaking to the Hospital or the DPD or whoever the fuck was responsible for letting an actual killer get within several miles of his husband so easily), but the pained gasping had him rushing back to Connor’s bed side.

Connor’s eyes were wide and glued to the spot where Daniel once was. Markus guided him back down into a laying position but no amount of soothing gestures could get him to calm down and ease his breathing. The heart monitor was beeping louder and faster as the seconds and minutes went on. Markus frantically pressed the emergency button over and over as his panic rose and the other machines started blaring with alarms and flashing red lights. He yelled for a nurse or a doctor, shifting in his seat as he felt torn between staying with Connor and searching for help.

He felt a hand grasp onto his weakly and looked back down at his husband, irrationally hoping that he would have some answers on what Markus should do. Instead, Connor’s breathing was slowing down, but in a horrible way, as if each gasp were a struggle, and all the machinery was still blaring as if nothing had changed, and was staring up at Markus with deep brown eyes that were slightly glazed.

And with a knowing resignation that terrified Markus to his core.

“I love you...so much,” he said, quietly, past hitching breaths.

“I love you too,” Markus said back quickly, as if he could run past his fear, the mounting dread of what was happening, if he spoke fast enough. “I love you. You’re fine. Someone’s coming right now, okay? Don’t worry.”

Connor just stared back him (like he was trying to memorize what he looked like no no no this wasn’t happening), no matter how many times he repeated that the doctor was coming and that he would be fine, it was going to be fine, it was going to be fine -

And then a little breath escaped Connor’s lips, and everything just stopped.

He stopped breathing. The machines stopped ringing. Markus stopped his mantra. The only sound left was the tone of the heart monitor. No longer beeping, just a long, monotonous drone, like someone was holding down one key on a piano. Going on and on and on…

There were people in the room now, doctors and nurses talking. They might have been shouting, but it sounded muffled over the loud one note drone of the heart monitor to Markus’ ears. He was shuffled out of his seat, or maybe he moved himself. He didn’t know. He felt heavy and coiled tight with tension at the same time. He caught a glimpse of a doctor using a defibrillator, and the green line on the monitor spiking a few times before straightening out again, and then he was suddenly sitting somewhere else. The waiting room, judging by the seats speckled with people, visiting loved ones, making appointments themselves.

Markus didn’t know how he got there. Or how much time had passed. He could have been in that seat, head in his hands and staring at the cracked linoleum floor - as it blurred and focused and blurred - for hours, days. The only thing he could hear, the only thing he could think about was that long drone, that one piano key. Nothing else. He couldn’t think of anything else. He couldn’t.

“...’cuse me? Excuse me, are you Markus Manfred?”

Somehow, the words penetrated through the drone. Somehow, Markus lifted his head up through the heavy gravity holding him down. A nurse stood before him, clipboard in hand and a neutral expression on her face. He cleared his throat, wincing at how raw it felt (had he been screaming?), but suddenly found that he had no energy to speak, so he nodded at her instead.

“It’s about your husband, Connor.”

#Detroit Become Human #RK1K #Markus x Connor #angst #I woke up today and chose violence #anonymous #Connor flat lines #Thank you anon this was hard to write #not my usual genre #a lovely challenge #emiliaf25🌻

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pumpkin-stars · 3 years

Note

the only reason i am not afflicting you with multiple headcanon requests on din or ezra or din x reader x ezra is because my brain is not functional right now. so please take this as a free pass to ramble about any of the above 🥰

Did this take me forever to answer? Yes. Am I sorry? Also yes. Did this ask disappear from my inbox/drafts/queue for a few hours for no good reason? Yeah! Wtf.

this can be read as part of my Space Cowboys series but doesn’t have to be :)

Anyway, I kept thinking about all the various things I’ve decided those two guys are like and then I thought I’ll just list everything but then I wanted to write more about all of them... so I had to choose one... and I settled with:

Ezra has hay fever

- which isn’t always a problem - most fauna planets/moons don’t have the best air, so he’s suited up and pollen’s filtered out most of the time. And those few planets/moons that he can breathe freely on don’t usually have a high pollen count.

- so every one-in-fifty planets/moons poses an issue for him... (as carefree as he seems, he’s not going to be That One Weirdo In A Suit when the rest of the population aren’t similarly protected).

- the first planet like that that he lands on with you, Din, and the kid causes some panic from the Mandalorian.

- Ezra’s nose starts itching almost immediately, then he’s sneezing, and coughing, and his eyes are red with tears.

- He waves off your concern - says it’s happened before - but that just worries Din even more. The child tries to heal him, but apparently whatever magic he has just worsens his headache.

- You’re near a settlement, according to Din’s helmet it’s just through the trees on the other side of the crop of fauna you’ve landed in.

- “I’ll wait with the child.” Ezra suggests, “On the ship.”

- “How will their medics know what to treat you with if you don’t come along?” Din points out.

- He sighs, and you end up grabbing a spare cloth for him to wrap around his face, shielding his nose and mouth from the plants as he explains just what unfortunate affliction is ailing him so. How, from childhood, certain plants have caused those wearisome symptoms.

- Which plants he isn’t sure, for there are many forests he can walk through that don’t cause such a reaction, but enough that do for him to know that the offending species isn’t confined just to this planet.

- All the locals can provide is some allergy paste, which resembles “the innards of a varactyl” and tastes “like a bantha’s backside.”

- You make a point not to ask how he knows either of those comparisons are accurate.

- The locals also suggest that the four of you bathe before leaving the planet, in case your clothes or skin carry any spores, so, on your return to the ship, you’re tasked with giving the wriggling little gremlin a bath while the men clean all of Din’s armour.

- Then, of course, you join them in the fresher.

~~~

Masterlist | Join my Taglist

~~~

Taglist: @a-skov @amneris21 @apascalrascal @cocolovesorcs @darnitdraco @drayshadow @elegantduckturtle @goldielocks2004 @idreamofboobear @iifloweringnightsii @im-a-mcsimp-for-mchotties @irrelevantbutembarrassing @joanofarkansass @kaybrownies @phrog-seeds @purplepascal042 @readsalot73 @santiagogarcia @seasonschange-butpeopledont @starxdame @thegirlsadventuresinwonderland @tobealostwanderer @xxlovingfandomsxx @yours-truly-r

#ezra prospect #ezra/reader #ezra (prospect)#stuffiwrote #ezra headcanons #din djarin/reader #din djarin/reader/ezra #din djarin/ezra

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allycryz · 3 years

Text

WOL Challenge #8: Apart

[Prompt List Here]

[Filled Prompts Here]

Heavensward, post-Vault

Aymeric visits a recuperating Haurchefant while their loves travel to Azys Lla

Rating: T for mild sex talk, references to Aymeric’s time in the Vault

Pairings: Haurchefant x Nerys, Aymeric x Estinien

Discussed Estinien x Haurchefant, Implied Aymeric x Nerys x Estinien, Haurchefant x Aymeric

"Thank you for coming." Count Edmont de Fortemps says as he personally escorts Aymeric through the manor. A development he hadn’t anticipated.

That could be said about much of the past week.

"I owe Lord Haurchefant a great deal," Aymeric replies with an incline of his head. "And not just recently. He has always been a good friend to me."

"I hear that often, especially of late." The Count's brow furrows with an emotion between pride and sorrow. "It seems my son is well-loved."

"He is." There are those who will never show favor to someone like Haurchefant–like Aymeric–but all else adore him. Despite his near-constant presence at Camp Dragonhead, the man made friends of the apple sellers of the Crozier; the scholars in the Church; every tavern owner in the city; and much more besides.

"Then he has surpassed my every hope." Lord Edmont looks him over. "And how are you faring, Lord Commander? I have not forgotten the state you were in days ago."

"On the mend, thanks to the chirurgeons you found." Loyal men sword to Lord Edmont and House Fortemps. Young Master Leveilleur had monitored the healing himself in the initial days. No one spoke aloud what they all thought: a traitor might slip in and finish the job.

Blessedly, his father hadn’t seen to that particular cruelty.

"Tell me, how is he?"

"...Better. But we are discovering that my son is not the best patient."

"Truly? I would not have guessed that."

"Oh he is good-natured to all. But he alternates between pushing himself too fast, too soon or falling into a quiet sulk when he cannot get his way. No doubt that whatever mood he is in, he will try to hide it the moment someone walks in."

"That sounds more like Haurchefant."

They reach the door--handsome oak with subtle unicorn carvings in the panels--and Lord Edmont steps back. "I will leave you to it, Lord Aymeric. Twill do him good to see you."

“Thank you.” He is surprised by the genial clasp of his shoulder. There has been much talk of the changes seen in the three sons of House Fortemps. But Aymeric thinks the patriarch has also changed–as if Nerys’ presence has given him permission at last to be more open with his affection.

He cannot put into words, how much he appreciates the fatherly gesture just then.

Haurchefant slumps in an armchair by the fire, clad in a finely woven red and gold dressing gown over a tan nightshirt that falls to his ankles. He sits tall at the sound of the door, wincing when the movement jostles his injuries. The wounded arm is in a sling, carefully obscured beneath the scarlet silk.

“Aymeric,” he says. “Father told me to expect you. Forgive me for not standing, I am under strict orders to remain in this chair.”

“If you did, I should be very cross with you.” Aymeric sits in the opposite chair, warming his legs by the roaring fireplace. “You know you don’t have to stand on ceremony with me.”

Haurchefant covers his mouth, wincing as a chuckle moves through him. “Was that a pun?”

“It wasn’t not a pun.” Aymeric grins. “I’m sorry, I see that laughing is painful for you right now.”

“Don’t you dare apologize, I haven’t laughed in days.” He adjusts in his chair, mild consternation creasing his brow as he seeks a comfortable pose. Aymeric has suffered enough battle wounds in the past to know the frustration well. At last, Haurchefant picks up a bell on his sidetable. “Tea? Food?”

“Tea sounds lovely. Are you hungry?”

“Oh it’s complicated, that question.” Haurchefant’s genuine smile turns into something artificial. “I am not hungry and not hungry and not hungry but then I eat something...suddenly I am ravenous. The body is truly strange when it ails.”

“I remember.” Aymeric motions to his right side. “I took a mercifully non-fatal wound here a few years ago and that was the very same experience.”

“And your wounds recently?” Haurchefant rings the bell and settles back against his chair. “How are you faring? You look better.”

“I am better. All that’s left are the usual aches and sores of the body healing.” And a few scars, but those would fade over time. It was more than he had hoped for in that dungeon–Don’t think on it. Ask about him. “You look much better, too.”

“Flatterer.” Haurchefant winks. “But come now, you can pay me a prettier compliment than that.”

A servant enters the room, waiting at attention once it’s clear no one is in distress or pain. Haurchefant requests tea (“plenty of cream and birch syrup on the side please”), finger sandwiches, and the famous petit fours. Éléonore refuses to divulge her secrets despite all of Aymeric’s attempts to wheedle them out of the Fortemps’ chef.

“A ravenous day then?”

“Not really, but! My dear friend has come calling and I would treat him to things he likes.”

“With or without the prettier compliments?”

“With, naturally. Else I will tell Gregor to summarily evict you from the premises.”

Aymeric gives a long-suffering sigh, the one that can only be learned from Estinien Wyrmblood. But he stands to take Haurchefant’s uninjured hand and raises it slow to his lips, maintaining deliberate eye contact.

Etiquette demands he kiss the air above it but they are old, dear friends. He presses his lips to the knuckles and murmurs, “To see your beautiful face, to see you on the mend...it does this heart much good.”

“...Pretty indeed.” Aymeric doesn’t think he has ever seen the other man blush before. He won’t point it out but instead treasure it, for as long as it lasts. “Serves me right to challenge an unapologetic charmer.”

“I’d believe that if I didn’t know you love being put in your place, in the right mode.” Aymeric resumes his seat. “Estinien told me as much.”

“Ah…” An even dreamier expression overtakes Haurchefant. He should have visited sooner, if he is this gifted at lifting his friend from despondency. “That was a night I shan’t forget. He said he would tell you, but I never knew if he actually did.”

“He did. We talk about most of our intrigues and it was no small thing, that one of us should spend a night with our oldest and dearest friend. I never thanked you, by the by. For watching over him when he fled with The Eye.”

“No thanks required.” Haurchefant says. “I only wish I might watch over him now. He and Nerys both.”

“...I feel the same.” Aymeric admits. The very subject he hoped to avoid, if that was even possible. “Though I am well aware that we must stay here, just as they must go.”

“Must they…?” Worry and sorrow are clear in Haurchefant and he is slower to mask these. Hopefully, because he feels safe to bare such emotions in this company. “Ah, I know they must. As I know they will prevail. But it goes against everything in me, to stand by while my heart is in danger.”

“Hear hear.” It does not become easier, watching Estinien leave for another mission. To love a warrior is to embrace the possibility of loss with every day. Estinien took the same chance when he fell for Aymeric. “I am proud of them.”

“As am I.” Haurchefant fidgets again. “My apologies Aymeric, I did not mean to be so dour with company.”

“If not with me, then who?” Aymeric shakes his head. “You understand why I lost my heart to that man. Orchestrated it, even.”

“Ha. I only saw two friends pining and saw fit to help...push them along, as it were. You lost your heart long before I got involved.”

“Fair. I always wondered…”

Two servants enter with the refreshments and it takes some engineering to put everything in easy reach. Haurchefant has to adjust his pose again, doing a near-perfect job of hiding any discomfort. He thanks them profusely for their concerns, saying he is feeling better than he has in days.

Once alone, they fall quiet as tea is sipped and sandwiches tried. Aymeric sets aside a plate of three petit fours with sugar violets. If not, they will disappear by the time he finishes the savory portion.

“You feel that much better?”

“In truth...I am exhausted. The act of getting up and washed and dressed alone left me feeling as begrimed as before.” Haurchefant sighs. “But I did not want them to feel like they had to wait around. In any case, what did you wonder?”

“Hm? Oh.” Aymeric sets down the delicate red and white cup. “Why you went to such lengths when it was clear you held a torch for Estinien.”

“That? That’s easy.” Haurchefant shrugs and immediately winces. He must have forgotten that gesture was off-limits. “My friends were in love and I wanted them to be happy.”

“You had no notion we would be what we are,” Aymeric presses with a vague gesture. “A couple with an open arrangement.”

“My reward was your joy. That Halone saw fit to give me an extra gift well…” Haurchefant smirks. “Proof that patience and self-sacrifice are holy in her eyes.”

“Such blasphemy.” Aymeric does his best not to laugh or smile.

“Not at all! Did not Menphina find love in the arms of both Halone and Oschon?”

“I beg of you, Haurche.” Aymeric shakes his head. “The Fury must love you for all she has done, but even her divine grace must have limits.”

“Ah but who are we to set limits upon anything? Her divine grace or the boundaries of our hearts?” Haurchefant grins. “I wish I had known that teasing you was medicine. Can you come again tomorrow?”

“If I can manage it, I’ll come every day.” Aymeric says, truthfully. “Until this is over.”

The mischievous glint in Haurchefant’s eye trades for a solemn mien. He sighs. “Pray that the Fury brings them home soon. Not just to save you from my teasing, but so we have them back safe and sound.”

“I will drink to that.” Aymeric lifts his teacup. “To their safe return, so we may fuss over them.”

“To their safe return,” Haurchefant echoes. “If I am still unable to move well, you may have to embrace them both in my stead.”

“Gladly.”

If only Haurchefant knew how near to the truth he was. Estinien will tease him for it later, the Lord Commander hugging Nerys. But as Aymeric had pressed his lover about particular fantasies involving the Warrior, it is only fair.

Though when they return, Aymeric will feel less passion and more utter relief. Would that he might keep all three of them safe in the Pillars from then onward.

“Oh, I know you would.” Haurchefant says, lowering his cup.

Aymeric remembers that look. An invitation to meet him in the evening for stargazing, the night of a meteor shower. Only, he had found Estinien there instead. Who also wondered where Haurchefant was.

Some poor boy–no doubt tipped outrageously well–appeared with a message that Haurchefant was detained and they were to enjoy themselves.

“Drink your tea, my lord.” Aymeric says.

“Yes, ser.”

Perhaps Haurchefant knows, after all.

#nerys eluned #haurchefant greystone #aymeric de borel #estinien wyrmblood #edmont de fortemps #haurchefant x wol #aymeric x estinien #wol x haurchefant x estinien x aymeric #heavensward spoilers #Haurchefant lives #ally writes

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alkaysani-archived · 4 years

Text

The Old Guard Fanfic Master List

*updated* 15 Oct 2020

MAIN SERIES

AS OUR LOVE SHAPES OUR UNIVERSE (Nicky x Joe - Princess Diaries AU)

to love is to sacrifice, to sacrifice is to love

“Prince Yusuf Al-Kaysani,” Charlotte says, and she’s sighing dreamily again and Yusuf definitely has that effect on people. “That young man gets my vote,” Joseph says from behind him. “He goes by Joe sometimes, so he’s definitely of good stock,” he says, and Nicky snorts. “A brilliant one, amazing artist, charismatic. He’s dedicated himself as the right-hand and advisor to his queen mother, and has fully supported his younger sister taking the throne instead of him. He’s friends with Nicolo,” he says, and Nicky blinks, shrugging a little, and his heart starts to go wild in his chest in a way he doesn’t want to understand. “We spent two years of secondary together,” he whispers, glancing at Mia. “Uh…just before they passed, he had to move back home, and I…” he trails off, sighing. --- or the Princess Diaries II AU where Prince Nicolo will do anything for Genovia. And if that means introducing his cousin Princess Mia to Prince Yusuf Al-Kaysani to be her future king, then his heart just has to deal with it. He just wished that it didn’t hurt so much.

i will hold your heart together in mine

“You love me now, right?” “Forever more, my darling,” Joe chokes out, and it takes on a whole new meaning that makes his own ache. “Then my heart will heal,” Nicolo says, and his voice is firm, and fierce, under the exhaustion. “The symptoms will fade, in time. They will,” he adds, his voice muffled against his shoulder. He pulls away and looks up at Joe with wide, glassy eyes. “The universe won’t be so cruel to me to take me away now, when I am finally happy, right?” he says, and Joe burst into tears then, shaking his head, grabbing Nicolo’s face and kissing him, deeply. No. No. He won’t think of it. He won’t think of losing Nicolo. Not again. Not like this. *** or where Prince Yusuf learns the physical extents of Nicolo’s heartbreak, months after they were meant to be fine. But regardless of how much it ails him, his beloved Nicolo continues to have faith that he will be alright. So he must brave through his fears and his worries, as they grow, and build a life and a family, together. Even if it breaks their hearts again. And again. And again.

black cats and lopsided hearts (Joe x Nicky) - 30 Oct 2020

“Permission to keep killing your fiancé with cuteness due to Halloween costumes, please?” Mia asks, and she’s giving Nicolo those eyes again, and this time, Nicolo bites his lip, glancing at Joe. “It might be fun, beloved. It’ll only be for a night,” he reasons, and Nicolo sighs then, nodding his head. “For you, heart.” *** or The Old Guard Princess Diaries AU – Halloween Special where Mia convinces Nicolo and Yusuf to let her dress up one and a half-year old twins Elio and Ayla for this very American holiday.

ONE-SHOTS & STAND-ALONES

JOE x NICKY

not that i need reminding

“You look in love.” Joe blinks, looking up at the voice. There’s a woman, a little younger than Nile, or maybe just her age, sitting beside him on the bench now. She’s smiling at him, and he gives her what he hopes is an equal one, before nodding softly, gently tapping his pencil on his sketchbook. He knows the answer, of course he does. Yes. He is in love. Truly, madly, deeply, or however they say it. He knows all of this already. But he’s willing to play. “And how does that look?” --- or joe gets a vibe check from the universe.

to know those among us

“Mommy, angel! Angel, mommy!” Nicky blinks, putting down the produce he had in his hand. He zeros in on the voice and a little boy staring up at him, jaw dropped and staring, his eyes wide and curious. Then he looks up to find a woman, blushing red, looking absolutely mortified. Even with her darker tone, the flush is clear, making her glow. She looks ready to run, so Nicky just gives her a smile, and then crouches in front of the child, before looking around, humming curiously. “Where, little one?” he asks, putting his hands over his eyes as he continues his search. “Where is the angel?” he asks, and the little boy giggles. It’s a beautiful sound amongst the low bustle of the early farmer’s market. --- or nicky gets mistaken for an angel by a child, so he tells them about real ones

in parts, i fall, i love

Joe needs to finish this portfolio if he wants something to propose to the showcase. And he does. He really does. But someone just sat at his table because the coffee shop is so busy, and their profile is gorgeous, and yep, he’s definitely trashed the outline again because this man is definitely going to be a part of it. “Is there something on my face?” he hears, and Joe pauses. Shit. Joe breathes out so heavily that his glasses fog up, and he looks up to find the man giving him a hint of a smile, tilting his head slightly to the side. “You’re staring,” the man states and honestly, yeah, Joe is. “I’m not.” Idiot. --- or joe is an artist, and he falls in love. and nicky is along for the ride.

with your hands, your whispers

Come on love, that’s it.” “I can’t, Yusuf, please.” He’s gasping, breathless. His Yusuf always leaves him so breathless. It’s too much. And of course, Yusuf knows that it’s too much. He knows exactly what Nicky needs, and what makes him overflow, and it seems like his adoring heart wants him to spill over, again and again in every sense of the word. *** or a take on what nicolo and yusuf were doing before booker and andy got to the hotel in marrakesh

let’s right, these wrongs, together (see accompanying edit here)

If he concentrates hard enough, he can still smell Yusuf on the scarf, and it brings immediate tears to his eyes. Because it’s only been nearly a year, and he’s yearned for the man for longer, way before they got together. And even with all the odds, with all the numbers combined, Nicky doesn’t believe that there’ll be enough time that can pass to heal the pain that’s clawing on his chest at that moment. That has been since Yusuf said it was over. Nile’s legs move from his lap, and suddenly there are arms around him, pulling him close and Nicky closes his eyes, pressing his face on Nile’s neck. “You’re allowed to hurt as long as you have to, Nicky,” Nile says to him, and it’s so, so kind. “You can tell me as much or as little as you can. I didn’t mean to push.” Nicky sniffles. “I still love him,” he croaks out, like it needed to be heard, like his desperation is a call out for his heart. His heart that let him go, that told him that it’s over. *** or the one where Nicky is housemates with Nile after Yusuf breaks up with him. And when he finally opens up about it, Nicky realizes that his current predicament was brought on by misunderstandings and good intentions with ill results. But it’s too late. It’s been nearly a year; it doesn’t matter now. Right? Not if your housemate is Nile Freeman.

hand-shaped bruise (see accompanying edit here)

Prince Nicolò spends most of his days alone. He lives with no one, after all, ever since his parents died. Ever since he was killed by Sr. Merrick and Lady Kozak, his screams ringing out throughout the night until his final breath, only to show up the next day at the farmer’s market. *** or my halloween take on our beloved characters.

BOOKER x COPLEY

when time dictates love

"So not ugly,” Sebastien says, and Aidan looks at Mr. Copley, who just shrugs, smiling. “He is insufferable. Does he know this?” he says, and the man just smiles, both of them ignoring how Sebastien says ‘hey!’. “He does,” Mr. Copley whispers, and he says, and Sebastien’s fingers intertwine with his atop his knee, and Aidan looks away. “But you like him anyway,” he says instead. Mr. Copley chuckles, and he leans to press a kiss on Sebastien’s forehead, who’s no longer laughing. “Yes, but I like him anyway.” --- or a home-care worker witnesses Booker and Copley’s last year together, as time catches up on them

MULTIPLE RELATIONSHIPS

there is no timeline when it comes to this (Booker x Copley; Joe x Nicky - also featuring Joe & Booker bffs and Nicky really giving a damn about Booker)

“I’m happy for you, Yusuf,” Booker says, because he means it despite the ache, and Joe smiles, nodding, and he’s smiling in a way that makes his heart hurt even more. “We love you, Booker,” Joe says because he’s just that person, before driving off as Booker makes his way up to his apartment, steps feeling like lead. He makes the point to check the mail, and he’s not even sure why. He’s never checked mail before, Joe usually did. Booker pauses then, looking at the different ads he pulled out of the box after twisting the key. So many changes already. When he finally gets to his unit, he finds someone standing at the door. They turn when he pauses, and greets him with a smile. “Hello Booker,” James Copley says, giving him a two-finger salute. “You haven’t aged a day.” *** or where Booker’s best friend Yusuf moves out to be with his Nicolo, and he makes the choice to live alone for the first time in years. Booker tells himself he’ll be fine, tells everyone that he’ll be fine, even though the weight in his chest tells him otherwise. but he really has no choice. this is his life now. then James Copley comes home.

OTHER SHIPS & FRIENDSHIPS & NO SHIPS

little things, for the heart (Nile and Joe)

“Are you…baking bread?” Joe looks up at her then, and Nile snorts, walking over to the counter and reaching up to tug on the man’s stray curls, dark tight ringlets dusted with white flour. “Maybe,” Joe says, in a sing-song tone. *** or Nile takes a lesson she learned from her mother and applies it to her new life.

OTHER SERIES

THE NILE FREEMAN COLLECTION (Written for Nile Freeman Week 2020)

nile + love or where Nile meets another queen

nile + sadness or where Nile keeps it real with Booker

nile + alone time or where Nile gets of ice cream and thinks of dying

nile + comfort or where Nile makes Joe feel better, the best way she knows how

MY LOVE, WE STILL HAVE MUCH TO LEARN (Post-Canon Take)

do not let me awake alone (Nicky x Joe)

After Booker’s betrayal, Joe is angry and Nicky suffers through the fallout. And for the the first time in a long time, Nicky understands what it's like to be alone in his grief.And something inside him breaks.

my love for him kills any anger (Nicky x Joe; Joe & Andy)

A month later, Andy finds out that Nicky is talking to Booker.But it doesn’t mean that Joe forgives him. Far from it. They've been through so much for him to just let it go.

a blessing from above (Nile & Nicky; Nile & Joe; Nicky x Joe)

Nile gets used to a few things, three months into her new life. But the one thing that wracks her brain the most is how they deal with loss and suffering.Thankfully, she has a lifetime to figure it out. Because they’re family, and she wants to help them. At least, start them on the right path. They are grown people, after all. Because her Mama raised her right.

#the old guard #the old guard fanfiction #elio and ayla multiverse by L #nicolorenaldigenovia: elio and ayla #mine: elio and ayla #tog princess diaries au #tog prince au #L writes things #mine

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delicatelyherdreams · 4 years

Text

Pragma(tic) 17: Though Mighty, She Falls

Pairing: Persephone!Bucky Barnes x Hades!Reader

Summary: In a world where the old gods never truly died, you must learn to navigate your way through the ups and downs of immortality. And if living forever wasn’t hard enough, an ancient evil is now threatening to break free after centuries of silence. And as if that still wasn’t hard enough for you, now a pesky and infuriatingly handsome god is trying to wedge his way into your life. Gods, work, love, and conflict—what more could a goddess need? [Hades & Persephone AU]

Word Count: 5663

Warnings: Language, blood

Pragma(tic) Masterlist

Previous 16: He Feels His Heart Break

In all your millennia, you’d never actually thought about death. Sure you were surrounded by it every single day, but you never pondered what it meant to die—to cease to live. Death was nothing but a term to you. It meant that another soul would be joining your kingdom. It meant that a mortal’s life had ended. It had no place in your life. And yet… Now it seemed that you were staring your own death right in the face.

The spirits in Elysium had all described it in different ways. Some said it was peaceful—a sweet release from life. Others said it was the worst pain they’d ever experienced—an excruciating way to go.

You had never known such pain before. Your body was alight with angry fires. Your limbs hurt at the slightest of movements. You were always parched, your mouth never moistening. It hurt to breathe. Every ragged breath you drew in lead to a round of severe coughing. The air in your lungs was tainted gold. Ichor flowed freely from the corners of your mouth, running down your chin in thin rivers.

You’d been poisoned.

It was the only diagnosis Pietro could come up with. Natasha and Carol had dragged him down to the Underworld after they and Peggy got you laid up in your bed. Though he was reluctant to venture down under as it was, he did his job well. As the god of medicine and stuff like that he was the only one capable of figuring out what had ailed you. “She’s been poisoned,” he said, pulling his hands away from your head and chest. He’d done his assessment, letting his magic flow through you through the two entry points, and that was the only explanation he could come up with.

“But you can cure her, right?” Natasha’s voice had been desperate, begging. She feared for you when she saw you collapse in the throne room. You, her strong, older sister, had never once caught a cold, and you had suddenly started throwing up ichor. She was terrified; it was a strong poison if it could cripple a goddess such as yourself so much.

Pietro has hung his head before delivering the harsh news. “I can’t... I’ve never seen anything like this before. It’s old magic, old poison. I didn’t even know that it still existed. I don’t know of anything that would heal her… I’m sorry.”

No cure; no choice other than to wait it out, let the poison run its course, and pray that you would recover.

He’d left you with some medicine that might alleviate the pain and make you more comfortable, but that was all he could do.

There was no hope for an immediate recovery, you knew that much when you looked into Pietro’s eyes. They had been full of pity, of sadness, like he was looking at a woman who was already dead and just didn’t know it yet.

Your sisters were optimistic, setting off on a fool’s quest to find you a cure. Just because Pietro had never heard of one didn’t mean that it didn’t exist. He was a newer god, after all, and so he didn’t know everything. There was always a chance that there was something as old as the poison itself that could act as the cure.

You, however, knew better. You’d seen enough death and pain yourself to know that chances were this was not going to end well.

And so, after the first week, you began to make arrangements for your absence. It had to be done anyways, after all. It would be a long time before you recovered if you did at all. The Underworld would still run, but you wouldn’t be able to do it. You barely had the strength to sit up without help, how could you have the strength to run a kingdom?

So while your mother, your sisters, and Peggy took turns watching over you and helping you do basic human things, you divided up the responsibilities of the kingdom.

Peggy, bless her heart, took over the paperwork you had to do. All the Elysium applications and the renovations and other paperwork went through her. She’d shadowed you enough to know how to do it. When she wasn’t nursing you or helping you do basic things, she was down in the office trudging through the endless mountains.

Pierce, helpful as ever, volunteered to lead the reconstruction efforts on Tartarus, directing gods and other beings on how to contribute, and take over the more official, executive aspects of the Underworld. Being the god of Death, Pierce had taken it upon himself a millennia ago to learn the way you ran things. Aside from Peggy, and obviously yourself, he was the only one fit to rule in your stead. While Peggy was managing the admin side of the Underworld, Pierce took over the engineering and execution of all other functions.

Together, the two of them completely filled your role, leaving you with the peace of mind necessary to get better and recover.

Though after the third week of pain, it didn’t look like you ever would.

Natasha and Carol told you not to think like that, but you knew. You knew how death worked. You knew how death felt. You knew that the chances of you pulling out of this were slim to none. It was only a matter of time now.

———

“Mrs. Thomas from Elysium called again.”

“Oh yeah? What’d she say.”

Peggy shrugged as she took a seat on the chair that had been set up at your bedside. “Oh, you know. Just calling to ask how you’ve been doing, wondering if she can bring you over her famous soup. She’s certain it will help you get better.”

You croaked a laugh, the breath stinging your chapped lips. “She always thinks food will solve everything.” Your eyes followed Peggy as she sat down, looking at the bowl she held in her hands. “If we can get me to keep food down, maybe take her up on that offer. I miss her cooking.”

She only smiled as she reached into the bowl. From it she pulled a damp washcloth. The white was vibrant in the darkened room as she wrung it out, letting the excess water fall. She reached over and began dabbing your face with the cloth. “I’ll be sure to do that then.”

You closed your eyes under the cool surface. It was a welcome relief from the constant fire you felt. One of the downfalls of this whole poisoning thing was the fever that came along with it. In all the three weeks of the pain, the fever had never once broken. If you were mortal, the constant heat would’ve boiled your brain by now. But, being immortal, it only caused you severe discomfort and the occasional delusions. The chill of the cold cloth was refreshing and it drew a shuddering sigh from your lips. “Thanks, Peggy.”

“Of course.” She continued to move the cloth across your face, letting it rest the most on your forehead. When it warmed she dipped it back into the ice-cold water and repeated her movements.

It was soothing—just a bit of comfort from the pain you were in constantly. You let out a shuddering breath as you sank deeper into your bed. Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths. It was getting harder and harder to breathe with every passing day. You had a feeling that it wouldn’t be long before you couldn’t breathe at all.

As if sensing your doubtful thoughts, Peggy’s hand stilled. “You’re going to be alright. I know it. Your sisters are searching for a cure and Pietro is getting everything he can think of.”

You didn’t want to point out to her that just yesterday he was almost out of ideas. You simply nodded. “Alright…” you rasped out. Carefully you inhaled sharply, letting the air scratch at your lungs. “But let’s not discuss that right now. Tell me how things are going. How’s my kingdom?”

Being laid up, you never got to go out and see how things were going for yourself. You had to rely heavily on Peggy and Pierce’s reports. You were paranoid. You’d never been away from the throne for that long and not having your hand in the workings of the Underworld made you anxious.

Peggy hummed. “It’s recovering. The Tartarus breech really did a number on things, but we’re rebuilding. Elysium renovations are going smoothly. The crack in the wall is almost fully filled. Pierce is doing well.”

“Then why do you sound uneasy?”

She blinked, surprised by your question, but you hadn’t missed the hint of malice and skepticism in her voice when she spoke of Pierce. Something was wrong, you knew it.

“What’s he doing?” You locked your eyes on her face, doing your best to read her expression.

Her brows furrowed and she tilted her chin down. Her expression was confused and she was confused by her own confusion. “He… He’s doing well, almost too well. (y/n), I can’t explain it, but the way he’s acting whenever he goes out to the cave… It’s like he knows exactly what he’s doing. It’s like he’s already had everything planned out. He’s doing too well, and it’s giving me this bad feeling.”

“You’ve tested him?”

“Of course I have. He’s not being controlled—not by Kronos or anyone else for that matter. He’s completely in his own mind.”

You licked your lips and gazed up at the ceiling. “Have you been down to the cave? To inspect his work?”

“No. I haven’t had the time to. Between keeping you alive and dealing with paperwork, I haven’t been able to.” She sighed heavily and dunked the washcloth into the ice water once more. Setting it on your forehead, she said, “But I will soon; cast a spell or two of my own to help. Do anything to make sure your father stays locked up in your absence.”

You nodded your head. “Thank you, Pegs. This is why you’re my second in command.” Your smile was weak as you grinned at her, but it was there and meaningful.

She laughed at that and shook her head. “I’m not sure that that’s the only reason why, but I’ll take it.” She sighed. “How have you been feeling?”

“Oh, shitty as ever. But hey, you’ll be proud of me. I’ve only thrown up ichor once today.”

“That’s progress!” Her eyes brightened with hope.

“Yeah… Progress…” You didn’t want to tell her that that one episode had lasted nearly a half-hour as you lay hunched over the side of the bed expelling what little you’d eaten that morning from your stomach and some more ichor with it. Your tired sigh ended with a half-hearted smile. “I’m tired now, Pegs,” you said softly.

She pulled the cloth away from your forehead. “Would you like me to leave you to rest?”

You barely moved your head in a nod. “Please.”

“Alright.” Her chair scraped the ground as she pushed it back and stood. “I’ll be down in the office working. Call me if you need anything.”

“I will.”

The sound of her footsteps echoed in the room, growing fainter and fainter until they were nothing. You were left in silence once more. It settled heavy on the room, enveloping you in the cocoon of solitude. You used to hate the silence, but now it was welcome. Even sick, you rarely had a moment to yourself. Everyone was always scared you’d die if you were left alone for even one second. There was almost always someone by your side.

It was overwhelming.

But you almost preferred the company. It kept your mind busy and away from unpleasant thoughts about your impending demise.

Though no one around you wanted to admit it, you knew it to be true: you were dying and there was nothing that could be done about it. It was a depressing thought, really. You didn’t want to die, but it didn’t look like you had much of a choice.

You were going to die, and that was just the way of things.

And that was…

Honestly, not okay with you. But the pain was just mind-numbing. Sure the medicine that Pietro prescribed for you helped ease it a bit, but it would always return with a vengeance. Nearly a month of this had sapped out all the strength and magic you had, and you weren’t sure how much longer you could take it all.

But you chose not to dwell on it. You couldn’t. It would only just kill you faster.

Approaching footsteps broke the silence, tearing you from your thoughts of dying and the partial-slumber it had been lulling you into.

Your face screwed up at the disturbance, but you didn’t open your eyes. “Peggy?” you called out, the hoarseness of your voice surprising even you. “Did you need something?”

A chuckle was your answer. “It’s not Peggy, Precious.”

At his voice, your eyes snapped open. “Brock,” you croaked, trying to muscle your way into a sitting position. You couldn’t see him when you were reclined and you refused to be prone in his presence. You hadn’t seen him since you’d sent him away all those months ago, and that conversation had been left on severely rocky terms. You’d told him to leave, ending things between you pretty harshly. You couldn’t believe your ears when you heard his voice and so you had to see him for yourself. But to do that, you had to sit up.

You didn’t get too far. The pain in your chest and abdomen flared with the movement and you cried out in agony.

Brock was at your side in an instant, his hands pushing down on your shoulders ever so gently to ease you back against the pillows.. “Shh, Precious,” he murmured softly. “Stay down, it’s okay.”

Reluctantly, you obeyed. Gods, you wanted to sit up and berate him for ever showing his face in your home again, but you weren’t strong enough to do so. So you settled for just glaring at him. “Why are you here?” you hissed in a low voice. “I thought I told you to never show your face again.”

“You did not say that, Precious,” he said, his voice was gentle and kind. “You told me to leave, you didn’t tell me to never come back.” When you were situated on the pillows again, he set one of his large hands on your forehead and brushed back your hair.

“That still meant leave,” you spat. You looked up at him, your eyes narrowing. “Why have you come? How did you get past Peggy?”

“I have my ways. You forget I used to frequent this room without anyone knowing I was ever here. I know how to get in undetected.” With that, he sat down in the chair Peggy had been sitting in not even an hour ago. He pulled his palm from your forehead and reached for your hand which was lying at your side. You were too tired to move it, so he laced your fingers together. “I’m here to see you, Precious. I heard you were sick, but I— I never imagined…” His voice broke as he looked at your face. You could only imagine how horrible you looked.

“You’re not welcome here anymore, Brock,” you growled. “You should leave.”

“No, not until you hear me out.”

“Th-There’s nothing left for me to hear! I told you to leave.”

“Precious—”

“And stop calling me that!” You yanked your hand out of his grasp and glared daggers at him. “I’m not your precious anymore. You have no right to come in here and call me terms of endearment like we’re still… Like we’re still together! You don’t have that privilege anymore and I want you—” Your lungs were arrested by a fit of coughing and your body convulsed. Pain wracked your body as you hacked and coughed, trying to expel the insatiable itch in your throat. You coughed into your hands, cupping them at your mouth to catch the ichor that was thrown from your lungs so they didn’t land on the covers.

Brock rubbed small circles over your back as if that would help ease the pain or the coughing. “Shh, just get it out.”

You wanted to curse his name, banish him from your home for forever, but you couldn’t. You didn’t have the energy to. When you finished coughing, you sat back against the pillows. Your hands were stained gold with your own ichor and it hurt to breathe.

He helped you get back the best he could, being nothing but gentle with your fragile body. He handled you like you were made of glass; like you could shatter at any second. When you were settled once more, he took his hand off of you and hung his head. “Please, Precious. I needed to come back; to apologize if nothing else. Please just hear me out.” His voice was desperate and soft; he was scared of what you would say.

You didn’t want to even give him the time of day, but because you were basically a captive audience, you really had no choice. You sneered at him down your nose but nodded your head. “You’ve got two minutes.”

“Thank you.” He inhaled sharply before he said, “I’m sorry for everything I ever did—or didn’t do—to you. I never wanted to hurt you. I was just scared of what you wanted. I thought that, if I committed myself to you, you would grow tired of me and leave or that I would lose myself in the process. I wasn’t ready for that.”

“But you are now?” You scoffed. “It’s a little late for that, Rumlow. You broke my heart too many times and I found someone who wouldn’t.”

Bucky…

Gods, you hadn’t thought about Bucky in weeks. Now, whether that was intentional or accidental, you weren’t sure; it had the potential to be both.

It could’ve been accidental—just something that happened as a result of being preoccupied with poisoning and worrying for your kingdom.

But it could’ve been intentional—a coping mechanism designed to keep your heart from breaking further. Your body had enough to deal with; fighting the poison was taking everything you had, you had no energy to spare to deal with the pain of remembering Bucky’s devastated expression. You couldn’t even think about him without hurting.

As if on cue, pangs of agony struck your heart as his face surfaced in your mind and you fought hard to shove it back down. You couldn’t dwell on him now. He was gone. You’d sent him away. You’d said awful things.

He probably hated you now or at least didn’t love you.

You didn’t know which one hurt worse.

“Ah, yes. The god of spring.” The words were bitter and his lips curled back in a snarl. “If he loved you so much, why isn’t he at your side? Why isn’t he here taking care of you, searching for a cure for your poison like I am?”

Your eyes must’ve widened in shock because he laughed. “Yes, Precious. I haven’t been at your side these last few weeks because I’ve been searching for the cure.”

“H-How do you even know what’s wrong with me?” Your mouth was agape, though it probably wasn’t hard to guess what had afflicted you. You showcased all the typical signs of poisoning. But he hadn’t been around to see them.

He smiled softly at you. “The water has ears, Precious. Your sisters and your friend are out in the yard talking about it constantly. I have heard it all, and I think I’m this close to coming up with something to help you.”

“Is that why you’ve kept your distance? You didn’t want to come crawling to my side empty-handed?”

“Yes.” He reached out and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly. “I didn’t want to come back to you unless I knew I had something to offer you. I know it may have been selfish, but please know that my intentions were nothing but good and pure.” He pressed his lips together as his eyes searched your face. “Please, (y/n), let me prove to you that I really do care for and love you. Let me help you. Let me stay.”

Every fiber of your being screamed “NO,” but you knew that he would argue with you and you had no energy or strength to deal with that. It didn’t mean that you’d let him weasel his way into your bed once more; it just meant that he could maybe pick up a shift in watching over you and give Peggy and your sisters a bit of a break.

Reluctantly you nodded your head. “Alright. You can stay,” you whispered bitterly.

He visibly relaxed, his lips falling into a soft smile and his eyes glistening in the dim light. “Thank you. Don’t worry, Precious.” He leaned down and pressed his lips to your forehead, letting them linger there for longer than you liked.

At one point in life, you would’ve reveled under his touch, but now that you’d had a taste of something different—something better that only Bucky could give you—it only made you cringe and long for the lips you really loved.

He exhaled sharply, letting his breath ghost your skin, before finally pulling away and replacing his lips with his hand. His skin was rough against yours as he pet your head, brushing your hair back. He smiled softly at you, his eyes holding a promise. “I’ll find a way to heal you; I promise I will. You’ll get better.”

———

You got worse.

Brock took over your evening schedule, taking care of your dinner by helping you choke down what little of ambrosia and nectar you could and holding your hair back as you later threw it up and by making sure you could sleep and were clean. He’d talk to you at night, telling you about how the kingdom was doing, how the rivers flowed, how everything was going to be okay.

If you didn’t absolutely loathe the man, you would’ve been grateful for him. He was a calming presence at your side, just talking with you. Not pestering you about cures or technicalities of the kingdom. He just talked about whatever came to mind.

For a while, nothing changed.

But then, a week after Brock came back, you started seizing.

Carol had been watching you that evening when you suddenly tensed up and blacked out. She said you suddenly went stiff as a board before shaking, eyes rolling to the back of your head as your muscles convulsed. She didn’t know what was going on at first, panicking as you just shook. She was unable to do anything to help you and you had a feeling that that kind of powerlessness made her scared.

Pietro was called right away and he made his entrance right at the end of the seizure as you were coming out of it.

You were confused and dazed; you didn’t know what was going on and it made you scared. You were tired and sore and your head ached.

It didn’t take Pietro long to diagnose what had happened.

It had been over a month since you’d been poisoned, and you weren’t able to keep anything down, so Pietro labeled it as a provoked seizure due to low ichor-sugar. With no food or drink able to enter your system, the levels had dropped dangerously low and had triggered the seizure.

And that was when they broke out the IVs and feeding tubes.

Your mother demanded them; she was growing desperate. While the gods didn’t need to eat to survive, they did need the nutrition to keep internal levels balanced. Such nutrition typically came from ambrosia or nectar, but you couldn’t get either down or keep them in your stomach.

So, if you couldn’t get the nutrition of your own volition, they’d force it in.

The tube and needle were extremely uncomfortable. They’d snaked the feeding tube into your stomach through your nose and you couldn’t move your head without it shifting weirdly. The IV stuck out of the back of your left hand, making it impossible to move it without pulling the needle out or jamming it in further.

You hated it, but it was necessary.

Your body was in desperate need of the nectar and ambrosia; the lack of it was only hurting your health more.

But even when you were getting the sustenance you needed, you still were not getting better. Your health continued to go downhill gradually until you didn’t even have the strength to lift your hand. Breathing alone was a chore, and it was clear that your days were numbered.

Even your family had to admit it.

You weren’t living; you were surviving and you were barely doing that.

It was only a matter of time before you were out of time.

Brock was at your side, holding onto your hand as he always did, but for once he was silent. His eyes were dark and hooded, his lips were set in a seemingly permanent frown. He was sour, brooding, thinking, and the silence that entailed was driving you mad.

“What’s on your mind?” you croaked out, breaking the silence. Your voice, though the only sound in the room, was hollow and ragged. It wasn’t yours anymore; it was nothing but a harsh ghost blowing away in the wind.

His brown eyes flickered up to you and his face softened. “Oh, nothing much, love. Just about you.”

“What about me?” You squinted at him, fighting to keep your eyes open. Even that was a struggle now; you were so weighed down by exhaustion that your eyes refused to stay open half the time.

He squeezed your hand gently. “How even when dying you’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever known. I’m sorry that I wasn’t good to you like you deserved. I’m sorry I was stupid and foolish. I’m sorry I ever let you go.”

“Brock…” His apology was sincere and it made you happy and peaceful, but it wasn’t going to change anything. He’d had his chance and, even though the odds said that you would never have your Bucky again, he was never going to have another one. You’d done that game and your death wasn’t going to make you want to play it again. Sure, you were grateful that he was here to help take care of you, but that didn’t entitle him to another shot at your heart. You’d learned your lesson and you were never going to let him in again.

“No, don’t say anything, Precious. I know what you’re going to say but I can’t hear it. Just… Just let me pretend for a moment that I have you back, that you’re mine once more; just for a little bit longer.” He let out a shuddering breath then, bowing his head and resting it on the bed. “Please…”

You stayed silent. You didn’t have the energy to burst his bubble. You closed your eyes as the room fell into silence once more. Maybe you could nap now, but you didn’t want to sleep. All you did anymore was sleep and you were tired of it.

“Rumlow,” called a soft voice in the dark.

You cracked your eyes open to see Peggy standing at the foot of your bed. She was looking down at the man that was sitting beside you, her eyes cold and unfeeling. You hadn’t even heard her come in…

He straightened up, letting go of your hand and standing. “Peggy.”

The woman’s eyes glowed softly in the dim light. “You can go home now,” she said, her voice low so as to not disturb you. “I’ve got her for the night.”

“Are you sure? Really, it’s no trouble for me to stay here and watch her.” You could hear it in his voice that he didn’t want to leave.

“I’m sure. Go home.”

Brock looked like he wanted to resist, but the stare that Peggy was giving him was withering. Eventually, he backed down, lowering his head in submission. “Call me if you need anything,” he mumbled before walking out of your room.

It was just you and Peggy now, and you cracked a weak smile up at her. “You got me?”

At the sound of your voice, she turned her attention to you and grinned. “Yeah, always.” She made her way over to the side of the bed and sat down in the chair that had become a permanent fixture in your room. “How are you doing?”

“Same as always,” you choked out. “I’ll be honest with you, Peggy: I don’t know how much longer I can do this.” Your voice cracked as you spoke and your chest rose and fell with labored breaths. “It… It hurts so goddamn much.”

“I know, love. I know.” She reached forward and placed her hand on your forehead, letting it sit there as her eyes fluttered closed. “I know it hurts. I know you’re suffering and I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for you…” She swallowed heavily and took a shuddering breath. “I think we’re running out of time, (y/n).”

You figured; but it was different hearing it said. It had seemed that there was some unspoken rule that stated that they couldn’t talk about death or how fast you were dying out loud, but now Peggy was breaking that rule and it made the situation that much more real. If everyone was being honest, you had maybe a week left at this rate. It’d been two months and, while you’d put up as much of a fight as you could, you were fighting a losing battle.

You only nodded your head slowly. “I know we are… I think I’ll be leaving you soon. My mom and sisters don’t want to admit it, but I can feel it. And I can guarantee that if you had Pierce look at me, he’d know that I’m… He’d know that I’m dying.”

Peggy winced as the words were said aloud. Her eyes squeezed shut and her shoulder shuddered. “I don’t want it to be so.”

“But it is so, Peggy; whether we like it or not…” You inhaled sharply through your nose. “Which brings me to another point that neither of us are going to want to talk about, but it has to be done. If— When I die, I want you to take over as Queen of the Underworld.”

“Wh-What?”

“My sisters have their own kingdoms, my mother is retired, and I don’t trust Pierce enough to place him on the throne. You’re the next eligible candidate for the throne, and so I want the crown to pass to you.” You smiled up at her. “You’ll make a fantastic queen.”

She shook her head. “No, no I won’t, (y/n), because you won’t die on us. We can’t let you.”

“Peg, I don’t think you have a choice.” You took another deep breath but this one hurt you and caused you to groan. “I’m sorry.”

Peggy pressed her lips together and stood. “It’s not your fault, love. You should sleep now. I’ve got some things I have to do, alright?”

You were a little saddened that she was leaving you, but you understood. You just dropped a major bomb on her and you would want to get away if you too were in her position. “Alright.”

She left, leaving you all alone. The room was dark, silent save for the sound of your labored breathing. It was an eerie setting: you in bed—a corpse just barely living—in the dark with only the dim light from outside illuminating the room. If you weren’t stuck there, you’d be running out as fast as possible; but you couldn’t move. You didn’t think you ever would again.

Your eyes fluttered shut. You took a shallow breath. You clenched and unclenched your hands.

It’s almost over. It’s fine. It’ll be okay.

So why did your heart hurt so much?

Probably because you were leaving people behind.

That seemed like a common theme in death: it didn’t hurt the person dying, but it killed everyone left behind. You couldn’t help but think of your mother and sisters, of the few gods that had been your friends, of… Of Bucky.

Oh, Bucky. You wouldn’t ever get to apologize to him for hurting him, apologize for not being strong enough to protect him, apologize for not being strong enough to live for him. You just prayed that Peggy would talk to him after it was all said and done. Maybe he could go to your funeral. You’d like that—if he was there for one last goodbye even if you weren’t. Maybe he would forgive you anyways.

You started to drift to sleep, letting the darkness over take you, when you were disturbed by a sharp breath. Your face contorted in discomfort as you forced your eyes open, ready to chew out whoever had disturbed your sleep, but the air was sucked from your lungs when you saw the figure at the foot of your bed.

Red rimmed the man’s eyes and dark bags sat beneath them. His skin had lost its summer glow. A short stubble had covered his jaw; he hadn’t shaved in a long time. The blue of his irises was obscured by tears welling up in his eyes. His hands, large and worn, gripped your footboard with white knuckles as he stared at you, his lips parted in a saddened gasp.

Tears welled up in your own eyes as you gasped for the air that had been stolen from your lungs. Your mind must’ve been playing tricks on you; this wasn’t possible. But that didn’t stop you from croaking out, “B-Bucky?”

Next 18: He Holds Her Close

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