#of having to watch grace age and die together without being able to do anything about it

[vaguely-concerned]

hoping so hard that the detail about pan being said to be the only god to have died for real before is true just so he and freddie can have meaningful (and hilarious) bonding time post-game. peak potential OT3 dynamic. every time Grace gets on their case about anything they immediately go 'yeah ok but did you die tho' in unison and then high five about it. grace's divine buddy cop comedy duo backup crew slash harem are unionizing help her

#stray gods #stray gods freddie #stray gods pan #stray gods grace #grace x freddie x pan #I am also thinking A Lot about the harrowing fact that pan and freddie would have to contend with the very real possibility #of having to watch grace age and die together without being able to do anything about it #I'm like '...does anyone want to be an eidolon donor for a worthy cause here pls do not separate them' over here haha #we don't know for sure thalia's gone forever right. we could have a muse duo (and pan!) it's not impossible. here's how we can still win

[moth-bells]

Hi so, I dont know whenever I'm gonna be able to write or draw anything I like for my cryptids au, so I'm going to give you all literally all the lore and if I ever get to it, its already here.

It also doesnt always make perfect sense but I think that gives it charm and I'm not gonna run around in circles trying to make it perfect Gonna try and make this generally in timeline of events order

The earth is formed. From the dust of star dust rises two figures

They have no names and they were never born, forming from things they do not understand, yet know all too well

They are always at one another's side

They are both everything and nothing to one another

They witness eons together

Watching little specks shift and change and grow

They watch life and ease life along with hands that do what is needed without thought behind how it happens

They have purpose yet none here, witnesses

The duo watch as the earth fills with life only for it all to nearly vanish

They watch life persevere despite that

Those first peculiar humans, though without that name yet, come to be. So small and fragile, yet the two can see potential with these ones

They travel the globe, checking in on different places, seeing how the people so similar are slowly changing. They find it fascinating, though they feel this with other animals

One day, they realize many of these people that they've visited, perhaps assisted at times, and occasionally revisited, have places of worship

Neither of them understand, but they gather that these humans seem to look at them as higher than them. Gods.

Are they? They arent living in the same way as other beings. They cant die. They dont age and were never born.

If not gods, what are they then?

They dont know.

They do eventually move on, but one day, an unknown amount of years later, they return to one of these villages

The people, they do rejoice for their deities have graced them again

The duo decided to linger here longer than before.

One day, theres murmurs of malcontent floating

The two have witnessed battles, but stayed out of them.

They had never watched wars begin, the quiet wisps of smoke that would soon become flames

Now these two, unnatural as they are, were not infinitely strong.

Yes, they were stronger than many of these small humans, who were much smaller than them

But, if there were many humans against one of them, there was only so much that they could do

The humans, separated into factions, decided that one of the duo were a true god while the other was something evil and wrong.

Such is the way of humanity

The two realized they might have stayed too long now, deciding it was time to leave

It was too late for that now.

These two beings, nameless, named and renamed by many, but never calling each other by any.

Two who had been together since they were glints in an existence less universe

Were separated

Humans from either side took their 'rightful' god. Determined to use their worship against the other side.

The two beings were able to take some of them, desperately trying to not be taken away from the other.

They were not gods, though, not in the way these humans thought.

What they were was unknowable, but they still were not ever powerful.

With enough force, they were dragged away by the people who once looked at them equally

The one yellow as pollen was taken into a deep cavernous temple, locked into the darkness, with nothing within it. No escape. The entrance to this prison was sealed with a boulder.

He screamed for them to release him, but his words, something only his other understood, fell on deaf ears.

He pushed and clawed at the rock, but it was too heavy

These people believed their worship of isolation and fasting was pure and accepted by their god.

The other was left to a fate less horrendous, but equally lonely.

Tossed down into a pit, deep with only a manmade covering to hide it.

He as well demanded to be freed, but none of that was to come

These humans worshipped the sky at night that this being reminded them of, that being the only thing that he could see from his prison, though there was also a reminder in the daylight of who he was missing

The humans dropped food of animals down to him.

They werent able to starve to death, nor did they need to eat in the way animals and living things did, but it would give them extra energy if they needed it. No, they took in the rays of the star above them.

So, with the one in the pit, he received more that enough to keep him mobile.

The one in the cave, however...

centuries passed. Thousands and thousands of years

And they who have been here since before time itself, before knowing that of light and space and earth and death

They changed

Slowly, over time, of desperation and madness, and forces they themselves would never truly understand

They changed.

The cavern, where slowly less and less voices of prayer came, lost to a memory

Where eyes as blue as the sky became milky white

Where his mind grew blank with bleakness and its voice lost all form of words

Body became sharp and thin and twisted

Claws and teeth long and sharp.

In the pit, staring up at day and night as blood, and bodies of animal sacrifice fell upon him

One day, he accepted them, hoping for the strength needed to climb free

Eventually, it forgot why it was even down there.

And then the food stopped coming.

It had spent years and years, copying the shrieks and cries of a wounded animal, luring certain animals to the wide spaced grate above

It never felt hunger but it ached for the blood and rush that the meal provided

Its body became more wild, more dangerous

For some years its back ached until there was a weak flap of wings

Wings.

W i n g s.

Freedom.

The other was still trapped for sometime, having long forgotten what it was. What it was missing. Neither could remember but they could feel it

It would be sheer luck that some unfortunate children, merely teenagers, would come to that stone that their ancestors had made and laid there, not just a myth among them now.

That a god lay in the cave, dangerous and angry, locked away when it tried to turn against the people that worshiped it...or so they say the story goes

It would be their misfortune as they struggled to move the circular rock, that light from the evening setting sun would start to peek through inside

And something would come leaping out at them.

They fled from the monster, leaving one screaming to their fate to the creature so starved.

After, once its frenzy ended, it luckily took off into the forest surrounding it, away from the pain of the sun on its wide white eyes

It was fate, it would seem that they would find one another again

So changed by time and humanities unknowing cruelties

More animal than whatever they may have been to begin with

The winged one had found it one day, though not knowing fully why it was pulled toward it

The blind one, having changed even more in these years of freedom, lashed out at the new arrival

This, in turn, made the winged one defend itself.

They fought, clicking and screeching at one another until the teeth were dug into fur

Something clicked in this mindless mind that this thing was the same as itself.

They backed away from one another

Slowly, they reapproached...they chirred and cooed and inspected one another. One with sight the other with smell.

And they laid down together for the first time in forever

They wandered for some years, avoiding the creatures they felt compelled to hide from.

Until one day..

A small little voice spoke up at the blind one, not screaming or attacking with things that hurt

"Puppy..?"

#benji rambles #cryptids and baby au #I know I would never be able to write anything or draw anythign as good as what I have in my head #but I need to get it out #bc I want other people to know what I was thinking for them #dcau #dca #dca community #sun fnaf #moon fnaf #dca and reader

[versadies]

Hello!! Can I request a song fic of that Scaramouche concept you thought of(if that is allowed)?? Sorry if this seems messy, You can ignore this if you want. The song can be any of your choosing, but if it required to choose a song, then the song can be "Alec Benjamin - Let Me Down Slowly". Thanks in advance!!

down slowly (songfic)

penpal: omg i honestly didn’t expect someone to request this 😳😳😳 hope you like this!!

pairing/s: scaramouche x gn!reader (reader knows how to sing)

sypnosis: an au where the reader was the original 6th harbinger and the calm, intelligent scaramouche was their right hand man. a tale of how he becomes the scaramouche we know of after a tragic incident that happened to the reader.

warning/s: death, violence, ooc!scaramouche (he's not going to act like the canon one)

song: let me down slowly by alec benjamin

note: scaramouche's role for you is basically like sara to baal but there's romance between the two of you (your age in here is the same as scaramouche's). take note that anything related to scaramouche’s past here is not canon to the actual lore.

this night is cold in the kingdom i can feel you fade away

it was in inazuma when he met you, beating all the fatui agents thinking that they were going to beat you, a "helpless" person.

your cold eyes was the first thing he laid eyes on when he looks up at you.

"and who you may be?" you asked, staring at the man in disgust as you stand up from the ground and pat your outfit. "you must be bold enough to beat down ten fatui agents in front of a harbinger."

while others would've been peeing their pants at the sight of your presence alone, he stared at you as though you're the most divine thing.

you scoffed at his silence. "can't talk buddy?" you asked, causing him to blink a few times before standing up quickly and bow down. "apologies, i-i thought they were going to-"

"fight me? please, if anything they're going to be the ones getting beaten down by me." you cut him off, glancing at the unconscious agents with a sigh, not noticing how scaramouche felt his mouth twitch upward a bit from your comment.

"though i must say, the way you fought them is impressive- even without using your vision and all." you said blankly, adjusting your hat.

"....i beg your pardon?" he asks, causing you to roll your eyes. "do i have to repeat myself? it's not everyday that you have a harbinger praising your skills."

before scaramouche could say anything, you immediately interrupted again, looking at him as though you thought of an incredible idea.

"say.. why don't you join the fatui?"

from the kitchen to the bathroom sink and your steps keep me awake

the man then found himself being a part of the fatui. if there's one thing that makes the fatui less sufferable for scaramouche: it was you, the 6th harbinger of the fatui, the balladeer.

although he had to go through extreme measures to get to his position as the right-hand man, it was worth it being able to be by your side. even if he has to listen to you yelling and cursing at your subordinates all day, it was worth it.

your reputation among the fatui is truly something scaramouche looks up to, the cunning-intelligent individual who can turn the skies to purple and struck opponents down with lightning. not only were you one of the most intelligent but also one of the most powerful harbingers that teyvat has ever seen.

and no, he doesn't care about the fact that you're the most disliked harbinger. to him, you're his savior and the only person he could spend an eternity with.

besides, you brought him something worth living for.

it was the cold atmosphere he felt when you first praised him as a fatui member.

"how are the recruits while i was away?" you asked, walking around the hallways of the zapolyarny palace with scaramouche following behind, making pace with you. "they've been to their assigned positions and i assigned a few of the subordinates to supervise them."

"good." you then stood in front of the doors of where the tsaritsa resides, fixing yourself before taking a deep breath. "you may start preparing our next mission. i'll be back in my office shortly once i'm done talking to the tsaritsa."

he bows. "understood, my lord/lady."

"i'll see you then, scarmouche. keep up with the good work."

don't cut me down, throw me out, leave me here to waste i once was a man with dignity and grace

although he was living the dream of being your right-hand man, he often seen people talking about him behind his back. it doesn't bother him, really, but sometimes it gets irritating whenever one mentions your name for such a pathetic conversation.

however, he would never expect a fatui agent to push him off the cliff in the cold embrace of snezhnaya's winter with no sign of coming back. all of this because of how envy the agent is of you "favoring" scaramouche.

it was a miracle that he survived (with major injuries of course) - though, he was astounded that the fatui agent didn't think of taking him to a higher cliff to instantly kill him.

if only he had a pyro vision to keep him warm.

given the circumstances, scaramouche would most likely die from hypothermia if not blood loss. he didn't think this is how he'd died. he thought he'll die from protecting you, or even from old age. but no, he had to die in a pathetic cold way.

it felt like hours, days even. the pain was killing him slowly as he stares at the sky.

however, when he heard familiar footsteps coming nearby followed by a familiar voice calling out his name, he felt relieved, finally allowing himself to embrace the comfort of slumber.

he heard the sounds of your humming when he woke up.

you stopped humming, watching as he slowly wakes up from his slumber. "oh good, you're awake." you spoke up, a dull expression on your face was plastered. "and here i thought i was going to waste my time waiting for my right-hand man to wake up."

"how... how did i get here?" he asked, voice hoarse. you sigh in response, leaning against the chair more. "i was the one who found you. one of my cicin mages reported me that a stupid agent recklessly boasted about how he left you in the middle of nowhere while being injured and can become the next right-hand man." you answered.

his breath hitches at your response. you decided to go through snezhnaya just to look for him?

if scaramouche wasn't in love back then, he's head-over-heels for you now.

"don't think i actually had to drop my responsibilities for you. the fatui agent killed himself before we could get any information on him, so i let my most trustworthy agents to search for you but didn't find you at all. i had to find you myself instead." you said, as if you read his mind. "besides, you didn't die and you didn't deserve what you went through."

he watched as you stood up from your seat. "i'll be taking my leave given that you look okay." you then snap your fingers, gesturing the nurse behind you to treat him. "take your time in healing. just come back to my office when you're okay enough to work."

before scaramouche could say anything, you already left the room, leaving him alone with the nurse.

although he felt flattered that you went around the nation to look for him, all he could think about was how you must've been disappointed that he's weak enough to be killed by a fatui agent.

now I'm slippin' through the cracks of your cold embrace so please, please

the moment he was released from being hospitalized, he started to focus on being stronger - stronger enough to prevent himself from being pushed off on the cliff by a jealous agent, stronger enough to take down 20 agents in less than 5 minutes, stronger enough to protect you -

stronger enough to become a harbinger.

when you found out of scaramouche's new goal, he was surprised that you started helping him. teaching him how to defend himself without a vision.

"if there's one thing i can teach you about being a harbinger, it's better to have nothing to lose." you said to him one day as the both of you stroll around inazuma. "when being a harbinger, there has to be a lot of consequences that one must face. it's better to face them alone than to see someone you care for suffer because of the consequences you caused."

he felt your cold hand as he brushed his fingers against yours when passing documents to you.

"i see..." he said in understanding.

"kill my curiosity but do you not have someone who you consider as your loved one?" you asked, raising your eyebrow in confusion.

scaramouche pauses from your question. indeed he does not have one other than you- but he knows he couldn't say it's you. why would he? he's aware that you'll never look at him the same way he does to you.

you'll never love him.

"i don't, my lord/lady."

and it hurts to know.

could you find a way to let me down slowly? a little sympathy, I hope you can show me

he wonders what would happen to you and him when he becomes a harbinger.

"oh? you're planning on becoming an official harbinger once we get back?" you asked, looking at scaramouche as though he has two heads. you cackled in amusement and comment, "hah! good luck with that, i'd like to see you try."

you took note of how he's oddly silent. "you're being weird lately, what's gotten into you?" you ask.

"forgive me but may i ask.. what will happen to us when the day comes, my lord/lady?" he asks, hesitant laced in his tone.

you furrowed your eyebrows. "the day when you're a harbinger?" he nods in response, looking away from your gaze with a sigh. "i was wondering if... if we could still be together-"

suddenly he felt your cold fingers cupping his cheeks and turns him around to your direction.

he could taste the sweetness of your lips when you kissed him.

it was a short kiss, but he felt like he's on top of the world. is this a dream? please don't wake him up from this dream.

you then wipe your mouth, chuckling at his astounded reaction. "that," you breathed out. "is what will happen to you and i when you become a harbinger."

he felt his heart beating so fast, watching as you look at one of the most dangerous areas of inazuma. "this shall be your last mission, scaramouche."

if you wanna go then i'll be so lonely if you're leavin', baby, let me down slowly

he thought he finally has what he wanted.

"why?" he breathed out, staring at you with wide eyes as though you did something bad. "why did you do it?"

you shakily look up at him, trying to ignore the overwhelming exhaustion from your body. you overestimated yourself in using your foul legacy but you didn't care, all that was in your thoughts was making sure scaramouche isn't in danger.

you will not let the only person who doesn't hate you die.

"i had to." you said weakly. "go, leave this nation. report to the tsaritsa of my passing and take my position."

he shook his head, kneeling beside you. "i refuse to leave you, my lord/lady."

you chuckle lightly. "idiot. the agents will take my body back to snezhnaya, of course you won't leave me." you then look down at your vision, watching its light flickering.

"take my vision with you too."

he felt a part of his soul disappear as the light of your eyes fades away, leaving nothing but your fatigued corpse on his arms.

from that day, he stopped shedding tears.

let me down, down, let me down, down, let me down let me down, down, let me down, down, let me down

he stares at your.. his vision.

as soon as he was announced as the new 6th harbinger of the fatui, your vision glowed under his palm, showing a familiar color of purple.

was this the electro archon's way of mocking him for what happened?

he grits his teeth. out of all the times he could've earned his vision, it had to be weeks after suffering the things he endured to have this position,

and it had to be in the vision you once used before you pass.

"i'll live on for your legacy, my lord/lady." scaramouche mumbled to himself, staring down at your hat on his desk. not only did the tsaritsa appointed him as the 6th harbinger but she also assigned everything you own as his. your title, your office, your unit, everything you once owned was now his.

it was clear to him that he's no longer the weak scaramouche that always follows the balladeer's footsteps. he's now the vengeful balladeer that yearns for the screams of his victims in inazuma, living in your name.

he’s now devoted to the tsaritsa, unknown to her majesty that it was all an act just because you taught him so.

he treats his subordinates the way you treat them, making everyone being weirded out by how he's so much like you. although he despises the gossip that runs through the organization, he really can’t deny that he does act like you,

he has nothing to lose after all.

if you wanna go then i'll be so lonely if you're leavin', baby, let me down slowly

#SAKK:DHK i hope its clear that this is just an au and none of this is literally accurate from the canon version #take note that there were only 6 harbingers during this story!! #scaramouche hc #scaramouche headcanons #scaramouche x y/n #scaramouche genshin #scaramouche #scaramouche x reader #genshin impact scenario #genshin impact x reader #genshin headcanons #genshin impact fanfiction #genshin #genshin scaramouche #genshin angst #genshin x reader #genshin impact au #genshin impact

[aminiatureworld]

Musings of Thanatos

Characters: Zhongli, gn!reader

Word Count: 1,640

Warnings: Suicidal ideation, in depth conversation surrounding death

Premise: In which the reader doesn’t want to grow old.

Author’s Note: I’m going to reiterate that this is a fic talking about death and a character that, regardless of capacity, actively wishes to die young. I hope that for some people this fic can bring catharsis but if you aren’t sure that you can handle this then please don’t read it. I know that it can be like “lol I can read it” when the back half of your brain is screaming at you not to. This time you should listen to that part of your brain. I am not going to pretend that this doesn’t have the potential to be incredibly triggering. Not only if you experience suicidal ideation but if you’re afraid of death. I think it might cause a very visceral reaction.

And if you feel similarly to the reader then let me tell you, I understand. I can understand the future being completely terrifying, I can understand not wanting to stick around. But though I understand I still urge you to give the future a chance. Happiness might only come in glimpses now, but I promise it will come again in the future. There are moments in life that are euphoric, and everything except death can be changed.

That being said, I hope whoever’s reading this can find something out of this fic. Please enjoy

Zhongli

“Zhongli, do you ever wish you were mortal?”

The day was a lazy one in Liyue, the calm after the storm. Glaze lilies waved gently in the breeze. Soon they would show their petals, gently gracing the evening with their presence before once again closing their buds to the sun. Then again, these were only the glaze lilies that had managed to survive. The others has disappeared slowly, becoming more and more rare. You had only seen one real glaze lily once. It was gone after a day.

“I suppose I’ve never thought of it my love. I cannot really imagine a mortal life. I suppose it would have some advantages. Yet I think everything has their place in the world. I would make a poor mortal as I am now.”

“If you say so.”

“Why do you ask?”

He was beautiful, your lover. Even now, having seen the rise and fall of kingdoms, not a strand of hair on his head was shot through with grey. Of course time had wrought change on him; even from standing far away there was an aura about him that was somewhat untouchable. If fate had deemed to keep him statuesque, then surely it had also put the distant darkness into his eyes, had molded his features into a mask through which one could see a deity tired of seeing so much life. Nevertheless you had to envy him. For surely he wielded a stronger hand than you had been dealt.

“I don’t know. I just, it’s been on my mind.”

“What has been on your mind?”

“What it means to grow up. I mean, you’ve never experienced it. Not really, not the way we do. Growing up, it’s terrifying. You look at all the people walking down the street, the old people I mean. They’re all… wrinkly!”

You had to laugh, a bitter, sharp sort of sound. Indeed how they did look strange. Bones and muscles twisted like branches of a tree, knobs visible in the guise of liver spots and still joints. Their faces, how terrifying their faces were. You always found it odd when someone called an old person beautiful. You weren’t sure you had ever seen one who fit the definition. Rather, it was like looking upon an utterly different sort of people, a transformation that you knew one day you would have to undergo. When you emerged, it would be like a butterfly shifting back into a caterpillar. There would be no going back.

“Perhaps they are, but it is a sign of old age. Of wisdom. Humans who grow old, they are survivors.”

There was a hint of displeasure in Zhongli’s voice. Not that you could blame him. It was quite heretical to insult the old, surely even more so to one who would never experience such a thing. Then again, perhaps that was why he could act that way. He would never know.

“Maybe; but all the wisdom in the world couldn’t prepare me for growing old. I mean, who wants to be around an old person? Who wants to be an old person? You can’t do anything for yourself anymore, you’re basically a baby again. Except this time there’s nothing to look forward to.”

“My love, surely there are many things to look forward to in old age. The knowledge that one has gained, the ability to look back on the past. Those who you have grown to love will gather around you. Above all, when one has grown old one finally has been granted the privilege to rest, to think, to do what one wishes.”

“Is that why you gave up your gnosis?”

The wind rustled your hair slightly as you gazed at your partner. There was no reply to your question, but then again you weren’t expecting one. There were just some things too painful to speak of, some things that you couldn’t understand. Just as there were things your partner couldn’t understand, the things you were trying to explain to him now.

“Anyways, I’m not sure if any of those things are worth growing old for. Worth becoming immobile and forgetful and ill for. Honestly, I’m not sure if I ever would like to grow old.”

“Well you will one day, my love. Such is the nature of time.”

“Well I wish time would stop, or better yet that something would come and put me out of commission before then.”

Silence again. You had made an error, or perhaps you were simply seeing the natural reaction to your declaration. You loved Zhongli’s eyes, the way they glowed and shifted and reflected the light. They were almost dragon-like, not that you had ever seen a dragon before. Now, however, they seemed muddied, bogged down. It was as if you’d thrown muddy water on them, and now you were seeing the natural consequence.

“Do not speak that way.”

“Why not? It’s what I think.”

“Then I hope that you soon change your mind. Even if you cannot see the merit in growing older now, to react so… violently. It is alarming.”

“How would you know? It’s not like you’ll ever experience this, this fear. You’ll never wake up in the middle of the night, heart racing. You’ll never have to hear your mind scream in fear of ageing. You’ll never have to think about the years stretching in front of you, each a painful sentence of pain. You’ll never have to think about losing your mind to age.”

A pause. There was a frown slashed across your lover’s face. It looked entirely out of place.

“What would you want then, my love, if you could have it?”

“I would like to be young forever, like you.”

“Would you really? Would you want to see person after person die, while you can only watch? Would you like to exist isolated from those you love? My darling, even love is dangerous when you are destined to eternity. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of, of when the inevitable will happen. When I will once more wait for the end of eternity.”

“If I were like you, then you wouldn’t have to think of that.”

“If you were like me then you simply wouldn’t be as you are. Why is it that mortals are so much more prone to action, so much more emotional and bright and determined? It is their very mortality. Death is what creates authors and artists and the great heroes upon which we rely. A life without them, it would be a very drab world indeed.”

“So you want others to suffer for your own good?”

“Do you think that the way out is to ask for death my love? Truly? The death of a human is the death of a universe. Would you throw that universe away to be remember as young, whatever that may mean? Would you give up the ability to see, to feel, to think, to exist? My darling, if you truly think it is worth it then let me convince you otherwise.”

It was warm, the world. The world was burning up and you were stuck, staring into the eyes of the person you most loved.

“I don’t know.”

“Then don’t say these things, even in jest. I, I cannot understand it. It frightens me a great deal.”

“Why? I’m just, I don’t know. It shouldn’t bug you that much, I mean, I’m not about to go jumping into the sea or anything.”

“Today perhaps, and tomorrow too? If you truly were only saying these things in jest, would you be so firm in your questions and in your arguments?”

Too many questions, he was asking too many questions. They made your head swirl and throb as you tried to wrap your brain around them.

“I don’t know. I just, it, it scares me.”

“More than death? More than the annihilation of your senses and your thoughts? I realize that you are experiencing a fear that I myself will never carry. My burden and yours are opposites, they will never intersect, except perhaps to think about what the other will do when time eventually shows itself. Yet, my love, I cannot help but feel that, when that comes to pass, it will be better to have experienced age, to have experienced every phase of life, every moment that you possible can, than to be stuck in someone’s memory. We glorify the young dead, we do not remember them.”

It felt odd to crumple to his arguments, perhaps it was only momentary. He hadn’t explained anything particularly well, hadn’t been able to cross the divide between the two of you. Perhaps it was how awfully old he looked in that moment, how he seemed to age a thousand years, so much you could almost imagine him hunched over and grey and wrinkled. Maybe he did know more about age then you thought he did.

Besides, you couldn’t leave him, or Liyue. Not truly. And if that was only your survival instinct kicking in then it was doing a damn good job of it.

Slowly the roaring of the cicadas was replaced with a chorus of crickets. The glaze lilies turned their pale faces towards the light of the moon. Laying your head down in Zhongli’s lap you studied your lover’s face, trying to piece together the strange conversation that had soaked up all other conversation. As if reading your thoughts Zhongli’s eyes met you. Though a smile still refused to breach his expression, he leaned in to bring his hand to your cheek. You relished the warm of shared connection.

Maybe none of this would last the night, maybe tomorrow you would think the same thing you had before. But right now you very much wanted to stay. And right now was all that mattered.

#genshin impact #zhongli x reader #zhongli #genshin impact fanfiction #oneshot #my writing

[scones-and-texting-and-murder]

Bookends

(This story was originally written for and published in the DeanCas Anthology back in 2018. )

Word Count: 2223 Rating: General ao3 link

Cas pulls as close to the door as he can, checking the rearview mirror to make sure he isn’t blocking traffic as he waits for Dean to get out of the car. Before heading inside, Dean ducks his head back in to smile at him. “I’ll get us some coffee.”

Instead of driving away, Cas stays there, watching until Dean pulls open the diner door. Leaning heavily on his cane, he shuffles more than walks, his bow-legged gait made stiff by the arthritis that wracks his joints. Cas waits until he’s safely inside, then pulls past the open handicapped space Dean stubbornly refuses to use, and finds an empty parking spot.

Cas’s car is boxy and utilitarian, and Dean often proclaims that he wouldn’t be caught dead behind the wheel of something so ugly. Cas plays along because giving up driving had been Dean’s toughest concession to age, but as his vision deteriorated and his reflexes slowed, it had become an unavoidable sacrifice. With replacement parts for the Impala harder and harder to come by, Dean had finally agreed to keep her stored safely away in their garage. Cas knew it pained him to see her shrouded under a tarp, her motor idle and useless, but Dean would rather enshrine her in pristine condition than risk one more run-in with a light pole or curb.

With his ugly car parked, Cas crosses the lot to join Dean inside. While he’s aged as well, aged to the point that nobody questions the two of them together, he’s been spared many of the maladies that Dean’s combat-wrecked body has endured, and he moves with relative ease. The best they can figure is that the grace he’d had on and off over the years left his body with a certain resilience to the passage of time. Cas can’t cure Dean as he once could, can’t ease the aches or slow the aging process, but he can use his own comparatively good health and mobility to take care of him.

Inside, Cas navigates past the hostess stand to find Dean at their usual booth, chatting with their usual waitress. The two of them go to this diner religiously each Sunday morning, where the pews are scuffed burgundy vinyl booths and the altar is the breakfast buffet with the generous senior discount. As always, Dean has maneuvered himself across the bench seat to make room for Cas to sit beside him. His cane rests against the wall in easy reach, the simple carved wooden handle belying the fact that the base unscrews to reveal a bayonet-like tip. It’s never been wielded as a weapon (although Dean uses it, still sheathed, to poke at aggressive pigeons who muscle in around their favorite park bench), but that potential made it “badass” enough to overcome Dean’s resistance to using it.

To Sam’s everlasting chagrin, Dean has kept all of his hair, and it’s turned a stunning silver. The crinkles around his eyes have deepened, meeting the roadmap of lines that cross his face. His shoulders are stooped, his joints are stiff, and Cas thinks he’s never been more beautiful. After so many seemingly certain ends, so many years assuming Dean would die young and bloodied, the fact that he’s living out a full, lengthy life is an unparallelled blessing. Cas marvels at the gift of days that have unfolded into decades, granting them time he never dreamed they’d have together here on earth.

As Cas settles into the booth, he smiles and greets their waitress.

“Two for the buffet?” she confirms as she pours their coffee. Cas doesn’t even have to check to know that she’ll leave Dean’s at a little more than half-full so he can lift it without the tremor in his hands sloshing it over the brim.

They drink their coffee quietly, simply enjoying the ritual of being here. Dean peers at the laminated card that lists the specials, even though he never orders off the menu.

“Shall I?” When Dean nods, Cas gets to his feet. “Any requests?”

“You know what I like,” Dean says, leaning over to swat at Cas’s butt.

Picking up two plates from the warmer, Cas slides them along the metal counter, filling them in tandem as he traverses the buffet. Pancakes are too difficult for Dean to get on a fork, but the crisp waffles are good. Bacon he can pick up and eat, and Cas uses the tongs to place precisely two strips on his plate. If Dean wants more, he can get up and get it himself.

Dean can argue with Cas’s choices, but they’d had a hell of a scare a few years back. Cas will never forget the look on Dean’s face when their phone rang in the middle of the night, alerting them that Sam had been taken to the hospital in an ambulance. They’d rushed there themselves, Cas driving in silence, knowing that nothing short of seeing Sam with his own two eyes could reassure Dean. Thankfully, it had been a mild heart attack and, after spending a few days in the hospital, the discharge plan called for cardiac rehab and an appointment with a nutritionist. With Sam’s release imminent, Dean had relaxed enough to crow at the irony. “Don’t either of you try to tell me what to eat ever again. Mr. Organic Produce is the one lying in the hospital bed while my pork-rind-fueled ticker is going strong.”

Still pale, Sam’s brow furrowed with resignation. “I’m beginning to think you can’t die.”

Dean jabbed a finger in his direction. “You don’t get to go first. We have a deal.”

“Yes, sir.” Sam lifted the hand without the IV in a mock salute.

“That’s more like it,” Dean said. “Speaking of which, I need a snack.”

Cas helped him up and they walked to the elevator that would take them to the cafeteria. As they waited for it to arrive, Dean pulled Cas into a hug. Cas left a hand on his shoulder when they stepped apart again. “All right?”

Dean nodded, his green eyes shining with tears. “I’m glad you’re here.” Cas started to respond, to remind him that there was nowhere else he would be, but Dean cut him off. “I know you know. But I wanted to say it anyhow.”

Cas noticed a change after that. Dean was still the same stubborn mule Cas had fallen in love with, but he gradually became more willing to let Cas help. And somehow, Cas loved him even more for it. He loved seeing the slow-blossoming acceptance that came when Dean stopped seeing Cas’s help as a sign of weakness.

Now, standing in front of the steaming trays of food, Cas considers what else to add to their plates. He bypasses the cauldron of oatmeal (they eat that at home most mornings) and continues along the buffet. There’s a tremendous satisfaction in being allowed to care for this man who has done so much for so many and asked for so little in return. In fact, Dean has now embraced this new role so fully—no longer questioning what he deserves, or grudgingly accepting help, but full-on enjoyment of being doted on—that Cas has to be careful he doesn’t get lazy. There’s nothing Cas would rather do than settle Dean in front of a sunny window, snug in the recliner for Cas to wait on like a pampered cat, but he knows that sort of inactivity would do Dean’s joints and his heart no favors. So he watches Dean’s diet and insists on them taking slow walks after breakfast when his energy is highest.

Their neighborhood is a mix of young and old and everyone knows the two Mr. Winchesters who circle the block on days when the weather permits. The kids on bikes and scooters know to give them a wide berth, their parents warning them that the old men need the entire sidewalk, but they call out their hellos as they go by. They’re friendly with everyone except the woman who lives on the corner. Dean is convinced she’s a demon, but Cas suspects his distrust of her stems more from the fact that she seems immune to his charm. (Whatever the reason, he’s had to talk Dean out of chalking a devil’s trap inside her mailbox more than once.) They chat with their neighbors about the weather and the score of last night’s ballgame, and it’s so painfully normal that Cas sometimes feels his throat tighten up at the wonder of it all.

When Cas returns to their booth, Dean examines his plate. “They outta bacon?”

Cas cuts the waffle into manageable pieces and peels the wrapper from the muffin before sliding Dean’s plate over. “You know the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean says. “You just like to look at my ass when I get up.”

They eat in congenial silence with Dean methodically working his way around his plate, eating everything heartily, even the fruit. Sitting next to him, Cas can easily scoop up any bites that miss his mouth, plucking them from Dean’s lap or his shirt.

“You two good?” The waitress asks when she comes to refill their coffees. “Need anything?”

Dean swallows the bite of muffin he’s working on, and rests his hand on top of Cas’s. “I’ve got everything I need right here. An actual angel, this one.”

She nods agreeably. “I can almost see his halo.”

Cas has learned that an old man can say just about anything and receive an indulgent smile in return. When Dean references angels or demons or the apocalypse, people assume he’s speaking in metaphor and they’ll nod pleasantly. Sometimes he’ll do it purely for effect, telling rambling tales from their past for the sheer enjoyment of being able to speak openly. He can’t always keep the details straight, but Cas is there to remind him. Some days, though, he seems to lose where he is in time, and there’s nothing Cas can do for that. Cas has taken to keeping a watchful eye on him in the late afternoons when he likes to doze on the couch with their one-eyed black cat curled up on his chest. Cas stays close in case he wakes from his nap agitated, calling for Cas, wanting to know where Sam is. Cas helps him to sit up as the cat springs down and scurries away.

“Don’t go,” he says again and again, and Cas takes him in his arms, assuring Dean that he’s here and reminding him that Sam is safe at his own home. He holds him until Dean shakily dismisses it all as just a bad dream.

The unfairness of it overwhelms Cas, and each time he’s left filled with wrath. These final years should be spent in well-earned peace, but instead Dean seems cursed with reliving his most frightening memories, traumatized anew by old, familiar fears. If Dean’s mind is destined to slip, why can’t it be toward blissful forgetting? What Dean has endured goes beyond what any human should; to ask him to bear it again is nothing short of cruel. But it’s a torture chamber created in his own mind, and all Cas can do is sit helplessly by, doing his best to ground Dean and bring him back to the present.

Cas looks at Dean’s empty plate. “Did you want to get some more?”

“Nah.” He’s full and happy and it’s time for their walk.

The waitress arrives to clear their plates. As he does every week, Dean asks if she needs to see his ID for the senior discount. As she does every week, she pretends to consider it before leaving the check. “You boys take your time.”

“Tip her well,” Dean says, leaning in to supervise Cas as he signs the bill.

“I always do,” Cas assures him.

When they’re ready to leave, Cas stands next to the banquette, waiting for Dean to retrieve his cane and slide himself to the edge. Using a combination of the cane and Cas’s extended arm, Dean hoists himself upright, groaning a little. Cas keeps a firm hold on him until he’s steady on his feet. Dean still dresses in layers, but these days it’s because he gets chilled easily. He favors heavy knit cardigans and as long as Cas gets the zipper started for him he can tug it up or down as needed. Cas checks him for crumbs then together they walk through the other tables crowded with families. They continue by the hostess station where a woman is wiping down menus. “See you next week,” she calls as they pass.

Cas steps forward to push open the door, and stands holding it. “Watch your step,” he says as he always does, pointing toward the raised metal threshold of the doorway.

Using his cane to steady himself, Dean shuffles his way over it, then stops to lay his hand on Cas’s cheek. His knuckles are gnarled, the skin of his palm is dry and warm, and Cas feels the same flare of awe go through him as he has since the moment he first found this glorious soul in the depths of hell.

“I am the luckiest man who has ever lived,” Dean says.

Cas kisses his palm, then takes his arm to help him on his way.

#deancas #destiel #my writing #growing old together #this came well before the finale #but it feels like a fix it fic nonetheless

[le0watch]

langa grimaces as he steps out of his carriage, shoes chuffing against the pavement ground. the sounds of downtown london fills his ears, ranging from the chitchat of workers and civilians to the clomping of horse's hooves on the streets. it's raining today- of course it has to be raining. why wouldn't it be on his already least favorite day of the week?

his servant steadily holds an umbrella over his and his mother's heads to keep the raindrops from drenching them. he, of course, isnt saved from getting wet, but this is his job. langa will just make sure to pay him extra for his work this month, and make sure that he doesn't catch a cold from the cool breezes brushing by.

today, he and his mother are visiting the busy streets of london per her request. since langa's father died and the large erikson heritage was passed down to langa, shes been asking him for numerous favors, including this weekly walk through the busy, muggy streets of london.

now, langa doesn't hate the people or the peasants or whatever you want to call them. he's just not a fan of the constant rain and loud chatter of said people around him. they're all incredibly loud and irritating, and sometimes he'd like them to be quiet while he and his mother are there. but that's not the point of their trips. his mother came from poverty before langa's father had found her and fallen for her, before he'd proposed to her. moving from japan to england during this time had given his mother a horrible disadvantage against any of the nobility or even white people of the lower classes.

but his father had been infatuated with her, and she became infatuated by him. they married for love, a rare occurence these days. then, they'd had him, and he loved his large home and the days he spent with his mother in the garden or the days he went with his father to the various horse stables they owned.

he can't visit the stables with his father anymore, however. because his father died a year ago, leaving their large fortune on the shoulders of langa, barely old enough to chose what happens with that wealth.

he insists in private that his mother make mistakes of the financial decisions, since he's still in the process of learning his family's buisness. she agreed to do it, in exchange for trips to the busy streets of london, where they could make donations to small charities or poor families that need the help.

honestly, it's a win win situation for langa. he doesn't have to fully handle the responsibilities of his family's fortune, and he has always wanted to help the poor, like his father. because when his father was living, he would hold monthly giveaways of some of their stables' foals to the poorest of the city.

other families of nobility often turned their noses up at what langa's father did for the poor, not that his father ever cared.

that's what probably got him killed.

"where shall we visit first, mother?" langa asks, holding his arm out for her take. she loops her arm through his, smiling up at him for his manners.

"i was thinking the orphanage down the road," she replies as they begin to walk. their servant- kaoru, langa's favorite servant and teacher- follows close behind to keep the umbrella over their heads the entire time. he wants to tell kaoru that he could cover himself with his own umbrella, but he already knows that he would be denied. kaoru has always been very serious about his job.

"as you wish," he says with a small smile.

their visit to the orphanage is longer than they'd originally intended. the owner of the orphanage needed help moving some heavier objects and boxes, and so langa had stepped in. she was instantly grateful to him, and only became moreso when he handed her a large wad of cash.

"thank you so much, mister erikson," she said, bowing low to him. his mother was in the background, entertaining the children. "are you sure there's no way we can repay you?"

"you can by taking care of the sick children here," langa replied, and she nodded eagerly.

they'd left soon afterwards, kaoru waiting outside for them. his long, pink hair is pulled back in a ponytail today, and he's wearing his favorite kamino. he was also born in japan, like his mother, and had been a friend of hers before she'd moved here. he moved not long after her, and she hired him as their servant and langa's tutor. he's been around for as long as langa could remember.

suddenly, there's a flash of red ahead of them, and a kid- not of the orphanage- rams into his side, knocking them both over in the process. langa hits the muddy ground with a grunt, before the kid is apologizing profusely, bowing his head continuously. he's in scrappy clothes, and is soaked to the bone.

"it's fine," langa tells him, and the kid relaxes. "don't worry about it." he wipes the mud from his shirt as kaoru helps him stand, and his mother hurries over to look him over. they're all soaked at this point.

"sorry again!" the kid exclaims, before running off.

with langa's donation wallet in hand.

normally, langa wouldnt bat an eye at stolen money. his family's wealth is nearly endless. but that's the money he's using for his trip with his mom today- and he doesn't have anything extra. he doesn't want to cut this trip short- his mom loves it too much.

he takes off after the kid without much thought, ignoring the calls from his mother and servant. the kid lets out a loud laugh once he notices he's being chased, before two more kids that look identical to him fall in step behind him. langa's eyes widen- they have this thought out.

they end up running through twisting alleyways, and langa is hardly keeping up. every time he gets close, they duck away or slide around another corner, throwing him off. he grits his teeth together, lungs beginning to burn from the exertion.

the kids run across a crowded street, easily weaving through its crowded traffick. langa skids you a stop just before crossing, before giving chase once more. he reaches a hand out, about to grab one of the buggers- when they suddenly leap at a building's front, scaling its side like a ladder. he stops in his tracks, gaping as they reach the roof, pointing at his with laughter.

he's so busy gaping, he doesn't even notice he's still standing in the middle of busy traffick until a coachman is shouting at him to move, with the horses screeching with terror. his heart stops beating- oh god, he's about to die like his father had, leaving his mom all alone. he already knows he won't be able to move in time.

but then something- or rather, someone- crashes into his back, knocking him to safer ground instantly. the horses and carriage roar past where he'd just been, and he pants on the ground, the person who'd saved his life still over him.

"wow- you nearly died," the person- man- above him says between pants, finally peeling away from him. langa pushes up with shaking arms, bruises and scrapes burning at his skin. geez, kaoru is going to kill him- he ripped his pants. he then looks up at his savior, and all thoughts leave his mind.

the most gorgeous man he's ever seen sits in front of him, soaked curly hair still a brilliant shade of bright red, poking out from the under side of a grey ball cap. his eyes are a beautiful honey amber, shining with mischief and a kind soul. his tan skin is peppered with freckles, along the cheeks on his face and his shoulders and forearms. he has a crooked grin as bright as the sun- making langa almost believe that it had stopped raining and the clouds had opened up. he's wearing a thin and torn short sleeved shirt, a pair of suspenders over his shoulders keeping his pair of black pants up.

lord have mercy on langa's soul. he's already fallen for the stranger that had saved his life. it didn't even matter that he was a man. langa could feel his heart thudding in his chest, and heat gathering in his cheeks. he can't even respond. luckily, the man- around his age- does it for him.

"lucky i was there to save your ass, huh?" he says with a bright chuckle. he has the same accent as his mother's and kaoru's, with a similar facial structure to both. he must be from japan too, then. langa opens and closes his mouth like a fish out of water, and the redhead's grin only widens. he reaches a hand out, wiping a splotch of mud from langa's paper white cheek. the heat in langa's cheeks worsens. the redhead then looks up at the roof where the kids are still perched at, watching with wide eyes. "they took something of yours, huh?"

"y- yeah," langa replies shakily, wanting to hit himself for sounding so pathetically like a schoolgirl with a crush. the guy doesnt seem to take notice- either that, or he doesn't point it out.

"right. be right back," the redhead says, before slipping past langa and leaping onto the side of the building. the kids at the top screech with surprise, before disappearing just as the redhead reaches the top, leaping over while calling, "tom, rick, toby- get your asses back here!"

horrifyingly, the kids leap from one rooftop to the next, somehow not slipping and falling off the edge. and even more horrifyingly, the redhead follows with amazing grace, landing perfectly, grabbing to of the kid's by their shoudlers. the third stops, dropping his head like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.

"right. which of you have it," the redhead asks, loud enough for langa to hear. langa is surprised by the strength the redhead has- he's able to lift two children clear off the ground without much effort. his arms aren't shaking or wavering at all! the kids don't answer, pouting. "don't make me talk to your mum about this-"

"toby has it!" two of the kids cry out at the same time, and the third glares at them both with betrayal.

the redhead sets the two kids he's holding back down, and holds his hand out expectantly. the kid- toby- pouts some more before relunctantly dropping langa's wallet into the redhead's hand.

"thank you very much," the redhead says, pocketing langa's wallet. he points at each kid individually. "i catch you three stealing from nice men like him again, and i'll stop bringing home candy for you after work."

"no!" all three kids cry at once. the redhead tuts.

"right. don't do it again," he says firmly, before shooing the triplets away.

the redhead then slides down the side of the building, hit the wet ground with a splash. langa watches with disbelief as he casually saunters over, handing him his wallet back once he's reached him.

"sorry about them," the redhead says. "they live with just their mother, so they take to stealing to help her out occasionally. they shouldn't bug you again." he chuckles. "but if you ever need eyes and ears around london- hire those three. they're amazing at snooping."

langa clears his throat, forcing himself to stop staring at the redhead's pretty face as if he was in a trance. he slides his wallet into his suit pocket yo make sure it's not stolen again.

"thank you," he says, gratefully bowing his head. "i appreciate your help- what was your name?"

"reki kyan," the redhead replies with pride. "i work on the train tracks and take care of the kids around these parts best i can."

"well, mister kyan, you're amazing," langa tells him, surprising himself with his boldness. reki's eyes widen, and his eyes dart away quickly. langa then holds a hand out to him, the other behind his back. "my name is langa erikson. it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

reki chuckles awkwardly, scratching at the back of his head. "pleasure's all mine," he replied, and shakes langa's offered hand. "you can call me reki, by the way."

"then you may call me langa, reki," he responds graciously. reki averts his eyes again as they release each other's hands. "is there some way i can repay you?"

"don't worry about it!" reki says quickly, throwing his hands up. oh, he's wearing a pair of thick, black gloves, langa has just realized. and his biceps are absolutely huge with muscles- probably from working on tracks all day. "just don't get those boys in trouble. they mean well for their mum."

"wouldnt even dream of getting them in trouble," langa replies lightly. then he frowns. he doesn't want to go home and never see this sunny man ever again. he's a delight to look at- ruby red hair and honey amber eyes with a sunshine smile. it would be a shame to never seen him again. "though, i must insist on repaying you." he has a brilliant idea of doing just that, too.

reki shakes his head again, desperatly. "no, really, there's no need-"

"why don't you come and stay at my home, so that i may repay you with dinner?" langa says smoothly, once more surprising himself with his boldness. he's basically asking this man to live with him and have multiple dates with him. hopefully, the redhead doesn't realize that, yet, since gay relationships are frowned upon. but perhaps- later on. "you may stay in one of my rooms, take off from your job, and have warm and fresh meals everyday."

reki's eyes widen significantly, his jaws snapping shut. oh no, maybe langa was laying too much on him at once. "i- uh-"

"please, it would mean the world to me in repaying you this way," langa says, to further convince him. "and it would be a small exchange to you after saving my life."

the redhead scratches at the back of his head again, and langa can't help but stare at the way his bicep moves to complete the action. lord have mercy, reki was good looking. he's always tried to repress his gay feelings and desires, but this ripped train track worker with burning red hair is destroying all of his effort in one foul swoop.

finally, reki lets out a heavy sigh of defeat, lowering both of his arms. "you won't be happy unless i accept?" he asks, and when langa nods eagerly, he lets out another sigh, shutting his eyes. "okay, i will. i'll try not to be too much of an issue while i stay-"

langa cuts him off by catching one of his gloved hands in his, holding it up between them. he offers the redhead a small smile, excitement rolling in his gut. "you could be no trouble at all," langa insists, and reki draws back a little, and is that a tin of red coloring his freckled cheeks. langa sure hopes it is.

and that's how langa takes home a gorgeous redhead, who had in fact, saved his life.

#this is longer than i intended #whoops #sk8 #sk8 the infinity #renga #reki kyan #langa hasegawa #snowgear #my writing #my drabbles #au

[stressisakiller]

Who needs peace and quiet

Buck Barnes x reader Soulmate AU

(Hello Sunflower Part 3)

Summary:  Your soul mark appears on your 18th birthday. What do you do when your father is a part of Hydra and your soul mark binds you to the Winter Soldier.

Warnings: None really

Word Count: 1.4k

A/N: This is mainly a filler, slight Steve and Bucky reunion, I promise they will get time to talk later. Let me know what you think and if you have any requests for future parts. Also I originally got the idea for this after reading Wolf, Partner Gloves... by @revengingbarnes so check it out!

Series Masterlist

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Life, you discovered at an early age is never easy and you were not made to be in the background. Hydra had taken that decision away from you when they injected their super-soldier serum in you. So it didn’t come as a surprise when your brief peace with your soulmate was interrupted the next day. Luckily this time it wasn’t Hydra knocking on your door, it was Steve. 

Waking up, you could feel the weight of your soulmate's arm slung over your waist. The sun was peeking up over the horizon filling the room with the soft light that escaped from the edges of the curtains. You sighed, resisting the urge to snuggle back into the warmth of your soulmate. You carefully turned over to face him, watching as the sun slowly revealed more of his face to you. He looked so much younger as he slept, without the weight of the world on his shoulders for just a couple of hours. You didn’t notice his lips curve into a smirk. Jumping in surprise at his deep voice.

 “Well Doll, I know I’m handsome but I didn’t think I was ‘stare creepily at while sleeping handsome’.” you rolled your eyes and smacked his shoulder 

“It’s not creepy unless you make it creepy.” He slowly opened his eyes and smiled at you.

 “I guess it wasn’t that creepy.” he agreed, you playfully glared at him,

 “Glad to know you think I’m creepy.” you joked before jumping out of bed and starting breakfast. You put the coffee in the pot and gathered all of the ingredients to make breakfast tacos. Bucky strolled up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and setting his chin on your shoulder, watching intently as you cooked. You asked him to set the table as you finished cooking, setting a cup of coffee in front of him before grabbing your own. You were in the middle of eating when the security system was tripped. Your gaze shot to the screen that showed the front of the building, pulling your gun out of the drawer behind you. You relaxed slightly when you saw the familiar form of Steve standing outside.  Bucky had the same reaction as you, jumping to attention, gun in hand as soon as he heard the alarm. You signaled for him to lower it as you went into the hallway. You made your way down the stairs and to the main building door. Looking through the peephole you were greeted by the sight of Steve, Nat, and someone that you didn’t know. You cracked open the door before speaking,

 “Tell me something only Steve would know.” You saw a small smile grace his face.

 “You make the best coffee out of all of us, you sing in the shower and you’re still mad at me for not trusting you about Bucky.” You paused for a moment debating your next question,

 “If it’s safe to open the door, what did I sign to you on the bridge?” He had the decency to look slightly ashamed. 

“You told me to trust you. Something that I had trouble doing before.” You nodded and opened the door for them, not loosening the hold you had on your gun. You lead them upstairs, making sure that they avoided the trip wires on your way up. You reached your door knocking with the pattern that you and the winter soldier always used on missions. Bucky slowly opened the door waiting until you let him know it was safe before letting you in. You waved them in behind you and had them take a seat on the couches. You sat at the kitchen table so that you could finish eating while they explained what was going on. Taking your seat you look at Steve expectantly, prompting him to start.

 “A couple of days ago we found out the Hydra had infiltrated Shield. They had been working behind the scenes in shield since the beginning. You were right not to trust them, we found a whole file about you, from your birth to where you lived in the tower. I’m sorry for not listening to you at the start.” He looked down at his hands before continuing. “We found where they were keeping the mind of Zola, using him to advance their cause. After the bridge, we were able to figure out what they are planning next and we need to stop it.” you gave him a look that screamed I told you so, but before you could speak Bucky’s voice came from behind you.

 “We already knew that. But anything Hydra has planned can’t be good and considering the last mission they sent me on was to kill you, you are probably one of the only ones that can stop it.” You felt Bucky put his hand on your shoulder as he spoke, keeping you close to him since he wasn’t really sure how much he trusted these people. Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke

 “I realize that but we can’t do it alone, we need your help.” you looked him over and noticed the obvious fatigue, you couldn’t help but wonder when the last time he slept was.

 “Ok,” you conceded, “we can figure out a plan and what we need, but first, who is that guy?” You asked nodding towards the man sitting next to Nat. Steve seemed to realize his mistake,

 “Sorry, I should have introduced you first, this is Sam, He’s ex-military, he isn’t a super soldier but he has a suit that allows him to fly. He’s been helping us since I showed up on his doorstep after being attacked at shield.” You looked Sam over, you could tell that he had military training, obvious in the way he hadn’t stopped scanning the room for threats since he entered the door. Otherwise, you couldn’t tell exactly how he could help but you had enough experience with Steve to know that if he said that Sam would be helpful then he would be. You finally let yourself relax a bit knowing that Steve trusted him. There would be more time to talk after Hydra was taken care of.

 “Alright then,” you said clapping your hands together and standing up, “What exactly is Hydra planning and how can we help stop them?” You leaned into Bucky as Steve explained what exactly was going on and what they were planning. You could feel Bucky’s thumb rubbing your tattoo as he listened to Steve, subconsciously assuring himself that you were still there. You spent about 30 minutes fine-tuning the plan which, to Bucky’s annoyance, excluded him. You all decided that it would be best if he stayed at the safe house, out of sight so that Hydra couldn’t pull him back in. Before you left Steve took Bucky to the side.

“Bucky, I can’t tell you how sorry I am that I didn’t come look for you. I thought you were dead after you fell and I couldn’t stand the thought of finding your body. I have lived in regret ever since. I told you I was with you until the end of the line and I failed.” remorse obvious in his face and voice. Bucky cut him off before he could continue, 

 “Punk, you couldn’t have known that I survived and there was nothing you could have done. But I’m glad that I will get the chance to get to know you again.” You could see the pain that flitted across Steve’s face when at Bucky’s words. He knew it wouldn’t be easy but it pained him to know that his best friend didn’t really remember who he was. Steve nodded and stepped away walking towards the door and giving you and Bucky space to say goodbye. You opened your mouth to speak but didn’t get anything out before Bucky pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and murmured in your ear 

“Don’t die today, or else I’ll be pissed.” he pulled back and all you could do was give him a shaky nod and a quick kiss on the cheek, promising yourself that you would give him a proper kiss as soon as you saw him again. You let go and stepped away, holding his hand for just a second longer before heading out the door. 

You were done being scared of Hydra and it was time for them to pay.

#bucky x y/n #bucky imagine #bucky barnes #james buchanan barnes #james buchanan bucky barnes #bucky barnes fanfiction #soulmate au #marvel imagine #winter solider fanfiction #winter solider x reader #hello sunflower

[thiswasinevitableid]

Hii uhhh this is for mermay, but it's not one of the fills so please feel free to ignore this if it doesn't catch your interest!!

Idea;; within a mostly-canon setting, Duck is turned into a merperson (probably while they're trying to deal with one of the abominations, but that part's flexible) and has to deal with it while still trying to like,, function. He gets a magic disguise, but hijinks ensue.

Here you go! I attached this to "Summer rain" and another mermay prompt. It's SFW

The last time he went flying through the air and into the water while fighting an abomination, he almost died. So he’s none too pleased when he surfaces from being chucked in Lake Brahe.

“What the fuck Indrid?!”

“I’m so sorry” Mothman flaps above him, both sets of hands tapping together anxiously, “I promise this is for the best but I’ll admit the exact process might have been overkill.”

“You fuckin’ think??” Duck kicks towards shore, grabbing his hat as it tries to float away, “the others are still back there with that thing. And I fuckin hate bein’ chucked into things without warnin.”

“I don’t think there are people who do enjoy such things.” Indrid alights on the shore Duck is swimming towards.

“Well then don’t fuckin do them.”

“It is for your own good, Duck Newton.”

“Yeah, heard that one before.” He hits shallow water, wades to shore trying to shake his hat dry, “now c’mon, fly me back so we can-”

His legs crumple, sending him face first into the lake. Crawling is no good, his whole body contorting and shaking, his throat and lungs burning. He claws at the pebbles and sand, coming away with fistfuls, grabbing for something, anything, to pull him from the water, as if reaching shore will free him from the pain wracking his body.

The world is coming in photo negative now, flashes of color that don’t make sense, the crack of his bones filling his ears. He might he crying, the pain is too deep to tell what else he’s feeling or doing.

“Help” he rasps into the night air.

Human hands cup his face, guide his aching head down across bony legs, “It will not last much longer.”

“Am” he gasps, feels the Sylph turn their bodies for some unknown purpose, breathing easier after he does, “am I gonna die.”

“No. And before you ask, your powers would not have done much for you if you still had them.”

“Fuck” he whimpers.

“Agreed.” Indrid strokes his hair, “five more seconds. Four, three, two, one.”

Duck passes out before Indrid can say anything else. He’s roused by the footfalls of combat boots and wingtips down the beach.

“Duck, Indrid-OH HOLY SHIT!”

“He’s not-”

“No, Ned, he is very much alive. Had I not moved him when I did, he would have suffocated before you could get him to any water.”

“Thank god.” Ned must be by his head.

“Aubrey, can, can you, it hurts-”

“Ummmmm” His friend sounds like she’s trying to come up with a comforting explanation, “which part of your tail hurts?”

Duck sits bolt upright, then falls back into Indrid’s arms, staring at the deep green and silver tail where his legs should be.

“Well….fuck.”

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

“How are you doing?” Indrid, red glasses glinting and pink and yellow sweater hanging off his tall frame, perches on a rock.

“Great. I’m a regular, breakable dipshit who turned into a fuckin merman without warnin, I had to have Barclay call work and tell ‘em I got a flu so they won’t fire me for disppearin, anything my friends bring me to eat gets soggy, and I ain’t seen my cat in three days.”

“So...not good then?”

Duck raises an eyebrow. Indrid smiles, not his usual confident, casual one. He looks unsure, which is in and of itself kind of unnerving.

“No, Indrid. Not good at all.”

“Ah. Apologies, I sometimes have trouble parsing certain tones.”

Duck swims closer, “Sorry.”

“It’s quite alright. You have every reason to be angry and upset. Even with me.”

“Pretty sure you didn’t curse me.”

“No. But had I moved faster, gotten to you all sooner, you would not have been in it’s path at all.”

It’s so matter of fact. The same way Indrid talks about anything troubling.

“Certainly my most newsworthy failure”

“Had you not arrived at the cottonwood, it would have been rather bad for me.”

“Oh, don’t worry about the eye. It hurt, but I have felt far worse.”

“And I have yet more bad news; while I can make a charm that will allow you to be in your human form for up to six hours at a time, the properties of that abomination mean eventually you’ll have to return to water.”

There’s a flicker in the smile, so swift Duck wonders if it’s only because his eyes are no longer human, slit pupiled instead of round, that he sees it at all. Or if it’s because this is the first time they haven’t been surrounded by heat, noise, or danger.

“Indrid, you know I don’t blame you, right?”

“Of course, Duck. I was merely being thorough in my apology.” Now it’s his normal, wide smile, but too tight across his teeth.

“He was before my time.” Vincent grins as he sets the DVDs on a well-dusted shelf, “though if Woodbridge is anything like he is now, I doubt they got along. The other ministers say he was...determined when he left. Like he could conquer any challenge earth presented during his quest."

Indrid’s glasses slip down his nose and he pushes them up before Duck gets even a glance at his eyes, “Now, where did I put that pin…” He pats his pockets, freezes when Duck manages to set a hand on his shin.

“Indrid, I mean it. Didn’t blame you then, don’t blame you now. Hell, from the sound of it you saved my ass, big time. So, uh, what I’m tryin to say is thanks. For lookin out for me.”

He squeezes in what he hopes is a friendly fashion. Indrid chirps, once, face losing all trace of eeriness. Then he schools it back to normal.

“You’re welcome. Punching aside, I’m quite fond of you. I’m going to use this for your charm, if that’s alright.” A souvenir pin from the Monongahela's tenth anniversary sits between slender fingers.

“Holy shit, I been lookin for that for ages. I, uh, I try to-”

“Collect them, yes. I saw that in a conversation between you and Juno. I was going to give this to you anyway, goodness knows it took awhile to find it in the trailer, but now it can serve a greater purpose.” With that, he pulls a folded piece of paper from his pocket. Duck’s image unfolds before them, Indrid smoothing it out and setting it on the rock as he begins working. Duck watches with interest, notices the process is much slower than it was when Indrid disguised Billy.

“Am I harder to get right than Ryan Gosling?”

“Yes. Well, not technically, no, but with Billy I just needed him to look human. I need you to look like, well, you. Such a fine specimen requires the utmost care.”

Duck’s about to toss back his usual line he gives to guys who compliment him, then realizes flirting with the Mothman might be weird, or that Indrid may not have meant it as anything more than some clinical, Sylph observation of humans. He tries to distract himself by swimming, but his tail still won’t do what he wants much of the time.

“You’ll have greater success on your back.” Indrid says without looking up.

He’s right, and Duck manages to swim without difficulty, tail shimmering in the sunset. The one time he glances at his friend, Indrid is staring at swaying and rippling in the water.

When the Sylph finally calls that he’s done, Duck speeds to the rock, let’s Indrid pin the charm to the collar of his undershirt that he keeps wearing because he’s still a human, dammit, just one with an inconvenient tail and he’s not gonna start skinny-dipping in a national forest. Again.

Duck flails when legs replace his tail, Indrid’s hand grabbing his a moment before he needs it to and helping him onto dry land.

“Satisfactory?”

“It’s fuckin perfect!”

“Wonderful!” Indrid claps his hands together, “what would you like to do? I may need to escort you for the first day, to be certain there’s no flaw in the charm.”

Duck studies the pink light tracing the angles of Indrid’s face, “Wanna meet my cat? She looks like a bobcat that lost a bar fight, but she’s sweet as can be.”

Indrid’s grin turns genuine for the first time all day, “I would like nothing better.”

The mothman becomes a staple of his life after that. With the charm, he’s able to help the Pine Guard track and slay the abomination, go to work, look after his house, and generally convince anyone not in the know that he’s totally fine. But he has to return to the lake every day, spends his mornings and nights there, even his lunch breaks when he knows he needs to give the charm a break then. It’s far enough away that he’s in no danger of being seen by civilians, but at least once Indrid had to fly him to it before they ran out of time (and Aubrey had to teleport them there, which made him nauseous).

Indrid keeps him company, sometimes with the others and sometimes on his own. He finds waterproof cards and games, listens to Duck talk about work and tells him about his travels. At first he worries Indrid is only doing it out of guilt, but as the weeks go by he comes to see that Indrid likes him. He laughs at his jokes, gives him as close to his full attention as he can, even scratches his scales with his mothed-out claws when they start driving Duck crazy with itchiness.

His friend always goes home to sleep, which is why, as Duck is drifting on his back, half snoozing and half star-gazing, the red eyes high in a tree come as a surprise. He’s on the other end of the lake, doesn’t seem to see Duck as he spreads his wings and flaps into the air. Then he nosedives, pulling up before he hits the water and then skimming across it in broad strokes. He shoots upward, spins, and then repeats the routine.

Duck’s seen him fly during fights and to escape the Cottonwood. Never like this, never so free and graceful. It’s such a joyful sight, makes Duck wish he had wings of his own so he could join him, dance across the stars and their reflections.

He swims towards Indrid, begins mirroring him on a whim, twisting, diving, and leaping as best he can in time with the cryptids flight. Pushes his tail to carry him faster, farther, all for the sake of keeping pace with the beautiful monster in the sky.

Surfacing after a particularly giant splash, a voice lilts down from the sky.

“Race you to the other side.”

Duck loses, but only just, cackles when Indrid buzzes him so closely he can feel the tickle of his feathers. When the mothman finally lands Duck swims to him, scooting up on land so he can watch Indrid fluff and clean his feathers.

“I come to this lake to practice flying without fear of being seen. I assumed you were asleep but, ah” his antenna twitch, “I’m glad you weren’t.”

Duck stretches, moans happily when Indrid gently glides his claws up his tail, “Me too.”

“Same time tomorrow night?” Soft hope flutters between them.

“Yeah.” He grins up at the cryptid, “bring your A-game, I’m gonna carb load tomorrow mornin so I can kick your butt.”

“I look forward to it.”

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

It’s been a month and a half since he transformed, which puts them smack in summer thunderstorm season. Duck’s used to it, though he’s more than a little nervous about what will happen if lightning hits the lake. Luckily, tonight it’s just soft summer rain instead of electricity and drops the size of robin eggs.

Indrid isn’t faring as well. The rain droops his antenna, compresses his fluff until Duck can see he’s still a twig under all those feathers. He shivers, chirrs in discomfort and shakes off his wings, but stays put on his favorite rock.

“There a reason you ain’t just turnin human? Could put on a raincoat that way.”

“I” Indrid sneezes, “I want you to feel comfortable. It can be so unpleasant, feeling like the only non-human in a place.”

Duck swims to the rock, flicking his tail up and down as he float, “You’re always changin form to make me comfortable.”

“Yes. Because I want you to not be unnerved by me.”

“But what about what you want?”

A feathery shrug, “That doesn’t matter.”

“Drid-”

Red eyes glare at him, “I am well aware of how I look, Duck. What people think of me. Would you have spent even a fraction of the time you have with me if your transformation had not forced it?”

“Y-fu-uh-I mean not no?” He sinks into the water as resignation becomes visible on Indrid’s inhuman features.

“I’m glad for our friendship, Duck. And I don’t doubt that you’re fond of me now. But please don’t pretend I was your first choice for company.”

“I mean...you weren’t. But that’s because we barely knew each other, hell, you only got back to town three months ago.” Duck takes the hand nearest him, “if this happened to me now? You might be the first person I’d want lookin out for me.”

Indrid chirrs, dips his head down to rub his cheek against Duck’s hand. Suddenly he wants nothing as badly as he wants to get Indrid warm and dry so he can run his fingers through every inch of those feathers.

“May I turn human?’

“Of course. Means you can come swimmin with me.”

Indrid, now in a tank top and yoga pants, cocks his head, “Why?”

“It’ll be fun?”

“My kind are not the strongest of swimmers.”

“Good thing I got a tail and gills, then. Besides, you’ll stop feelin as sticky from the humidity if you’re in the water.”

Indrid pulls off his shirt and pants, revealing duck-patterned boxers, and cautiously wades into the lake.

“Ooohhhh, that is so much better” his sighs, too blissed-out to notice the sudden drop, and only just manages to grab his glasses before going under. Duck zips forward, hoisting him easily into an embrace as he splutters.

“Blechhh, I despise the taste of lake water.” He clings to Duck, skinny legs teasingly tense around his tail.

Duck rubs his tail up and down his inner legs soothingly, “you, uh, want somethin to get rid of the taste?”

“Please.” Indrid smirks, clearly expecting a goof. When Duck tips his glasses up his forehead, he goes stone still.

“Can I kiss you?”

“This was not in any of the timelines.”

“Just came to me now. And that ain’t an answer.”

Indrid nods, tips his face forward to bring their lips together. Duck sighs, floats lazily backwards as Indrid slips his tongue between his lips. When they part, there are more stars in his eyes than in the whole milky way.

“Do you want some good news?” Indrid nuzzles his neck with an adorable trill.

“Lay it on me.”

“The futures just shifted; Aubrey and Janelle will have a cure for your condition tomorrow.”

“Hell yeah.” Duck flips them upright, Indrid “eeping” and holding tighter, “can’t wait to stop worryin’ about whether I’m gonna start suffocatin on land. And, uh” he nips Indrid’s lower lip, forgetting about his sharpened teeth until the Sylph lets out a little moan, “if you ain’t busy tomorrow night, like to take you on a date.”

Indrid beams, “I’d like that so very much. Though I will admit, I’m going to miss how this looks on you.” He squeezes his thighs around Duck’s tail.

“You can always whip me up one if we wanna, uh, relive the fun parts of this experience.”

“True. And with that in mind, my sweet; how do you feel about wings?”

#indruck #indrid cold/Duck Newton #taz amnesty #mermay #mermay fills

[scxrlettwxtches]

true love’s irony | hwang hyunjin

Genre: royal au, fluff, angst, very bittersweet ig(?), slight han jisung x reader dynamics 

Warnings: light making out hehe

Word Count: ~5.3k

Description: You were never just Prince Hyunjin’s servant. You were his one true love, the sparkle of joy in his dull princely life. And despite his intense desire to have you as his own, your happiness would always be more important to him.

A/N: i have absolutely no idea what this is. it was supposed to be a short drabble to get rid of the hyunjin/jisung rivalry flooding my brain, but then it evolved into something a little bigger. i know it’s pretty terrible, but i had to finish it asdfghjk--on the bright side, i can finally start to tackle those requests that you had so graciously sent to me, and im super pumped about it! as always, my dms and my asks are open to anyone who’d like to be friends! love y’all!

i.

Hyunjin’s evening had turned considerably less enjoyable, and it was all because of you.

Actually, that was mean, because you didn’t do anything wrong. Hyunjin was sure that you couldn’t harbor malice intentions towards anyone even if you wanted to. You were just perfect like that, at least in his eyes. However, as he stood beside the crown prince, his brother, he watched you glide across the ballroom like a graceful fairy, dancing with someone that was distinctly not him. 

“You might want to tone down that glare, Hyunjin,” Minho nudged him with a subtle elbow as he leaned to whisper in his ear, “You’re going to start a war at this rate.”

Of course Minho knew what the problem was. The young prince was never subtle about his affections for you, never hesitating from letting his words of love fall out of his lips. Everyone in the castle knew. Everyone except you, Hyunjin had slowly began to realize after some time of watching his advances being brushed off without even a second of thought. 

Truthfully, Hyunjin’s evening had started out being more exciting than usual. When he’d bumped into you in the morning as you rushed about the palace running miscellaneous errands, you’d happily told him that you would be able to attend at least part of the ball as long as you completed all your chores. Hyunjin was elated; you rarely came to these events, and even when you did, Hyunjin would always be unfortunately occupied with entertaining a visiting princess or any potential marriage partners. This time, there were no visiting princesses, and his mother had finally agreed to lay off the incessant  matchmaking, at least for a little bit. 

What Hyunjin had genuinely not expected was for someone to sweep you into a dance before he could even make his way towards you. 

“You are not the only one with eyes,” Minho chided as Hyunjin failed to control his raging jealousy, “Anyone can see that Y/N looks quite dazzling tonight.” 

And you were dazzling alright. Hyunjin was not a fool, he thought you looked especially pretty that evening, dressed in a flowing, lilac gown that billowed gracefully whenever you moved, the off shoulder design creating a sort of airness about you that only further showed off your angelic features. The dress was clearly a little less posh than the rest, no doubt a reject from the tailors that you’d taken and given it your own personal touch. Still, Hyunjin could say without a doubt that you were the most beautiful in the ballroom. 

Hyunjin would’ve been fine with you dancing with other people. You were beautiful and of age to be married, so it wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. You also never seemed to pay very much attention to the partners that you danced with, always politely brushing off their advances or diverting their attention before slipping away, all while Hyunjin watched with uncontrolled glee. 

This time, things were different.

Because you weren’t dancing with just anyone, you were dancing with Han Jisung.

Hyunjin and Jisung were not friends, and if anyone tried to make a case for it, Hyunjin would--without fail--burst into a rant of how Jisung had done him wrong all his life. As princes from neighboring kingdoms, the two boys who were also of the same age were constantly put together during their lives, which only heightened their competitiveness. Hyunjin didn’t like Jisung, but he did respect him. He had a certain charm about him, a certain air in which he carried about him that made it seem like everything came easily to him. He had a smile that could put everyone at ease, and a sense of humor that made him a blossoming social butterfly. 

Hyunjin knew all those things, and yet, when he watched Jisung approach you with his trademark smile and lighthearted quips, he’d expected you to dance one song with him and then proceed to brush him off like the rest. But one song soon became two, and then three, until you had spent the entire evening so far with a certain Han Jisung. It was clear that he captivated you from the way you smiled, from the way your eyes sparkled whenever he spoke. 

Hyunjin hated it. Your eyes should only sparkle like that with him!

“You know, you could just ask her to dance, and spare yourself the agony of watching them fall in love,” Minho commented with a chuckle. 

“They are not falling in love!” Hyunjin hissed, but his eyes darted uncertainty back to the pair who were currently getting a drink together in the side of the room, laughing together as Jisung makes sure to keep his arm hovering near your waist.

“You wait any longer and they will,” Minho pointed out bluntly, now turning to look at the pair as well, “You know Jisung doesn’t mingle with anyone that he doesn’t think is interesting.” 

Hyunjin clenched his fist, finally getting fed up with his brother’s unnecessary commentary, “Why are you rubbing salt in the wound?” he growled lowly, careful not to attract any unwanted attention or start any rumors that the two princes were fighting. 

“Because I’m tired of watching you pine after her like a kicked puppy. You can’t expect to be able to chase away all her suitors with bribes and threats.”

“It’s worked for now,” Hyunjin grumbled under his breath, suddenly looking a little more embarrassed, “And besides, Y/N wasn’t interested in them either.” 

“But it’s going to stop working eventually,” Minho said, and Hyunjin hated just how reasonable his brother was sounding right now, “What will you do when Y/N actually falls in love with someone? Will you chase them away just to appease your childish jealousy?”

“She won’t fall in love,” Hyunjin stressed, glaring at the man. 

“She won’t now, because she’s in love with you, but she won’t wait forever,” Minho retorted smoothly. 

Hyunjin let out a bitter chuckle, “Don’t mock me. You know she’s not in love with me, or she would’ve noticed,” he muttered, thinking of every gift he’d given you, every subtle confession he’d ever made, every moment when he’d do something just to get your eyes to sparkle in the special way he loved so much. 

“That’s because she’s oblivious, and if you haven’t noticed that she loves you, then you’re just as oblivious,” Minho scoffed, looking at you and Jisung back on the dance floor, waltzing away, “Do you think she goes out of her way to take care of you when you’re sick, stay up with you when you’re stressed, cheer the loudest during your ride tournaments just because she’s a palace maid?” 

“You goad me now, but where will you stand when I ask for mother and father’s permission to marry her?”

Minho couldn’t help but look a little surprised, “You want to marry her already--”

“You know what I mean!” Hyunjin snapped, turning to face his older brother, “What can I give her? What can I truly give her? Absolutely nothing, because mother and father would never allow this--us--to happen,” he spoke, and Minho distinctly ignore how choked up Hyunjin’s voice suddenly sounded.

Looking out into the ballroom, Minho took a minute before answering, “I can’t tell you for certain what will happen in the future. But Hyunjin, if you let what the two of you have die without ever confronting it, both of you will live with unbearable regrets.” 

Hyunjin closed his eyes. Minho was right. There would be a festering hole in his heart for the rest of his life if he continued to watch you from afar, never truly making a move and yet not being able to bear the pain of seeing you with someone else. 

As he heard the sound of your lilting, graceful laughter carry across the ballroom, Hyunjin lifted his head, watching as Jisung held you tightly as the two of you danced. He could feel his blood boiling, his temper rising again. Jisung dipped you with experienced ease, his fingers gripping your waist tightly as if you were already his, and Hyunjin finally snapped. 

ii.

You were honestly having one of the best nights of your life until Hyunjin ruined it. 

Actually, that’s a little mean, but it was true. Fairytales always talk about fated meeting between friends, between lovers, and that day, you really believed that meeting Han Jisung was fate. You were hesitant at first to accept his offer to dance, but his charm eventually swept you into one, then two, then three dances. 

Your time in the palace was far from torturous. Having grown up with Hyunjin, he’d always been kind to you, treating you as an equal more than a servant, something you were still very grateful about. However, as you grew up, you began to get bored of the palace, of the people. Han Jisung was a breath of fresh air, and you found yourself having difficulty letting your thoughts drift to anyone but him. He was kind, entertaining, and the words that he’d spoken during one of your dances seemed particularly appealing. 

Of course, you were vaguely away of Hyunjin’s presence the whole time. Being his maid practically since the day you came out of your mother’s womb, it was hard for your eyes and your brain to stop instinctively searching for the man, to keep him out of trouble. Luckily for you, he wasn’t difficult to spot, taking a place beside the Crown Prince, but as Jisung dipped you in a graceful arch, you glanced out of the corner of your eye that Hyunjin was suddenly missing. 

Oh, well. He was probably courting another noble lady to pass the time.

It wasn’t until the song ended, and you and Jisung were both giving each other teasing curtsies when you felt a familiar hand wrap around your wrist, causing you to freeze. Hyunjin lightly tugged you into his personal space as he towered over you.

“I think you’ve taken up enough of Lady Y/N’s evening,” Hyunjin spoke lightly as he gave Jisung a stare that was anything but lighthearted. 

“Nonsense, I thought we were quite enjoying each other’s company,” Jisung gave you a dramatic bow to which you couldn’t help but laugh at, still in disbelief that a prince like him would be so carefree. 

Your laugh and obvious amusement towards Jisung only worked to set Hyunjin off further, and he clenched his jaw before speaking, “Could I interrupt your enjoyment for one dance?” his voice oozing sarcasm as he asked, the cold Prince Hyunjin persona seeping into his stance. Then, his gaze shifted towards you and it all vanished, showing a crack of vulnerability in the prince’s normally proud ego, “Please?” 

How could you refuse him when he looked at you with those eyes, his exterior so cold and yet his final request similar to one of a needy puppy? 

“Just one,” you found yourself saying before turning to curtsey to Jisung, “Thank you for the wonderful evening, Your Highness,” you said politely, putting the Queen’s etiquette classes to proper use. 

Jisung chuckled, bowing to you with the respect that, as a servant, you didn’t deserve from the likes of a prince, “I hope to see you again, Lady Y/N,” he said, mockingly formal. 

Hyunjin didn’t wait a moment longer after the farewell to tug you away from the prince, walking to the middle of the ballroom just as the musicians begin their next waltz. His one hand moved to hold yours delicately, his other wrapping around your waist and pulling you snug against him. But, to your credit, you were barely caught off guard by his subtle flirting. After all, the two of you had been dancing since you were only little kids, and it was a talent that came naturally to you, especially when dancing with Hyunjin. 

The music began to play, and the two of you glided expertly across the ballroom floor, totally in sync as you looked up into his eyes, finding it hard to pay attention to who’s around you and not hard at all to get lost in those beautiful brown eyes of his. 

Still, you could notice a telltale pout on his lips, the one that always made him seem younger, more childish, and you couldn’t help but laugh softly, “Why the long face, Your Highness?” 

Hyunjin pouted even more, and you could feel the fingers wrapped around your waist tighten almost imperceptibly, “Of all people, why were you dancing with him?” he whined, sounding too much like a petulant child as you chuckled.

“You’re throwing a tantrum because I danced with Prince Jisung?” you clarified, and Hyunjin avoided your gaze, which told you all you needed to know, “How old are you, Your Highness?”

“That’s not nice, Y/N!” Hyunjin frowned, “You know he’s a jerk.”

“I know,” you said firmly as he spun you around before guiding you back to his arms, “that the two of you were immaturely competitive in your younger years and just never had the change to talk things out.”

Hyunjin’s hand wrapped around your much smaller one only tightened its grip, “I understand one dance, but you were with him all night,” he said, distraught, “You didn’t even look for me once!”

“I did look for you!” you laughed in response, “And I saw you with the Crown Prince, so I knew you had company.”

“But I want your company,” This made you genuinely blush, and you quickly angled your head to the side in order to do an admittedly horrible job of hiding the reaction on your face. 

Hyunjin, the attentive little brat, immediately caught the obvious pink of your cheeks as he leaned closer to your ear, “Do you like it when I’m clingy?” he whispered, and you gave him a light shove to the chest. 

“I’m not in the mood for your teasing,” you retorted with a scrunch of your nose, something that--unbeknownst to you--Hyunjin thought was absolutely adorable. However, Hyunjin’s attention had drifted away from your lighthearted conversation, and his eyes fell to the glimmering charm around your neck.

“You’re wearing it,” he stated, as if he couldn’t quite believe his eyes. It was his necklace, a beautiful little diamond charm on a thin chain. He’d spent days looking for the right one, one that would suit your more modest nature, and yet would show how much he is willing to spoil you if you truly let him.

Your hand instinctively reached to touch the charm lightly, “Well, of course I am,” you said lightly as you slipped your hand back into his, “it matches my dress, does it not?”

It certainly did match, but Hyunjin still had a genuinely dumbfounded expression on his face, “You never wear it,” he said more firmly, “I’ve never seen it.”

“Of course, I wear it!” you retorted hotly, and your dance steps suddenly moved a bit faster as you tried to contain yourself, “I just have to hide it under my shirt sometimes. Not just anyone can get me a diamond charm necklace. They’ll figure out it’s you soon enough, and you’ll be the laughing stock of town.”

Hyunjin pouted, obviously wanting you to show off his gifts, but you couldn’t always do what he wanted. 

Eventually, the dance came to a finish, and the two of you stepped back from each other, dipping your heads in a curtsey. Hyunjin held your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to leave a lingering kiss, “Do you wanna get out of here?”

“Not if it means your mother scolding me about being a bad influence again,” you said, before saying sternly, “I know she told you to stay and entertain the guests today.”

Hyunjin’s smile widened a fraction, “Getting out of here it is.”

“Your Highness, I just said—” your exasperated sigh was ignored as Hyunjin began to guide you out of the ballroom, bobbing and weaving through the crowd and heading to a covert back door exit. 

“We’re going to get in trouble. And by we, I mean me.”

“Minho will cover us,” Hyunjin replied lightly as he opened the door, which was more of a hatch in the wall than anything, and the two of you slipped away from the party without anyone noticing, leaving the stately music and the elegant dances behind.

iii.

“Isn’t this much better?” Hyunjin sighed contently as he laid down on the grass of the royal gardens, stretching his limbs and letting out an unrestrained yawn.

You were not as relaxed, sitting beside him, your beautiful yet cheap dress smoothed out under you, “It’s only going to be nice until your mother comes out and rains hell down on both of us.”

“Why are you afraid of my mother?” Hyunjin pouted, tilting his head to look up at you.

“Because she’s the queen and she can literally chop my head off with a snap of her fingers?” you questioned him, raising your eyebrows.

“No one will chop off your head. I won’t ever let it happen,” Hyunjin spoke with vitriol, suddenly sounding much more aggressive than before. 

You couldn’t help but laugh, “Thank you. You’ve always had my back, Hyunjin,” In the safety of the empty garden, with nothing but the fireflies and the flowers to hear your words, you allowed yourself to say his name, his real name, without the fussy titles the separated your statuses. 

Hyunjin rolled over, clenching his fist at the sound of his name falling out of your lips. Oh, it drove him mad. He would give anything to marry you, make you a princess, and you’d be able to call him that whenever you pleased. He sat up, his face moving near yours as he studied your face curiously.

You backed up a little, a blush clear on your face at Hyunjin’s forwardness, “What do you want?” you asked, trying to sound annoyed and failing miserably. 

“I want you to me honest with me,” Hyunjin said simply, already reaching to stroke your cheek with his thumb. His touch was delicate, fleeting, and you found yourself leaning into it instinctively.

“I’m always honest with you,” you murmured a soft, weak retort, and Hyunjin chuckled.

“If you were always honest, I wouldn’t be asking it of you right now,” Hyunjin looked deep into your eyes, seeing the endless layers of kindness, uncertainty, homeliness, love. He would be content with studying your face for the rest of his life if only you would stop looking down at your feet whenever you’re with him.

“Well, then what is it?” you asked, tilting your head to the side, looking almost concerned.

Hyunjin seemed almost entranced with your face as he stroked your cheek, his eyes getting lost in yours. Right when you thought that he really wasn’t going to say anything at all, he spoke softly, “Do you love me?”

It felt like the world stopped. Your cheeks flared into a bright red color, and you stammered incomprehensibly, “H-Hyunjin--Hyunjin, what are you saying--”

“There’s something between us, Y/N, you must feel it too,” Hyunjin said--no, begged--his hands now cupping your face delicately, like you were the most precious thing he’s ever touched.

“Hyunjin, even if I wanted t-to, we can’t…”

“Then, I’ll be honest first,” Hyunjin spoke, stroking your cheek, “I love you. I’ve loved ever since I laid eyes on you. I fall in love with you over and over again, every time you laugh, every time you smile, every time you look at me with those beautiful eyes,” he tilted your head up as he moved even closer.

You struggled to speak, your mouth opening and closing as you finally nodded, your eyes sparkling in the way that made Hyunjin’s heart skip beats and soar into the air, “I’ve loved you for years, Hyunjin. I love you.”

That was all Hyunjin needed before he pressed his lips onto yours softly, for a moment, just to make sure you were genuinely okay. When you not only reciprocated but deepened the kiss, wrapping your delicate hand gently around the back of his neck and languidly played with his hair, he lost all control. He began to kiss you like a starving man, laying you down on the grass as he ravaged your mouth with his desperate, wanting love, and lacing your fingers together in both hands. 

It was only until both of you truly needed air that he finally pulled away with a breathless gasp. He looked down at the perfect picture of you, your eyes unfocused and dazed, your chest heaving as you took deep breaths, your cheeks flushed from excitement, and your lips...your lips were swollen and plump. It made Hyunjin almost feral. 

He did that. He put that expression on your face. That was something he was sure no one--not even the great Han Jisung--could do to you.

Hyunjin let out a gentle sigh as he helped you up, propping you against his chest so you could lie on him. You folded into his arms perfectly, curling into his side as his arm wrapped around your waist. He could see the content look in your face, your blissful expression. He wanted to see that smile on your face every single day, even if it killed him. 

Everything felt perfect, for you and for him, basking in each other’s love under the peaceful moonlight.

But you knew that things were far from perfect, and deep down, Hyunjin knew it too. 

“What did you and Jisung talk about?” Hyunjin finally asked after a long moment of peaceful silence. 

You looked up at him, your cheek still gently resting on his chest, “Are you still jealous?” You asked, faintly amused, “After what we just did?”

The prince shook his head, pressing his lips into your soft hair, “No, not jealous,” he answered softly, his free hand absently playing with your fingers.

“Then, what’s wrong?” you asked gently, and when he looked down at you, his heart was heavy. 

“Did he ask you to marry him?”

“Hyunjin!” your eyes widened at his suspicions as you pulled away from his embrace, “N-no, no of course not!”

“But he offered you something, did he not?” Hyunjin asked, his eyes looking anywhere but you.

There was no use hiding it from him. Settling down on the grass beside him, you lay your head on his shoulder, closing your eyes as you spoke, “He asked me to go to his kingdom with him. To visit.”

Hyunjin couldn’t help but chuckle at your innocence, your naivety, “That’s as good as a proposal, Y/N.” 

“What exactly are you trying to get at?” you finally lost your patience with the poor boy, looking up at him expectantly as your chin rests on his shoulder. Hyunjin tilted his head to look at you, his eyes filled with such sorrow and such longing, that you almost knew what he was going to say before the dreaded words even fell out of his mouth. 

“You should marry Jisung.”

Your entire body grew cold and you stared at Hyunjin with an unreadable expression on your face as you scooted away from him, “Are you serious?” you whispered, trying to hide the way your voice cracked, “After I just told you I loved you, you’re sending me away? That’s cruel.” 

“No, no, my darling Y/N,” Hyunjin spoke desperately, reaching to cup your cheeks with his hands as you turned your head away, “You misunderstand. I love you with all my heart. I love you more than there are stars in the sky.”

“Then, why?” you asked, your eyes sparkling not with curiosity, but with misty tears. Hyunjin wiped them away with gentle fingers. 

“You know why,” he said, his voice tinged with heartbreak, and you closed your eyes, tears silently rolling down your cheeks as you answered your own question. 

“Because your mother would never let you marry me, isn’t that right?” your voice was soft, disappointed, and resigned at the same time. Hyunjin looked away from your face, unable to bear the way your expression quite literally fell. 

The silence that screamed between the two of you was no longer comfortable. It was tense and sad before you broke it, “So that’s it?” you said softly, looking down at your hands as you tried to blink away the tears, “You’re just going to let me go?”

Hyunjin wanted to deny it at the top of his lungs. He wanted to run right up to his mother and tell her to look at herself in the mirror for one second to see how arrogant and stuck up she was. But he couldn’t.

“There’s no fighting my mother’s demands, you know that,” he said, running a hand through his soft, dark hair, “Even if I did, it would only be hard on you. I won’t let you suffer just because you love me.”

“How are you so certain things will go well with Jisung, then?” you asked almost spitefully, feeling bitter, feeling disappointed that Hyunjin was not doing more to fight for your love, “He’s a prince, the same as you.”

“Things are different in his kingdom. The queen was a mere commoner before she and Chan fell in love,” Hyunjin said, laughing without humor, “That man never cared about rules or traditions anyway.”

You finally looked up at him again, your lower lip quivering, “You understand what this means, right? If I leave with him, I’ll never be able to be by your side again!” you said desperately.

Hyunjin looked down, tears threatening to fall down his cheeks, “Don’t make this harder than it already is, please,” he implored you, his heart feeling painfully twisted the more he thought about your words.

“Hard? You’re the one that’s pushing me away--”

“I need you to be happy!” The prince finally blurted it out, the words tumbling out of his mouth as his voice gave way. He cupped your face in his hands, repeating them softly, “I need you to be happy, Y/N, and there’s no true happiness for you if you follow me. My mother won’t rest until I marry someone of high birth, and I’d never, never let you become my mistress,” 

“You deserve to be married in splendor, be treated like a queen and I-I can’t give that to you,” Hyunjin choked on his words, the tears finally falling from his misty eyes as he fully realizes that--despite being the most sought after prince, the man with everything--he truly had nothing to give you. 

You stared at Hyunjin as he fell apart in front of you, his head resting on your shoulder tiredly as you felt his tears drip onto your bare skin. Reaching up, you gently carded your fingers through his hair, whispering soothing words and humming gentle melodies.

“Hyunjin,” you finally spoke after a long moment, “if I do as you ask, what will become of your happiness?” 

The prince answered slowly, “My...happiness…” he repeated your words as if they were foreign to him, “I suppose I’ll find my happiness eventually. I’m happy if you’re happy, Y/N,” the words felt cheesier than any other pick up line he’d used on other princesses before, but you know that he meant every word he said to you. 

“I’m sorry,” It was the only thing you could say, and even then, it wasn’t quite enough for what you knew you were about to do; break the heart of your true love.

“I’m sorry, too,” Hyunjin spoke softly, and neither of you could resist the temptation. Tilting his head up, he shifted forward, pressing his lips against yours desperately, and you kissed him as if it were the last time you’d ever be able to see him. He pulled you into his lap, wanting to kiss you as deeply and as lovingly as possible, knowing this was the last. 

When you pulled away after what felt like only a split second, you sat in his lap, breathing heavily with tears pricking at the corner of your eyes again. Neither of you knew quite what to say, how to say it. The real goodbye. 

Reaching to the back of your neck, you fiddled with the clasp, and gently took off your diamond necklace, the only item of wealth you’d ever owned, Hyunjin’s courting gift that had gone unnoticed by you. You wanted to keep it, to hold it close to your heart as you would slowly begin to forget the prince who’d first stolen your affections. But you knew it wasn’t fair, neither to Hyunjin nor to Jisung. 

“Here,” you said gently, taking his hand in yours and opening his palm, placing the necklace into his hand, “When you find love, true love again, you can give it to them,” you looked at him fondly, not being able to resist an extra peck on his lips. 

As you stood up, having to leave the palace as midnight struck, indicating that all guests and people other than the royal family were to leave the premise, Hyunjin called out to your slowly disappearing figure, “You were my first true love, Y/N!”

You stopped in your tracks, your hand instinctively reaching to touch his necklace, only to find that it was no longer there. Turning around, you called back with a bittersweet smile, hoping that the distance could hide your tears, “And you were mine, Hyunjin.”

epilogue.

Hyunjin wasn’t sure what he was expecting when his servant had walked in to hand him a beautifully ornate envelope send from Chan’s kingdom. It was rare for him to receive mail from other kingdoms, especially since he was only the second prince, meaning that he was the last in line to receive important information. 

Still, as he neatly cut open the envelope and pulled out the card inside, he almost dropped it, the words on the paper causing his head to spin.

You are most graciously invited to the wedding of Prince Han and Lady Y/N.

Hyunjin could feel his heart twisting painfully again, almost like a phantom agony from that night, all those years ago. He could still recall every moment of that night in his head, from the first confession to the desperate kisses to the tearful goodbye. It had been more than three years, and as far as he’s heard from your last letter a couple months before, you were doing very well with Jisung.

He was happy for you, he truly was. All Hyunjin had ever wanted was to see you happy, and if that could only be achieved with you not being by his side, Hyunjin was alright with that. 

Still, he couldn’t help but let his brain wander, especially now knowing that there’s nothing he could do anymore. He wondered what would’ve happened if he’d decided to fight for your relationship. To make it known that he wasn’t going to marry any wealthy lady or princess, he was going to marry you. 

It wouldn’t matter any more, and the invitation in his hand made that perfectly clear, like twisting a knife into a slowly healing wound. 

Pulling open a small cabinet on the side of his desk, he slowly picked up a familiar diamond necklace, the only you had pressed into his palm before you’d disappeared into the night. The only physical remnant of your shared love. 

Hyunjin brought the charm to his lips, giving it one final kiss as if to truly say goodbye. He could feel the tears pricking at his eyes, but he kept them at bay as he opened a small chest in his closet, placing the necklace inside. Sparing it one final, heartbroken glance, he sealed the chest, locking it and throwing the key into the trash.

He would never have an urge to gift anyone else that necklace, anyway. 

~

a/n: why am i incapable of writing a truly happy ending lol pls help ;;_;;

#inkidz #stray kids imagines #stray kids reactions #stray kids scenarios #stray kids drabbles #hwang hyunjin imagine #hwang hyunjin scenarios #skz imagines #skz scenarios #my fics

[the-quiet-winds]

The Gravity of Tempered Grace (part five)

[part one] - [part two] - [part three] - [part four]

[Part 5: Leave Tonight or Live and Die This Way]

The Life and Times of Jane the Queen, Chapter 12 - The Queen’s Dearest Brothers

“Jane’s brothers, Thomas and Edward, were not subtle in using their sister’s new position as queen to rise through the ranks themselves. Edward, as the Duke of Sommerset, was one of Henry’s most trusted confidants. Thomas became the First Baron Seymour of Sudeley and later married Catherine Parr following Henry’s death.

It could well be argued that every man in Jane’s life - her father, her brothers, and her husband - all simply used her to get what they wanted. Jane’s marriage secured fortune for her aging parents, distinguished titles for her brothers, and, of course, a son who would become king of England. But due to the lack of records from before Jane’s arrival at the court of Queen Catherine, it is unknown how many of her decisions were truly her own, and how many were made for her by the men in her life.”

“He can what?”

Katherine’s face is extremely pale, while the others mostly look a combination of scared and confused. Jane, as expected, doesn’t look fazed.

“He can kill her,” Cathy repeats softly. “He can force her into dangerous situations or to do something stupid-”

“He can crush my heart.”

All eyes in the room fixate on Jane, whose hand has come to rest over her very empty chest as she stares blankly at Anna’s socks.

“He’s telling me right now,” she whispers. “Now… now that everyone knows. He can crush my heart in his hand and kill me. And he isn’t afraid to-”

Her calm monotone is sharply ended by her own piercing squeak. Jane grips at her shirt, gasping for air, almost falling over if Kat and Catherine hadn’t caught her first.

“Leave her alone, dickhead,” Kat hisses, hoping that Henry can somehow hear her through Jane.

Slowly, Jane manages to catch her breath, and genuine fear shines in her otherwise empty eyes as she looks to Cathy for guidance.

“Did he say anything else to you?” Cathy asks gently. “Any idea of what he’s got planned?”

Kat and Catherine help Jane sit on the bed. “He… he said that I’m his one true wife. And that he’ll stop at nothing to have me back.”

“Do you know where he is?” Anne asks.

Jane shakes her head.

“Is he saying anything else to you?”

Jane shakes her head again.

Cathy narrows her eyes slightly. “Did he tell you not to speak?”

This time, Jane nods. Then she winces, hand coming to her chest but receding a moment later.

“Okay, this is what we need to do,” Cathy says. “We all need to keep eyes on Jane. In case Henry shows up or tries to hurt her, we can’t leave her alone. We’ll all take shifts, alright?”

Everyone gives some sort of affirmation, and “Operation Save Jane,” as Kat dubs it, is a go.

Cathy is the first to take Jane-watch, allowing the others to get some much-needed sleep. Gradually, Jane too falls asleep on Cathy’s bed while the bookworm does more research. Of course, there’s very little information about the possession of a heart, but Cathy finds herself reading more about her sister-in-law’s life.

She reads the entirety of “Jane Seymour, The Matron Queen” without much hesitation, and finds herself captivated by the writings of Jane’s life. This book, just as the others about the queens’ lives, focuses primarily on Henry and how Jane entered his life, despite the book supposedly focusing on her.

If they all survive this, perhaps Cathy will just have to rectify that.

She flits a glance over to Jane, who is curled up on her side, sleeping so peacefully one might think her dead.

At that dark thought, Cathy tiptoes across the floor and watches carefully. Okay, good, she’s breathing. 

A few hours later, a still-half-asleep Catherine stumbles into the room, mumbling something about how it’s her turn to watch Jane now, and how Cathy should get some sleep.

“I’m not tired,” Cathy tries to protest. “I can keep watching over her.”

“You need sleep too, love,” Catherine interjects. She looks at her goddaughter, so stubborn and hard-headed, and sighs. “How about I go make us some tea and we can stay up together, alright?”

Cathy seems much more open to that idea, so Catherine tiptoes downstairs into the dark to put a kettle on.

It’s only when she’s alone, in the quiet of the night, that Catherine realizes the gravity of the situation before her. 

There is only three ways this can end: They can either somehow recover Jane’s heart from Henry, they don’t recover the heart and Jane lives out the rest of her days without emotions and being controlled by their vengeful ex-husband, or Jane dies.

A shiver runs down Catherine’s spine at the last option. Jane can’t die. Not when they’ve been given this miraculous second chance. Not when they’ve only just begun to bond.

Not when Jane has barely even experienced life again.

Catherine forces the dark thoughts from her head and brings two cups of tea up to Cathy’s bedroom, where her niece is sitting next to Jane’s sleeping form on the bed.

“Can you believe this is really happening?” Cathy whispers, accepting the mug without even looking at her godmother. “This… this is ridiculous, right?”

“I would say so,” Catherine mumbles. She eases down into the armchair near the bed. “Of all the things I thought I would see in my life, a friend not possessing her heart wasn’t one of them.”

“Well, I didn’t expect to be able to ever walk the Earth again, so the insanity doesn’t stop there.”

Catherine gives half a chuckle and looks to Jane. “How do we do this?”

“All we can focus on now is making sure Henry doesn’t kill her,” Cathy admits quietly. “He could be anywhere in the world right now with her heart. It’s not like we can find him.”

“So what do you suggest we do?”

“Honestly?” Cathy takes a sip of her tea. “We just have to wait. Until he lets slip where he is, until he… I don’t know, shows up here or something. We have to wait for him, but we have to keep Jane safe as well.”

Catherine is silent for a while, then, “this is torture.”

“Agreed.”

“There has to be something-”

“There isn’t,” Cathy sighs. “Not without her heart. And we don’t know where it is.”

They both deflate slightly into their seats, and the lull in activity comes just as Jane’s eyes open suddenly.

Cathy tenses, but doesn’t react at first. Maybe she just woke up.

Jane, without a word, sits up. She doesn’t even flit a glance at either Catherine as she shifts to the edge of the bed and stands. 

Silently, daring not to make the barest hint of a sound, Jane slips out of the room and down the hall.

Cathy and Catherine give her a lead, then follow.

Jane descends the stairs and crosses the living room without disturbing a floorboard or knick knack, headed for the front door.

Her shadows pause at the bottom of the stairs, just out of sight, as Jane unlocks and opens the door.

A tall, large shadow lumbers at the door. Cathy and Catherine are already halfway up the stairs before the shadow even speaks.

But speak the shadow does, a hand gently caressing Jane’s cheek. 

“Hello, love.”

#six the musical #six the musical fanfiction #jane seymour #catherine of aragon #catherine parr #katherine howard #anne boleyn #anne of cleves #julie writes #the gravity of tempered grace

[the-inky-isles]

haunting figures

this is for my @ts-storytime​ ‘s submission! my artist is @ravenclawicecream and it was awesome working together for this piece. word count: 15001 tags: discussion of war, slight internalized ableism, arranged marriages, familial death, awful parents, open/ambiguous ending author’s notes: im never writing anything like this again.  it was an experience im glad for !! but i never wanna do this again salkjfdal

The meeting had lasted centuries, it seemed.

In all reality, it had only been a few hours, but he felt like he could see the hairs at his temple graying.  The aching joints had been a painful companion all his life, so it seemed that being an old man at age thirty-one was simply his life now.  The books surrounding him and the crutches leaning on the side of the desk agreed.

Logan sighed and let his head drop onto the stack of his papers.  His eyes threatened to shut but it was only three o’clock in the afternoon and the number of advisors clamoring for his attention was unbelievable.  He was only the king, not God Herself.  Honestly, if he was a power-hungry noble wishing to be in the king’s good graces, he wouldn’t try and get an appointment with him.  Appointments never solved anything; any good court member knew that. 

There weren’t many good court members, as you could tell.

Lifting his head from the inked parchments, he rubbed his brow with the palm of his hand.  The court member problem was an on-going one, left over from his mother’s reign.  Her partner’s death shocked everyone and the queen scrambled to recover the pieces of what she discovered to be a shattered kingdom.  She couldn’t fix everything, and so that’s what Logan grew up learning how to do.

The king pursed his lips and leaned back in his chair.  “Fix everything” he murmured to himself. “What a useless task.”

A knock came at the door and Logan called for whoever was at the door to come in.  “Hello, your majesty,” his steward bowed. “I was told to fetch you.” Logan lifted his eyes to peer over the top of his glasses.

“Am I not the one who is supposed to request others to be fetched?” he asked. The steward’s eyes glittered with amusement as he straightened.

“We both know that that’s no fun,” Emile said, placing his arms behind his back. “Besides you’re going to like who’s come to visit.” Logan exhaled deeply.

“Well, if you are here to fetch me, let me be fetched.” Logan pressed both his hands to the desk and slowly raised.  His knees creaked in protest, but he kept going until he was upright.  Grabbing the crutches, he swiftly made his way to his steward.  Together, they walked the ornate halls until they reached the throne room, where the courtier opened the door and Logan marched inside.

“Your majesty!” a voice boomed.  A man clad in black and green stood in the middle of the room, his hand resting on his decorative scabbard. “How is that every time I visit, you seem to become more and more the old man you are inside?”  The servants around the room tensed, but Logan just grinned.

“Remus, how is it every time you visit, you can never find a better joke to greet me with?” Logan countered.  Remus threw his head back, a loud laugh filling the room.  Servants around the room winced at the loud display, but Logan merely smiled.

“Never change, my friend.” Remus smiled, his eyes crinkling.  Logan’s heart grew fond at the sight. 

“Well, let me sit, and then we may discuss why you are here.”

“What, a prince can’t come to visit his old friend?” Logan scoffed as he sat down in the throne, removing the crutches from his arms.

“Not when said prince has been shifting his weight from foot to foot like a nervous wreck since I stepped foot into here.” The anxious look in his eyes grew more apparent, but Remus’ smile never dropped.  His hand began shaking back and forth at his side.

“I wanted to wait for a bit longer before bringing it up.”

“Nonsense.  This is the world we live in, your highness. We’d be fools to forget our responsibilities for a moment.” Remus nodded.

“There has been…a complication in the plan we drafted last summer.” Logan straightened in his seat.

“The one for the fields of the volcanoes in your kingdom?”

“Exactly, my dear friend.”

“What complication could come from that? It was a routine signing, everyone agreed to it and- “

 “-and there shouldn’t be another meeting for several more years?” Remus finished. “Yes, but the kingdom of Xious has found that the terms of the contract that has been in place for a millennia before the current monarch is not suitable and wishes to make some changes.”

“What changes could they possibly want? They get forty percent of the crops and pay an incredibly low rent, even after adjusting for inflation!”

“Your anger matches that of my own,” Remus agrees and steps closer, “but they are willing to go to war over it, and, as interesting as I find that, it turns out that death and destruction is not good for kingdoms, so we need to find a solution.”

“War?” Logan exclaimed uncharacteristically. “Over a treaty about wheat?”

“It would definitely be quite the bloodbath.  Your army is no match for Xious’.”

“War is quite a rash move, especially if his country is suffering famine.” Remus shrugged his shoulders.

“I don’t pretend to know what goes through the child’s mind.  My brother believes he’s scared and he sees that war is the only way to protect his country’s dignity. I say that he has been pushing off help from his advisors in some vain attempt to prove himself.”

“Have you done due diligence? There is no reason for the Xiousians to be acting in this manner.” Logan said, leaning his chin into his hand. Roman scoffed, crossing his arms.

“My father would not approve that, not with how the king is acting.”

“Remus, please, your father has little influence in the court anymore, especially in his old age.” Roman gave the Cygnan king a look.

“Please, Logan, you’ve met my father.” Logan rolled his eyes. “You act as if you didn’t know that.”

“Forgive me for still finding it ridiculous.”

“You are forgiven,” Remus jested.  Logan huffed a laugh and let his head drop into his hands.

Without saying anything, Logan picked up his crutches, slipping his arms in. He stood up and Remus straightened on instinct.  Logan made his way down the steps and walked over to the doors leading out of the throne room.  He looked behind him to where Remus was staring at him quizzically in the middle of the room.

“Well, what on Earth are you waiting for?” Logan laughed and kept moving towards the doors.  Remus chuckled and hurried after his friends.  The guards at the doors moved to follow them, but Logan shook his head. “Leave me with my friend.  I certainly won’t die between here and my chambers.”

“But sire-”one of the guards started.

“I am well aware of the protocol, my parent was the one who wrote it,” Logan snapped back. “I will be fine.”  Logan saw the guard hesitate for a moment and took his change to keep walking down the hallways.

“You are so rude to them,” Remus mused.

“I’m the king and I can take care of myself.  They know to respect me at this point, I’ve more than proven myself.”

“I wonder how many times you could be assassinated between now and then,” Remus thought out loud after a moment.  The same guard stiffened and Remus smiled widely in his direction. Logan barely withheld a snort and Remus turned the smile onto the king.

“Are you going to try and find out?” Logan asked rhetorically, beginning to make his way down the hall.

“You mean to tell me that you haven’t taken every chance to find out the exact about of time it would take for any number of assassinations to take place in this exact hallway? That’s so very unlike you,” Remus laughed as Logan smacked his shin with the crutch. “Watch it, Logey, lest I report back to my father that I was assaulted by the king of Cygnas.”

“Oh, shut it,” Logan rolled his eyes.

“Hm,” Remus preened, “I don’t think I will.”

“You and your brother will be the death of me, I swear,” Logan muttered.

“Speaking of my brother…” Remus trailed off.  Logan wrinkled his nose at the sound of the prince Roman. “He wasn’t able to accompany me, but we might be returning in a few weeks’ time in case of war, especially since he is the new crown prince.” Logan’s embarrassment shifted into shock.

“What? I thought that-“

“Father has also decided which son will take the throne.”  Remus stopped in the middle of the hallway.  Logan followed suit.

“Why I haven’t I heard about this sooner? Has he declared this officially?” Logan asked incredulously.  Remus shook his head.

“The position is brand new.  I heard about it myself while in transit coming here.  We both knew that this was coming, Logan.”  Remus gave the other king a look and Logan turned away to stare at the ground.

“Yes, but-” Logan cut himself off, frustrated.  He turned back to Remus. “Send my congratulations to your brother.  He will be a fine king.

“I hope you know that resenting me is an acceptable course of action.” Remus said knowingly.

“I just-”

“You wanted me to be king.  I know.”  Remus stepped closer to Logan, resting a hand against Logan’s cheek. “I’m sorry I disappointed you.”

“What kind of talk is that?”  Roman looked away, allowing himself to shove his hands into the pockets of his trousers. “Remus.”

“Logan,” Remus mocked slightly. “Just yell at me already, won’t you?”

Logan scowled. “Have you no faith in me? Good heavens.” Logan slipped his arms out of his crutches and leaned them against the wall.  He pressed up close to Remus and hugged him, making his two inches over Remus known.  He cupped the back of his friend’s head, pressing it against his shoulder.  Remus slumped forward. “You will be a fine king.  Do I wish your father had given Remus more of a chance? Yes, but that does not mean you are anywhere near unqualified for the position.”

“You’re just saying that.” Logan pulled back to look Remus in the eyes.

“Have I ever lied to you?” They stared at each other a moment.  Remus searched for something in Logan’s face, but whatever dishonesty he was looking for, he couldn’t find.  The air was thick with hidden messages passed between the two members of royalty.  Finally, Remus let his head fall against his friend’s shoulder and wrapped his arms around Logan’s torso.

“Thank you,” he murmured, voice muffled by the fabric of Logan’s jacket.

“You know it’s serious when you start thanking me for things.” Remus snorted.

They stood there for a few more minutes before pulling away.  Logan pressed a kiss to his lover’s forehead and Remus leaned into it.

“You know me too well, fiend.” Logan smiled softly as he picked his crutches back up from against the wall.

“You say that as if it’s a bad thing.”

    -

  Weeks had passed since Remus left Cygnas to return to his own kingdom.  Despite promises from both twins and the king of Ticevas, the pair of princes were still in transit.  Logan was antsy and worried.  The threat of war from the Xious kingdom was getting more and more real, with reports of soldiers being seen at the border, and if Remus had to set off to take care of the admittedly powerful army, Logan wouldn’t see him for several months, if not years.  He needed to sort this out between Xious and Ticevas, even if it was for purely selfish reasons.

Selfish can be described as practical.  That was his story and he was sticking to it.

In their own private letters, passed through business letters addressed to Roman who handed them to his twin, Remus reassured his lover that his brother would be there soon. Yet, Logan’s anxieties still were not soothed.

My bleeding heart,

What do you think of the new introduction? Roman keeps suggesting these ridiculously sappy names for me to call you, but this was the only one I liked, even if I had to modify it a bit. Tell me if you enjoy it.

The Xiousian king visited this past week to try and negotiate with Roman about the contract.  They didn’t really get anywhere, which normally wouldn’t bother my brother, but I had to try even less to piss him off at dinner.  He stormed out and everything.  Quite the dramatic one he is, I have no idea what you see in him.

Speaking of seeing, he plams to be in Cygnas within the next fortnight.  I know you’ve been worried about the war with Xious, but Father is slowly becoming more lenient in his old age.  With our treaty with you and Limora, I think he’s seeing that handing over the food and money this once won’t be an issue (which is what I’ve been telling him from the beginning, but of course, he only listens when Roman says something).

Enough of business.  I miss you, quill.  Kill a flower for me and stare out the window like I’m your husband gone to war.

Yours,

Remus

Logan smiled as he thumbed over the indents in the paper, the spritz of the cologne Remus wore wafting up from the page.  It was a shorter letter than usual, much shorter, but any word was better than none at all, in Logan’s opinion.

It was barely dawn when the letter had been given to him, the poor messenger looking dead on his feet.  It had been difficult to conceal his excitement and relief, but he knew that getting a letter from what everyone thought to be Roman was no cause to be filled with such joy.  Only Roman and the two of them knew of Logan and Remus’ relationship, though he had no doubt that their father knew as well, and turned a blind eye.  As the general of the army and now officially second-in-command to Crown Prince Roman, any upstanding royal or noble family knew how valuable having that connection would be.

Unfortunately, it meant Logan and Remus would never marry.  With the current treaty in place, there was no need to strengthen it with a marriage and Remus’ father, and Roman, after the king died, would need Remus elsewhere for political maneuvers.    

Back in his early days as crown prince, Logan had foolishly hoped that marrying Remus would be an option. Roman was an obvious shoe-in to be announced king even then, (no matter if Logan secretly hoped that his lover would be awarded the honor) and Logan continuously badgered his mother about the potential ways they could fortify the alliance with Ticevas.  The king was sure that his mother knew of his relationship with the prince and both resented her and was grateful for her saying nothing of the matter.  They might have secured a betrothal while Remus’ father was younger and more easily persuaded, but Logan was unsure of his and Remus’ ability to maintain both a burgeoning personal relationship and permanent political relationship in their youth.

 And yet, there was almost nothing Logan wanted more than to fall asleep each night with Remus in his arms.

Logan exhaled and carefully folded the letter back up.  He slid it under the false bottom in one of his desk drawers, relishing in the smell of Remus’ cologne that rose from the letters before shutting it firmly.  Today was too busy for him to be distracted, even if Remus was a wonderful distraction indeed.

He shifted his attention to the documents in front of him and wrinkled his nose.  Taxes were important to his kingdom’s economy, but even he found them dreadfully boring.  The advisors always insisted that they needed to raise taxes on the lower class almost exponentially in order to pay for better cities, but Logan kept them on a tight leash.  The last thing he wanted to do was rob the majority of his kingdom blind.  Not to mention the fact that the taxes were still outrageously high and no one deigned to put the money to good use.  He found it absolutely disgusting how all the nobles in his court refused to pay their own taxes, yet insisted that those who were living paycheck to paycheck deserved to be burgled by their own government.

He had opinions on the matter, not that he was ever that passionate in court.  That would lead to a scandal that he did not want nor need to deal with.  He was fixing things slowly but surely. 

A knock came at the door and Logan called out to permit them entry.  He straightened his posture as his personal steward stepped into the room.  Emile bowed and Logan nodded his head in return, remaining sitting at his desk.

“Good morning, Emile.  I trust you have a reason to be interrupting me at five o’clock in the morning?” Emile smiled at his boss, not put off by the seemingly dismissive greeting.

“Do you how do, Your Majesty?” Emile said instead of answering, a cheeky grin on his face.  Logan’s face dropped into a confused scowl.

“Emile, that phrase is utterly nonsensical, I have no idea why you use it so often,” the king said, looking back down at his papers. Emile laughed.

“It’s simply a fun turn of phrase, Your Majesty, nothing nonsensical about it.” Logan opened his mouth to retort but Emile kept going. “Besides, I have some important information for you.”

“Really? Do share, Emile.” Logan motioned for the steward to continue, still not looking up from his papers.  He heard Emile shift nervously.

“The Xiousian king is here and has requested an audience.” Logan’s head shot up, the quill dropping with a clatter to the desk. 

“The Xiousian king? When did he arrive?” Logan demanded, pressing his weight to the desk and rising from his seat.  Emile grabbed the crutches by the door and swiftly walked over, setting them against the desk for Logan to use if he so wished.

“He arrived mere moments ago, it appears that they rode through the night to get here.”

“Good heavens,” Logan muttered, paling considerably.  It was a quiet for a moment as Logan stared down at the ground, trying to decide what to do. “Alright, you go speak with the king while I ready myself.  Tell him I will be there shortly.” Emile stared at Logan for a few moments, not moving to comply to Logan’s orders.

“Logan,” Emile started, his voice soft, “you don’t have to go and greet him.  I can do so myself and you can take your time.” Logan kept his head down, avoiding making contact with the steward.  “Valerie wouldn’t want you to force yourself to-”

“Don’t speak her name,” Logan interrupted, his voice firm.  “As far as I am aware, I do not know Virgil and Virgil does not know me.  There is no reason for me to hide from him.” Emile opened his mouth to speak, but Logan shook his head. “I’m not having this argument today.”  Emile hesitated before nodding and moving to leave the room.

“I’ll inform His Majesty that you will be arriving shortly,” Emile said softly, before shutting the door behind him.  Logan sighed as the final click was heard, raising one hand to massage at his constricting chest. 

To the world, he was Logan, King of Cygnas, the only child of Monarch Ranal and Queen Leona. 

Valerie couldn’t be a factor in his decisions anymore.

-

Logan threw the doors of the throne room open as he strode in, his ornamental cloak fluttering behind him.  He took advantage of the low pain that day to try and be as dramatic as possible (Roman’s points about theatrics and intimidation had some merit), but he saw Emile standing by the throne, crutches in hand.  Something in him shriveled at the idea that not even his steward thought he could make it through this meeting without buckling beneath the pressure and aching, but he cast it aside.  This was not the time for pride.

He regretted the powerful move when he saw the tiny boy in the middle of the room.  He knew that the Xiousian king was young, having kept track of any news coming from the Xiousian front, but the boy looked so small.  Logan took one look at the kid’s trembling shoulders and stopped in his tracks. No sudden movements, he decided.

“King Virgil,” Logan greeted. “Your presence in my court is highly unexpected, especially at this hour in the morning.”  The boy attempted to straighten up, but the crown on his head tilted to the side. It was almost comical.

“King Logan,” the other king bowed his head. “I have travelled a long time to be here.”      

“And yet that does not answer the real question,” Logan threw back.  He started walking towards the boy, taking note of how the other king winced as Logan drew nearer.  The older king passed by the boy, noting how he didn’t relax until he reached the throne. Logan tucked his cloak beneath him as he sat down. “Why are you here?”

“Well, you must know about how your ally Ticevas and how they have been refusing aide to my hungry people.” Virgil took a few short, yet decisive steps closer to the throne.  Logan had to give it to him; he might be scared, but he was handling it well. Logan cocked his head to the side.

“My apologies, Your Majesty, but that is not the information I was given by the Crown Prince of Ticevas.” The boy glowered and he furrowed his brow.

“I do not know what information the Crown Prince has given you, but I can assure you that if it is anything close to what I believe Prince-General Remus has said to his superiors, it is unequivocally false.”  Logan quirked an eyebrow, but the rest of his facial expression remained peacefully blank.

“You cannot blame me for trusting what has been told to me by the Crown Prince and Prince-General of Ticevas themselves,” Logan lifted his hands from the arms of his throne, folding them into his lap. “I do not intend on changing my opinion on what is true and what is false on unsupported hearsay and beliefs.” Virgil scoffed and he crossed his arms, the movement made slightly difficult by the heavy furs he had draped around his shoulders.

“Do you believe everything the Ticevans tell you?” the boy asked, no hesitance in his voice. “They are known for their dramatics and story-telling, Your Majesty, not every word that comes from their mouths is sure to be true.”  Logan blinked in shock a few times, caught slightly off-guard.  No one had dared question his trust in the Ticevan twins before.

He’d have to do better.

“I’m not sure the Ticevan royal family would entirely appreciate you implying that they are liars, Your Majesty,” Logan said as-matter-of-factly. Virgil scowled, taking impulsive steps towards the throne.  The soldiers flanking the throne dropped into a defensive stance, holding out their spears.  The young king froze and the guards that were with him when Logan entered pulled their swords from their scabbards. “Remigius,” Logan scolded, turning towards his head guard at his right. “Please, show some decorum.” He turned back to Virgil. “My apologies, my liege, as king I am sure you aware of the heightened security.” 

The silver-haired captain-of-the-guard let out a soft scoff as he resumed his stationary position.  Logan shot the man a stern glance but Remy refused to turn towards him.  “Yes, I am aware,” Virgil said warily, and Logan saw him make a soft hand motion out of the corner of his eye.  The guards stood down, their swords back in their scabbard.  One guard, his braids pulled back into a tight bun, left his hand on the hilt. “If I have to ask,” Virgil said snidely, “may I approach, Your Majesty?” Logan gave him a deadpan look but the thirteen-year-old held his ground.

Logan broke first, surprisingly, sighing and waving his hand in a motion for Virgil to step forward. “You may approach, King Virgil.” Virgil didn’t move, instead resting his weight on his heels, a smug smirk on his face.   A ‘well, now that I have permission, I don’t want to do it’ move.  Incredibly immature, Logan noted, but then again, no matter what status Virgil might have, a teenager is still a teenager. “Very funny,” Logan said wryly. 

“Why, King Logan, I have no idea what you mean!” Virgil said in a high-pitched innocent voice.  Logan held in a chuckle.  A few beats passed as Logan stared down at the young boy.

“Why are you here, King Virgil?” Logan said, slightly bored. “You come in with bravado and accusations and you still have not answered my very first question.”  Virgil stuck his nose up.

“We are here to offer a chance of your kingdom surviving the crossfire.” Logan furrowed his brow and sat up slightly in his throne.

“What crossfire.”

“Ticevas has disrespected our sovereignty and threatened us tenfold over.  Xious will not stand for it.”

“And your solution is to kill everything on sight?” Virgil scoffed.

“You have no tact, Your Majesty.” Logan raised an eyebrow and Virgil turned red. “Apologies, that-that was uncalled for.” Logan hummed, amused.

“Join me for dinner,” he said suddenly and he placed his hands against the arms of the throne. “You and your entourage are welcome to stay in the castle for the next week and we can discuss matters in a more private setting.” Confusion flashed across Virgil’s face and he looked towards the guard to his left, a question of whether or not he should accept floating between them.

“I accept your invitation,” Virgil responded a moment later, his eyes still locked with that of his guard. He turned back towards Logan with a polite, sardonic smile. “It was an honor to meet you, King Logan of Cygnas.” Logan raised his eyebrows but did not smile back.

“And it was certainly interesting to meet you, King Virgil of Xious.” Logan pushed himself off the throne, sliding his right arm into the crutch someone in his periphery offered him.  He stepped down the stairs until he was face to face with the Xiousian king.

Virgil was a lot shorter so up close.

Logan offered his hand and Virgil stared at it a moment.  The room held its breath as the Xiousian processed the gesture.  Hesitantly, Virgil uncrossed his arms and gripped Logan’s admittedly much larger hand.  Logan shook once, a firm yet gentle motion, before releasing and walking right past the young king towards the door of the throne room.

At the very least, he had an excuse to write Remus.

-

Remus,

I’m afraid I write to you not with personal anecdotes but with political news.

 T’is dreadful, I’m aware.

The young boy king of Xious dropped by this evening, though it will be a few days past by the time this letter reaches you.  He is small, but skilled with his language.  His father very obviously groomed this boy for the throne at a young age.  He stutters, though.  It reminds me slightly of myself at his age.

I have invited him to stay at the palace for a few days, provided he have dinner with me.  I will write you after the dinner; hopefully I will have more information for you then.  Your brother told me that he threatened war over the treaty, but he seemed quite offended at this accusation, lending me to believe that there has been a miscommunication.  You were there for this exchange? I need both sides here.

Just so you are aware, and please relay this to Roman but do not tell your father, he has given me an offer to avoid crossfires of war.  I don’t pretend to understand why he would offer to have me fight alongside his kingdom or die and then turn around and be offended at me saying that he is planning war.  I fear there are other factors at play, not simply a confused child at the reins of a job that no individual can truly succeed at. 

I hope you are well, my love. 

Sincerely,

His Majesty, King Logan

-

       Preparing for the dinner on such late notice made everyone on the castle on edge.  Logan rarely had visitors as it was and as such, unused guest wings weren’t cleaned with the frequency that was kept throughout the more populated sections of the castle.  If worries of war breaking out over a scared teenager weren’t plaguing Logan with every waking moment, he might’ve taken a moment to thank each staff member that passed him by.

He made a note to up their pay for the month.

“You know I’m not one to question your decisions,” Remigius, Logan’s head guard, said as the king and him walked down the hallway, “but enemy Xious here? In your castle?”

“If I turn them away, I will not gain any information that could actually be of use to our allies.  The Ticevan princes would not lie to me and so I am eager to understand exactly why I’m being told two different stories.” Remigius scowled.

“You’re ignoring all the potential security concerns, babes, we don’t have the manpower to guard all the guestrooms, even if they only have ten in the security detail.”

“It’s thirteen,” the king said offhandedly as they turned a corner. “The person dressed in the steward colors had a knife hidden up their sleeve.  Some type of holster, I presume.” Remigius paused, gaping at Logan – who kept moving down the hall at a rapid pace – before jogging slightly to catch up.

“I don’t wanna even ask how you caught that.” Logan smiled wryly.

“I’m doing everyone’s job at once,” Logan began, his voice vaguely humorous as if he were starting the beginning of joke. “I have to pretend to do yours at one point.” Remigius scoffed and Logan knew he would cross his arms if he wasn’t holding onto his spear. They made their way down the rest of the hall, their voices in a hushed chatter and Remy complained about what an awkward position Logan put him in and Logan shooting back that this is exactly what he hired Remy for.  When they arrived at the door, Logan sighed heavily.  “This isn’t something I want to be doing, Remigius,” Logan said softly. “Preventing a war from happening is just as taxing as fighting the war itself.”

“I agree,” Remy said, “but you have to remember our limits.”  Logan sighed again, before pushing open the door into the small conference room. 

Originally, Logan had a council of advisors and early on in the last day’s of his mother’s reign and the beginning stages of his own, he met with them frequently.  Every book on ruling and being fair that Logan could get his hands on emphasized the importance on seeking others’ outlooks on each decision a ruler made for their country and when he was nineteen and fresh from his mother’s funeral, Logan dove straight into that.  Looking back on it, it was a poor decision.

For many reasons.

Years later, Logan was still stuck weeding out nobleman who gained their positions through willful missights by both his parents or a generous donation of money towards the upkeep of the castle.  The budget for the upkeep of the castle was woefully tight and it had always been that way, so he was sure that his parents squirreled away the money somewhere or maybe wasted it away. 

Presently, Logan still stuck by the idea that a stable king had stable council, but it was increasingly difficult to find said steady council when all the councilors seemed keen on starting wars at every given opportunity.  The only nobles or advisors or councilors Logan allowed in his presence anymore were handpicked himself, regardless of status.

Or attitude for that matter.

Dominic Dormis, known colloquially as “The Critic” and called Dice by everyone who was just out of enough common sense to have a conversation with him, sat in the middle of a long wooden meeting table, papers spread artfully around him.  He was the brother to Remigius, though ironically, it was Remigius who insisted that Logan not hire Dominic.  Logan ignored his head guard’s advice and it was the best decision he had ever made.

“Tell me, Dice,” Logan started, walking over to look over the advisor’s shoulder at the papers sitting in front of him, “how urgently do I need to try and fix this all?” Dice laughed humorlessly as he threw his pen down and leaned back in the chair.

“You’ve made a right mess of this, darling!” Dice exclaimed, tilting his head back to look Logan in the eye. “No matter how often they run the numbers, nothing looks favorable.” Logan sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose.

“Are we really that low on manpower?” Logan asked, his voice bordering on desperate, and screwed his eyes shut. Dice tutted his tongue, motioning towards the papers.

“I haven’t been here all morning trying to spread our defenses across the Xiousian border for nothing, darling,” Dice snarked.  Logan opened his eyes slightly to glare at him.

“We’re aiming for peace, Dice,” Logan snapped, “not to antagonize the same kingdom threatening war by placing our entire military on the border.” Dice just shrugging, looking down at the papers.

“It was the only way I felt we had a chance,” Dice said defensively.

Oh, damn it all,” Logan swore under his breath. “What are your thoughts on Ticevas lying?” Dice just scoffed.

“Please, the boy had a point.  We Ticevans have a tendency for the dramatics.”  Logan scrunched his nose.

“So am I to march up to the Crown Prince and his general brother and tell them to their face that they’re lying? Were they even at that meeting?” Dice shrugged, picking up his quill to dip it into ink and scribble a note into the blank space of one of the pages. “Why is it that when I am listing all the things going wrong, you jump right in, but when I try to figure out a solution, you just sit there nodding?”

“You hired me for a reason,” Dice replied in a singsong voice. “I tell you what you need to hear, Logan, not what you want to hear.”  Logan crossed his arms, his face pinched.

“What do we do then?” Dice sighed and moved his head back down, searching through the sheets of paper.

“You either side with Xious or you get them to back down,” Dice says, reciting the words from a piece of paper held close to his face.  Logan narrowed his eyes and swiped the paper from Dice’s hands, much to his advisor’s indignance.

“Dice, this just says ‘you’re screwed’.  That’s not entirely professional.  I do have to present these papers to the princes of Ticevas.” Dice scoffed, pushing his chair back and kicking his feet up on top of the desk. “And now your feet are on the table.”

“You’re very good at observations,” Dice said wryly. “Look, you have that dinner with the Xiousian king.  Make it count.  Make yourself likable.” Logan moved to open his mouth but Dice cut him off. “Diplomacy and facts might work with more stable-minded individuals, but this is a kid, Your Majesty.  You need to charm him.” Logan tossed the papers back on the table.

“Fantastic.”

“It’s not all bad, Your Majesty.  Emile said that he’s your-”

“No.”

“What?” Dice asked innocently.  He blinked up at Logan. “It’s a good strategy, my lord, it will work, especially on a boy his age.”

“I will not be using my dead sister’s name in war talks, Dice.” The advisor scrunched up his nose.

“Well, yes, when you put it that way, it doesn’t sound all that wonderful.” Logan groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose.  Dice shuffled through his papers and Logan could hear him scribbling down notes and calculations.  “A right mess you’ve made of this, Logan.”

“Don’t pin this on me,” the king hissed. Dice snorted. A knock came at the door. “Enter!”

“Well, hello there, Dice! It’s been a while,” Emile said as he entered the room, shutting the door behind him.  Logan looked up to see Dice waving slightly, leaning forward against the table onto his elbows.

“Hello, dear brother-in-law,” Dice said amusingly. “It’s a shame you are so busy these days, we’ve hardly had a chance to speak one-on-one.” Emile’s eyes crinkled and he laughed.

“That’s what family dinners on Sundays are for, Dice, it’s not my fault you never show up.”

-

“Your Majesty,” Logan greeted coolly, rising up from his seat in order to bow slightly.  His knuckles were braced against the edge of the table, allowing his body weight to distribute. “How kind of you to join me this evening.” 

Virgil stood in the doorway, classic Xiousian furs piled up around his shoulders and wrapped around his head.  His eyes swept across the room, as if admiring each piece of furniture and morsel of food.  His face was shadowed by a thin wrap covering the tops of his head and draped across and around his neck, but Logan could still the stringy black hair that reminded Logan of himself when he was a teenager. The way Virgil held himself reminded Logan even of his parent, which was not necessarily a reminder that he was looking for. If he were superstitious, it would feel like a bad omen.

Logan felt the weight of what this dinner meant settling across his shoulders like a physical presence.  Ever since the meeting with Dice, several other nobleman came up to him, trying to play up the might of Cygnan army.  They acted incredibly patriotic but Dice’s intel (and also that of his brother, Remigius) showed him what their true intentions were.  Deals with investors and black markets across both Cygnas, Ticevas, and Limora could make them rich if Logan decided to follow through with the war. 

None of them seemed to take into consideration quite exactly war would mean for absolutely everyone else.  Sometimes it felt like everyone thought him as naïve as a dog running after a phantom stick.  He was the King of Cygnas, the kingdom associated with all things knowledge.  He had some common sense.

“Come sit,” he invited, motioning to the seat beside him. “My kitchen staff has slaved over this food all day and it would be a shame to let it all go to waste.” Logan busied himself with tucking his coattails beneath him and shuffling his chair closer to the table, but he kept track of the careful steps Virgil took towards the table.  He eyed the guards at the door. 

Virgil’s personal guard followed his charge to the chair, inspecting it before allowing the boy king to take a seat.  Gently, the boy unwrapped the fur shawl from around his shoulders and the guard took it from him, draping it against the high back of the chair.  “It is custom to wear wraps that cover our heads,” Virgil says, his voice tiny in the giant room.  “I hope this does not offend you.” Logan waved his hand in dismissal.

“I hope you are not offended that I am not wearing one myself,” Logan says, motioning for a servant to pour them drinks. “In Cygnas, it’s typical to wear less clothing in the presence of guests, though,” Logan gestured at himself wryly, “the same does not usually apply to the royal household.” Virgil gave a small, but genuine smile.

“My father was a…lover of our culture,” Virgil responded, “as am I.”  He paused for a moment to lift up his wine glass to his guard, who took a small sip.  Whatever the guard was looking for, he didn’t find and he handed the cup back to the teen. “However, I understand that you have your own customs.” Logan nodded, beginning to pick up his cutlery to start eating.

“In Ticevas,” Logan started, “it is customary to bow in a particular fashion before approaching the monarch.”  He gave Virgil a humorous look.  “Of course, when my mother passed, may her soul rest among the stars, I had many things to worry about and I stormed into a meeting with the King before bowing.”  He took a sip of his wine.  “I don’t believe the Crown Prince or his brother have ever let me live that one down.”  Virgil gave him a curious glance.

“Are you close with the Crown Prince and the Prince-General?” he asked innocently.  Logan held back a deadpan look.

“As close as life-long allies can be,” Logan said, a hint of a smile creeping into his voice. “Let’s eat, shall we?”

Logan heard a small, exasperated huff as he looked down to his meal and resisted the urge to chuckle.  The boy was smart, but he had little tact. 

He was doing better than Logan would have done at this age, regardless.

The clinking of ornate cutlery against fine china filled the room as the two began to eat.  Logan could see the young boy struggle to use the wares that were just a tad too big for his hands and wondered how such a boy could threaten war but not know how to handle utensils.

Maybe he simply used swords to eat. 

Logan banished the thought from his mind.  The past was the past, as his mother would say every time the Xiousian king would extend an invitation to his castle.  

Damned Xious.

“How are you finding the meal, Your Majesty?” Logan asked coolly. He didn’t look up from his plate, but he heard Virgil fumbling with the fork and knife.  He ought to stop playing mind games with children. 

“It is suitable,” Virgil replied, his words slightly muffled by what seemed like a mouth full of food.  Logan looked up to see Virgil swallow harshly and washing down the ball of food with a gulp of wine.  “I appreciate your hospitality, King Logan.”  Logan tilted his head to the side.

“I accept your thanks.”  Logan cut a piece of meat, and held it up to his lips. “Your father was a frequent guest at this castle and I hope you will be as well, as you grow into your role as monarch of Xious.”  Virgil nodded nervously, fiddling with his silverware instead of responding. “Speaking of which,” Logan continued, “my condolences to you and your family.  Losing family is something I am woefully familiar with.”  Virgil nodded again; his eyes were downcast.

“May his soul rest among the stars,” the young king murmured. Virgil straightened his back, having slouched slightly, “He was good father to me.  He taught me well.”  He paused for a moment, looking down at his plate. “Though, there is no other family to console.  I am his only heir and my mother died young.” Virgil looked at him inquisitively. “You would have known her, no?” Logan resisted the urge to try and swallow down the lump that had grown in his throat.  He hadn’t thought about Virgil’s mother in a long time.  It was a shock to try and remember it all.  Realizing he hadn’t responded, Logan cleared his throat, busying his hands with cutting a slice of the meat on his plate.

“Yes, I was good friends with your mother,” Logan said, his voice on the edge of trembling. “I simply…forget she is not here with us, from time to time.”  Virgil hummed in response. “Your father was a strong king,” Logan said, instead of continuing down the previous path of conversation, “Do you plan to follow in his footsteps?” the Cygnan inquired after a moment. “He was quite focused on the military, but this is a time of peace, as you must know.”  Virgil froze slightly and Logan resisted the urge to smile.  Finally, he’d pushed a button.  Virgil began to look up towards his guard, presumably for guidance, but he aborted the movement, tightening his grip on his wine cup that he’d reached out for as Logan was asking his question.

“It is quite a…” Virgil paused, quirking his lips as he brought the wine cup up to his mouth, “bold statement to claim peace, considering what your allies in Ticevas have accused of me.” His hands were shaking.  Logan bowed his head in agreement.

“Though, if what you say is true, there is no reason to fear, is there?” Logan tilted his head. “After all, if there is war to be had between you Ticevas, there is little reason for you to be here, at the castle of a Ticevan ally.”  Virgil gulped down his wine nervously and the guard behind him gripped his spear threateningly.

“Peace is a lot harder to defend than a home front, Your Majesty,” Virgil said at last, setting down his glass with a clumsy hand. “It is best to be prepared for the worst, as my father always said.”  Logan raised his eyebrows and Virgil’s shoulders seem to shrink slightly.

“We simply have different tactics then,” Logan shrugged artfully, careful not to become too casual.  The Xiousian guard glared. Virgil shifted slightly in his seat, opening and closing his mouth a few times.

“Uh-” Virgil went red at the noise, busying himself with cutting another piece of meat. “What-What tactics do you employ, then?” Logan looked up from his plate, smiling slightly.

“Cygnans pride ourselves on our practicality.  The budgeting reflects that,” Logan explained, taking a sip from his glass. “We have dedicated numbers for each individual aspect of the government, numbers that are reviewed daily by our famed scholars.” Virgil leaned in closer, his eyes wide. “And what of you? You said that your father always liked to be prepared.”  Virgil blinked a couple times before shrinking back into his seat.

“Well, my father, as you said, was a very strong man and he-he wanted that reflected in his kingdom, I suppose.”  Logan raised an eyebrow.

“You suppose?” Virgil fumbled to correct himself.

“No- not that I suppose, I know that is what he wanted.  He taught me that himself,” Virgil rushed out.  “He always said to me that being overcautious meant two things. One,” Virgil lifted up his index finger; Logan marveled at how small the child’s hands were, “you are prepared for what comes, or option number two,” Virgil lifted up a second finger, “you are pleasantly surprised.”  Taken slightly by surprise, Logan huffed out a small laugh.  Virgil beamed, his smile almost glowing.

It was times like these that Logan had to fight himself to see a burgeoning king, instead of an unsteady young boy.  Logan was lucky he had his mother when his parent died when he was but being the tender age of twelve years old was not a fact that prepared himself for the death of someone so influential.  If not for the queen, he would have been forced to take on the harrowing task of being responsible for millions of people’s lives, something that haunts him in his dreams even at his older age.

“You are quite the comedic guest,” Logan said amusingly. “It’s difficult to catch me by surprise.” Virgil went shy, ducking his head.

“I must give credit to my father then, may his soul rest among the stars,” Virgil blushed. “It was he who said it.”  Logan tutted good-naturedly.

“But it was not your father who made me laugh, was it?”  A glimmer danced in Virgil’s eyes and a fierce protectiveness came over Logan.

“No, I suppose it was not.”

-

They moved to Logan’s official office, not the throne room nor the desk in his room where Logan kept most of his paperwork.  He hated the ornate decoration of the space, the gold-plated wood, and curtains of the that never ran out of dust no matter how often you beat them.  He hated the paintings of the wall, memories of his mother and his parent and his sister.  They were all gone, were they not? What was the point on dwelling on it?

Roman called it unhealthy.  Remus called it remembering the dead how they deserved to be remembered.  Logan called it practicality.

Virgil and his guard followed him inside.  Reluctantly, Logan motioned for his head of security to follow him into the room. Before he shut the door, he motioned for Remigius to come close. “You do not touch a hair on that boy’s head,” Logan threatened, his voice calm and soft despite his words.  “I will not be the one who starts this war.”  Remy gave him an odd look.

“And if he attacks?” Logan sighed, eyeing Janus who had his hand on his charge’s shoulder.  They seemed to be speaking words, but Logan could hear nothing from where he is. 

“If the boy attacks, you go for his guard.” Logan stared Remigius right in the eye. “I meant what I said.” Logan bowed his head, bracing his hands against his waist. “Send word to Dice that this meeting is not to be interrupted under penalty of treason. No one but you, me, and King Virgil and his guard will know what transpires here tonight.” Remy nodded, saluting, before whistling over another soldier to relay the message.  Logan straightened his shoulders, holding his hands behind his back, and turned to face Virgil and Janus.

“Feel free to sit down, we might be here a while.”

-

The room was silent.  You could drop a pin and the sound would ring out through the hall.

“I’m not sure I quite understand,” Logan said quietly, his left hand flat against the desk.  Virgil shifted nervously in his seat, no longer hiding his glances to his guard on his right. 

“I wasn’t at that meeting with the diplomats,” Virgil repeated, before shutting his eyes tightly. “Didn’t- wouldn’t your contacts that were at the meeting have told you this?” Logan looked down at the papers scattered artfully across his public desk.  His memory flashed to the stack of letters hidden beneath a false bottom drawer in his room and the distant feeling of being wrapped around his lover.

“No, they had not,” Logan muttered under his breath.  He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes briefly. “This changes many things, Virgil, I hope you understand.” He jumped at the sound of a thump against the ground, looking up to find Remy in an attack position and the Xiousian guard with a deadly stare.

“That is Your Majesty to you, King Logan,” the guard gritted out.  Virgil averted his eyes from the scene, staring at the carpeted designs on the wall.  Logan blinked a few times before clearing his throat.

“But of course,” he amended. “Please accept my apologies, Your Majesty.”  Virgil nodded sheepishly and the guard nodded approvingly.  Logan motioned towards Remy. “Remigius, stand down.  It was a simple correction on my manners, one that is sorely needed.” Remy reluctantly stood down, casting a wary glance towards the guard. Virgil sighed, burying his head into his hands.

Logan looked at the clock on his desk.  It was getting late.

“How,” Virgil asked, his voice bordering on a whine, “does this change things, your so-called allies refused to give my people aid after we practically kissed their boots asking so.”  Logan shook his head, exhaling.

“No, Your Majesty, that is not what I have been told and that’s what becomes the problem.” Virgil peeked through his hands and Logan’s harsh expression softened and his shoulders dropped. “Your Majesty, I have been told by the Head General and Prince of Ticevas himself that your diplomats promised war if they did not lower the rent and heighten the amount of food Xious could take from the crops.  There was no talk of famine or aid and King Romulus does not take kindly to threats, whether they be true or false.”  Virgil sighed, sinking forward so that his elbows were against his knees.

“What would you have me do then?” Virgil asked. “Call my own advisors and agents liars?  Do you know what that kind of position that would put me in? And let’s not forget the fact that those same advisors were put there by my father and removing them would be an affront to his legacy.”  Logan gritted his teeth and clenched his hand into a fist.

“And what am I to do?” Logan asked, holding a tone of incredulity. “Write to my allies in the South and tell them that it was all a misunderstanding?” Virgil sighed deeply. “Your Majesty, I do not want war.  My people are thriving and bloodshed would stunt that, I know it goes the same way for you.” Virgil shook his head and straightened up in his seat, his face gaunt in the flickering candlelight that brightened the room.

“I would do anything to prove Xious is a force to be reckoned with,” Virgil muttered, rising to his feet. “You would do well to remember that, King Logan, or I will be forced to show it to you.” Logan glared, bracing his hands against the desk as if he were about to stand.

“Does what I just said mean nothing to you?” Logan seethed, leaning closer to Virgil. “If your people are truly facing a famine—”

“-are you doubting the word of a king-”

“-then they cannot handle an invasion!” Logan slammed his palm against the desk.  Virgil’s eyes were wide and angry and Logan’s chest heaved.

“You know nothing about my people,” Virgil seethed.  “Janus, we are to leave immediately.  His Majesty has shown us that we are not respected here.”  Virgil stood up from his chair, but Logan held out a hand, bowing his head towards the wood of his desk.

“Wait.  Please,” Logan breathed. “I don’t want this to escalate.  I lost myself.” Virgil glanced at him with disdain but did not make to move towards the door. “I take your word as truth, Your Majesty, just as I take the Ticevan princes’ words as truth.”

“Then what do you propose, King Logan?” Virgil sneered. “You cannot believe a truth and a lie at the same time.” Logan nodded, setting his hand down.

“Please take my words with a grain of salt, King Virgil,” Logan said softly, looking the young king in the eye. “Have you ever considered that, maybe, your diplomats and advisors are looking for war?” Virgil’s nostrils flared. “No, please, listen.  I am also forced to re-examine my alliance with Ticevas here, this is not just you who is put into a compromising position.”

“Your Majesty, please listen to what you’re saying,” Virgil said after a beat of silence. “You’re accusing my trusted advisors and diplomats of treason.  Of lying to the crown.  That comes at the penalty of death in my country.” Logan nodded understandingly, breathing in deeply.

“Please, stay a few more days,” Logan offered. “Think about this.  Talk with your people and I will talk with mine.  The Crown-Prince is due to arrive as soon as tomorrow and perhaps, we can clear things then.” Virgil glanced at his guard – Janus, he’d called the man – who merely stared back.  Whatever passed between them solidified Virgil’s decision and he turned back towards Logan.

“So be it.”

-

Roman and Remus arrived two days later and Logan felt like he was about to collapse.  Virgil and him had been going back and forth for days, letters arriving by the sack-full, no doubt several angry diplomats coming after Virgil for even thinking that they could potentially be treasonous to the crown. 

Logan himself was dreading such letters coming in from his own advisors, whenever he finally found a way to prune them out, but he pushed that aside.  He had to worry about one thing at a time.  His advisors could wait.

When the Royal Carriage for Ticevas finally arrived, it was like weights measuring a ton were lifted from Logan’s shoulders.  The worry and the anxiety soothed itself and it was like the answer to all his problems rested inside the gilded coach.

“Crown Prince Roman, General Remus.” Logan greeted cordially, a playful smile on his lips. “It is a pleasure to see you so soon after your previous visit.” Logan held out his hand and Remus stepped up, bowing and pressing a kiss to the ring on Logan’s finger. Roman merely smiled, bemused by his brother and best friend.

“King Logan, the pleasure is all mine,” Remus returned, nothing in his voice hiding the utter glee in his eyes. 

“My steward will take you to your quarters and then, perhaps, you could join me in my office to discuss a few things before dinner.”  Remus’ smile grew, nearly splitting his face in half. Logan’s eyes crinkled in pleasure.

“But of course, Your Majesty, your hospitality is most gracious.”  Roman accepted, not-so-subtly bumping his elbow into Remus’ stomach.  Remus scrunched his nose and moved to step on Roman’s foot with his heeled boot, but Roman skillfully avoided the maneuver, following Emile who was beckoning the twins to follow him.  Remus scoffed under his breath as he moved to follow his brother and Logan had to resist a smile.  As Remus passed by, the prince reached out his fingers, the action so subtle, no one but Logan saw it coming.  Logan reached his own hand out, under the guise of adjusting his lace cloak, to brush skin against skin.  He breathed in deeply and it was like the sun had just peeked through the clouds at the end of a horrid winter.

A few, long minutes later, Remus finally entered Logan’s room, shutting the door behind him. “So,” Remus said playfully, “what matters of business are we to discuss?”  Logan laughed and something in his chest loosened.  He unclasped the ceremonial lace around his shoulders, letting it flutter to the ground as he strode across the room and wrapped his arms around his lover’s shoulders.

“I’ve missed you, Remus,” Logan said reverently, digging his nose into Remus’ neck.  He felt Remus lean against him, wrapping his thick arms around Logan’s lithe frame.

“I’ve missed you too, quill,” Remus said, his voice uncharacteristically soft. “I’m sorry I couldn’t come alone to see you.  It’s been far too long since we’ve just existed, you and I.” Logan sighed, stepping back but not letting go of Remus.

“I know,” the king said apologetically, moving to brush Remus’ bangs from his eyes. “Maybe that will change one day, but I can live with this.  At least I get to have you in arms once again.”  Remus’ ears went red, but his smile merely grew and he jutted out his chin in pride.

“I’ll go down in history as the one to make the stern Logan of Cygnas crack,” Remus teased, digging his fingers into Logan’s sides, where he knew the king was ticklish.  Immediately, Logan tensed, giggling.  “Aha! I’ve discovered your weakness.”  Logan slapped at his lover’s hands childishly, giggling even when Remus pulled his hands away.

“You menace,” Logan said softly, grabbing Remus’s face between his two hands and pulling him in for a long overdue kiss. “You will be the death of me, I swear it.”  Remus smiled and leaned back in for another kiss.

Eventually, they made their way to Logan’s bed, kicking off extraneous pieces of ceremonial garb and their shoes, determined to be as comfortable as possible without making it difficult to leave the room in a rush.  “Why do we actually have to do things,” Remus whined, shoving his face into Logan’s chest.  Logan chuckled, the sound rumbling more through his diaphragm than an actual noise.  He ran his fingers through the soft hairs at the nape of Remus’ neck.

“We’re royalty, Remus,” Logan said humorously, with the tone of someone whose had this conversation with the other prince many times. “If we don’t do things, other things don’t work.” Remus groaned.

“The other things should be able to figure it out on their own,” he grumbled. “I don’t wanna leave yet.”  Logan pursed his lips, a sorrowful expression taking over his face.

“I know,” he said wistfully, letting his head fall against the headboard. “I don’t want to leave either.” Remus gripped Logan’s waist tightly and Logan lifted his head slightly to look down at the prince. “Is something the matter?”  Remus looked up at Logan, a frenzy in his eyes.

“We should run away,” Remus whispered, careful of anyone sitting outside the bedroom doors. “You and me, we could run away and never come back and they’ll think we died a bloody death and all of our problems would be solved.” Logan smiled softly and brought up his hand to brush Remus’ white bangs from his eyes.

“It wouldn’t be a bloody death if there was no blood,” he critiqued good-naturedly.  “We’d have to find a decent substitute and leave quite a few red herrings for them to follow.  They wouldn’t just see us gone and give up.”  Remus stuck out his tongue, blowing a raspberry, and Logan just scrunched his nose.

“You’re no fun,” Remus grumbled, shoving his face into Logan’s stomach.  “Always making plans make sense and be rational.” Logan chuckled.

“You certainly thought I was fun when we dissected that deer together,” Logan said. “I was so sure my mother was going to barricade me in my room after she saw the mess we made in the dining room.” Remus scoffed and Logan huffed lightheartedly.

“Your mom just didn’t like that we ruined the wood of the table with all the blood.”

“To be fair, that table had been in the castle for over two centuries.”

“Then it was obviously due for a remodeling.  We did her a favor.”  Logan let out an uncharacteristic snort  and he could feel Remus’ smile pressed against his torso.

“Maybe so,” he said, carding his fingers through his lover’s hair. “I wonder what she would think of me now.”

“You are doing a much better job than she ever did.  Not to mention how much better you’re doing than your parent.” Logan sighed, tilting his head to the side.

“Yes, I would hope the bar would be higher than my parent, but I suppose as the next monarch, that is exactly where the kingdom’s standards are at.”

They fell quiet, the only sounds filling the room were that of the steady rise and fall of their breathing.  The sun gradually set in the sky as they spent hours wrapped up in each other, too afraid to let go as if they would be dragged apart as soon as they did.  It had been too long, Logan thought, his head bowed of Remus’ as the prince dozed against him.  He didn’t know if he could do this again.

Eventually, Logan moved Remus’ head to the pillow beside him, waking up the prince from his gentle nap. “Where do you think you’re going,” Remus grumbled, shooting out his arm to trap Logan’s hips against the bed.  Logan smiled softly, but removed the arm from his body, tucking it gently against the prince. 

“Your brother and I need to talk about what’s been going with Xious and King Virgil,” Logan said, swinging his legs slowly over the edge of his bed. “It’s gotten infinitely more complicated than I would have hoped.”

“What’s the way to fix it?” Remus asked, stretching out like a spider across the bed.  Logan pushed himself up off the bed, holding his nightstand as a support.

“At this point, I’m not sure,” Logan admitted, shuffling to his dresser. “I need Xious to agree to not fighting if everything doesn’t go their way and I need Ticevas to agree to providing aid.  They’re in the midst of a famine and Roman has a short temper so high stakes plus-”

“High stakes plus my dumbass twin does not equal peace,” Remus finished for him and Logan snorted. 

“Exactly.”

“What do you plan to do about it?” Remus said.  The king draped his ceremonial cloak around his shoulders and paused.

“I’m not entirely sure,” Logan said hesitantly. “I’m hoping that-” he cut himself off, before glancing at Remus. “I’m hoping Virgil will be a little bit like me.” Remus’ eyes widened and he rolled onto his side facing Logan.

“I’ve got to say, beating heart, that’s quite a tall order.” Logan looked away, avoiding Remus’ cutting gaze.

“Well, it’s my only hope that the boy has a minute amount of common sense in his bones.” He chuckled. “It’s either hope for that or pretend that Roman has all the common sense and I somehow doubt that.”  Remus gave full-body smile and Logan smiled as he stared down at the floor. “I don’t want to leave, Remus,” he said quietly. 

“Come here,” Remus said, his voice holding a sensual lilt.  Logan turned his head back up. His lover had a hand stretched out and a wicked smile spread across his face.

“Remus,” Logan said warningly. Remus scoffed.

“Oh please, we won’t get messy unless you really want to,” Remus teased. “I just- you need a distraction and I can give you that.” Logan swallowed nervously, trailing his eyes up and down Remus’ body.

“Can you?” Logan said at last.  Remus closed his fist in a “come hither” gesture and Logan couldn’t stop himself from indulging, at least one last time.

-

Logan woke up that morning with the feeling of someone slamming a hammer into the inside of his temple repeatedly. 

Now, there are several things to unpack in this statement.  For starters, there is no such thing as a hammer being present inside his skull.  It is impossible and Logan wasn’t sure if a hammer so small with such power could even exist. 

And although Logan continuously prided himself on not believing in the superstitious, his mother’s upbringing had instilled certain fears in him and his inability to even handle the sound of his skin against his bedsheets did not sit well with him.

Pain in his head such as this was usually only cured by drinking ridiculous amounts of water and resting for hours on end.  Logan grabbed the glass of water sitting on his bedside table, drinking it as if his life depended on it, and then slammed it back onto the wood surface as he threw his legs over the side of his bed.

As soon as the cold air hit his knees, he recoiled and tightened his fist in the blankets.  Although Cygnas was in its spring prime, thunderstorms still found their way into the season, as if to plague the king himself. 

Today would not be a good day.

Dressing was a struggle.  He pretended not to see Emile wince as he battled his way into the immense amounts of garb considered necessary at diplomatic conventions.  Navigating his room brought tears to his eyes and frequently, he found himself gripping onto the nearest surface and taking heaving breaths as he waited for the pain in his legs to subside enough for him to keep going.  He knew he was in for it when Emile presented his crutches and he didn’t even think twice before slipping his arms in and resting his entire weight against the mobility aid. 

Logan must have looked as haggard as he felt because every worker of the castle who crossed his path as he dragged himself to the throne room immediately scuttled away, for fear that his temper might cut short with them.

He couldn’t blame them.

Sinking into the plush chair that awaited him in the giant dining room he insisted on eating in each morning was a relief.  The ache in his knees lessened as he stretched his legs out, but every so often, a twitch or a jolt of his body would cause the throbbing to pound in time to the hammer in his head.

Emile set the platter of food in front of him and did not even hesitate before patting the king on the shoulder. “I’ve requested that Remus join you this morning and I’ve given the others orders not to disturb you until you call for me.” Logan looked up at his steward with alarm, but Emile just smiled. “I’m a sucker for romance, Your Majesty, and I’ve known for far too long to not notice the signs.” 

“I didn’t realize we were so conspicuous,” Logan murmured, leaning against the back of the chair. Emile just shrugged.

“You remind me of my husband and me is all.” Emile pat him again, this time on the head, and let a small chuckle loose when the king blinked rapidly in surprise. “Have a good meal, Logan.” 

Emile left the room, skipping slightly, and opened the large doors to run face-to-face with Remus, who smiled so widely at the sight of the steward that even Emile seemed a bit taken aback.  Logan hid his smile behind his hand as Remus lunged forward to wrap his arms around Emile’s waist and pick him up, squeezing the shocked steward. 

When Remus set him back down, Emile wobbled slightly, though the laughing Logan heard from across the large dining hall soothed his worries that Remus hadn’t been gentle enough with his steward.  Emile patted Remus on the cheek gently and the prince beamed as Emile slipped past and shut the door behind him.

Remus’ smile seemed to spread even more at the sight of Logan, however tired and disheveled he looked to the rest of the world.  Whereas Emile’s skip outside of the room was small and barely noticeable, the Ticevan seemed to leap into the air as he wiggled his way to Logan’s side. “Hello, my dear,” Logan greeted softly, careful not to jostle his legs as he reached a hand to grasp at Remus.

“Hey, Logie,” Remus said just as quietly, gripping Logan’s hand to his chest and he sunk to one knee so that he could rest his forehead against Logan. “Emmy told me that you weren’t feeling so spic-and-span.” Logan huffed through his nose in amusement.

“Since when are you on such good terms with my steward?” he asked rhetorically and Remus didn’t so much as laugh as jostle his shoulders. “Are you two conspiring against me?”

“And what if we were?” Remus asked. “Maybe it’s my job to seduce you and then Emile’s gonna, I don’t know, take over the kingdom.”  Logan chuckled out-loud.

“I’m not sure how seduced I can be in this state, but I have no doubt the kingdom would do well in Emile’s hands.” Remus pouted.

“No, Logie,” he whined, “you’re supposed to be a tyrant, not a reasonable human being.” Logan smiled and shrugged his shoulders lightly.

“My apologies,” he whispered as Remus closed the gap between them and pressed their lips together.  Logan breathed in deeply through his nose and shuffled closer, reaching his other hand to grip at Remus’ neck.  They broke apart and Logan sighed happily, shoving his nose into the strip of bare skin at Remus’ neck.

“You really must be going through it if you’re this cuddly,” Remus mused, releasing Logan’s hand so he could card a free hand through soft hairs the base of the king’s scalp.

“All the evidence points towards today not being a good day.” Remus made a sympathetic noise.  Logan pulled back and Remus let him rest against the chair backing.

“Don’t you have that meeting with my brother and the little pip squeak?” Logan snorted.

“I don’t know if the volatile King of Xious would be amenable to being called a pip squeak, but yes, I do.  In approximately an hour and a half, I’ll be trying to stop the leaders of two kingdoms from killing each other.”

“Sounds funky fresh.”

“Where do you even come up with these sayings?”  Remus shrugged.

“I sneak around here and there.  Father is...quite preoccupied with preparations for the coronation so there’s little else he notices, especially regarding my whereabouts.”  Logan tried to make eye contact with Remus, but the prince ducked his head. “I’m truly fine with it, I think I just miss...I miss making an impact,” Remus paused before snorting, “good or bad.”

“Trust me,” Logan said, a bit more sentimentally than intended, “you always make an impact.” Remus gave Logan a smile on the teary side.

“You’re biased, Logan, isn’t that against your whole thing about logic and true verdicts?” Logan made an offended noise.

“It’s an objectively true fact,” Logan insisted. “Nearly everyone would agree with me.” Remus just gave a shrug, still seemingly disbelieving of the king’s statements, but he stopped refuting them, so Logan counted it as a win. 

Eventually, Remus moved to the chair beside Logan and they made their way through the food platter, obviously stocked with some Ticevan delights that few knew were the prince-general's favorites.  Laughing too hard made Logan’s legs ache with the movement and his head continuously throbbed, but the stack of rocks that had built up on his chest seemed to fall over at each joke or hidden barb at his brother that Remus made. The sun slowly rose up in the sky, highlighting the two lovers, whispering and giggling as if they were teenagers all over again.

“It’s been two hours,” Logan remarked at one point, recovering from a bout of laughter that nearly sent him to the floor. Remus shrugged, his trademark rebellious smile playing at his lips.

“And?” Logan gave him a deadpan look.

“I have responsibilities, Remus.” The prince waved a hand in dismissal.

“Responsibilities, shmesponsibilities,” he leaned in closely, shuffling his chair so that he could touch their noses together, “let’s burn this place to the ground.”  Logan smiled, his heart full in his chest.

“So long as my library stays intact, there’s no reason why this place doesn’t need a renovation,” Logan teased.” Remus bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and Logan saw him pump his fist in celebration underneath the table. “Of course, I’m joking, dear Remus, I quite like my home.” Remus ceased his excitement to feign disappointment.

“Oh, you’re no fun, Logie,” he moaned, throwing himself back into his chair.  Logan merely grinned and raised his cup to his mouth, sipping as Remus thrashed about.

The doors to the dining hall creaked open.  It was like a switch had been flipped.  While Remus maintained his strewn about position, he pulled his chair away and spun the food platter so that it was sitting directly in front of Logan.  The king swept a hand through his hair and gingerly lifted his legs from their spot against an ottoman set underneath the table so that he could sit with his back straight.  His hand was clenched around his glass and Logan felt like his heart was in his throat.  Remus, though he mastered looking casual in tricky situations, had a nervous air about him that Logan could feel from where he was sitting.

The guest stepped into the room without much fanfare and turned to make sure the door was shut behind them.  Their white tunic shone brightly in the morning light.  They turned around and the gleaming smile and red curly hair instantly relaxed the entire room.

“You bastard,” Remus groaned, sinking down into his seat. “You fucking bastard.”  Roman merely smiled innocently as he approached the table.  Even Logan slumped slightly, taking a few deep breaths as he lifted his aching limbs back onto the ottoman to stretch out.

“You caused an immense amount of anxiety, I do agree.” Logan said, trying to take another sip of his glass to calm down.

“Not my fault you guys haven’t gone public yet,” Roman teased as he took the seat next to Remus. Remus groaned theatrically and Logan shook his head.

“We’ve been over this, Roman, there are many reasons why Remus and I cannot be out of the metaphorical closet and-” Roman raised a hand.

“I know, Pocket Protector,” he said, “I was just teasing.” Logan rolled his eyes and resisted the urge to cross his arms in a petulant manner. “Are you ready for the meeting?”

It felt like an avalanche had just toppled over his body, the way Logan felt like he couldn’t breathe.  Chills filled with heat raced up and down his back and he let go of his glass to discreetly wipe his hands against his cloth napkin. “I- I suppose that I am, I have all the documents prepared in the primary office.”  Remus must’ve noticed how he was fidgeting with the napkin because his brow furrowed and he opened up his mouth.  Logan all but threw the napkin back to the table and made quick work of setting his legs back down on the ground, cutting off whatever Remus wanted to say to him.

“Wonderful!” Roman cheered, not noticing the exchange going on between the two lovers, or the immense glare Remus was now sending his way. “I can escort you to the meeting place?”

Logan waved him off. “You go on ahead, Roman, I will have to take my time this morning,” he said as he stood up and slipped his arms into the crutches leaned up against the table.  Now it was Roman’s turn to furrow his brow and grow concerned and Logan cursed the day he became friends with the two princes. “I will be fine.”

Remus huffed through his nose, muttering something under his breath that Logan knew to be calling him out as a liar, but he refused to acknowledge it, only bending slightly for Remus to kiss him on the cheek as Roman stood from his seat.

Roman trailed the way, throwing the heavy oak doors open and all but marched down the hallway to Logan’s office, where the meeting would take place.  Logan struggled to find his footing, the dull throbbing in his head and knees expanded tenfold as he tried to walk to the door.  He felt Remus’ gaze on him, but he refused to turn back, afraid that he would just melt to the ground if he made eye contact.  He walked past the threshold of the dining hall and the guards swung the door shut behind him.

-

Walking to the meeting felt like it took another three hours, though logically, Logan knew it had only been twenty minutes.  Walking without his aids would’ve taken another forty at this rate and quite honestly, he was proud of the pace he was making.   

What was admittedly awful about said twenty minutes was the amount of time it gave him to think.

Logan enjoyed thinking; it was practically his job to think.  Cygnas remained the kingdom with the region’s largest library and it brought him never-ending joy to contribute to that collection.  Studying and researching was a favorite pastime and the only thing he enjoyed about hosting events and having guests was the knowledge they would bring him about their homes and countries.

But this felt like something entirely different than the thinking he had come to enjoy and take pleasure in.  This felt like a worry after worry compounding into itself, growing bigger and bigger until he felt like a small child in the middle of the eye of a storm.

His office door loomed in front of him and the pressure of thousands upon thousands of souls rested heavy on his shoulders.  Memories of his sister and parents swirled around him, ghosts long since dead risen again for the sole sake of reminding him what lay before him should he fail.  His vision swam and had he not been resting steady against his aids, he would have surely toppled over from the weight of his ancestors and their collective duty to protect his people placing itself on to him.

He motioned for the guard standing by the door to open it for him.  There was no ominous creak as it opened, but Logan’s mind filled in the blanks. 

Roman and Virgil sat across from each other in front of the fireplace, an antique tea set sitting between them.  As Logan stepped inside, they both rose to their feet to greet him. “Good morning, King Virgil, Crown Prince Roman.  I am glad to see you both here.”

Virgil bowed, a symbol of respect in Xious.  Logan felt an odd lump developing in his throat, but he swallowed it down.  Based on the growing look of offense on Roman’s face, Virgil had not given the crown prince the same honor.  Roman simply shook his hand and preformed a rune in the air, with a motion to push it towards Logan, a standard Ticevan greeting of monarchs in a formal setting such as this.

Logan nodded his head towards the seats and motioned for Emile, who he just noticed was standing in the corner of the room, to gather the papers at his desk and bring them to where they were sitting. “Let us begin, shall we?”

Virgil and Roman resumed their original positions, while Logan took up the seat that was not usually there at the head of the coffee table.  Emile poured him tea as Logan spread the documents across the table, handing each party a copy of the details they were there to discuss.

“Thank you for hosting this meeting and acting as a mediator, Your Majesty.  It is quite the honor,” Roman said, glaring daggers at Virgil over the tops of the papers he was skimming.  Virgil nodded in agreement, setting the papers to down to pick up his cup.

“I agree with Ticevas, and that is quite the thing to say, seeing as I don’t agree with Ticevas on much of anything at all.” Roman went red in the face and Logan saw the grip on the papers tighten as Virgil innocently sipped at his tea.

“It is my pleasure,” Logan said. “I simply want the best for my people and I have strong evidence to believe that this meeting will be fruitful for all parties involved.” Roman wrinkled his nose.  Logan almost kicked him in the shin.

“I, for one, want this to be resolved.  My advisors grow restless with me having been away for so long,” Virgil said.  Logan furrowed his brow at the mention of the advisors.  He was unsure of how much of the previous conversations between him and Virgil he wanted to bring up with Roman present, but he might ask if Virgil would be willing to discuss more in private.

That is, if everything went well today.

“If it is amenable to the both of you, I would like to begin with the meeting that took place two months ago, as of today.”  Virgil went tense and Roman scowled. “It is to my understanding that neither of you were there at that meeting.”

“That is correct,” Roman said. “However, my brother was there and I trust his word.”

“Your Highness, we are not here to discuss the alleged threatening on either side,” Logan cut in. “If I wanted to do that, I would have let your two kingdoms go to war already.” Virgil snickered, hiding his laughter behind another sip of tea when Roman glared at him.

“I am simply stating my matter on the opinion,” the prince harumphed, crossing his arms.

“I was hoping-”

“I don’t think hope will get you much of anywhere,” Virgil snarked, still holding the cup to his mouth. Logan sighed, his headache beginning to spread to the middle of his head.

“Please, let me speak.” Virgil shrugged, but Logan could see him chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

“The Ticevan land has been rented out to the kingdom of Xious for centuries.  The rates of rent have always remained the same.  Why are you asking for the rates to be changed, King Virgil?”

“My kingdom is in famine,” the boy said primly, jutting out his chin.  “We need food and Ticevas has plenty to share.”

“Ticevas has been plenty generous with the land we’ve offered to you, we have no obligation to give more.”

“Xious offered for you to have the largest military this side of Capemin at your disposal in exchange for lowering the rates for five years, you cannot look me in the eye and say that we did not give you reason to accept our proposal.” Roman looked taken aback.  Logan averted his eyes to the papers on the desk.

“I know Xiousians are a lot of things, but I didn’t know they were liars,” Roman said, almost conversationally.  Virgil startled, looking slightly like an agitated feline.

“Your Highness,” Logan said warningly. Roman waved him off.

“No, no, this is bullshit-”

“Roman-”

“There was never such an offer and I am offended at the mere idea that we would even accept such a savage exchange.” Virgil’s eyes seemed to flash red.

“Savage? If I remember correctly, that land was ours in the first place, but you pushed my people out and forced them to run into the mountains where they barely survived-”

“-I resent this accusation-”

“I didn’t mean for you to enjoy being called a murderer, Crown-Prince Roman, that would be pretty savage if you did.”

“Logan, throw him out.” Roman turned suddenly to the older king.  Logan looked at him over the top of his glasses, flitting back to Virgil who now had his arms crossed and looked five seconds away from storming out.

“No,” Logan said calmly. He saw Virgil blink in surprise. “I invited you both here for a civil conversation and so far, you are being anything but civil-”

“He started it-”

“-and you’re not even letting me finish my sentences.” Roman’s nostrils flared and his hands clenched into fists at his side.

“Is Cygnas not a Ticevan ally?” Logan looked nervously at Virgil, but the younger king avoided his gaze.

“Yes, but-”

“But nothing, Logan, you should be supporting me and tossing this riffraff out with the rest of his kind.”

“Your Highness, I will do no such thing.” Roman paused in his motions, unnervingly still.

“Fine.” Roman stood up.  Virgil shrunk back and Logan became viscerally aware that this was not a private conversation between him and a friend about his temperament, but rather a political discussion over whether or not war would break out between their three countries. He had forgotten himself and now everything hung in the balance. “Ticevas officially removes herself from this meeting.”

“Roman, sit down,” Logan demanded, his voice calm even if his hands began to shake. “You don’t want this to go where you’re thinking.”

“Just because you have a soft spot for the boy doesn’t mean I do, Logan,” Roman seethed.  “I don’t have to listen to you and I never have.  I should have ignored you from day one, Logan.  Valerie is dead. Deal with it.”  Roman stalked out of the office, his sleek boots hitting the stone ground sounding like the din of a thousand soldiers marching on the city gates as the noise echoed around the room.

“Valerie?” a questioning voice came.  Logan’s tunnel vision receeded slightly to accompany Virgil in his periphery. “That is my mother.  You were friends- is that why I am here? Because you pity me?”

“No,” Logan ducked his head, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“You- you don’t respect my country or my people, do you?” Logan’s shoulders scrunched forwards, the sheer anger in the child’s voice making even him panicky. It was all falling apart, all the diligent planning, all because he couldn’t handle the pressure of his sacred duty as king.

“If you would let me explain-”

“No! No, I don’t think I will, because you lied to me!” Virgil shouted, his chest heaving.  Logan felt his anxiety crawl into his throat, squeezing his vocal folds shut.

“I never lied to you,” the older king croaked. “And none of this is about you being Valerie’s child, I assure you.” Virgil narrowed his eyes at him, any hint of the camaraderie they had developed over the past few days gone.

“You can’t prove that.” Logan swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry.

“When you showed up, my steward told me that I had the right not to speak with you, but you know, I know-” Logan cut himself off, trying to stave off panicked tears. “It was either speak to you or let my country burn to the ground, I had heard what Ticevas was warning me over and it wasn’t about manipulation, it was about protecting my people.” Virgil stared at him.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Then how do I make you believe me?” Logan exclaimed. “How do I prove what is intangible? That just because Valerie is my sister does not mean that I wanted to control you and your kingdom?” Virgil paused.

“My mother was your sister?” he asked, the quiet room coming to a standstill.  Logan’s face crumpled.

“Virgil-”

“My mother was your sister?” Virgil shouted, cutting Logan off. The older king sighed, his hands clenching around his knees.

“Yes, but-”

“If I die, you have a claim to the throne! You could take over!” Virgil said incredulously.  Logan’s heartrate went through the roof. “Is there poison in my cup? An assassin laying just outside the room? Were the Ticevan disagreements just a ruse to get me here and kill me in my sleep?!” Logan shook his head.

“No, of course not, that would only harm my people, I want peace, Virgil-”

“No, I will not hear it, Xious will not hear it.”  Virgil stalked over to the door, throwing it open.  He looked over his shoulder, making eye contact with Logan. The burning hatred in his eyes made the older king feel faint. “This is war, Cygnas.  You will have my kingdom over my dead body and I don’t intend on living this realm anytime soon.”

The door slamming shut behind Logan’s nephew sounded like an arrow from a firing squad hitting its mark, right in the center of his chest.

#logan sanders #remus sanders #ts big bang 2021 #virgil sanders #sanders sides #roman sanders #ts logan #ts remus #ts virgil #ts roman #sanders sides fic #tw war #tw internalized ableism #tw arranged marriages #tw bad parenting

[classic80sand90smovieloves2]

Meeting and Dating Sgt. Hartman

(Not my gif)(Requested by anonymous)

- You met Sgt. Hartman while stationed as a nurse at the boot camp. You supposed that working in basic training was better than on the battlefield; especially since this would be your first gig as an army nurse, but the comparison did little to ease your nerves. You were still going to be taking care of a bunch of untrained men floundering around with dangerous weapons and equipment. 

- Regardless of your worries, you arrived at the camp early in the morning with your bags all packed and your hands eager to do something. As you stepped outside of your car, you were met with the sight of the older man, hands behind his back and a straight, almost scowling expression on his face.

- His face softened upon seeing you; though it didn’t do much to make him any less intimidating. The man introduced himself, ushering you to follow behind him as he began to give you a tour of your “new home”. After he showed you around, you were taken into the barracks and introduced to everyone in typical Hartman fashion. 

“Private cowboy, where's the infirmary,” He’d bellowed out and the man; Private Cowboy, quickly answered the shouted question. “Precisely! Now, if one of you sacks of shit gets your dick blown off by your rifle, this is who you will go and see! Is that clear?”

“Sir yes sir.” You’d nearly shouted alongside them. 

- The man demanded obedience, oozed authority, and held enough power in his hands to make a persons knees buckle beneath them. He was old enough to be your father and yet, there was something about him that just drew you in. 

- Unbeknownst to you, the drill sergeant was equally attracted to you as you were to him. 

- Now Hartman hasn’t had to flirt for a while so he’s a bit rusty. His attempts to compliment you are stunted and awkward and he isn’t quite sure what to talk to you about. But over time he gets back into the swing of things.

- Believe it or not, he used to be quite the catch when he was younger; and while he’s a few years past what you’d probably consider his “prime”, deep down he’s still just as suave and …creative. 

- It’s going to take you a while to realize exactly what he’s trying to accomplish, mainly because; in the beginning, you can’t really spend a lot of time together. He’s a busy man and even if you were to see him a lot, you most likely wouldn’t assume your superior; who’s that much older than you, is trying to hit on you. It would seem like more of a “a girl can dream” moment. 

- As I mentioned before, when you’re first starting to actually get to know each other, you aren’t really able to spend a lot of time together. He decides to do something about that, requesting that you come with him and his recruits when they go to do field training or target practice; “so you can be right there if something happens to them”. 

- Most of the time, you’re just sitting and watching but when he’s able to, he’ll stand by your side and make conversation, throwing in some slightly suggestive and ambiguously flirtatious comments. He doesn’t want to lay it on too thick in front of the “maggots”. 

- It’s only when the two of you get some alone time together that you can have some genuine banter. You flirt light heartedly, in a way that many would perceive as joking though it’s not a joke to either of you. He teases you and you tease him right back, something he’s quite fond of. 

- Well, it all comes to a head on New Years. You’re sitting in your office, finishing up some paperwork and feeling just the slightest bit homesick when you hear a knock at your door. 

- It’s obviously him, and while you figured he might stop by, the champagne he’s holding is certainly a surprise. Regardless, you soon find yourself sitting on your desk with him standing beside you, the both of you a little tipsy; just enough to make you feel warm and loose. 

- The remarks you exchange are a blur. All you can remember is watching in a heated daze as he leans in closer and closer until finally he seizes your lips in his. Long, slow, and slightly clumsy, the two of you kiss for what seems like forever, your arms wrapping around his neck as his fingers dig into your hips. 

- It’s a few minutes past midnight when you finally break apart and you shyly wish him a happy new years, unsure of what to say besides those few words. He merely chuckles huskily and pulls you into another kiss. 

- And thus begins your relationship with the master of maggots. 

- Modest and reserved pda. He’s got a bit of a reputation to keep up so most of your affection is gonna happen behind closed doors.

- He may be a hard man but he’s soft with you; surprisingly so at times. If any of his cadets saw the two of you when you thought you were alone, they’d die of shock right then and there.

- Long, hard kisses.

- Swats to the butt in private. You stand before him with a beautiful bottom and expect him not to touch it? You ask too much of him. He’s only human.

- He likes to keep a hand on the small of your back. It’s sort of a show of ownership; for lack of a better word. He wants everyone to know that you’re off limits without outwardly telling them.

- He’s a fan of pet/nicknames if you couldn’t tell. You get called a lot of different things: sweetheart, honey, darling, sugartits, etc.

- He’s not a huge cuddler but he’ll sling an arm around you and let you lay your head on his arm even though it makes the appendage annoyingly fall asleep.

- He’s an old fashioned man; a Christian one at that, so a want for domesticity has been instilled in him from a young age. Let’s hope you’re willing to be a little homemaker because that’s what he’s expecting and hoping for.

- Making breakfast for him in the morning. He always gives you a “mornin sunshine” and a side hug when he walks into the kitchen.

- Straightening out his tie for him.

- Sitting on his desk and putting his hat on when he isn’t wearing it. It earns you a little smile every time you do so.

- Kisses on the temple.

- There’s going to be long stretches of time where you don’t see each other in person, it’s a part of the job and you’ll just have to accept it. It sure makes for some great reunions!

- He gets all proud whenever you praise him; especially for his medals and things of that nature. He puffs his chest out that slightest bit, straightening his shoulders as he tries to act modestly.

- Being there for all of his recruits ceremonies and congratulating him for making “another fine batch of soldiers”. 

- Watching his drills in your spare time. Even if you aren’t fond of some of his particular methods of earning respect and shaping his students, you can still admire him and the power he holds.

- Like I said, you may not like some of the ways he treats some of his cadets but you sure have to stifle a laugh when you pass by every now and again. You feel like a bad person but you can’t help it; he’s a funny, raunchy man.

- Late night meetings in your office. Try to remember to lock the door behind him.

- He’s got wonderfully rough hands and that’s all I’ll say about that.  

- He enjoys being able to make you laugh. He’ll tell you jokes, poke your sides, throw you over his shoulder; whatever it takes to make you giggle and squeal.

- You get away with a lot of things no one else could. You think anyone else could insult or talk back to this man without having their holes resized? No ma’am, not a chance.

- Few people are graced with his smile and you are one of those few people. It may be a small one but it still feels like an honor every time you see it.

- He’s been a drill instructor for quite a while so he’s certainly got a few stories to tell. They range from violent to embarrassing; for someone else, to just plain funny; you’ve got a tale for every mood.

- Hearing the stories behind his scars and tattoos. He likes the way you trace your fingers delicately across them while listening intently to what he has to say.

- He may or may not have gotten your name tattooed on him. 

- If you want to go out and do something, he’s one old man that can handle it. He enjoys being in the great outdoors so hiking and things of that nature are right up his alley.

- Barbecues. He will tease you if you’re vegetarian or vegan; all while grilling vegetables and veggie burgers.

- He prefers dates where the two of you can be alone together. It’s nice to get away from the stupidity of his cadets and from your hectic work.

- Sitting in his lap after a long day. He likes holding your hip in his hand and giving it a light squeeze every once and a while, usually after he makes some teasing remark.

- Nighttime brandy and bourbon. It’s a nice way to wind down before bed.

- Sneaking around the camp with each other. You’ve shared several kisses behind shut blinds and secluded corners.

- Hunting, fishing and camping trips. He’s a typical middle aged man who likes to kill and you’re his girl so you’re always invited to join him.

- Getting taught how to shoot and assemble guns. He thinks it’s a skill that everyone should know, even a pretty little things like you. 

- Trying to get him to ease up just a little bit; at least in some cases. He may be a professional drill instructor but you’re a professional human and you know when some people require something other than humiliation to learn.

- A jealous man. He feels a bit silly whenever he gets that burning feeling inside but he reasons that you’re his woman and he has the right; especially when it’s some young stud flirting with you. Usually, he’ll narrow his eyes at them and turn on his intimidation, asking them where they’re supposed to be and ordering them away as soon as whatever you needed to do with them is finished.

- He can always tell when you’re only trying to be nice and/or do your job so he never gets angry at you. He’ll just tell you not to be so sweet all the time and/or walk out without another word.

- A bit overprotective; he hears about anything and he makes sure to handle it. He doesn’t often use violence but his presence is enough to spook people. Rest assured, if it’s one of his cadets that’s causing problems, they’ll be running laps from sunrise to sunset.

- You get a whole lot of respect; at least to your face. No one is ever gonna start trouble with you, not when they know who you’re with. The most you’ll get is some young kid trying to push his luck but Hartman makes sure to squash that fast.

- He gets out most of his frustration at work so the two of you rarely fight; at least not aggressively. If there’s an issue then you’ll argue and resolve it within the hour, that’s just the way he is. The only time the two of you have a serious fight is when you’re adamant on trying to change the way he does things.

- If he’s upset you then he’ll apologize for that but trying to get an apology for anything else is like pulling teeth. He has a hard time admitting when he’s wrong though it isn’t too much of a problem since he rarely is in the wrong.

- He doesn’t tell you that he loves you very often but he does so on occasion, usually on your anniversary and during long goodbyes; things like that.

- As a god-fearing, old fashioned man, he intends to make an honest woman out of you as soon as he can. He’d be stupid not to.

#80s movie imagine #80s movie headcanons #80s movie headcanon #80s movie imagines #full metal jacket x reader #full metal jacket headcanon #full metal jacket headcanons #full metal jacket imagine #Sgt. Hartman headcanons #Sgt. Hartman imagine #Sgt. Hartman headcanon

[sunmoonandeddie]

and grace, my fears relieved

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2,623

summary: You meet someone new in the most unlikely of ways during the quarantine in New York City.  A hospital isn’t the worst place to meet someone, right?

chapter warnings: swearing, both steve and the reader have covid-19, but neither die

masterlist

a/n: Let me know what you think!

The virus started out inconspicuously enough, with just a few cases here and there that everyone assumed would be quarantined and taken care of, but Steve was paranoid.  How could he not be?

He’d been a sick kid.  Real sick.  And then when he was a teenager, he got some revolutionary kind of treatment for his heart and lungs and it was like his entire body had been kickstarted.  He shot up a foot taller and gained over a hundred pounds.

He had the stretch marks to prove it.

Granted, he had to work a little to gain as much as he did.  After the treatment, the weight gaining workouts and diet plans suddenly worked.  He looked… normal.  And then he buffed up.  Real big.

It came in handy pretty often with his job.  He had become a firefighter, and carrying people out of burning buildings was often part of the job.

Fires still happened in a quarantine.  If anything, they happened more frequently because people were home and the number one cause of house fires was unattended cooking.  A parent could be cooking any meal of the day and then their kid distracts them and boom.  Fire.

So he worked overtime, day in and day out.

But that didn’t mean he wasn’t scared.  He was scared shitless.

It was like his ma used to say, back when she was alive, “Just because you’re scared doesn’t mean you run away.  You fight back for what’s right.”

Sarah Rogers had been a lot smarter than people assumed.  She was a former socialite, and an Irish Catholic one at that.  Her parents had an absolute conniption when she’d fallen in love with a former convict.  His dad had been in and out of jail for petty things.

It certainly hadn’t been her choice to fall in love with him.  But she had told him that if he didn’t get his act together, she wasn’t going to be with him.

He’d straightened himself up and become an outstanding citizen.

But that hadn’t stopped her family from disowning her.  Once she refused to break up with him, she was out.  Out of their house, out of their wills, everything.

She went from wearing Valentino and Chanel to items picked out at Goodwill.

But Steve’s parents had loved him more than anything.

He’d become a firefighter just like his dad.  He wanted to help people just like him, and well… That’s what he was doing now.

Or had been, until his throat had started to hurt.  And when it hadn’t let up three days later, even after a plethora of cough drops and teas, he went to the hospital.

It had only been about a month since it really started and the first dozen cases showed up in New York City.  He’d been cautious—overly cautious, some might say—but he still had to go to work.  And who knows how many people he’d come into contact with that had the virus?

It was still early days.  He was able to get the test, and for that, he was lucky.

But then he had to go home and wait.

And then he got the call.  He had to immediately go back to the hospital to be quarantined.  He’d been put in a hospital room that was usually used as a private room in the Emergency Room—a trauma room, they called it.  Trauma Room 2.

All of their other hospital rooms were taken.  It was a lot worse than anyone had let on.

He was there for about twenty minutes before you got there, clearly terrified and holding a duffel bag full of clothes so you wouldn’t just have to wear the scratchy ass hospital gowns.

He’d only thought to bring two different pairs of sweatpants and a few sweatshirts, as well as his usual pairs of jeans.

But he was quickly finding that those weren’t too comfortable to wear while being quarantined.

Maybe he’d be able to convince someone to run down to the hospital gift shop to grab him something to wear.  Some Brooklyn Hospital sweats or something.

“Hey.”

He looked up from his tablet, looking for the source of the voice.  God, he was so tired.  And everything hurt.  There was only so much that honey could do for his voice.

“Hey!  Over here!”  The voice broke off into a coughing fit, and it sounded nasty.  Real nasty.  The kind of coughing that hacks up a lung.

He gets up out of his bed with a grunt, feeling like the weight of the world was on his shoulders.  And not the big, strong shoulders he had no.  The weak little skinny ones he had before.  The ones where he could barely lift a gallon of milk in each hand without getting overworked.

You’re sitting on the ground, taking deep breaths as you try to catch your breath.  “Hey,” you said with a weak smile.  “You got any cough drops?  I ran out and my nurse said she was gonna try to find me more two hours ago.”

There’s no medicine available to treat the virus.  So they just treat the symptoms.

And there’s a severe shortage of cough medicine amongst the patients, but no one really mentioned that.

“Yeah,” he said as he walked over to his little bedside table.  He opened the drawer, pushing the Bible left inside to the side and grabbing the cough drops.  He grabbed four little individually wrapped pieces before dragging his feet back to the doorway.

He couldn’t lie, sitting down looked really nice right at that moment.  His heart felt like it was going to beat out of his chest just from walking that short distance.  So he sunk to his knees and leaned back against the doorframe, on the opposite side that you were.

Even though he’d become a firefighter like his dad, he didn’t understand how he could have such a strong faith in God when things like this happened.  Sitting across from you, seeing how tired and run down you looked, he wasn’t sure he believed at all.  How could a God that claimed to be so benevolent and loving do this?  Or at least not step in and do something to stop it?

“Did you bring the goods?” You asked with a bit of a laugh, before breaking off into a deep cough.  “Fuck…”

“Me, too,” he said softly as he grabbed one of the cough drops and tossed it in your direction.

You groaned as it landed behind you, shooting him a glare.  “Do I look like a basketball player to you?”

Steve let out a snort as he grabbed another one.  “Okay, are you ready this time?” He asked, raising a single blonde brow.

“Oh, my god, yes.  Please, just throw it,” you said, but there was a slight grin toying at the corner of your mouth.

“What’s the magic word?” He asked.  This was, quite honestly, the most fun he’d had in ages.

You gave him a look that said you’d kill him if he didn’t give you a cough drop.  “Give me a cough drop before I break down sobbing because it hurts so bad?” You deadpanned.

“Okay, okay.  No need to get dramatic,” he said before he tossed another one.  This one hit your forehead before falling into your lap.

“If you want dramatic, I can turn into a Disney princess right now,” you giggled.  Your voice was weak, but it was hard to muster up the energy to talk sometimes.  Actually, not even sometimes.  Most times.

He watched you for a minute as you worked the wrapper of the cough drop off and popped it into your mouth.  “I’m Steve.  Steve Rogers.”

“Well, hello, Steve.  Steve Rogers,” you said with a giggle, your words slightly distorted from the hard candy in your mouth.  You gave him your name as he tossed you the other two cough drops.

It was nice to have someone to talk to.  It had been four days since the two of you entered the hospital before you had called out to him.  And yeah, he still had his phone.  He texted and called Bucky everyday, but it wasn’t the same as having a face-to-face conversation.

It also kinda helped that you were really, really pretty, even when you were sick and exhausted.

In fact, he couldn’t remember anyone that he thought was as pretty as you.

“Stevie?” You said a week and a half later.  It had gotten worse.  So much worse.  You had breathing tubes in, as well as an IV.  His wasn’t as bad.  He just required the IV.

Your nurses tried to get you to stay in your beds, but they soon gave up the fight, choosing instead to help the both of you move your chairs so you could talk to each other, separated by a hallway.

“Yeah, doll face?”  Steve’s heart was hurting as he watched you with sad blue eyes. You were wrapped up in one of his hoodies, drowning in the fabric.  He’d gotten Bucky to run by his apartment and grab him some more comfortable clothes, though he’d had to leave it with a doctor and wasn’t allowed to see him.

They couldn’t risk it. “They’re talking about a second wave,” you said as you wrapped your blanket tighter around you, pulling your knees up to your chest.  “They wanna start opening things in late May…  But it’s too early…  I…”  You swallowed thickly, your heart pounding against your rib cage.  “I’m so scared, Stevie.”

“Hey…”  There was nothing he wanted more than to be able to walk across the hall and take you into his arms.  “Whatever happens, you’ve got me.  You hear me?  We’re in this together, okay?  And we’re gonna make it.  We’re gonna make it because we gotta.”

That night, he waited for the lights to go out and for the nurses to switch over to the night shift.  A lot of the nurses weren’t as vigilant about taking care of them as the day shift, and he knew he could use that to his advantage.

He knew this was risky, but he had to do it.

Steve carefully got out of bed and dragged his monitor behind him, taking slow measured steps.  He’d waited about an hour after rounds, knowing that they wouldn’t be coming for another three.  It gave him plenty of time.  He tiptoed across the hall after ensuring that the coast was clear, slipping into your room.

The room was bathed in a soft blue light coming from the open curtains, a billboard outside flashing.  You looked so peaceful, finally asleep after tossing back and forth for hours.  The blue tones glistened against your soft skin.  You were so quiet that his eyes instinctively flickered over to the heart monitor, listening to the quiet beeping that reassured him that you were alive.

He wobbled the chair over to the side of your bed, being careful not to drag it so it didn’t squeak and alert a nurse or doctor.  When it was finally in place, he sunk into it with a relieved sigh.

Your nose scrunched up at the faint noise.

“Dollface,” he whispered as he gently caressed your cheek, his heart pounding.  This was the first time he’d ever gotten to touch you.  This was the first time he’d been close enough to even attempt it.

Your eyes fluttered open, blinking sleepily at him.  “Stevie?”

“Hey…,” he said softly as he traced the patterns of her face.  “It’s me…  Don’t worry…”

“What are you doing here?” You asked, her voice a hoarse whisper.  “We’re supposed to be—”

“I know,” he said as he gently scratched your scalp.  “But I’m worried…  And you need me.”

You slowly relaxed back against your pillow as your eyes searched his face.  He liked when you were soft like this.

Well, he liked you all the time, but still.  He liked you most when you were sleepy and relaxed.

“How are you feeling?”

With a shrug, you let your eyes close again.  “I don’t know…  I’ve been better.”  A sigh escaped your lips as you opened your eyes again, trying your best to not melt too far into him.  You didn’t want to fall asleep when this was the first time you’d gotten to feel him near.  “We’re lucky… Our cases aren’t as bad as what others are going through…”

That was true.  Others were on respirators, going into comas.  You two were lucky.

And he was so grateful for that.

“I was thinking…,” he murmured.

A snort.  “That’s never good.”

He gave you a look, raising his brows.  “Apparently people aren’t… completely better even after they’re cleared of the virus…,” he said.  He was watching your face carefully for any sign of a reaction.  “And I live alone.  And you said you have roommates but two of them are considered essential workers, which means there’s a risk of you getting it again…  And I was just thinking…”

“Yeah?...” You probed, sitting up a little.

“We’re gonna need someone to help us… without risking the others that we love, and I just…”  He coughed to clear his throat, his cheeks red.  “I was thinking maybe you could move in for a little while?  Maybe until all this has passed?  And we can… we can…”

Your eyes flickered over his face.  “We can take care of each other?”

Steve nodded, swallowing around the lump that had formed in his throat.  “Yeah.  We can take care of each other…  I’ll have your back and you’ll have mine.  And maybe it’s quick, but... ”

Can’t you feel it? He wanted to ask.  Can’t you feel this thing between us?  This connection that was found and fostered in possibly the darkest time of this generation’s existence?  This love that made me think that maybe there is a Grace in the world?  Because otherwise, how the hell would I have been able to find you?

But he knew that was probably a lot, even if the feeling he had when he looked at her was a little bit more than like.

“But… you barely know me.”

“That’s not true,” he breathed out quietly, a finger running down your jaw.  “I know about your family.  I know your first pet’s name and where it’s buried.  I know that you like white Christmas lights over rainbow because you like how it can look like snow if it’s done right.”

Tears were in your eyes, your cheeks flushed as you listened to him.

A smile crept up on his lips.  “I know you like the citrus flavored cough drops, and you have to sleep with a blanket on, even if it’s eighty degrees outside.  I know how much you love cheesy rom-coms and you can only watch horror movies at night because otherwise you’ll have nightmares.”  His forehead rested against hers, your noses brushing.  “I know you.  And I wanna take care of you.  When we get out of here, I don’t want to forget you.  I want to spend my life with you.  And maybe that’s too much too soon and more than a little cheesy, but—”

“Stevie…”  You were the one who leaned in first and pressed your lips to his, the salty taste of your tears mixing in with your peppermint chapstick.  “I’m not easy to take care of.  I’m even more stubborn when I’m feeling helpless like I am now…”

“That’s okay,” he said as he pecked your lips again, letting it linger.  The two of you knew that a nurse could come down the hall any second and catch you, but it didn’t matter.  You were together and you were alive.  “I don’t need easy.  I just need you.”

#steve x reader #steve rogers x reader #steve x you #steve rogers x you #steve rogers x y/n #steve x y/n

[jamieatthebarricade]

Maids to Wives

An Outlander AU based loosely on the TV Show and real life in the historic Jamestown

In 1619, one hundred and forty-four English women from good families crossed the Atlantic in response to the Virginia Company of London’s call for maids “young and corrupt” to make wives for the planters of it’s new colony in Virginia. One in six of the maids could even claim gentry status. Although promised a free choice of husband, they were in effect being traded into marriage for a bride price of 150 pounds of best leaf tobacco, the profits to flow to individual investors

In 1619, Claire Elizabeth Beauchamp made the voyage to do one thing: marry a man she's never met. But when she arrives, she comes to the startling realization that her heart belongs to someone else, a certain James Alexander Malcolm Mackenzie Fraser.

Chapter 1/? : Aboard The Ship

April 17th, 1619, Claire’s POV

“I feel like my innards are swasheling ‘bout” Geillis hacked out her dinner for the 4th time this week. I tried my best to soothe her, rubbing her shoulders lightly, but the smell of old fish and stomach acid from the other’s puking made it hard to keep anything down. Most of us hadn't been on a boat before, let alone in the middle of the ocean where the monstrous waves led to monstrous waves of sea sickness. It took all my strength not to succumb to the churn in my own stomach. Poor Geillis didn't have the same strength as I.

Geillis was one of the first women I met on this voyage. Me and her bonded over our love of herbs and our older age. She has become one of my closest friends on this trek to find my future husband. 

My Husband. The word had only rolled off my tongue a few times in my life, but suddenly it was my entire world. It was all the ladies talked about, all they thought of,  all they could remember dreaming about. But, the rest of the women on the ship were different from me, and from Geillis too: they were young, and they were trained. Geillis and I were the eldest of all the brides -she being 31 and I being 27- and didn’t receive the same education as the rest of the girls. I myself spent my childhood traveling Europe with my Uncle Lamb, not learning how to be a good wife that could keep house. Perhaps if my parents hadn’t died when I was so young they could have instilled the passion for housekeeping in me, but a childhood under my Uncle’s influence assuredly led to the demise of any interest in such things. He even tried to enroll me in a dame school, but I refused. Can you imagine? Years of learning how to sew and knit and cook. I couldn’t think of a more revolting thing. I had longed to continue to travel with Uncle Lamb, as his career as an antiquarian required him to do, and so he had no choice but to keep me by his side. I imagine him beside me now, as if this voyage was just like any other: exploring new lands with curiosity and excitement. 

As Geillis continued to empty her stomach, I scanned the cabin, seeing some of the younger girls on the ship playing a card game. Their eyes lit a bright light inside of them when they got a good hand, and their smiles sparkled like pearls in the faint lantern light. Despite the ship muck they resided in, they still radiated beauty and grace. That and their training would make them excellent wives. 

Perhaps I should have let Uncle Lamb enroll me in that Dame school, I thought as I turned back to check on Geillis. Even though I got to choose the man I married, there was no guarantee that my husband would keep me when he found out how many skills I lacked. But no man could be so cruel, could he? While it made no sense to wish for a kind husband, I still did, as did all the women. I could only hope that my husband would be caring, smart, and understanding (and have a face and body with equally desirable qualities, but both together was the most rare of all).

A tug on Geillis’s hair called me back to reality. It seemed the sickness had faded for a moment or two, enough for her to speak. “Claire, I swear to ye, if I don’t make it on this ship, bury me in the new world. I dinna care if my flesh sticks up the whole bloody ship, I wilna be thrown to the sea, like a bone to a dog” 

“You’re not gonna die Geillis, it’s only 3 more weeks till the captains said we'll see land. If you die on this ship, I swear to you I’ll kill you” My remark managed to stifle a chuckle from Geillis’s sickly body. She smiled at me, and then her moment of peace was over: she went back to being sick almost immediately. I never found myself in the comfort of women, but Geillis was like a sister to me. Spending a month at sea in tight quarters did that to a friendship. 

Geillis wasn’t the only friend I made on the ship. To my left sat 15 year old Mary Hawkins, the youngest of the maids. Mary was just… small. A small frame and small face were the most startling of her features, and the month on the ship caused an almost deadly thinning of her figure. When she spoke, the words came in small stutters, and any movement made her jump. When I first saw her I wondered how Mary could have thought she could survive the trek across the ocean; that was, until I found out being a maid was her father’s scheme. After finding this out, a sisterly urge surged inside me, and I was her protector on the voyage ever since. And as her protector, I saw her shivering as I helped Geillis, and moved my arm from Geillis’s back to around Mary’s shoulders.  She gladly nestled herself into my side, but the shaking didn’t stop.

“A-am I going to die here, C-Claire?” She stuttered out. I quickly shook my head and turned to look down at her. I saw tears running down her face, but she didn’t look me in the eyes. She kept her gaze on the wall across from us, where a woman who looked the most sick of all rested her head. She didn’t look alive anymore, but with closer examination I saw her chest rose ever so slightly. I made a mental note to check on her later, if she hadn’t already died. So far, 34 women have died. While the cause of death varied from maid to maid, it was all from the same sickness that plagued our ship since the beginning of the second week aboard. Not all the women were victims, but the ones that were died swiftly and in immense pain. But, for every maid that died here, the same amount of men were left without a bride, and that would mean another wave of maids. I couldn’t imagine putting more girls through this hell. I was fortunate to be well, and above all else, alive. 

“No, you’re not. You’re gonna leave the ship with us and meet your husband.” I rubbed Mary’s shoulders gently. I felt her breath loosen, and she slumped slightly. Good, I thought. She fell asleep

I then stayed with Geillis until her nausea faded. After cleaning her up using my dress as a rag, I laid her down and watched her drift to sleep. I touched my hand to her forehead, and was thankful for not feeling any unusual temperature. I removed my arm from Mary’s shoulders, and slowly set her down near Geillis’ head. I tucked a small bag of grain beneath both of their heads, and thankfully none of them awoke from their slumber. I looked across the cabin and saw the pale woman from before. She hadn’t changed positions, but her chest still rose and fell like before. I moved in front of her, and placed my hand on her forehead. Hot. Burning hot. I shook her awake, and when she opened her eyes, they were bloodshot. 

“Will... you tell my husband that I’m sorry I wasn’t able to make it” The sentence flowed out like any other statement, but the meaning behind it was darker.. She was a young woman, nearly 23 I guessed. Her hair was a soft blonde, and she had a pleasing aura about her. I could also tell she was quite pretty, underneath the sweat and sickness. Her hair stuck around her face, but she had the complexion of a sheet of paper. She was transparent, the veins of her body stuck out harshly against her pale face. When she spoke, it came out in a low whisper, as if her body didn’t have the willpower to use any strength.

“I’m Faith” She flashed a quick but weak attempt at a smile. I wished there was something I could do, to give her the strength that had saved me these past weeks. I reached beside her to grab a rag, in hopes of maybe wiping away the heat, but she put her hands over mine.

“Make the new world good for us” She spoke, before closing her eyes. Everything happened so suddenly, I could barely register it all. The minute she closed her eyes, any color that was left in her face disappeared. The rising of her chest stopped, and a hand fell limply from mine. 

I removed myself immediately, and sat next to Geillis. She stirred in her sleep before sitting up, tired. She must’ve heard what had happened, because just as I sat down she put her arm around mine. I wanted to cry, to feel some kind of pity for the woman, but nothing came out. ‘You should mourn her’ my brain told me but how could I? I just met her.

I didn’t have time to be like this. In a few short weeks we would be on the island with the men, living in the new world. Instead of feeling pity, I felt a sense of guilt. Out of nearly 100 women, only a few would step off this ship and into a new life. And I was one of them. Why did I get the luxury? I wasn’t ever a quiet, obeying miss, and I don’t think I could ever be. Why did god and those above think me fit to take on the responsibility of marriage? Faith would’ve probably made a fantastic wife, but here she lies dead by my feet and I am still breathing.

These thoughts ran rampant in my mind, so much so they exhausted me, and I felt myself roused into a deep slumber, with Geillis’ arm still around me and the soft breathing of the living filling my ears, reminding me I was still alive, that we all were. We bore the weight and responsibility of those who didn’t live, it was our job to make the new world good and prosperous.

- - - - - - - - - -

Hello everyone! This is my first chapter of a fanfiction I’m looking forward to writing! I’m a fairly new author so if everyone could be kind/give solid constructive criticism, that would be amazing! I’m looking forward to hopefully releasing more chapters later on!

#outlander fanfic #Outlander #Claire Beauchamp #Claire Fraser #james alexander malcolm mackenzie fraser #Jamie Fraser #jamestown au #Outlander AU #Outlanderrr #;maids to wives #;my_works

[ayuuria]

Yashahime Translation: Real Sound Film Department Interview with Tadokoro Azusa

Please do not repost this translation without my consent! This includes screenshots of any type and amount. If you wish to share this translation, simply link to this post.

For more information regarding the use of my translations, click here.

Tadokoro Azusa, Her Thoughts on the “Inuyasha” World That She Admired. Reading the Script for Episode 1 was “A Very Surreal Feeling.”

“Hanyō no Yashahime”, which depicts the next generation of the anime that is Takahashi Rumiko-sensei’s original work, “Inuyasha”, is currently being broadcasted on Yomiuri TV and Nippon TV every Saturday from 17:30 (5:30pm on the 12-hour clock).

The protagonists of this work are three half-demons who carry the blood of a demon and a human, Towa, Setsuna, and Moroha. Towa and Setsuna are Sesshōmaru’s twin daughters. Moroha is the daughter of Inuyasha and Kagome but she grew up without knowing the face of her parents. What exactly happened in the feudal world that was supposed to have become peaceful after the permanent destruction of the Shikon Jewel. The mysteries are slowly being revealed and the story is visibly becoming more exciting.

This time, the Real Sound Film Department interviewed the voice actress who plays Moroha, Tadokoro Azusa.

(There is a video comment at the end of the interview)

When I got the role, I felt like “I had ascended to heaven.”

— Tadokoro-san, you play the role of Inuyasha and Kagome’s daughter, Moroha, and “Inuyasha” is what got you interested in voice acting correct.

Tadokoro Azusa (shortened to Tadokoro from here on): That’s right. It was a work that I loved, so my hands were shaking when they told me about the audition. That there was a new development in “Inuyasha” and that Inuyasha and Kagome had a child really surprised me.

— How did you feel (your) audition went?

Tadokoro: I acted with the intention that I put my all into it, but because I absolutely wanted the part, I felt nervous afterwards. That’s why when I got the part, I couldn’t believe it. I felt like had ascended to heaven.

— We heard that you jumped into a well before, thinking you might be able to go to the feudal era.

Tadokoro: The well was already buried so fortunately I wasn’t injured, but I really went for it (laughs)

— Now, you have time traveled to the modern era via the Tree of Ages’ passageway as Moroha, but were there any scenes that moved you deeply as you were acting?

Tadokoro: I don’t have a specific scene, rather it’s the episode 1 script. After watching the completed anime on screen when I was young, I was deeply moved that I was reading a script that had the lines spoken by characters from “Inuyasha”. I watched (the episode) on air in real time at home and hearing the voices of Inuyasha and the others on TV brought me be back to my younger days. Then hearing my voice afterwards. It was a very surreal feeling.

— Among them, we heard that Sesshōmaru was your favorite character. What was his appeal?

Tadokoro: First, Sesshōmaru has an overwhelmingly pretty face (laughs). At first, he seemed level-headed and hated humans, but after meeting Rin, you could see kindness slowly come through. I get wild ideas that for the few words he speaks, maybe this is what he was thinking? However periodically, he’ll say things clearly like “There’s nothing worth obtaining in exchange for Rin’s life” and I think that’s wonderful.

— Also, you decided to become a voice actress after admiring Yajima Akiko-san who did the voice of Kohaku in “Inuyasha”. Please tell us why you were taken by Yajima-san’s acting of Kohaku.

Tadokoro: Because Kohaku had to go through a lot of painful things, he came across as being absurdly prone to sacrificing himself. With Yajima-san acting as that Kohaku, it was as though there was more sorrow mixed in. It was a voice that made me go “I want to help him!” as I watched.

— Do you have any aspects that were influenced by Yajima-san?

Tadokoro: The biggest reason why I was drawn to Yajima-san’s voice and acting was because even in a normal everyday conversation, you could tell what sort of life that child went through. I thought I wanted to become that kind of a voice actress and when I met her once, I asked “How do you take on a role that has a thought process that you don’t understand?”

— What was her answer?

Tadokoro: “You know, I don’t know myself” is what she said. Because you don’t know, you continue to think about the feelings of the character you play and try to act in the same way. Actually, when Yajima-san played the role of a child from a wealthy family, she apparently stayed in a very expensive hotel for a week (laughs). Not only was I moved from seeing her acknowledge what she didn’t know and attempt to get closer to the role, I thought I should also understand the feelings of the person I’m playing without giving up.

Geeking Out During Recording

— The character you play, Moroha, is very expressive which makes her cute. If there is anything you are careful about while playing Moroha, please tell us.

Tadokoro: Thank you! Because she didn’t have an easy upbringing at all, she’s a very uncouth child. I’m conscious of that liveliness that always seems like it’s about to go off. It’s just that we purposely haven’t been told what’s going to unfold in the future actually, so it’s difficult in that sense. Not to mention Moroha’s emotions are constantly changing, so it’s hard for me to keep up (laughs). She gets interested in all sorts of things which seems hectic.

— However, it seems as though Moroha is the bridge that connects Towa and Setsuna.

Tadokoro: Yes. But in the end, those two are love dovey with each other so it’s sometimes lonely being left out (laughs). Moroha may seem like the type that acts recklessly at first glance, but she’s actually smart and surprisingly the most proficient in battle amongst the three of them. That sort of gap is charming. Plus, she has that sort of adorable idiocy like Inuyasha and Kagome’s cleverness, so I think that’s very powerful!

— Please tell us what you think of Towa who is played by Matsumoto Sara-san.

Tadokoro: While being a half-demon, Towa was separated from Setsuna when they were young and grew up in the modern era that she time travelled to. Furthermore, this time, she returns to the feudal era with Setsuna and Moroha, so I think she’s a complex character whose emotions are heavily swayed. From that Towa, I can feel Sara-san’s true sincerity or rather everything Towa says is what she truly feels without any ill-will which I think is cute.

— How about Setsuna who is played by Komatsu Mikako-san?

Tadokoro: Setsuna’s charm that Komatsu-san plays is her sharp appearance. I can slightly feel that cool face of Sesshōmaru’s after all; on the other hand, she exudes the cuteness of a girl. Through Komatsu-san’s acting, I think it’s wonderful that her cuteness of worrying about Towa, despite everything, comes through.

— What is the atmosphere like during recording?

Tadokoro: The three of us love “Inuyasha”, so we geek out! Since we also don’t know what’s to come, we speculate things on our own like “This might actually end up like that” (laughs).

— Every time an episode is broadcasted, there’s a lot of speculation that rouses social media as well. Please tell us what curious viewers should take note of going forward.

Tadokoro: If there are unexpected developments like “It’s come to that!”, then there will be developments that will make "Inuyasha” fans glad and at ease. The mysteries will slowly be revealed, so please don’t miss each episode.

— Within that, what are points to pay attention to for Moroha?

Tadokoro: Moroha’s past and the environment she grew up in will be revealed in a certain episode, and I think it will be an episode that will make her more endearing.

— Including the numerous roles you had outside of “Hanyō no Yashahime” and your singing career, I’m sure 2020 was a very busy year for you but looking back, how was it?

Tadokoro: With circumstances changing daily from the COVID crisis, I’m truly happy and blessed that I was able to expand my world in a new way. That’s why each job felt even more precious to me. I once again feel that I need to be serious about continuing (work) into next year and the year after that, so I feel pressure. It’s a feeling of “I can’t die out from here!”

— The state of the world was heavily shaken.

Tadokoro: You’re right… it would be great if we could all record together like before.

— Tadokoro-san, you turned 27 back on November 10th. What’s your goal for the new year?

Tadokoro: There’s my self-produced album, ‘Waver’ coming out on January 27th and my current goal is to become able to put into words how I think and feel.

— For example?

Tadokoro: For example, in daily life, to casually doubt something on TV or something a person says like “Is that really right?” or (say) what I was thinking. In a way, I put my current thoughts into songs which I compile into an album.

— You have stated that since the time of your debut you’ve always wanted to try playing a “young male” role, and lately you’ve been able to play a lot of young male roles, including Ryouma from “Kamisama ni Hirowareta Otoko” (By the Grace of Gods). Now once again, are there any roles you would like to try?

Tadokoro: I like foreign dramas, so I’d like to take on the challenge of dubbing a person who appears in a Western film.

— I think fans will look forward to the future development of “Hanyō no Yashahime” and your work.

Tadokoro: I would like everyone to wait while being excited. There are lot more things I want to say about “Hanyō no Yashahime” but it will get more exciting from here on, so please look forward to every episode. And I, Tadokoro Azusa, will keep pushing forward without coming complacent. Fans, please watch over me!

#yashahime #hanyou no yashahime #yashahime: princess half demon #translation

[fics-of-culture]

Grace and Sacrifice

Summary: Gadreel gives up his grace to be with you

Ship: Gadreel x Reader

Words: 1,697

You sighed as you roamed the halls of the bunker. Things had been... difficult since Gadreel died. It was no secret that the two of you had gotten close before he passed. He had revealed himself to be your soulmate. Much to the Winchester brothers chagrin. You had even shared a searing kiss before he went to heaven and ultimately sacrificed himself to save everyone. You sobbed into Castiel’s chest for hours when he delivered the news. Gadreel had apparently made Cas promise to look out for you before he plunged the rock into his chest. After the first year without him, you’d managed to put yourself back together. You stayed in the bunker for the most part. You offered your assistance to the boys whenever you could, but for the most part you stayed inside and did research. You had contented yourself to live out the rest of your days like this. That was, until one night a few months later when the Winchesters heard a knock at the bunker door. The boys answered it hesitantly, only to find Gadreel standing before them. Looking very much alive. They had questioned the fallen angel for hours to no avail. He had no recollection of anything after he sacrificed himself in that cell. It was clear that whatever had brought back Gadreel would remain a mystery for now. But the boys were unsure how to break the news to you. They had assumed that you were passed out in your room. Resting up after a particularly grueling hunt and therefore completely unaware that anything was going on. It also didn’t help that the newly resurrected angel kept demanding to see you.

“I don’t understand. Why can’t I see Y/N?” Gadreel was pacing back and forth in the library. “Is she alright? Has she been injured?” Gadreel was getting upset thinking about you having gotten hurt while he was gone.

“Calm yourself, brother.” Castiel approached the stressed angel, attempting to soothe him. “We are simply trying to figure out the best way to break the news to Y/N. We want to avoid upsetting her.”

“Why would this upset her? I thought she’d be happy to see me.” Gadreel cocked his head in confusion. Dean just rolled his eyes, not entirely pleased with the idea of Gadreel being here.

“I’m sure she will be, but these things can be quite stressful to humans.” You were looking for the guys as you heard the tail end of the conversation that Castiel seemed to be having. You decided to enter the library to see what was going on.

“What’s stressful to humans?” You ask as you step into the room. Your eyes focus on Cas as you notice from your peripheral that there’s an extra presence in the room.  You froze as your eyes came to rest in Gadreel.

“Hello, Y/N.” You gasped as you heard his voice. You hadn’t heard that voice in a year. Somewhere in the background you could faintly hear Sam and Dean speak to you. But you couldn’t make anything out. As Gadreel approached you, you felt your legs give out under you. Gadreel was upon you suddenly, arms wrapped around your body to the floor as your knees hit the ground.

“I... I don’t understand.”

-

It took about ten minutes for everyone to catch you up to speed. Even then, you weren’t sure how much of it had actually registered in your shell shocked mind. At some point, Gadreel had offered to escort you back to your room and you accepted. You were eager to speak to the man one on one. Gadreel shut the door as you just stood there, not quite sure what to do next.

“I truly am happy to see you, my heart.” You smiled at him gently as he regarded you.

“I never thought I’d see you again.” You replied softly. He took a hesitant step toward you.

“Are you... happy to see me?” Gadreel asked, shy. You let out a small laugh at that.

“Of course I am. I missed you.” Gadreel let out a relieved sigh. He raised his hand to brush some of the hair away from your face.

“I’m happy to hear it. I was worried that you had forgotten me.” You couldn’t help but lean your face into the palm of his hand.

“I could never forget you, Gad.” Gadreel surged forward then, surprising you with a passionate kiss. You return it eagerly. Since the moment he had left you so long ago, your angel had wanted nothing more than to return to you. Having you in his arms now, Gadreel finally felt whole.

-

Weeks had passed since then. You and Gadreel had spent the time rekindling your romance. But it wasn’t long until those familiar feelings of guilt and inadequacy came creeping back in Gadreel’s mind. He saw what you refused to acknowledge. This could never truly work out. Being an angel, Gadreel was effectively immortal. He would have to sit by and watch as you age and eventually die. As if that wasn’t enough, he also could never give you the family the two of you so desperately desired. Any attempts at creating a child would result in a nephilim. And you would die giving birth to it. You brushed off his concerns whenever he tried bringing these things up to you. You told him you could be happy without a child. Despite your reassurances, in his heart, Gadreel knew what had to be done.

-

“You’re not thinking clearly, brother.” Gadreel had blindsided Castiel with his request to become human.

“As a matter of fact, this is the clearest I’ve been able to see in a long time.” Gadreel remained composed as he stood before his brother.

“All this time, you have been looking for redemption. And now, you do not want it? You could help me rebuild heaven.” Castiel tried desperately to discourage his brother. There were so few angels left in the world.

“I have found my redemption. But now, I have also found my family. Someone somewhere was generous enough to give me a second chance. I will not waste it as I have my first life. We are free now, to do what we want. And she is all that I want.” Castiel sighed in defeat. It was clear that Gadreel would not back down from this.

“Are you certain, brother? There is no going back from this.”

“Yes.” Neither of them had realized that you were standing by the door, listening to this exchange. You had been looking for your lover when you heard Castiel trying to discourage Gadreel from doing... something. You weren’t sure what. You knew you shouldn’t be listening in on this, but something stopped you from leaving. You weren’t blind. You could see that Gadreel had been pulling away from you as the days went by. But, you weren’t sure what to do about it. It had seemed though, that your angel had decided to take things into his own hands. Panic flooded your system as you hear a groan of pain. You can’t keep listening for a moment longer. You burst into the room suddenly to find Castiel inhaling a blue light as he stands before Gadreel, angel blade in hand.

“What are you doing?” Gadreel’s head turns to you suddenly. You can see the light in gaping hole in his neck that was slowly fading as Cas sucked the rest of his grace from his body. Cas then healed the wound on his neck. Gadreel had just given up his grace. Tears burned in your eyes as you approached. “Why... why would you...” You trail off. Unsure of what to say. Gadreel smiles softly at you as he gathered you into his arms.

“I asked Castiel to make me human.” He said, softly.

“But why?” You looked up at him with tears in your eyes. You saw no regret in his face.

“Because I wish to be with you for the rest of my life. I wish to age with you. To have a family with you.” Your lover gently rests his forehead against yours as he speaks.

“Family? Does that mean...” You trail off.

“Gadreel is human now.” You look to Cas standing beside you as he speaks. You turn your head to look at him. “He will age and any children he bears will be human as well.” You look to Gadreel as he smiles down at you.

“Aren’t you upset? You gave up your grace. You’ll never be an angel again. What if you regret your decision?” Your doubts start to pile up as you continue speaking.

“As long as you are with me, my heart, I will never regret this decision.”

-

A year had passed since then. You sigh calmly as you walk into the living room of your small home. A short while after Gadreel had given up his grace, the two of you decided that it was time to find your own place. Somewhere the two of you could call home. You smile at the scene before you. Your husband, Gadreel stood in the middle of the room, rocking your newborn baby in his arms. His eyes lit up as they landed on you and he shot you a lopsided grin.

“How is she this morning?” You ask quietly as you notice your baby fast asleep in your angel’s arms.

“She’s happy to see you this morning, my heart. As am I.” Gadreel leans down to peck your lips and you smile into the sweet kiss.

“Why don’t you hand her over and you can grab some of the coffee I made?” Gadreel gently hands you your child, a baby girl the two of you had decided to name Grace, and turns to exit the room. He pauses for a moment, observing as you murmur affectionately to the little bundle in your arms. “What is it, Gad?” You ask as you notice that he hasn’t left.

“Nothing.” He whispers back to you. He turns to grab the two of you some coffee and somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks ‘Best decision I’ve ever made.

#spn #supernatural #supernatural fic #supernatural reader insert #gadreel #spn gadreel #gadreel imagine #gadreel x reader #reader insert