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anonymousfiction211 · 3 years

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Happy birthday

Summary: Everyone has forgotten your birthday, expect your loving boyfriend Loki who has a special evening planned for you.

Word count: 2.588 words

Happy birthday When you woke up this morning you were so excited. But now, you couldn’t wait for this day to be over. The whole day went by and everyone had forgotten it was your birthday. There were no text messages from friends, no cards in the mail, not even your parents had bothered to call you. At work no colleague had congratulated you, there wasn’t even a cake – apparently the office tradition broke with you. And adding to your misery, Loki was still in Asgard and you had no idea when he would be back. For a moment you though about leaving a message for Heimdall, Loki had taught you how. But you didn’t feel like yelling to the sky, to a men you never met, only for him to tell your boyfriend that you were sad. And then what? You would only wonder the rest of the night if Loki had gotten your message or if he also didn’t care like everyone else.

Deciding against leaving a message you drove the rest of the way home in silence. By the time you arrived at your house you were actively holding back your tears. Somehow you had hoped that maybe it was all a trick and there would be a surprise party at your house. But there were no cars and you didn’t see the lights on in your house. You sat in your cars for a few minutes, taking a few deep breaths. You would just order a pizza, watch a movie, and go to bed. At least it was weekend now, and you could spend the weekend doing all the things you love like reading, baking, playing the piano and maybe buy a few more plants. You rumbled through your purse, looking for your keys. You got out of the car and opened your front door. You entered your hallway and the first thing you noticed was that there were lights on, and you could clearly hear someone walking around in the kitchen.

You briefly wondered how you didn’t see the lights from the outside of the house, you should have. But panic rises as you realized that someone was in your house. The problem was that your phone had died, so you needed the phone in your living room. But once you would call the person inside your house would hear, and that could lead to a very bad situation. You put your purse and keys down as quietly as you could. You grabbed an umbrella and slowly made your way to the kitchen. If you played this right you could knock the person out, tie them up and then call the police. With the umbrella in your hand, you slowly opened the kitchen door. There was a man in front of the furnace, standing with his back to you, but you recognized him immediately.

‘Loki?’ you asked.

He turned around and smiled brightly at you. ‘Happy birthday, love’ he said.

You immediately ran towards him and he opened his arms to catch you. It took a moment for the two of you to let go of each other. When you did he kissed you.

‘I missed you’ he said.

‘I missed you too. How are you even here? I thought you had to remain there until the end of the month?’ you asked him.

‘Darling, like I ever was going to miss your birthday’ he smirked.

Normally, you would laugh. But the remark hurt and you started to cry. Loki’s happy expression changed into a worried one. He pulled you closer and let you cry against his chest.

‘What’s wrong?’ he asked when you stopped crying.

‘Nothing’ you mumbled, nuzzling closer to his chest. You didn’t want to admit it that everyone forgot your birthday.

Loki grabbed your shoulders, moved a bit away from you so he could look at your face. ‘Tell me’

You stared at the ground until a finger under your chin made you face Loki again. You sighed. ‘You’re the first person to remember today’ you said, your voice barely higher than a whisper.

You saw the hurt in Loki’s eyes before he pulled you into another tight hug. ‘That’s awful’ he whispered.

‘I’m really glad you’re here’ you said back.

‘Me too, and I will do everything in my power to make you happy tonight’ he said.

‘But why are you holding an umbrella? It isn’t raining?’ he asked.

You broke the hug and put the umbrella on the ground next to the door. ‘Ah, well. The lights were off, but when I entered I saw them on and heard you in here. I thought you were an intruder’ you explained a bit sheepishly.

‘And you were going to attack me with an umbrella?’ he cocked one of his eyebrows in amusement.

You shoved him ‘Shut up, that was the best plan I could think off’

He just laughed a little. ‘Sorry to startle you. The lights would be my doing. I really wanted tonight to be a surprise’ he explained.

How he did the trick with the lights you didn’t ask. You knew that once Loki started to talk about magic, he would be talking for hours on end. The kitchen timer went off and you noticed that Loki had something in the over. You were curious and tried to look passed him, but he blocked your view.

‘Go sit at the dining table. I have a few surprises for you tonight and you are far to curious, kitten’ he mused.

You wanted to protest, but the look of excitement on his face was way too adorable to ruin. So, you did as you were told. You walked to the dining room that was just across the hall. When you entered you froze. Not only had Loki already set the table, there also was a large bouquet of roses, candles were burning and your favourite wine was in a wine cooler. This was by far the most romantic thing anyone had ever done for you. You sat down in your chair when Loki walked in with two plates, covered by a lid.

‘You like it?’ he asked

‘I love it’ you smiled at him.

He sat the plates down and instead of removing the lid, grabbed the bottle of wine. He poured you a glass, which was thoughtful, but you suspected that he liked to drag out his surprise meal a little longer. He poured another glass for himself and sat down. He sat very close next to you, adding to the intimate dinner. Finally, Loki removed the lid from the plate and you saw your meal. It was your favourite, steak with red wine sauce, oven baked potatoes covered in herbs and green beans. It tasted amazing and suddenly you realized that Loki didn’t cook.

‘How did you manage this? I thought you couldn’t cook?’ you asked.

‘I wanted to do something special so, I learned this dish’ he explained a bit flush.

‘Hmm, don’t you remember early in our relationship that you explicitly stated that Gods don’t cook?’ you teased him.

Loki grabbed your hand kissed the back of it. ‘He does for the one he loves’ he said, making you fluster and blush. He smirked at the effect his words had on you. The rest of dinner the two of you talked about what had happened in the three weeks he was away. Loki, of course, had many stories that involved tricking and annoying Thor. Once you finished your meal Loki grabbed the plates and told you he was right back. He came back with a large slice of cheesecake the two of you shared. He told you proudly that he also made the dessert himself. When the two of you were finished you started to clean up, but Loki stopped you. He conjured up a blindfold and you looked questioningly at him.

‘I don’t want you to see just yet’ he mused.

You rolled your eyes but let him put on the blindfold. He steered you through the house. When he told you to stand still you felt him move in front of you. He undid the blindfold and once it was off he moved to the side.

‘Surprise’ he mused.

You gasped when you saw. Loki had set up an enormous blanket fort in your living room. There were blankets, large pillows and he had al kind of snack set up on the table. There was a string of light that gave the whole room a romantic vibe. The fort was placed so you could still see the tv, there were multiple DVDs laying in front of it. Next to de DVDs there were several board games.

‘Remember our first movie marathon and we spontaneously build a blanket fort?’

‘Of course I do. That was the night you asked me on our first official date.’ you whispered a bit overwhelmed by his surprise.

‘A date that went so terrible you actually told me that the blanket fort was a much better date’ he mused.

‘Well yeah, you got us kicked out of the restaurant before our starters even came. It was pouring outside and you lost the car key’ you laughed. ‘But walking in the pouring rain with you turned out to be fun’ you added.

Loki grabbed your hand and guided you to the fort. He sat down and put you between his legs. The rest of the night the both of you cuddled, talked a lot, and played the games. A few hours later you decided to put on a movie.

‘Thanks for the amazing evening. This night was really the best gift you could have given me’ you said hallway through the movie.

‘Did you really think that this was your gift?’ he said.

You squirmed out of his grasp. Loki overdramatically sighed but laughed at your giddy attitude. He reluctantly let you go, so you could bounce up and down, excited to see what he was about the give you. He conjured up a small dark green box. When you reached for it he pulled it away.

‘I think I deserve a kiss first’ he smirked.

You rolled your eyes but started to kiss him. Knowing Loki, he would demand another kissed so, you made out with him for a while. The moment he lowered his hands around your waist you grabbed the box.

‘And they say I don’t play fair’ he teased.

You ignored his comment and opened the box. Inside the box was a beautiful golden necklace with a snake on it. The snake was in a s-form and there was a tiny green stone for the eyes.

‘It’s beautiful’ you said.

Before Loki could reply you grabbed his shirt and pulled him in for another kiss. He just laughed at your action and took the box from you, once you were done. He took out the necklace and you turned your back towards him. You removed your hair and he fastened the necklace around your neck. When it was in place you turned around and Loki pulled you flush against him.

‘Thank you, for everything’ you said.

‘I’m glad that you liked it all’ he said to you.

You kissed him again, more slowly this time. Loki moved his lips with yours and you felt his tongue asking for permission. You opened your mouth and he slid his tongue inside, exploring every inch. You moaned slightly in the kiss. Your hands were under his shirt and his were caressing your upper body. You stopped kissing him and pulled his shirt over his head. For a moment you stared at him, and you noticed Loki slightly blushing under your gaze.

‘Let’s make this more fair’ he whispered.

He removed your shirt and unclasped your bra in one smooth motion. He laid you down on your back and started to kiss your neck. He moved lower and swirled his tongue over every inch of your breasts. You were extremely aroused and your nipples were hard by the time he was done. You were breathing fast underneath him. He brought his head up to yours and kissed you deeply. He laid on his side next to you. His hand slowly trailed from your cheek down to your breasts. He pinched your nipple, earning him a gasp from you. He moved lower and undid the button of your pants. You eagerly kissed him back and stroked his naked chest. His fingers slipped between your folds. Once his fingers were wet with your arousal he circled your clit. He swallowed every moan and whimper that left your lips with his own mouth.

You felt the pleasure wash over you. Loki slowly circled your clit until your orgasm had subsided. He retracted his fingers and licked them clean.

‘You look very pretty when you come undone for me’ he whispered in your ear.

He pulled of your pants and underwear. Once you laid naked before him he removed his own. When his erect cock sprung free you licked your lips. You wanted to get up, to suck his cock, but Loki laid you back down.

‘Tonight, is about you’ he said.

He was on top of you and stroked his erect cock against your wet folds and your clit. In one smooth motion he pushed himself inside of you. Your legs automatically hooked around his waist and Loki started a slow pace. His eyes didn’t leave yours, unless he was kissing your mouth, neck or whispering in your ear. He whispered how beautiful you looked, how much he loved you and how incredible you felt around his cock. Because of the slow movements and your wetness, you could really feel every movement he made. Every movement was deliberate, it really felt like you were the only thing that existed for him right now.

To your surprise he stopped. Before you could ask, he rolled the two of you around. You were on top of him and due to gravity felt his cock slid deeper inside of you. Hitting just the right spot. You started to ride him in the same slow pace as him. It truly was a sight to have Loki lay underneath you, moaning and praising you. Once you felt your orgasm build up, you started to ride him faster. His hands went to your bouncing boobs and he started to play with them. This was definitely the most intense sex the two of you ever had, normally there were a lot of games and Loki was an enormous tease. Loki started to moan shamelessly underneath you, but you were doing the same at this point. When he started to circle your clit with his fingers you came undone immediately. You felt Loki’s cock twitch inside of you and his seed spill. After a few more thrusts you collapsed half on top of him. Once your and his breathing had gone back to normal you pulled him out of you. He immediately grabbed you back and laid you close to his chest.

He was stroking your arms. Goosebumps were forming and you started to shiver a little. Loki grabbed a blanket form nearby and pulled it over the two of you. He nuzzled his head in the crook of your neck and pulled you as close as he could.

‘This really is the best birthday I ever had’ you said.

‘It’s far from over yet, love’ Loki said while starting the kiss your neck and trailed his fingers to your clit.

Tags: @delightfulheartdream @the-best-phineas @theaudacitytowrite

#loki #Loki Laufeyson #loki odinson #loki of asgard #loki god of mischief #loki god of lies #loki smut #loki sweet #loki x reader #loki x you #loki x ofc #loki x original female character #loki x y/n #loki story #loki oneshot #loki fanfic #loki fanfiction #loki fic

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scribeofmorpheus · 3 years

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Himmeløyne [25/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: Violence / Angst???

A/N: ...

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“You shouldn’t be here,” Loki said.

Shivers ran up your spine. For the first time since you knew him, he looked terrified. Helpless.

The Creature—the monster—that materialised from the mist inched closer. Its steady pace was unnerving, like pinpricks to the skin.

You took Loki’s hand in yours, felt his grip, ironclad, and said, “Right here is exactly where I’m supposed to be.”

He smiled sheepishly, “Then our reunion was fated to be a short one.” He glanced at the creature, at its eyes, and clenched his jaw as tightly as his muscle could allow. He took an instinctual step back, pulling you behind him. “There’s no escaping it.”

You turned to the creature, unsure of what it was entirely that you sensed from it. It wasn’t fear—at least, not your own. Not hate either. Though it was masked in those emotions well. There was a drive behind its instinct, a purpose. Keenly aware of the fact you still had your magic, you let your magic do the searching where vision failed you. Tendrils of energy waned as if something unseen was pushing back, resisting. You planted your feet, took a deep breath and blocked out everything except the creature. There was familiarity there. A sense of pain. Grief. A broken heart.

Bestla’s words rippled back to you, reminding you of what she had said about Loki, “Loki is a fraught boy. Torn apart by two halves that will always be at war.”

A tendril of magic managed to touch the creature and incoherent flashes distracted you, making you lose balance.

With a grunt, you and Loki were both flung back, the wind knocked out of you. You rolled from your side and noticed the creature was undeterred from his path. A strong magical barrier surrounded it.

The creature lunged, its bone and flesh sword for a hand tearing the seams of Loki’s subconscious world.

You had to get Loki away from the creature, find a way to reassure him, give him room to process everything in safety. As long as the creature was a stone’s throw away, you wouldn’t be able to help him. “How do we escape it?”

Loki turned to you, downcast, “We don’t. I’ve never escaped it.” He looked at his hands. “I have no powers here.”

“But I do,” you forged a connection to his subconscious through your linked hands. “Think of a place, a memory, anywhere you feel safe. I’ll take you there!”

The creature neared and Loki’s mind flooded with too many images, too many years condensed into a barrage of smells and touch, hot and cold, emotion and emptiness. Steeling yourself, you clung onto the strongest sensation: smell. Berries. A burst of blue and purple. Warmth from an oven. A hug.

Instantly, the both of you were sucked into a portal of light, teleported deeper into Loki’s mind. Before the portal shut, the creature let out a roar, snagging skin from your elbow as it slashed and slashed in a frenzy. You seethed from the surprising burn of its cold touch.

You were thrust forward and wrenched back, a tension to your muscles, adrenaline soaking tissue. Your magic sparked, and you lost your bearing. When the world stopped spinning, you were in a kitchen, not the human kind with a hearth and cast iron pots, but Asgardian. Polished stones greeted your feet while gold embellishments decorated everything; curtains, fine dishes, the liquid within crystal clear tumblers.

“Where… where are we?” you glance around, unfamiliar with your surroundings.

Out from a blind spot, two boys darted into the kitchen area. Frigga followed soon after, a youthful blush on her face, hair the colour of magnificent straw. The boys played with wooden swords, clashing in a dull thud. Laughter keeping the room vibrant. The boy with the sandy hair yelped, and before your eyes, his wooden sword transformed into a snake, slithering away.

The raven-haired boy turned ghostly pale, frightened by what he’d just done. He clenched his fists in horror. Frigga calmed him, a sweet smile on her face as she ran her fingers through his hair. She hesitated for a moment before she hunkered low to hug both her sons. Soon after, a baker walked into the room with a silver tray of pastries. Blackish filling spilt over the folds, the smell of citric berries permeated into the space like a blanket, sweet and tart.

“Home,” Loki said. A look of longing crept over his face, a slouch to his shoulders. “I remember this day… This was the day before Father had taken us to the vault to tell us stories, of our grandfather, of the war…the Giants. Mother had asked the baker’s to make her favourite pies. We helped her pick the berries from a thicket near the edge during the day. It was the first time I used transformation magic. I was so scared. So was Thor. But not Mother… she just held us till we stopped crying. Made us feel safe in her embrace. She said I got my magic from her. That we were born under the same stars. Blessed by the same spirits.”

You placed a hand on his back and he leaned into the contact. “It seems like a happy memory.”

“Many of them were… before…” he turned to look away from the homely scene unfolding. “They were my family. My blood.”

The child version of him smiled with pie filling smeared over his round cheeks. You recognised Baldrick in his features. Slight, but distinct. The same dark hair and wide eyes. An impression more than anything.

“They still are,” you said.

“They are not my family…” he sneered, clicking his tongue. “And after what I’ve done, they couldn’t forgive me. I wouldn’t forgive me.”

“You did nothing wrong.”

“I have done plenty wrong!”

You flinched, his anger turning the room cooler, snuffing out the air, closing you in. Mist crawled onto the windows, and, suddenly, you knew. This feeling—this dread—it had been warped around the creature too, preventing you from fully penetrating its barrier. That same magic now surrounded Loki. More apparent after his outburst.

“Not from where I’m standing,” you said. “Perhaps there is much you need to take responsibility for, but not this”—you placed your hand on his chest, felt the thrum of his heart—“not for who you are…what you are.”

“They lied to me! Made me think I was one of them. Hid my birth rite from me. Hid me,” he shouted. “I’m a monster!”

The mist had enveloped all the windows now. Cracks spread like veins. A chill wracked through the air.

You ignored the foreboding signs and kept your focus on Loki, “By that logic, so am I.”

His eyes snapped up meet yours, his lower lip trembling. “Not you. Never you.”

Your heart ached at his words. “I’ve taken life… Life that I now see was more than a simple monster made real from under my bed.”

Recognition flashed across his face, “The Giant in Jotunheim. The one who...”

You nodded, slowly. “Yes.”

“But he took something from you,” Loki held your shoulders, speaking in haste as he shook you. “You deserved vengeance. And wanting it… that doesn’t make you a monster.”

You let out a sigh, somehow feeling older as you did it, feeling the heft of another’s life—of Bestla’s life. “Only because something had been taken from him, too. Something that was rightly his.” A sad smile came over you. “Do you know what he said before I killed him? He said his kind were always the villains in my stories. I never thought much of it, at the time. But then I met someone…your grandmother. She told me things, about the Great Wars, the histories of the Giants, the truth. And I see now…”

Loki rambled, taken aback by what you said. "My... grandmother? H-How? When? I—I don't..."

The creature materialised into the room, stone walls exploding into flecks. It growled and Loki stiffened. He was about to pull you away, but you stopped him, mustering all your magic to urge the Jotun beneath his pale skin to surface. His breath hitched as he staggered, fighting the process. You kept watching as the creature continued on its approach. You had a few seconds at best.

“I see now that there’s more than one side to any story. And war… war destroys more than the past. It takes history. It takes truth. It makes martyrs out of monsters and monsters out of martyrs. Makes kings. Destroys empires. Breeds hate. And these effects ripple out, for generations. You and I are but small grains of sand taken by the whims of the past, struggling to be still.”

“What are you—” Loki’s eyes went wide, making him look so small, so human, as his blue skin surfaced. You trailed along his arm, magic between the two of you building with a charge. With possibilities. He shuddered, taking a few deep breaths to centre himself, to grow used to his reflection in your eyes.

“And this is my truth…” you kissed him gently as the mist clung to your robes and feet. “I love you, Loki, Son of Asgard, Last Prince of Jotunheim... Trickster God. I love all of you. And I bent the world to save you, but the truth is, you aren’t lost, you’re running away.”

The creature lunged, and the wind died out. The creature’s shadow fell behind Loki. From over his shoulder, you could see it raise its arm high, ready to strike… ready to kill.

“It’s time to face who you are…” you whispered.

The creature struck. Loki shouted your name, cradling you close. There was a boom. A rush of air followed by a harrowing silence.

Loki stumbled backward, shocked. All around him were shards of ice, suspended in the darkness until it receded back from where it came. In the light, the creature sloughed away, like fungus being scraped off wood. The layers turned to snowflakes and dispersed all around you. Under the rage and strength of the creature was Loki’s double, pale skinned, blue eyed.

You walked over to Loki’s double and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Do you see now? Do you see what you were running from?”

Loki paced from left to right, never letting his eyes leave his double. Then he took a step forward, mouth agape, the reality of everything dawning over him. “It was me.”

“You blame yourself for everything. For what happened to my village and what happened to me in the throne room. I suspect you’ve always done so. Resolved yourself to hate the part of you that was different. That was hidden. And that part of you, stricken by self-loathing and doubt, guilt and grief, remained buried here, in the depths of your mind, alone. Apart from you. And when you went under, you could no longer supress him. But after the throne room, those feelings grew in your subconscious, giving form to the very thing you feared. The Jotun in you. The Giant. The monster of your stories.”

“N—No… I—It can’t be.” Loki shook his head, conflicted.

You held out your hand for him to take, “Do you trust me?

He nodded, at a loss for words.

“Then connect them, the two pieces that have been separated for so long. Accept the truth,” you delicately ushered him closer to his double who just blinked, expression empty, hollow.

As the two Lokis stood face to face and the world shook. You took several steps back and watched as Loki put his hand up. His double mirrored his action. When they joined palms, a torrent of emerald light streamed outward, both cold and hot all at once. As bright as a star. As piercing as an arrow. Everything melted out of view until it was only you and him, the illusion of a night sky forming in the background.

He stood close, his smile not quite right. Snaking his arms around you, he held you flush to his chest. You looked up, chin resting on his chest. Finally, you were home.

“Thank you,” he whispered before kissing you. The kiss was life affirming, as though he was saying a thousand things in a single act. You kissed him back, lips tenderly caressed by his own.

A swell flourished in your belly. Warmth you hadn’t felt since the last time you were in his arms flooded back. It was joy. You gasped as that feeling of solace returned from where it had been stripped away. Elated that you could feel his magic again. Feel him again. For the first time in a long time, you felt like you could finally breathe again. Be at ease again.

“I—” Loki steadied himself, as though he were about to speak the world apart. “I—”

But before he could finish, you felt a third presence tunnel its way to your subconscious. A message warning you from the other side, from the woken world. It felt like Heimdall’s magic. And it was filled with desperation. “Wait! Heimdall… Something’s wrong!”

“I feel it too,” Loki said.

You felt yourself being pulled from the world, out and through. The world adapted to the invasion. Tears of reality blended into the space.

The voice of a guard shouted, “Captain! She’s resisting. We can’t separate them!”

“Pull harder!” the captain shouted back, her voice heated and coarse like lit charcoal.

Through the tears, you saw the healing chamber. Heimdall and the rest of your companions were defeated, huffing for air. They were being ushered out of the room in shackles. The resisted to no avail, dragged out one by one by the guards in shining armour.

Through the distortion, and past the ebbing flow of sound, you saw Odin enter the room. He carried a familiar tome in his hands. Bestla’s amulet!

You had forgotten that you’d left it in Heimdall’s care. Odin must have taken it from him as he was being dragged away.

“I haven’t seen this in a long, long time,” Odin said wistfully. His thumb brushed against the bird bones, beads catching light from the golden castle. He whispered to the captain, the amulet trading hands between them, from his to hers. Spine bent, Odin took his leave.

The Captain narrowed her eyes at you, and, had you been in your body, present and aware in all senses, you were certain you would have taken a step back.

The captain loomed closer, the tug of so many unfamiliar hands on your wrists and elbows. She shouted again, but the world phased and her sound never reached your ears.

With a dimmer, Loki’s world had begun to flitter out of view.

Sensing this, he drew you close, desperate to have you hear his next words. His lips moved with fervour, words spilling out harried and muffled, incomprehensible. The outside world grew louder. More real. Loki tried to hold onto you, but you felt his hold on you slip away.

With a mind splitting headache, your body greeted your subconscious in the woken world. A wave of exhaustion washed over you as you were overpowered by the guards.

Loki, awakened, reached for you again as he shouted for the guards to desist. Some took a moment to consider, conflicted, but the captain silenced them with a look.

Loki struggled to keep his feet steady. The weeks suspended in the chamber had taken their toll on his body. It was spent. Just like his mind.

“I am Loki, Prince of Asgard, I command you to release her immediately!” he said, anger sparked within his eyes. He motioned to summon his magic, to use a spell to fend off the heavy men with heavy grips.

Softly, you shook your head. Speaking low enough for just his ears, “No! Loki… No more violence.”

“Hold her still,” the captain ordered. You were wrenched further back. Loki was still reaching for you, just a little out of reach, staggering with weak knees.

“I’ll make this right!” he swore. “I promise. I’ll make it right.”

With a grimace, the captain placed Bestla’s amulet close to your neck and it came alive, a will of its own as it twined uncomfortably around your neck.

“Wai—”You recoiled from the deadened aura of the amulet. Once it settled in place, you fought the urge to cough. The amulet’s distinct lack of presence overpowered you. It made you limp and you felt sparse. Lacking. No magic. No warmth. Eyelids as heavy as boulders. The strength to stand seeming impossible in the moment. It was worse than the leeching. At least that came with pain, with something.

“Take her below,” the captain said before turning her sights on Loki and ushering a few healers into the space. “The prince needs assistance. Hurry.”

Woozy, everything seemed far, far away. The drag of your feet away from the healing chamber came with less resistance. Loki shrunk in your peripheral, still staggering to close the gap.

#loki #loki imagine #loki x reader #loki odinson #loki mcu #loki x y/n #tom hiddelston imagine #marvel #himmeløyne #reader insert

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trensu · 4 years

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Episode 12: The One where Everyone Goes to Evil Summer School and Has a Bad Time

And we’re off to a bad start bc we’re at Evil Summer School and WC is monologuing like the world’s shittiest villain

His flunkies take everyone’s swords and wwx whispers “lan zhan” after watching lwj hand over his sword (LIKE, THE ONE THING HE HAS LEFT OF HIS HOME *SOBS*)

Lwj ignores him tho

And then keeps ignoring him

Be easy on him, folks, he’s overcoming some trauma

We get more useless wc monologuing

But we’ll ignore him and focus instead on how wwx keeps throwing worried little glances at lwj

(hey remember how last episode i told you all about lwj’s capture and subsequent injury even tho it wasn’t wangxian moment?? IT PAYS OFF IN THIS EPISODE WITH MULTIPLE WANGXIAN MOMENTS)

(also, just fyi at this point wwx still doesn’t know what all went down at the cloud recesses or that lwj is injured; i mean yeah, wc bragged to him about it but what, we’re gonna take him at his word? Heck no)

Wc assigns the class homework - Memorizing Wen Clan Rules

So we see wwx being all studious

He and jc are dragging the wen clan for their hypocrisy and then wwx has an Epiphany

Wwx: hey, the Wen clan is so petty, they wouldn’t have just settled for LWJ attending Evil Summer School; they would’ve taken way more hostages I mean disciples!! SOMETHING BAD MUST’VE HAPPENED

And he leaps up with every intention of tracking down LWJ but some wen flunkies are guarding the door so that ends up being a no-go

But wwx is not deterred! No sir, he is coming up with a plan to finally get LWJ’s attention

We’re back in class at Evil Summer School and wc is all i’m gonna pick ppl to recite the rules bc i’m a douchebag

And ofc he picks lwj, wwx, and jzx

Lwj: Can’t do it. Not today.

Jzx: Yeah, no, that’s Beneath me

Wwx: oh oh pick me!! I can do it!! *raises hand excitedly*

Omg wwx he already picked you, you don’t have to do that

Wc: okay, but if you get it wrong I will Punish you bc i’m an asshole that way

Cue wwx’s Classic Look of Disgust (guys, guys, i just love this expression on his face SO MUCH, i couldn’t even tell you why)

But that look quickly morphs into his Signature Mischievous Grin

Which he aims at lwj, so ofc it looks SUPER FLIRTY ahhhhh

Lwj continues to ignore him

AGAIN I ASK, how the HELL does he keep doing that??! If i had wwx smile like that at me, he’d have my FULL UNDIVIDED ATTENTION FOREVER

Okay, here’s where a good moment becomes a GREAT moment

Wwx goes up all cocky and starts THEATRICALLY doing STRETCHES even tho all he’s doing is RECITING LINES, OMG, WWX

Wc: GET ON WITH IT

Wwx: right, right, i got this. Okay, listen carefully~!

Wwx: *STARTS RECITING LAN CLAN RULES*

THAT’S MY BOY!!! LOOK AT MY BOY GO! HOLY SHIT, THE AUDACITY. WHAT A BI-CON, I LOVE IT!!

Now lwj FINALLY looks at him!!

And it only took 14min and wwx reciting his clan’s rules to FINALLY GET A REACTION

Wc: HOW DARE YOU RECITE LAN CLAN RULES IN QISHAN

Wwx: oh dear, oh gosh, how foolish of me! I am SO sorry i got them all mixed up!!

And then he literally pats himself on the back with a pleased little smirk

And that’s how jzx, lwj, and wwx end up in Evil Detention carrying manure to the vegetable fields

Lwj is just pouring the manure out of the buckets

Wwx: lan zhan, you want me to find you a scooper?

Lwj: *ignores him*

Jzx: *unwillingly bears witness to this and rolls his eyes*

(don’t even, jzx, you het disaster)

Wwx: hey lan zhan, how come your clan has a silencing spell but not a spell that blocks out gross smells?

Lwj: *picks up empty buckets and leaves, CONTINUING TO IGNORE WWX FOR SOME INEXPLICABLE REASON*

Here wwx just sloppily dumps out his buckets and chases after him

As they walk over to wherever they need to go to refill their buckets, wwx starts asking lwj Plot Questions and generally worrying about him

Which could’ve become a sweet moment

Except that wc shows up to ruin the moment with his, you know, general existence

So obviously wwx has to go and insult wc to his face, right? HE WAS TRYING TO HAVE QUALITY TIME WITH HIS SOULMATE, GODDAMNIT

Wc tries to whip wwx but wwx catches it like a BADASS and is all “don’t try me”

But then wc gets his flunkies to tie up wwx!! (i’m telling you guys, this clan really seems to have a thing for tying/chaining people up)

Lwj sees that his soulmate is defenseless and is like, can’t have that happening and goes to defend him!!

Ugghhh but that ASSHOLE WEN CHAO GOES AND HITS LWJ ON HIS INJURED LEG WHICH SENDS LWJ TUMBLING INTO THE GROUND

Wwx: HEY, leave him alone! I was the one insulting you!!

DO YOU SEE THAT GUYS?? THEY ALWAYS DEFEND EACH OTHER!!

And actually this starts up a general pattern for them: lwj always defends wwx physically and wwx always defends lwj verbally

IT’S SO BEAUTIFUL. THEY COVER EACH OTHER’S WEAK SPOTS WITHOUT EVEN REALIZING IT!!

(lwj isn’t all that good with words as you know, and wwx has this talent of making everyone around him want to punch him in the face, his beautiful beautiful face)

Wc goes to whip wwx again, but LWJ gets up on his feet in an instant (even with the leg wound!!) and catches the whip ONE-HANDED AND YANKS IT OUT OF WC’S GRASP

LIKE, DON’T FUCKING TOUCH MY SOULMATE YOU SLIMY BASTARD

Obvs he didn’t say that, but you can see it in his eyes that that’s exactly what he was thinking, word-for-word. Trust me on this.

The wen flunkies release wwx who drops to the ground and lwj immediately grabs him by the arm

He doesn’t try to lift him up and he’s not actually holding him up

So why the arm-grabbing?

I’LL TELL YOU WHY

BC HE WANTS TO BE NEAR WWX, THAT’S WHY

And let me remind you that this is the same lwj who’s all “i don’t touch people” back in episode 5: the One with Angry bb!LWJ

Yeah, that rule doesn’t apply to wwx anymore BC SOULMATES

Although in all fairness, who wouldn’t grab onto wwx given half a chance?

Okay now wc monologues some more

Wwx: wc, stop babbling

(omg wwx, stop baiting him)

Wc: TAKE HIM TO THE DUNGEON

Lwj: *BOLTS UPRIGHT ON HIS INJURED LEG AND BLOCKS THEIR WAY*

Srsly, injured leg!! And it doesn’t even slow him down when it comes to protecting wwx!! And he stretches out his arm so his pretty white sleeves mostly cover wwx from view

Wc: don’t worry, the dungeon’s big enough for two (wc you slimy bastard, you’re ruining everyone’s sex dungeon fantasies)

Wwx: *pushes away lwj’s arm* nah, just take me. The dungeon’s bound to be cooler than being out on these sunny fields anyway lol

And now we have this terrible moment where we see wwx be well and truly terrified for the first time in the show

He’s thrown into the dungeon WHILE CHAINED UP and there’s this HUGE MUTANT DOG MONSTER

Poor wwx visibly pales and breaks out into a cold sweat while wen chao mocks him (I HATE HIM SO MUCH)

Okay, i’d like to take a moment here to fully acknowledge that this dog monster thing is, like, really horrible effects-wise. We all know this. But we’re gonna pretend for sake of the Emotional Trauma it causes our darling wwx that it’s actually a big scary thing, okay?

Anyway

WEN NING TO THE RESCUE - knocks out the dog with strategically placed needles and provides wwx Medicine Pouch and Medicine Bottle

he’s like, i stole medicine for you bc we’re bffs and i’d die for you (which he does eventually lololol I’M SORRY THAT WAS AWFUL)

I’m sure you’re all hey trensu, this isn’t a wangxian moment you said this was a wangxian guide, what the heck

BUT IT IS A WANGXIAN MOMENT and also it sets us up for ANOTHER wangxian moment later on in the show!

It’s a wangxian moment now bc wen ning provides the info wwx has been trying to get this whole time, aka what the heck is up with lwj and the cloud recesses?

Wwx looks utterly DEVASTATED when wn tells him lwj’s home was burned

And when he tells wwx about the wens breaking lwj’s leg?

FUCKING FURIOUS

HE’S SO ANGRY THAT THEY HURT HIS LAN ZHAN

HE PUNCHES THE STONE FLOOR OF HIS CELL WITH AN ALREADY BLOODIED UP HAND

THAT’S HOW ANGRY HE IS

See? Totally a wangxian moment

Oh, and then we see him take like, only one (1) medicine piece from Medicine Bottle and then slips the it and the Medicine Pouch into his robes

Wwx: i’ll save this for lan zhan

I’LL SAVE THIS FOR LAN ZHAN, HE SAYS

HE’S INJURED AND CHAINED UP AND HE’S SAVING THE MAJORITY OF THE MEDICINE FOR LAN ZHAN

BC HE LOVES HIM

AHHHHHH

Okay now we’re back in class (and wtf, wwx has to attend class even after all that??)

Wwx is still looking all wrung-out and bloodied

We see lwj look at wwx all concerned!

Plot stuff happens

More plot stuff

Now we get set up for our last wangxian moment of the episode!!

Wen Flunkie: hey boss, there’s this monster in this mountain that probably someone should get rid off

Wc: oh cool, good thing i’ve got all these hostages i mean cannon fodder I MEAN visiting disciples with me. Let’s do it!

TIME FOR A FIELD TRIP (OF EVIL)!!!

Wen chao is on a horse with his girlfriend while everyone else is walking bc wc is the WORST PERSON

Then oh no, lwj is visibly limping as they go on!!

And wwx looks over and sees lwj limping

~THEIR SONG~ STARTS GENTLY PLAYING IN THE BACKGROUND AHH AHHHHH

IDK IF YOU GUYS NOTICED YET BUT THAT’S OUR CUE THAT SOME GOOD WANGXIANTICS IS COMING UP

Wwx does not hesitate even a minute to go help him!! BC THAT’S WHAT SOULMATES DO

But JC ofc holds him back (what the heck jc), and he’s all leave him alone, you’ve helped him enough already

And wwx is like, HE JUST LOST HIS HOME, JC!! AND HIS LEG IS BROKEN. WHAT IF HE LOSES HIS LEG??

JC: it’s not like he’ll let you close enough to carry him anyway!!

Wwx: well that’s his choice BUT I STILL GOTTA OFFER BC I LOVE HIM, HE NEEDS TO KNOW IT’S AN OPTION!!

JC: we can’t stick our noses in his business!

Wwx: well SOMEBODY has to help him!!

And he flounces off to go to lwj

Wwx: lan zhan, how’s your leg?

Lwj: it’s fine

He says, y’know, like a liar.

Wwx: hey, we’re friends, you can be honest with me!! Are you sure your leg is okay??

Lwj: it’s fine

GOD DAMN IT LWJ, HE’S TRYING TO HELP YOU

Wwx: don’t pretend it’s fine all the time!! I can carry you~!

OMG HE SAYS THIS WITH THE SWEETEST, MOST SINCERE SMILE, GUYS

HE WANTS TO HELP LWJ SO BAD

HE WANTS LWJ TO LET HIM CLOSE!!

BECAUSE HE LOVES HIM, AHHHHH

And with that sweet, sincere smile, the episode ends

On a high note!!

Lovely, lovely, it was lovely, i want to stare at that smile forever

Return to Masterpost

#WangXiantics #wangxian #the untamed

85 notes · View notes

roman-writing · 5 years

Text

the jaw of lost kingdoms

Fandom: Fire Emblem Three Houses

Pairing: Edelgard von Hresvelg / F!Byleth

Rating: M (mentions of past abuse)

Wordcount: 6,557

Summary: She thought of all the ways it could have gone wrong. How much she had lost. How much more she could have lost. Not just kingdoms. Worse than nations. What she clung to -- a dog worrying a bone, lock-jawed and drowning -- but what still slipped away.

SPOILERS for the Crimson Flower route

Read it here on AO3 or read it below the cut

"I have the face of a young executioner.

I am the last temple,

the communal dressing room

where girls wear nothing underneath,

where you find yourself on your knees

offering up

both throat and key."

— Rosebud Ben-Oni, I Am Your First World Problem

Edelgard had been sitting upon the Imperial throne all day, and her lower back ached. The pain was not helped by her outfit, severe and too-tight, bedecked with curling horns in place of a crown, and crimson-lacquered armoured plates in place of silk. It had been designed to inspire fear, not comfort. Indeed, when the designer had fitted her for the first time, he had tried convincing her to leave herself space to breathe. Edelgard in turn had glared coolly at him, and ordered him to tighten the corset another centimeter. His face had paled. He had ducked his head with a mumbled apology. He did not mention human comforts again.

On a good day, this outfit wavered on the bleeding edge of what she could handle. On a day like today, Edelgard folded herself into it as if folding herself into the brazen bull. She counted down the seconds until she could be alone and shed these layers like a snake.

It took every measure of self-control to not hasten her stride. She could not afford another slip now. She had already forgotten to eat that morning, and had been scolded by Hubert for her transgression, grave as it was.

Her footsteps clacked and echoed down the great halls of the Imperial palace. Hubert stalked at her side, always one step behind her, like a shadow that lengthened in her wake as the sun fell. Even stooped to murmur in her ear, he towered over her shoulder, blade-thin, gaunt, and hawkish. And if she had felt vaguely light-headed before, it was nothing compared to what she felt at his next words in his report.

“The newly appointed ambassador to Brigid arrived earlier this afternoon. And your uncle has delivered you a gift to your personal quarters.”

Edelgard could not help herself; her stride faltered. “What?”

Immediately, Hubert stopped. “Do not worry, Your Majesty. I have scoured it for any sign of tampering or traps, be they magical or otherwise. I confess, I was a little disappointed to find nothing at all wrong with it.”

A small furrow wrinkled her brow, and Edelgard resumed her walk towards her personal quarters. “What is it?”

“A piece of furniture. And a rather gaudy one at that. I would have sent it to the kindling piles, but we can’t rightly refuse it. Not yet. Not without rousing his suspicions.”

“Hmm,” she said.

The late setting sun slanted through the arched colonnade, filtering through the stained-glass windows and painting her in stripes of bold colour. The summer heat prickled against her skin even at this late hour. She could feel the sweat gathered between the wings of her shoulder blades, at the backs of her knees, the crook of her elbows, and the nape of her neck. She had to resist the urge to shrug against her outfit. She endured the heat as she always did, with vigilant silence.

Hubert’s report was, as always, timed to perfection so that it finished just as they arrived at the entrance to Edelgard’s personal quarters. He left her there, not daring to come inside, as courtesy demanded. And he was unfailingly courteous, even when she wished he would not be. She dismissed him with a nod. Servants opened and closed the doors for her. Inside, a half-legion of ladies-in-waiting dropped into deep curtsies upon being in her presence.

Edelgard spared them not a glance. Her gaze already roved around the chamber for anything out of place, but there were no new pieces of furniture that she could see. Perhaps it had yet to be delivered. Perhaps it resided through one of the doors and into the vast complex beyond; this was only the receiving chamber, after all. In times of convalescence or emergencies, she could conduct matters of state from this very room without alerting any scandal. Her rule had not come to that. Yet.

The most senior lady-in-waiting straightened, and began leading Edelgard through the rooms without needing any instruction. Stiffly, Edelgard followed. Being in her personal quarters at the palace did nothing to relax her. If anything, it achieved the opposite effect. She stood too straight, too poised, hands clasped and chin high, as though posing for an official portrait or a new profile for coinage.

One of the sitting rooms had a balcony overlooking the capital, its walls wrought entirely of windows that flooded the space with light and air. She was not led to that room. She delved far from it, trailed by a host of ladies-in-waiting past numerous parlours and studies, past the personal armoury and bedchamber -- the latter spread with a massive four poster bed -- and into the ablutions chamber.

The room was barrel-vaulted and sheathed entirely in gleaming stone. Here, no sunlight could reach. To compensate, numerous candles had been lit, their flames wavering over pools of pale, melted wax. The air was cooler here, but not by much. The bath had already been drawn. Water steamed within the great claw-footed marble basin. A rune at its base glowed a dull coal-red, maintaining the water’s temperature for as long as she required.

Edelgard halted in the centre of the chamber, a streak of scarlet against a backdrop of immaculate white. It quickly became apparent what gift her uncle had presumed to give her. In a room made all of stone, a wooden vanity had been placed along one wall. It was a gilded monstrosity, its panels hand-carved and darkly stained. It would have taken seven strong men to lift, and even then they would have struggled to bear it to and fro.

Worst of all was the mirror perched atop it. Silver-backed and enormous, there was no hiding from it in this room. Her lips pursed. She could see her reflection narrow its eyes fractionally, could see the coldness wash over her face and settle into her skin like a mask until she looked like she had been carved from polished marble -- a statue brought to life and draped in cloth to appear human, always striving, never achieving.

She quickly looked away. "Get rid of it."

"But -?"

Edelgard did not repeat herself. She did not have to.

A number of ladies-in-waiting were attempting to lift the vanity, but it refused to budge. Gold-gilded wooden legs squealed a centimeter across the stone floor. Her teeth clenched. She could feel the muscles strain until her jaw ached.

He had done this on purpose. He knew she hated -

“Stop,” she ordered, and the ladies-in-waiting froze, waiting for her command. “Just cover it. I will have it moved later.”

There followed a collective sigh of relief, then silence. Nobody dared speak without her permission. The senior lady-in-waiting conducted the others in absolute silence. A pale sheet was draped over the vanity, but it was large enough that the legs were still clearly visible.

Edelgard faced away from the vanity. The doors to the chamber shut, and ladies-in-waiting began the ritual of disrobing their Emperor. Edelgard remained standing throughout the entire affair, though she cast a sidelong glance towards the stone seat beside the folding screen. It was almost amusing: after a whole day upon an uncomfortable throne, and all she wanted to do was sit back down.

It began with her cloak. No less than three ladies-in-waiting were required to unclasp and lift the heavy mantle from her shoulders. Carefully they folded it away as though handling the imperial flag, while two others unbuttoned her outer coat to reveal the kirtle and yet more layers beneath. The most senior lady-in-waiting stood behind her upon a stepping stool to unweave the complex ramshorns hairstyle. Even while Edelgard was wearing her heeled boots, the lady-in-waiting probably did not need the stool. Edelgard was short enough to make such things unnecessary.

Even as a student back at Garreg Mach Monastery, Edelgard had used her station to secure herself private ablutions and rooms. Before she had been the head of her respective House, some of the other students found this preferential treatment at best odd or at worst grossly unjust. Rumours circulated. She did nothing to stop them. They suited her. And besides, they soon faded. Few could remember such frivolities now.

There was a moment in the ritual when they all knew the stop, to leave her alone and still mostly clothed. She would do the rest without them. It was not customary. Custom demanded they strip her bare and scatter her with rose petals while she soaked in the water and their ministrations.

Hang custom.

It was not that she did not trust them. All of her personal staff had been hand-picked and vetted by Hubert himself. There could be no doubt as to their loyalties. It was only that she did not trust them with this.

One of the ladies-in-waiting however, the newest and youngest of the lot, did not know this crucial step of the ritual. Either she had not been informed, or she had simply forgotten. It mattered not. She reached for her Emperor’s gloved hand. The moment Edelgard registered the touch upon her fingers, she snatched her hand away and jerked a half step backwards, nearly knocking the senior lady-in-waiting from her perch.

Everyone in the room went still. The transgressor’s face was downturned, flushed and bright with a mixture of mortification and visceral fear at having erred so wildly.

Edelgard’s eyes were cold enough to burn. When she spoke, the room’s occupants shivered. “Leave me.”

A flurry of quiet activity. They moved to carry some of her clothes and most of her armour away, but she glared so fiercely that they ducked their heads in bows and scurried away with empty hands. The door shut behind them, and still Edelgard found it difficult to breathe. She blamed the corset.

All that remained of her outer layers were a single pauldron and the modified farthingale. She hated herself a little for the way her gloved fingers trembled at the straps holding the red-lacquered plate into position.

It had been years. She should be over this by now.

The armour dropped to the floor with the clang of stone against metal. She kicked the hoops of her farthingale aside. Only one half of her hair had been successfully undone, a curtain of tangled white over one shoulder from where it had been tied in a braid not moments previously. Edelgard yanked out the pins and decorative horn from the other side, hard enough to hurt. The dull pain grounded her. She tossed each ornament and stay to the ground as well. The horns gleamed in the low candle-light like monstrous golden teeth.

She was loosening the whale-bone corset when there came a tentative knock at the door.

With a small grunt, Edelgard tore the damned corset free and dropped it alongside the other garments. She put as much steel into her voice as possible. “I do not require further assistance, Bess.”

The voice that answered did not belong to her senior lady-in-waiting, but it was familiar all the same. “I’m afraid it’s not Bess.”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. It took her so long to work up a response, that Byleth’s muffled words came through the door again. “Of course, if you still want me to leave, that’s fine, too.”

Before she could properly think through the implications of what she was doing, Edelgard had crossed the room and pulled open the door.

Byleth blinked down at her, and something almost like surprise crossed her features. It was difficult to tell with her. “Oh. I thought you’d be -”

“You thought I would be…what?”

Byleth shook her head. “Nothing.”

A tense silence fell. For all that she had rushed to open the door, now Edelgard stood at the threshold, unsure of what to do.

As if she could read her mind, Byleth said, “Should I come back later?”

Edelgard opened her mouth, paused, then shook her head. “No. You might as well come in.”

She only widened the door enough for Byleth to slip inside before shutting it once more. She did not lock it. There were no locks on any of the doors in her personal quarters; she forbade them. It was utterly irrational, the lingering fear. Even if it was to lock the monsters out, it felt too much like locking them in.

There was little chance of being disturbed, unless an emergency arose. Her ladies-in-waiting knew better. Not even the newest addition to her staff would presume to intrude. Especially not after what had transpired here today.

Byleth had not ventured far into the bathroom. She stopped by the stone seat strewn with ivory velvet and cloth of gold. The imperial double-headed eagle had been carved into the seat’s low curule-like back, so that it appeared almost to be a throne, a miniature of the one Edelgard occupied in the grand throne room three stories below them. Edelgard had never sat in this one. She far preferred the cushioned seats in one of her sunlit studies.

“Long day?”

Byleth had always been difficult to read, and that had not changed much. One of her hands was resting on the back of the chair, but she was looking down at the mess of armour and clothing on the floor.

Edelgard sighed. “No longer than usual.”

That awkward silence again. It itched at her like a blanket made of rough-spun, lousy wool.

It wasn’t that they had never been alone together before. They had. Edelgard could feel the ring Byleth had given to her not more than a week ago, strung from a chain around her neck beneath the remaining two layers she wore. The circle of metal warmed against her sternum. Much as she would have liked to wear it upon her finger, it would not fit beneath her gloves. And she could not risk certain parties knowing that she had a heart, or that it belonged so wholly to a single person.

Her uncle and those that slithered in the dark had much to answer for. She had never relished bloodshed, but a thrill shot up her spine at the thought of wielding the executioner’s axe while her uncle bowed his head over the block.

One day. Hopefully sooner rather than later. But not yet.

“Is everything alright?”

The question jerked Edelgard from her darkly-inclined reverie. Byleth was studying her with that piercing gaze, as though she were picking Edelgard apart into pieces that could be reassembled later.

Edelgard shook her head. “I’m -” she searched for the right word, “- impatient. That’s all.”

“I find that hard to believe. You are one of the most patient people I know.”

At that, Edelgard huffed out a bitter laugh. “If only you knew.”

Byleth’s eyes softened almost imperceptibly. It was so small a thing that Edelgard nearly missed it. Not long ago, even that much expression would have been all but impossible for Byleth to achieve. “You can tell me, if you’d like.”

For some reason that made her chest ache. Edelgard had to look away to compose herself. “Maybe -” she cleared her throat. “Maybe some other time.”

“As you like.”

Byleth never pushed, always waited. The irony did not escape her -- that Byleth would say such things when she herself was the most patient person Edelgard knew.

Byleth tilted her head towards the deep marble basin full of water. “In any case, I shouldn’t keep you from your bath. Would you prefer I sit here? What’s under this thing, anyway?”

“I - Please don’t touch that.”

Byleth’s hand fell without question from where it had been lifting up the sheet that covered the vanity. “Alright.” She cocked her head to one side, curious and waiting.

Edelgard had never been good at asking for things. She was accustomed to delivering orders, or otherwise manipulating her opponents to bend to her will. Fighting a war was easier than begging for scraps of affection from a woman she had pined after for years.

Her cheeks burned. Romance had never consumed her thoughts in the past. Not like this. Now, all it took were a few fumbling covert kisses in the last week to turn her into an indecisive wreck. Kissing Byleth in a shadow-clung corner of the palace was a far cry from asking her to do -- whatever this was. She did not rightly know herself, which only infuriated her all the more.

Slowly, as if Edelgard might bolt at any moment, Byleth crossed the room to stand before her. She placed her hands on Edelgard’s stiff shoulders, a warm, gentle weight. Edelgard stood perfectly still, not daring to breathe, not daring to blink out of some irrational fear that it might shatter whatever illusion this must have been.

“Your ladies-in-waiting aren’t here.” Byleth trailed her hands down Edelgard’s arms. “Would you like me to help instead?”

The very thought made Edelgard’s mouth go dry. She had to swallow in order to speak. She almost made the mistake of explaining that her ladies-in-waiting never helped beyond this point, but cut herself off before doing so. “I would. Yes.”

Wordlessly, Byleth’s fingers curled around one of Edelgard’s wrists. Edelgard did not even realise she had clenched her hand into a trembling fist until Byleth lifted it, pressing a kiss against the back of her knuckles. The warmth of her mouth transferred through the layer of white silk.

She had lost a glove once at the Monastery, and spent nearly an hour anxiously clenching her hand into a fist and tugging down the sleeve of her uniform until Hubert noticed the problem. He had promptly stripped off one of his own gloves and offered it to her with a courtly bow. She had not hesitated to put it on, and as she had pulled it over her wrist, shame and relief had washed over her in equal measure. The rest of the day was spent worrying if anyone noticed the discrepancy in her glove sizes, after which she rushed to the market at the first opportunity to purchase a new pair for herself. She had been delighted beyond measure when Byleth found the lost item weeks later, and returned it to her.

Now, Byleth turned her hand over and gently unfurled each of Edelgard’s trembling fingers. When she began to slowly tug the glove free, Edelgard could feel herself tense, every muscle going taut. It took an unspeakable effort to not snatch her hand away, to not shrink back, arms cradled to her chest, and beg Byleth to leave.

The white silk fell away to reveal skin just as pale, and at the centre of her palm a puckered, circular scar as though something had been driven through her hand. Edelgard could not stop the shaking. She waited for some sort of reaction, some noise or comment, but Byleth gave away nothing. Long cool fingers stroked along the lines of Edelgard’s palm, moving up to push aside the fabric of her long sleeve and reveal the uneven bands of scar tissue around her wrist, orne from years of chafing against the manacles that had bound her underground.

Byleth dropped the glove to the floor. The other soon followed. Edelgard’s sleeves were billows of snowy cotton without the constraints of her armour, and Byleth unbuttoned them until they could be folded neatly back up to the elbow. The scars that extended all up Edelgard’s forearms were too uniform, too precise to be anything but deliberate. Byleth’s fingertips ghosted along the patterns of ropey scar tissue. She stopped when Edelgard flinched from the touch at the sensitive crook of her elbow.

“Is this alright?” Byleth murmured.

Edelgard had to swallow down the lump in her throat, and still her words held a rasping burr. “Yes. I’m just - I’m not used to being touched.”

Or seen. She spent most of her life clad in irons or in steel. The only skin she showed to the world was her face and the unblemished top of her spine.

Byleth’s hands fell, and for a brief panicked moment Edelgard feared she may have given the impression she neither liked nor wanted this. Her mouth dropped open to speak, but words failed her when Byleth sank to her knees and placed a hand to the back of Edelgard’s leather-clad calf.

“May I?”

Edelgard did not trust herself to form words. Her only answer was to lift her heel from the ground, and allow Byleth to slowly work the knee-high kidskin boot from her leg, like peeling the rind of a fruit. Edelgard lost a bit of height with one boot gone. She sucked in a sharp inhalation when Byleth’s thumb stroked gently against the damp cotton stocking at the hollow of her ankle.

Byleth did not rush through anything. It seemed to take an age for the second boot to slip free. The only thing Edelgard could hear was her own uneven breathing. One of the flames on the opposite wall sputtered upon the wick, and Byleth reached beneath the hem of Edelgard’s frock for the clasp that held the stocking against her upper thigh.

Edelgard temporarily forgot how to breathe, and she did not even have the excuse of the corset anymore.

When undressing herself after her ladies-in-waiting had departed, Edelgard never gave any thought to ceremony. Undressing and bathing were and always had been exercises in shame. She would race to cover herself up once more, barely drying herself off before yanking a clean frock on, the dry cotton clinging to her still wet silhouette.

Byleth’s hands, roughened with callouses, brushed against the naked skin of her inner thigh, and Edelgard had to steady herself by gripping Byleth’s shoulder, tight. Of all the acts Edelgard had heard about or read about occurring between two people, this felt by far the most intimate. Byleth on her knees, revealing Edelgard piece by excruciating piece. By the time Byleth had dragged the stockings down her legs, Edelgard was clutching her shoulders like a lifeline, biting her lower lip, and praying for buoyancy in a sea of drowning heat.

The scars stretched all along the column of Edelgard’s legs, terminating with the same circular scars at the tops of her feet as were in the palm of her hands, as though she had been affixed to a wooden structure by iron nails. Edelgard had screwed her eyes shut, trying to imagine she was not trapped in a room that felt too far underground to be located four stories in the air.

Byleth’s shoulders gave way beneath her grip, and suddenly Edelgard had nothing to hold onto. There was a soft touch at the top of her foot. A hiss escaped her, and her eyes snapped open to find Byleth bowed and pressing a kiss to her ankle, where a pink line was scored into her skin. Byleth’s mouth followed the scar up, up, all along her calf and to the curve of her knee, until Edelgard had to clench her teeth to keep a whimper from escaping.

Her frock was still partially laced shut, but it had slipped down one shoulder to reveal a network of scars. They intersected at the base of her sternum, branching out from her heart like the boughs of a tree, apple-red, or perhaps like a nest of serpents curling ‘round.

Byleth paused to speak, and her words tickled against the skin of Edelgard’s thigh. “You’re so beautiful.”

“Praise isn’t really necessary,” Edelgard gasped.

“Would you like me to stop?”

“No.”

Byleth hummed a wordless note. For a moment she said nothing. Her fingers stroked along the webbing of scar tissue as if in admiration.

“I’m so glad,” Byleth whispered, her words slightly muffled against Edelgard’s leg. “I’m so glad you let me in.”

She was not speaking of this room alone. Edelgard’s fingers curled in her lash-dark hair. Byleth worked the frock over Edelgard’s hips, and pinned the fabric at her waist with her hands. The heat was suffocating. It must have been the marble tub still filling the air with drifts of steam, like eddies of water until the entire chamber seemed submerged. Edelgard could feel the flush darkening her skin, mottling her cheeks and neck a rosy hue.

Byleth kissed the notch in her hip, and Edelgard tightened her grip. One of Byleth’s hands trailed down to nudge aside one of Edelgard’s legs, a gentle encouragement to widen her stance. The frock draped across the backs of her knees. Edelgard felt a sense of unreality as she bent one knee to lift her foot just slightly off the floor.

It was difficult to remain still, when Byleth’s head moved between her legs. Her hands were fists against the back of Byleth’s head, holding her in place. The rest of the room might as well have not existed; it faded into a vast expanse of white marble and white noise. Edelgard hardly registered the echo of her own harsh panting. Byleth’s mouth was a constant heat, warm tongue moving ceaselessly against her. Edelgard squeezed her eyes shut so she would not have to see her own scarred legs bracketing Byleth’s black-clad shoulders.

She could not stop the jerk of her hips with every slow swipe of Byleth’s tongue, accompanied by a sharp gasp encloistered behind clenched teeth. They were enshrined in a golden-tinged mist that rolled about their ankles from a bath filled with holy water to anoint the last Emperor of Adrestia. Edelgard had never been one for prayer -- not for many years now -- but the sounds that escaped her could only be described as wordless pleas, until she came with a stifled cry.

When Edelgard’s thighs began to tremble, and she was half bowed and shaking, Byleth pulled away. Edelgard nearly staggered upon unsteady legs, but caught herself against Byleth’s shoulders. Byleth remained kneeling on the floor. It could not have been comfortable. The stone must have been cutting into her knees.

“Wh-What -?” Edelgard rasped. “What brought this on?”

Byleth hummed against Edelgard’s inner thigh. “Do I need a reason to want you?”

Swallowing thickly, Edelgard opened her eyes. Byleth’s cheeks were flushed, her mouth slick. A curl of dark hair was plastered to the side of her neck. For all that, her gaze was steady, focused.

Edelgard frowned. “You are awfully cool about this.”

“You’re wrong.” Byleth teased the skin of Edelgard’s thigh between her teeth. “I’m so nervous.”

Edelgard’s breath caught in her chest. “You could have fooled me.”

“Could I?” One of Byleth’s hands still cradled the back of Edelgard’s knee. Edelgard twitched when she traced a senseless pattern there with her fingertips. “I thought you might prefer me like this, based on your reactions this last week.”

“What do you -?”

Edelgard did not finish that sentence. She had hoped Byleth would not notice how she had shied away anytime she tried removing her gauntlets and gloves. How convenient it was that they never had a moment of time to spend along together. How Edelgard always had some important duty she had to attend to without delay when their kisses had grown too heady.

“Was I wrong?”

It took Edelgard a moment to reply. “No. But is this what you want?”

The corner of Byleth’s lips twitched in a small smile. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

Edelgard gave a fistful of Byleth’s hair an admonishing little tug. “So flippant for one on their knees.”

That earned a soft laugh against her hip. Byleth grinned into her stomach, then rose to her feet. "Shall I bathe you as well?"

A thrill of fear shot down Edelgard's spine. "No," she said too quickly and too harshly. Angling her body away, she smoothed the frock about her knees once more, and added, "What I mean to say is: I would prefer you join me, instead."

Byleth’s expression softened. “I’d like that.”

The moment Byleth reached for the stays of her own outfit, Edelgard averted her gaze. Watching her undress felt too sacred to witness. She fumbled with the last laces of her frock before pulling it over her head. The ring she left hanging around her neck on its chain. She never took it off, even while sleeping. She did not look around while Byleth continued to disrobe -- bits of armour and cloth falling to the floor in heaps of black silk, black gorget, black breastplate. Instead, Edelgard hoisted herself into the bath using the stepping stool left behind by her senior lady-in-waiting.

The water lingered on the border of too hot. She slipped beneath the surface regardless, ignoring the way her skin prickled and reddened. Her pale hair darkened to an aged ivory in the water, and she hastily doused her head. As she rose back to the surface, Edelgard wiped the water from her face, raking a hand through her hair just as Byleth was using the stepping stool to join her.

The basin was enormous. It would easily accommodate three or four people. Normally, Edelgard huddled in one corner as though it had been partitioned off like the chamber of a heart, or perhaps like a cell, inviolable. On the other hand, Byleth sprawled, her arms propped against the sides of the marble walls, and her legs extended so that they encroached upon Edelgard’s usual empty space. Slowly, Edelgard allowed her own legs to stretch out. While there was enough space they could have not touched at all, Byleth purposefully tangled their legs together and ran her foot along the back of Edelgard’s naked calf.

The water was murky with suds and fragrant oils. A few flower petals drifted between them, gathering at the edges of the basin. Byleth rubbed one white rose petal between thumb and forefinger. “I’ve never had a bath quite as nice as this before.”

“Mmm,” was Edelgard’s non-committal reply. Her mouth thinned. She had told Bess that she wanted no fanfare whatsoever where her baths were concerned. Scented oils were one thing, but flower petals were beyond the pale.

Byleth was watching her curiously. She was mostly obscured by refractions in the water, but Edelgard’s gaze drifted down nonetheless. Edelgard would never understand how someone could be so confident in nothing but their own skin.

“I feel I owe you an apology.”

Byleth cocked her head. “What for?”

“Being so -” Edelgard flicked a rose petal away from herself, her nose wrinkled. “- unavailable.”

“You don’t need to apologise for that. I know you’re busy.”

“Yes, but I want to make time for you. For us.”

There was something vaguely guilty in the way Byleth toyed with a lock of her own water-darkened hair. “I may have asked Hubert about your schedule in order to find out when would be the best time to -”

Edelgard’s eyes widened. “You -? You mean you told him that this was what you were going to -?”

“What? No!” Byleth sat up straighter in the bath, sending ripples throughout the water. “I just wanted to know when you might be free without bothering you.”

With a sigh, Edelgard tipped her head back so that her neck rested against the lip of the basin. “I am sure he has already put two and two together. It’s not like I have been particularly circumspect about us. Not as much as I should have, anyway.”

Byleth’s eyes were dark and intense. “I trust that he would never let anyone do anything that was against your best interests. Not even me.”

“Some people might say that sort of presence in one’s life is stifling and unhealthy.” And though Edelgard drawled, her mouth was quirked in a fond smile.

“If Hubert thought his presence was detrimental to your health, he would fling himself off the highest tower in the capital.”

Edelgard made a face. “I really should talk to him about that.”

Byleth grinned. “Face it, El: he’s a lost cause.”

The use of her family pet name still sent a flood of warmth rushing through her that had nothing to do with the heat of the bath. Edelgard could feel her shoulders relax incrementally. “You’re probably right.”

The silence that settled over them lacked the stiffness that had been present before. Edelgard looked on indulgently while Byleth gathered as many rose petals as she could. She even sent a few drifting along in Byleth’s direction with a flutter of her fingers against the surface of the water.

Not once did Byleth mention the scars. She had her own, after all, though none as extensive or deliberately placed as Edelgard’s. Hers were little nicks and cuts from years of mercenary work in the field, where access to the healing arts were far less easy to come by than they were in monasteries or palaces. Indeed, Byleth never once mentioned any aspect of Edelgard’s odd behaviour.

It could not have been a lack of interest. Edelgard could see those dark eyes following the complex patterns of scar tissue. She could remember the way Byleth had lavished physical attention upon them not moments ago; the phantom touch of her mouth made Edelgard shiver at the mere memory.

She wanted to know the story behind every sword, ever arrow or dagger that had marked Byleth’s skin. The desire for that intimacy of knowledge washed over her like the tide. It was suddenly, urgently important that Byleth know something about her that others did not -- not even Hubert -- and the words spilled from her like a confessional.

“When I was in captivity,” Edelgard grimaced even as she said it; she hated nothing so much as being akin to a songbird behind bars, “there were very few avenues of resistance I could employ. I tried them all. Refusing to sit still during procedures. Refusing to perform tasks. Refusing to eat. Refusing to bathe. They made me, of course. Eventually.”

Force-feeding was a less than pleasant experience; Edelgard did not try that for long. The last of the list had persisted for weeks, however. At least, until her uncle finally ordered her to be bathed by guardsmen. They stripped her and dunked her in freezing water, their hands rough, pushing her head beneath the surface until she thrashed and came up gasping, half-drowned and shivering. After that incident, she was treated to sumptuous bath experiences by ladies-in-waiting -- their tongues all cut out, so they could not speak to her or of her -- as though her uncle were trying to train a dog with the lash and sweets both.

Edelgard was studying the ripples her hand made across the surface of the water. She did not have the courage to look up when Byleth asked, “And did they...do anything else?”

At that, Edelgard snorted with wry laughter. “Nothing like what you’re thinking, no. I was too valuable a prize to be ‘sullied’ so to speak. Especially when they planned to stud me like a virginal mare. I imagine they still entertain such schemes."

Truth be told, one of the guards had dared to peek over his shoulder once while she disrobed. Her uncle had slit his throat. The blood had trickled across the stone floor until it lapped against her feet like the tide against the shore. She had tread bloody footsteps all the way to the bath. The water had lathered, pink and foamy, around her until she could not tell if it was the heat that dyed her skin a blushed coral, or something else.

She dared to glance up now, and an awful chill washed over her. “Please don’t look at me like that.”

Byleth averted her eyes, choosing instead to scatter the petals she had gathered together like a white cloud. They skimmed across the water in every direction. “I really am looking forward to killing them once and for all.”

Edelgard managed a grim smile. “That makes two of us.”

Shaking her head, Byleth dipped her head beneath the water and began to lather her hair clean with a bar of flawless, ivory soap upon a silvered dish that Edelgard knew from experience smelled of cloves and fresh rainfall. She waited patiently for Byleth to finish, at which point Byleth scooted the soap along the floor of the basin towards her.

Edelgard cleaned herself as she always did: with brisk and thorough efficacy. Suds clung to the raised ridges of her scars with every pass of the soap, bringing them into sharper relief against her pale skin. By the time she was finished however, Byleth had tilted her head back, her throat and chest bared. Edelgard was loath to hurry her; not when Byleth looked so at peace.

She thought of all the ways it could have gone wrong. How much she had lost. How much more she could have lost. Not just kingdoms. Worse than nations. What she clung to -- a dog worrying a bone, lock-jawed and drowning -- but what still slipped away.

But for now, in this moment, at least she had this. The past she arrayed like a fan of knives, placing each memory with the blade pointed away as if in the hope they would not cut, and all the while her hands bled.

“Look at my hands,” Byleth had lifted her arms to inspect her hands above the water. “I look like I’ve been pickled in brine.”

In surprise, Edelgard glanced down at her own hands to find that her fingertips had gone pink and wrinkled from exposure to the water. She could not remember that happening since -- well, since before she had been forced to undertake the Crest procedures. She always took baths quickly, never lingering longer than absolutely necessary.

“We should probably get out,” Byleth said even as she closed her eyes and sank down a little further, so that the water reached her neck. The motion meant their legs were entangled more fully together. Edelgard could feel a naked ankle rub against her outer hip.

It was distracting enough to make Edelgard’s breath hitch. She let her hand wander down to stroke lightly against Byleth’s knee, watching for any reaction this might illicit. Byleth opened one eye, and flexed her leg beneath Edelgard’s touch.

For now, those who lingered in the shadows could wait. She had far better prospects in her immediate future.

Edelgard patted Byleth’s knee, then rose, dripping, to her feet. “Come along, then. Let us repair to another room.”

“Any room in particular?” Byleth asked, standing to follow.

Fluffy white towels were neatly folded into cubby holes inset along one wall. Edelgard crossed over to grab a few, one of which she tossed in Byleth’s direction. “I know of at least one that has a rather spectacular bed, if I do say so myself. And I know that of the two of us, only one has been properly taken care of this evening, which is -- quite frankly -- grossly unjust.”

“How very charitable of Your Majesty.”

Towel wrapped around herself, Edelgard strode over to Byleth. She had to rise up on her toes to kiss her, but by the time they parted, Byleth’s spine had bowed to accommodate her. Edelgard teased her thumb against Byleth’s lower lip, and murmured, "Let it not be said that I am not a generous Emperor."

NOTES:

I am aware that with my mention of farthingales and all that, Edelgard wouldn’t have been wearing a corset but a precursor called “stays.” I elected to stick with “corset” under the basis that I wanted my audience to know what the heck I was talking about.

#edelgard #byleth #edelgard/byleth #fe3h #fire emblem #roman writes

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notmyrick · 4 years

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General Arc 7

/She had a Rick once/ She remembered, she used to love sweets. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane./ She remembered her life in Washington, in Michigan. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane. Then she had a Beth. / She remembered the fights, the tears, the chaos. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane. Now she only had a Beth. / She remembered her lowest point in life, how her sun can in the form of a small little girl. /She had a Rick once, but she also had a Diane. Then a Beth. / She remembered a house filled with only women at one point. /She had a Rick once/ She remembered her life before she pushed papers for the council. A life before she became the most trusted advocate for the Citadel of Ricks, before she used her business expertise to grow this space hub into the most glorious city on the central finite curve. She also remembered how she was experimented on for her "unique" effects on Ricks. /She had a Rick once/ And she'd be damned if she didn't get her Rick back. /She had a Rick once/ After 10+ years, both Rick and Roxxanne dropped back into the lives of Beth. She was undoubtedly pissed, but after a few months, and a lot of yelling, Roxy was able to explain what happened, to Beth. With this Roxx and Rick was introduced to the newest edition to the family, they might've been 14 years too late, but the boy finally got to meet his grandparents. The first thing Rick did with his grandson was go on an adventure. By the time both came back for dinner, Rick was yelling "Rick and Morty forever, 100 years!" Roxy smiled, age lines starting to grow in. Rick and Roxx finally looked like grandparents. /She had a Rick once/ Rick roped Morty in his antigovernment sentiments and most of their adventures started to target either the Federation or the council of Ricks. While her husband and grandson went off adventuring, she had a mission of her own as well. She started to target every Rick that has done her or her husband wrong during their time in captivity on the Citadel. With her unauthorized portal gun and a husband who could make portal fluid with a snap of his fingers she was able to maintain this lifestyle for a while. She didn’t know why it took her forever to learn that her actions create consequences. But by the time she learnt her lesson, it was already too late. /She had a Rick once/ And her Rick bled on the asphalt of the street. The red liquid painted the ground with majority on black pavement instead of his body. She walked into the Beth's home, where all their, now only her, memories were kept. The destruction in the living room, the kitchen, the garage, everywhere. Her lips trembled, truly scared of what she'll witness, but she must. If not for her, at least for them. For her Jerry, for her Beth. For her Summer and her Morty. But most of all for her Rick. "Surveillance, playback security cams. Reenact crime scene." She ended up puking for an entire day after watching. /She had a Rick once/ "Blow up dimension SW-33T. Record destruction and blame on terrorist Ricks C-550, 301B, C-132, and C-137. Follow same procedure for dimensions A-17, Zeta 02, and alpha 9 and all their sub-universes. Send "evidence" to the Citadel." "Action confirmed, now commencing destruction on 12 multiverses." The AI replied. Roxxanne did it, she got all her revenge to the people who did her wrong, but she never felt so empty. She caressed the portal gun her Rick made her. She modified so she can go unseen, by even the council of Ricks. She was able to create her own Portal fluid since the passing of her husband. She felt empty, and now wanted to fill the void. /She had a Rick once/ She did drugs, alcohol, and sex, but they were so temporary. Why couldn't something more fill the void, why couldn't be happy? Then she found her vice.

/She had a Rick once/ She turned her body toward the man she was sharing a bed with. Her vivacious red hair turned strawberry blonde. Her body, although impressive for her age, was still saggy in some places. She turned away from the ebony skinned man and got herself dressed. It was time for the act to begin. She grabbed the expensive but very valuable cigars he gifted her last night and left. She came back with a drugged-out woman with similar hair color as herself and draped her across the man. She checked their pluses and vital signs to ensure they were alive but knocked out. Finally, she gave a call. --- Roxxanne with makeup, a tank top, and tight jeans ran into the motel room and covered her mouth. She looked at her "friend" then at the two dead bodies on the bed. She ran back out, stuck a finger down her throat with her hands still covering her face and puked over the railing. Her "friend" came out and held her hair. Roxxanne started to pinch her skin, willing tears to come out. "I told you where he was at so you could work things out, not kill him!" "Roe! He was cheating on me! With a sex offender! That woman is a known sex offender in at least 2 states!" "What if you husband was the victim!" "Oh don't give him too much credit. Once I could believe, twice I'll pity, but for months! There is no way!" Her "friend" tried to bring Roxxanne inside, for a more private discussion, but she could already see the neighbors calling in the cops as the look out their window. "I’m going to jail. I should've never told you where he was! I can't go to jail, what am I going to do with my granddaughter!" Roxxanne broke down crying in public, she edged her peripherals to see some of the callers seem to pity her. Perfect. "Roe! Get in the room!" "No! I don’t want to! Please, don't make me go back in!" She protested and "struggled" against her grasp as she was dragged into the murder scene. The man she slept with hours before her "friend's" arrival had his head blown into smithereens. The woman she dragged in had her insides spilling out of her. She was a known sex offender with quite a racist profile, she would rape people of color and either cry wolf or torture them. Both were shot with a shot gun at close range, which is why the scene was so messy. "Roe, take the shotgun and hid it somewhere." "Please, please don’t make me do this." "We are already in too deep, you are now an accessory of murder. If you want to ever see your granddaughter again, we need to clean this up." Roxxanne looked passed her friend and saw and undercover cop car, parked outside. Roxxanne vehemently shook her head side to side, but her "friend" shoved the gun in her hands and shoved her out the door. Roxxanne shivered and shook as she descended the motel stairs with a shotgun cradled into her arms. Suddenly a man appeared in front of her and covered her mouth. She "jumped" and bit the inside of her cheeks to start the water works. "Okay miss I need you to- wait calm down, look I'm an undercover cop, not some bad guy look. Here is my badge. Everything is going to be fine now. We got witnesses that can testify for your innocence. You’re not in trouble." Roxxanne nervously shook her head and "complies" with the police. He took the gun away from her arms and told her to go to his colleague and pointed at the undercover car she spotted in the window. She agreed. --- That day her “friend” was instantly arrested and was sentence to life imprisonment. “Roe” came by and visited that friend for 3 months. Roe kept this friend sane and happy. For it was Roe who told this friend about her cheating husband, for it was Roe that was with her through the toughest times of her marriage. This friend talked to Roe everyday she was in prison through a phone and glass. In a short while, this friend looked forward to the everyday, mundane transpires of Roe. Everyday she waited for her to come back. Until one day she didn’t. This friend waited for hours, then days, then a week. This friend asked one of the guards what happened to Roe. They informed her that her friend “Roe” was assaulted last week and died just outside the prison. That friend got emotional really quick. The following week after being informed, she challenged and fought many inmates. By the next week her “friend” was found dead in her cell with no one cause how she died. The official cause of death statement: depression. Just like Diane. "Roe" disappeared neatly off the census and so was her “friend”. Roxxanne was on her driveway, garage open, smoking a big, fat cigar with a margarita on the side and sunglasses. Her strawberry blonde hair was dyed lighter and bit more pink. She puffed hazy air, relishing on the high she was on, lounging on a chair. She tapped the singe off in the designated jar that was placed on a cooler along with her drink. Although this game was quite messy, she killed three birds one stone. The void in her chest seemed to shrink, it almost made her feel complete, but previous attempts told her this was only a temporary bliss. 6 months, this game lasted her 6 months. 3 for the husband, and 3 for her "friend". She honestly thought the game would last longer; she overestimated her targets. She was always down for the long game. She had the time, money, and patience. For a 63-year-old she didn’t look a day over 50. Or at least that what she told herself. She was obsessed with a few things in life. One of them was beauty. She wanted to look young even though she did not feel young at all. Personally, if she had the option to choose, she would rather feel young than look, but she hasn't felt young since she lost her husband, so she could only go for the next best thing: looks. She was also obsessed with pushing people to their own toxicity. It didn’t really matter who, but she still has morals so she tries to aims this obsession to the disgusting people of the world. Finally, she was obsessed with- "Ah gee, Rick, we- we need to clean this up before mom gets home!" "Sh...ut up Mooorty. I... I've... You k-know what, just don't think about it. I al... always have a p-plan." A blue haired scientist just crash landed on his own house, burping through his sentence with alcohol splayed on his face. Beside him was a young brown-haired boy hunched shoulders looking at his grandfather nervously. The space craft skidded on top of their house and into their driveway. Thankfully for Rick it didn't crash into the garage, but the vehicle itself looks worse for wear. Oh, and the roof. Roxxanne took a sip or her margarita as she watched the Smith duo from afar. Her shades displayed nothing abnormal on the outside, the world oblivious to her actions. The scientist grabbed a familiar box and pressed the button. "Hi I'm Mr. Meeseeks!" "Mr. Meeseeks, repair the roof." "Can do!!" The blue humanoid immediately began the process of repairing the roof. Rick ordered Morty to pick up the metal scraps scattered on the driveway from the space craft. With only very little resistance, he agreed, and the blue haired man took off his lab coat and start fixing his hovercraft. The woman sighed and took off her sunglasses. The Smith house disappeared as she did so. Her eyes gazed around the neighborhood she actually lived in. Generally, a better-looking neighborhood than the Smith family. It was more well-kept, a bit more pretentious, and still a suburbia: the grass was a bit greener, the streets were well paved with no cracks, and the sidewalks were clean. She was a few blocks down from where the Smith family lived. She stretched in her chair before moving to place everything back in her garage. In her driveway was a posh looking car and inside the garage was a motorcycle. "Great aunt Roxx?" She stopped briefly and looked at the person who called her. She smiled and continue to pack up as she replied. "Yes, sweet pea?" "Can my friends and I stay over your house for a study session?" "No problem, just tell me the date." "Thanks grandma!" "No problem, Jessica." Once the teenage redhead left back inside her house, she finished packing. Smoking the last of her blunt, she also downed her margarita like it was a shot. The sunglasses she took off hanged on the shirt near her chest. She took a brief look back at the Smith house and saw the same scenario. She took the glasses off and placed them in a cabinet in her garage. The garage was well maintained and clean. One half was dedicated to her tinkering or self-repair for vehicles, while the other hosted her joy ride. She closed the garage door and entered her two-story house through the garage. In this dimension, she never met Rick. In this dimension she didn't meet Diane. In this dimension she never had a Beth. In this dimension, she didn't have anyone. Not until she got an invitation to a funeral. A funeral of her apparent older sister by a few years. She went out of curiosity, and met her grandniece, Jessica. Memories, probably suppressed by this Roxxanne's body, flooded into her. She had a family? In this dimension, she never found anyone who could keep up with her, thus making her all alone. In this dimension she was smart, too smart for her own good. She was a successful business woman, did time in the army, and loved to tinker with improbable science ideas. This dimension was almost an exact mimicry of her own, the only difference… The only difference was she had no relation to the Smith family. Her consciousness, after she died in her original body, rerouted her to this dimension. To be honest she was ready to start over, turn a new leaf, be a better person. Sure, she had an estranged family, but this was her chance to reconnect. In addition, she could be herself and not act in front of them because they didn’t know her. The set up was perfect. Yet, it all came crashing down when she saw a familiar family at a grocery store a month after.

She knew then, this was the catch and she was too curious for her own good.

What was this Rick like? Was he good? Was he Evil? Was he bad? Old habits die hard. Yes, she had one more obsession. She was obsessed with Rick Sanchez. This Rick was one of the terrorist Ricks. One of which she blamed for the destruction of a few multiverse. /She had a Rick once/ Rick SW-33T. /She had a Rick once/

And this was not her Rick.

#rickandmorty #rick and morty #rick sanchez #Rick x oc #oc background #Rick x roxxanne #roxxannerivas #roxxanne rivas #toxic behavior #multiverse Roxxannes #short story #snippets #stories #rick and morty fanfiction #fanfic #fanfiction #related to jessica #General Arc 7 RaM

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theheartofpenelope · 5 years

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Simple Things : Chapter Seven

Chapter seven- excerpt : Tom would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t contemplate on Sadie as being a potential love interest. His heart was open, his mind curious for new possibilities. He enjoyed the fact she carelessly linked her arm through his before heading outside. She did not seem to take notice of paparazzi or photographers. Or did she?

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Chapter Seven Malmö - Ystad versus London

1. Malmö to Ystad (Sweden)

Charlotte absent-mindedly rubbed the creases out of her black dress pants, her eyes looking outside without really seeing any of the scenery that flashed by the windows of the black and yellow taxi.

The seminar had been another exquisite yet exhausting experience. And her biorhythm was now slowly but surely - and very clearly so - catching up with her; demanding more rest and meals at set hours. The steady cadence of the car thudding over the aqueduct lulled Charlotte into a sleep she could no longer fight off, despite her best efforts. She slouched back in the taxi and closed her eyes ‘for a bit’ as the driver skilfully guided her out of from the city of Malmö and towards Ystad in Sweden. It had been Tom’s suggestion. “You’ll love it there, you’ll see,” he’d vouched, “away from the busy city, closer to nature.”

If her brother would see her now he’d tease her relentlessly; fatigue had won her over and easily conquered Charlotte’s quite stubborn and ever-present inner control freak. Or was it her trust in Tom that subconsciously offered her enough confidence to let go, if only for a little while...

He’d presented her with his kind hearted advice very casually and politely, open for her to take it or not. But diplomatically he might have gently urged her into following the proposition. In all sincerity an escape from the busy commercial and industrial centre of Malmö and a return to nature and to silence was very tempting for Charlotte in her current fragile state of mind. All she had to do was say ‘yes’, he concluded, and all the rest could be very easily arranged.

“A small town with little traffic, that offered a vast seaview. Beautiful and pure beaches that stretched out as far as the eye could see, ….” Charlotte had sighed and chuckled as she admitted that it all sounded so very lovely and perfect. Tom had smiled to himself and sealed the deal by simply replying that his publicist would make all necessary reservations a.s.a.p. and subsequently email her all the essential information. He texted her later on that he’d even arranged for a taxi to pick her up after the seminar.

No way back now, Charlotte.

After an hour or so the taxi pulled up on a deserted road. Charlotte rubbed her tired eyes, dusk was setting in but it might as well have been midnight to her. Sitting up straight in her seat, Charlotte looked out of the car window with clear hesitation. Not a town in sight.

“Excuse me,” she mumbled, “are you sure this is the correct address?” “Yes lady,” the cab driver nodded as he collected the fare, “your address there!”

Stepping out of the car, the effect of the scenery suddenly caught up with her. And in full force. Charlotte was clueless where the sea was, but felt the iodine hit her lungs immediately. The air was cold, a lot cooler than in Malmö. She’d heard a thing or two about the polar air, but never expected to experience it in the summertime. The heatwave wasn’t hitting Sweden as hard as Germany obviously.

Uncertain on where she was exactly heading, Charlotte took a deep breath before walking up the pebble stone path that stretched out in front of her, hobbling her suitcase along before trotting up the steps to the airbnb home she’d apparently rented. Well Tom’s publicist had rented it in her name.

The lights inside the cottage were on, much to her delight. That would mean the house would be warm, that she would have local company and possibly, hopefully even some food available. A bonus in every way. For lack of a doorbell, she knocked on the wooden door with curious courage.

2. London

The company went over their cues, the lighting, and the sound check. They paraded around the premises one last time before the moment of truth. The pace of his heart doubled its rhythm when Tom laid eyes on all the spectators some 2 hours later. Whoever said that stage fright lessened with experience was an absolute liar, he mused. Because he fell victim to it. Every single time. Again and again. This nervous flutter in his chest that kept him on his toes and would launch him into giving everything he’s got - and even more than that - for the sake of giving the audience their money’s worth.

But after performing that first line his rapidly beating heart would, without fault, slow down to a more serene pace and Tom could sink and drown into his character. It felt like returning ‘home’, to your old and usual ways from where one could just pick up and carry on...

It was difficult to explain, but the stage really did feel like home on occasions. Where the always unique energy of the audience welcomed you, spurred you on, sometimes even lifting you through the happy scenes as well as the emotional ones. . And on nights like these, where he would be on stage for a dramatic reading without any costumed acting he revelled in said experience even more. You would think it would come of as easy, but really it wasn’t. Performing a dramatic reading without acting off props or each other; it was a challenge. But a welcome one.

Tom could see one of his female colleagues swallow and close her eyes in trepidation. Oh, he’d been there before all right. Tom rewarded the young, blonde woman with an encouraging smile and softly reassured her she would be fine right before they were introduced and called up on stage, ready to be thrown before the lions so to speak.0

Her name was Sarah but went by ‘Sadie’. The director had dubbed her a rising star; “watch out for this one” . She’d just shrugged, smiled and waved it off.

Over rehearsals the two of them had quickly fallen into a comfortable routine. Sadie was very likable, very ambitious and very attractive. Let’s be honest here and call it what it is. With her long straight flaxen hair and her intense blue eyes, she could have walked straight out of a movie set. Surely it wouldn’t be long until she would be discovered on a larger scale.

She was a good actress, hard working. Though still somewhat green behind her ears, she dìd know - and very well - how the theatre world worked, yet severely underestimated the power of press and social media.Tom thought she was wonderfully naïve. She had boundless energy and went for things headfirst. She reminded him a lot about his younger self. And he was keen to help her on her way whenever she turned towards him for advice.

Their relation was casual and familiar. Their conversation always interesting. They just connected very well. They were on the same page, somewhat. Both understanding the demands of in-depth preparation for a role, of boundless reading, endless rehearsing and early nights in, the need to take care of your body to keep up with the long run of plays without falling ill... There were no words needed on the subject. So nice. And something could be there, Tom had pondered recently. However she was an untamed young horse, eager to experience and to travel, not nearly ready to settle down.

“You did good,” he mouthed to Sadie after her first reading that night, discreetly showing her a thumbs up. Delight twinkled in her eyes.

In fact the entire performance went well; the audience was mesmerised and enthusiastic. Tom enjoyed performing at the Emmanuel Centre, where he’d just pleaded the case of Dickens vs Tolstoy. It was an intelligent debate, where the authors spoke for themselves through excerpts actors read. It was a trip down literature history. A road in which he gladly delved. It triggered deep thoughts and founded philosophical debate. It was a project he could sink his teeth into, an opportunity he could not refuse…

3. Ystad - London

After the last curtain call Tom headed back to his dressing room. Well, walking on air would have been a more accurate expression seeing he was simply floating on the roaring applause of the audience that still echoed slightly into the hallways backstage.

A good night, definitely a good night .

He cupped his hands under the stream of cold water, before splashing the cool droplets onto his face. Although adrenaline did its part, Tom could feel exhaustion lingering in the background. Yes, he was tired but so very satisfied. And to be honest, quite happy as well that tonight would be a night where he could let go of all worldly stress. It was time for fun and relaxation, for drinks and laughter. A night for offering thanks and bidding goodbyes. But perhaps one goodbye would not be in the works, maybe not yet…

The ringtone on his smartphone broke his trail of thoughts and abruptly brought him back to the present. Towel in hands, he detected it was in fact an incoming facetime-request. And one he certainly did not want to miss.

As soon as he’d accepted the incoming call, Tom was delighted to see a familiar coastal scenery pass before his eyes again. Charlotte’s happy-go-lucky face suddenly came into frame. She looked better than he’d remembered, although quite tired. A sting to his heart.

“Oh, I hope I am not interrupting anything, but would you just look at that?!” Charlotte exclaimed as she twirled around a deserted and heavenly looking beach some 800 miles away from him. “I’m sorry. But I just hàd to show you. There are no suitable words for this…”

Tom was grinning without realizing it and chuckled when nothing more than words of praise continued to fall from her lips. She seemed so happy, nowhere near the broken little girl he’d calmed to sleep a few nights before.

Perfect.

“Best. Tourguide. Ever!” she concluded, “let me know when you quit your day job.”

“I am thrilled that you’re happy,” Tom confessed truthfully.

“I am beyond happy I think,” she chuckled before gushing, “Tom, it’s just - só beautiful here.”

Tom wearily sank down into a nearby chair. She had never said his name out loud before. She sounded so relaxed.

“If you think this is nice, you should see it in the winter...”

Charlotte fell silent, no more than a sigh tumbled from her mouth and then a small chuckle as she joked “I half expect Jussi to come running up,” referencing Henning Mankell’s Wallander and Tom lips curved themselves into an understanding smile before he noted the scenery blurred suddenly.

“Charlotte?” he frowned with a laugh, “Charlotte? Are you alright?”

“Hang on, I’m trying to switch this to a regular call.”

“It’s all right though,” he protested, “am I not allowed to see you then?”

“No, you are, it’s just…,” more rummaging about before she resurfaced with a silly, “hey” and a lopsided smile.

“Hi,” a broad amused smile on his part.

“It seems a bit silly that I called you now,” Charlotte cast her eyes downward as she shook her head, “this face-to-face and all,”

“I disagree, I’m glad you did,” he confessed, “I’d been thinking about visiting Ystad again. Now that I’ve seen I feel remorseful I’m not there right now.”

“You look tired,” he remarked, “didn’t sleep well last night?”

“Well aren’t you charming,” Charlotte retorted lightening-fast before playfully turning the camera back to the seaside with a chuckle.

She confessed she’d slept like a rose after his call and humorously added she hoped she’d at least didn’t snore. Tom chortled at that and a assured her she hadn’t. Her 2 following days in Hamburg offered her a reasonable amount of sleep. Her moral was better and the pressure of the media had diminished, but she softly confessed to feeling so drained now; as if she could sleep days on end.

“Nowhere better to do just that, than in Ystad,” Tom reassured her, “enjoy it to the fullest.”

“Thank you though, for that night,” Charlotte looked towards her feet once more and scrunched her nose. “For your concern, your patience.”

A slight sigh, she seemed so fragile and lonely again all of a sudden, “I erm - I tend to keep my vulnerable self firmly under wraps, you know…”

“That’s quite all right Charlotte,” he soothed, “I know how gruelling the press can get.”

“It meant a lot to me,” her stomach twisted into a tight little knot, “just wanted to say that. ”

For a second he wished he was right there with her, on that beach, where the sun was quickly making way for the moon and stars. Just to be away from it all. Just for a little while.

Tom contemplated his crazy thoughts, before declaring the obvious “I can hear the surf...”

Looking back up to the screen, Charlotte’s eyes measured his jaded form, his tousled hair, his slouch. She suggested that perhaps she just ought to stay quiet and let him enjoy that for a while. Tom let out a humm of approval.

“Are yòu alright?” Charlotte frowned concerned.

“Yeah, just…. tired,” he laughed at his own expense.

“Ah, the mystery blonde keeping you up, is she?” she jested to which he could only smirk, “now, now, I’m only slowly coming back to earth after a whirlwind of 5 to 6 years.”

“Are you sure about that? Weren’t you performing somewhere tonight?” came the critical but good hearted response.

“You remembered that?”

“Hiatus usually means doing nothing professionally for a period of time,” she continued, “safe to say you’re not good at it.”

“It had my name all over it,” he shrugged, “I couldn’t refuse.”

Charlotte slanted her head to the side, a small smile creeping across her lips, “something tells me there’s a lot going on behind that solid surface you’re presenting the world with.”

“Oh shush,” he chuckled.

Charlotte only suited action to her words, and on his smartphone he saw a beautiful crescent moon rising over a semi-restless sea. The sun was setting quickly. He imagined stars coming out soon. He imagined himself walking on the pebbled beach, with a sea-crazed Bobby running to and from him, momentarily side-tracking towards the water for a silly splash. He shouldn’t postpone these trips anymore he figured.

“I’m envious of you right now,” he breathed, allowing his gloomy side to break through his façade.

Charlotte kept silent, taking some time to reflect and try her best in remembering the exact words of an old poem her granddad had once taught her.

Timeless sea breezes, that for aeons have blown ancient rocks, you are purest space coming from afar…

Tom smiled as he heard her recite Rainer Maria Rilke. Yes, a trip to Ystad was long overdue.

A knock on Tom’s dressing room door snapped the both of them out of their respective daydreams. He apologised and explained his latest project had indeed just wrapped up that night and that the entire company was heading out for drinks in a bit.

Quick on her feet, Charlotte added that in that case she really shouldn’t keep him longer. She wished him a great night out and added the hope that he would start to enjoy his downtime from now on. She even made him promise, to which Tom could only laugh when he’d set eyes on her funny stern expression. “Sure, Miss Charlotte.”

“Good,” she winked.

Tom sat staring at the screen of his smartphone as it turned black.

Another knock in his door. Sadie poked her head inside, she was beaming from ear to ear, “c’mon Tomcat, are you ready?”

“Yes! Right!” he slapped his hands on his thighs, “I’ll be right out darling.”

4. London continued

Sadie was charming, endearing and absolutely gorgeous. Tom gladly rose to his feet to present her with his arm and escorting her back to the group. They all clinked glasses together that night before happily chatting on about the piece, the past, the present and the future. Before long he was caught up in an entertaining conversation with the lovely Sadie.

They talked about their future careers that night and while she revelled about stardom and could not wait for her big break to come, he felt deep down in his heart he quite enjoyed his downtime and treasured his privacy so much more than before.

Over the past fortnight tabloids had surfaced with photographs of the both of them strolling around the city. Take-away coffee cups in hand, her face beaming with pure joy while he apparently explained something. Tabloids ate it up: ‘Tom Hiddleston in love with mystery blonde!’. While the next day a different picture – from the same walk – would surface where he had a more solemn expression. Consequently headlines dubbed ‘Trouble in paradise’ as tabloids made up stories about absolutely fictional hiccups with family and management.

Tom would have been lying if he’d said he didn’t contemplate on Sadie as being a potential love interest. His heart was open, his mind curious for new possibilities.

He enjoyed the fact she carelessly linked her arm through his before heading outside. She did not seem to take notice of paparazzi or photographers.

Or did she?

The simple fact that she would be associated with him did create publicity towards her name. Publicity that was welcome for an aspiring actress, which he was very understanding towards. But the fact she kept on connecting with him…. was that for PR benefits or her own romantic benefit? Tom hated how this had turned into a question that haunted his mind, but reality had thought him a hard lesson or two in that department.

Sadie smiled and giggled and twirled faux curls around her index finger while she talked about modern dance and contemporary music. She awed over the fact that Tom had been all over ‘the world’ and seemed anxious to do so as well.

On paper she was perfect, on his arm however… something was missing. He could not put his finger on it, but he felt it nevertheless. With Emma's critical comments in mind, Tom considered whether or not he might have been overreacting. He was well aware he did need to open up or loosen up if he wanted to give anything or anyone a fair chance. However that was easier said than done. True, his mindset was open, he was sociable, interacting, but also to a certain degree. Just up until a specific point and then no more.

When the shared cab pulled up in front of her flat, he saw no reason not to take her up on her offer for another drink in the privacy of her home. She lived in a small yet cosy flat that overlooked Finsbury Park. A side table displayed a stack of magazines consisting of Hello!, OK!, People and Cosmopolitan as well as a range of programs for the local Theatres this season.

Tom took a seat on the small IKEA sofa while she poured them a couple of drinks. The apartment was clearly decorated on a limited budget, but very nicely so. When she suggested Tom to put on some music, he gladly accepted the challenge, he was more than eager to busy himself. However it did prove to be a bit of a challenge as Tom had no desire (nor patience) to Bluetooth connect to whatever internet playlist and Sadie’s CD-collection was quite limited. This was clearly a girl of the iTunes-era; he joked to himself. He rummaged around in search of a decent CD, when his eyes fell on the tabloid thrown on the floor next to the sofa. His eyes came across a certain familiar name in print ‘Charlotte Daniël, who is she and why you want to dress like her.’

Tom smiled to himself as he scanned the narrative that applauded her stylish summer outfits. He couldn’t blame the journalist at hand, she looked wonderful in the snapshots they’d published. At which point Sadie returned with 2 chilled glasses of gin-tonic, a dazzling smile and the promise of a lovely evening.

Don’t fight this Tom. Sadie’s lovely

Nevertheless, an hour later he already found himself on the threshold, saying goodbye.

Sadie smiled kindly and thanked him for a lovely evening and a wonderful collaboration. He good heartedly enveloped the delicate blonde into an amicable hug. And as they hugged, they lingered. The both of them. Lasting perhaps a bit longer than one should. Tom did wonder how her lips might feel on his. It would only take a little tilt of his head to find out, but he found he couldn’t or wouldn’t. It didn’t feel right. He apologised to Sadie for ending the night prematurely, blamed the fatigue and was on his way.

She’s lovely, but not for me…

And so he walked home in the sultry night, deep in thoughts.

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x ofc #simple-things

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lajulie24 · 5 years

Text

One Night

It was such a good prompt (“It’s too hot to sleep”) that I have to blame/credit @otterandterrier at least partially for this one. As well as whoever decided to put shirtless Han Solo in the comics.

“Ugh.” Han shuddered slightly as he checked the window for bugging devices, wiping a handful of grime and dust on the side of his pants. “Kinda missing that ditch we slept in last night right about now. This side’s clear.”

Leia was checking the wall on the other side for any strange hollows. It was unlikely the Empire would bother to bug what was essentially a flophouse, but one never knew. And neither of them was really up for more surprises after the day they’d had. “Clear here, too. What’s wrong, this not up to your royal standards?” she asked, turning one of his usual barbs back on him.

Han gave her a little bit of a smile, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead. “Believe that’s my line.”

Leia surveyed the room again, this time from a practical rather than an espionage standpoint, and shrugged. “There’s running water. A shower. A bed,” she pointed out.

She nearly laughed out loud at the look of disgust Han was giving the bed. “You don’t wanna know what’s gone on in that—“

“I think we both know what’s gone on there,” Leia interrupted, raising her eyes toward the rhythmic squeaking sounds coming from the room above them. She shrugged again. “It’s one night.”

Han turned from surveying the bed to surveying her, a look of curiosity on his face. A year ago, this kind of conversation would have gone the other way around, with Leia mildly disgusted at their situation and Han treating it like standard operating procedure. Maybe her time in the field had changed her more than she thought.

Honestly, Leia wasn’t exactly thrilled at the prospect of this place either, but they didn’t have much choice. They’d finally gotten those Imperial agents off their trail, but it wasn’t safe for them to be skulking around the city streets after sundown. And after being on the run for nearly two days straight, sleeping in shifts, they definitely needed a place to rest. Even if it was this place, run down, dingy, vaguely mildew-smelling, and hotter than balls, as the Rogues would say.

Oh yes, that was the other issue. They had managed to come during a heat wave on planet that, combined with more than 90% humidity, had every enclosed space feeling like a sauna. Han had already stripped off the jacket he’d been wearing when they arrived, and had his shirt partially unbuttoned, fanning himself with it.

For a moment, Leia flashed back to last night when they were putting up their temporary shelter, the sight of Han’s shirt damp with sweat as he pounded in the stakes, but she swatted that thought away as quickly as it came. Not helpful, Organa. Focus.

The room also had an in-room chiller unit, thank the Goddess, and Han had it on and turned up full blast in minutes. Leia joined him, and they both stood silently in front of the vent for a while, letting the cool air wash over their chests and bending down to let it hit the backs of their necks. Leia felt little hairs rise all over her body as the cooler air met the perspiration on her skin.

Han was looking over at her. “One good thing,” he allowed, and she smiled back at him.

The squeaking upstairs stopped abruptly, punctuated by a loud groan. “Guess they’re done,” Leia said matter-of-factly.

Han laughed, “Guess so. You want first shower?” he asked.

“Sure.”

The water wasn’t exactly cold, but the shower felt heavenly, washing away two days’ worth of sweat and grime and Goddess knows what else. The sight that greeted Leia as she emerged from the ‘fresher, however, was rather dismaying: Han bent over the chiller unit, fiddling with the controls, alternating between cursing and bargaining with it in Corellian, not unlike his conversations with the Falcon when it was malfunctioning.

“Oh, no,” she said, rushing to his side. “What happened?”

Han looked up at her and did a bit of a double take, and Leia felt a wave of self-consciousness. She’d left her hair down but pulled back, planning to rebraid it in front of the chiller while Han took his shower. She normally didn’t let it down in front of—well, anyone, but the last few days had been decidedly not normal, and she hadn’t really thought about him seeing her hair down before they switched places.

Han had quickly moved on, however, going back to scowling at the chiller unit. “Damned blower quit all of a sudden,” he said.

“You want me to take a look?” Leia asked. She was no mechanical genius, but she’d read enough repair manuals and fixed enough things in the field that sometimes she could see a solution when others got stuck. Plus, she could tell that Han was on the verge of employing percussive maintenance, which wasn’t likely to end well for him or the chiller.

“Ah, think it’s probably toast, but knock yourself out,” he said, straightening up. His eyes lingered briefly on her wet hair again, and he looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it and silently stalked back to the ‘fresher to cool down in the shower.

By the time Han got out, Leia had made three fruitless attempts at repairing the unit, rebraided her hair, and finally managed to pry open the window Han had checked earlier.

Despite the sun finally going down, the heat in the room had ticked up again, and the cooling effects of Leia’s shower were beginning to diminish. Her temperature level was not helped by seeing Han exit the ‘fresher in his undershirt and pants, the v of his neckline revealing that bit of chest that had distracted her earlier.

Organa. Get it together.

“No dice?” he asked, though he seemed to already know the answer to that question.

“You were right,” she said, “it’s toast.”

“It was nice while it lasted,” Han said. “You tried.”

Leia rolled her eyes at that and sat down on the bed. “That’s going to be on my memory stone,” she said. “She tried.”

He sat down next to her. “Don’t be writin’ that just yet, yeah?” he said softly. The look on his face reminded her that they’d had a number of close calls over the last two days. Close even for them.

She smiled back. “Yeah.”

“Made it, though. So far,” he added quickly, like he was trying to keep from jinxing them. He probably was; as much as Han claimed not to believe in things like destiny, the Force, what have you, he had a bit of a superstitious streak.

“So far,” Leia agreed. Their main objective at this point was to make it back to base without being captured; Chewie had already transmitted the data they’d gathered back to the Alliance when he’d reached the Falcon. Now they just had to wait until they could meet up with him again in the morning.

Goddess, it’s hot in here. Leia tucked a piece of hair back into her braid, fanning the back of her neck to at least get some air moving. Beside her, Han ran a hand through his wet hair, a few droplets hitting her shoulder.

“Should try to get some rest,” he said, another reversal of their usual dynamic. Usually she was the one who went straight to the business of the mission, what they had to do.

“Yeah,” she agreed, but remained still. She was exhausted, but that wasn’t what had stopped her. There was something different in the air. It felt like they were both waiting for something, or that something had been waiting for them, and they had finally stopped running long enough for it to catch up.

They looked at each other for a long moment, and Leia felt her heart skip a beat. Sounds drifted in from the street outside, but otherwise, the room was silent. No one moved.

Then Han shifted slightly, turning towards her, and the bed made a pronounced squeak that seemed to break whatever spell had briefly fallen over the two of them. They both turned back to face the center of the room instead of each other.

Han cleared his throat. “I can take the floor,” he offered. “If you want more space. ‘Cause—the heat.”

“You don’t have to—er, probably a good idea,” Leia amended, suddenly picturing them side by side in the bed, trying not to touch or create any more body heat. And she had been the one who had been more willing to sleep in this bed, anyway.

They’d turned out the light, arranged themselves in their respective sleeping spots, bid each other goodnight. The room was silent again, save the street noise coming in through the window and the sounds of other guests going up and down the hall.

Even in the full darkness of night, the heat had returned, snaked its way back into the room and enveloped them both, the cooling effects of the chiller long gone. Gradually, quietly, Leia had peeled away her layers of clothing in search of some relief, until she lay there in her underwear, feeling beads of sweat gather on the back of her neck, slide down her collarbone, form a tiny rivulet between her breasts. Prone on the bed, her limbs separated to avoid occasions for more sweat, she closed her eyes and tried to imagine something cold, or at least cool. Winter in the mountains. The wet tang of lake water on her skin. A breeze, a cube of ice, anything but this cloying heat and the man who lay sweating and shirtless mere feet away from her.

Leia lost track of how much time had passed; it felt like hours, but she feared it was mere minutes that she had spent sweating there in silence.

Finally, Han’s voice came quietly through the darkness. “Leia? You asleep?”

She nearly sighed aloud with relief. Almost nothing felt lonelier than being unwillingly awake while someone slept peacefully near you. “It’s too hot to sleep,” she said, sitting up.

He was sitting up, too, the ambient light from the window illuminating his bare chest. “Yeah. Need another shower, at this rate,” he said.

That’s for damn sure. “I’m gonna splash some cold water on my face,” Leia said, getting out of bed and heading straight to the ‘fresher, not looking at Han for fear of inspiring more images in her head.

The room next to theirs was apparently newly occupied; as Leia rose up from the sink basin, she heard voices, soon followed by a rhythmic pounding of the bed against the wall.

When she returned to the main room, Han was laughing ruefully. The pounding was on both sides, now, although the two beds were not at all in sync with each other. “New neighbors,” he cracked. “Water help at all?”

“A little. Wasn’t cold, though.”

He nodded in acknowledgment. “Think it’s a little cooler here on the floor,” he offered, and Leia noticed that he’d made a little nest next to his spot with the extra blanket. “If you want to.”

Leia took the spot he’d offered, and he lay back down as well. Both of them stared at the ceiling for a few minutes, not speaking.

Finally, Han broke the silence again. “Your hair’s nice. Down, I mean.”

“Thanks,” Leia said. That’s what he noticed earlier.

“’S okay that I said that?” He sounded unsure.

Leia turned so that she was facing him in the darkness. “It’s okay. I just—no one sees it down, usually,” she explained.

He turned toward her as well. “Alderaan?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

“Didn’t mean to—“

“No, no, it’s okay,” she assured him. “It—I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t trust you,” she said.

She could see a small smile curling up his lips. Not the self-satisfied smirk, but something else.

That feeling from earlier was back, the one that had made them both go quiet. Leia felt a bead of sweat run down the center of her chest. One of the rutting couples next door had finished, leaving only one set of rhythmic beats against the adjoining wall.

It was so kriffing hot. The last thing Leia should want was to even be in the neighborhood of another being. A few minutes ago, she was trying to avoid letting the parts of her own body make contact with each other. It made no sense, the strange urge she had to touch Han right now.

She turned over to her back again, trying to find a subtle way to cross her arms over her chest. She stared at the ceiling again.

“You okay?” Han asked.

No. Because it is hotter than Mustafar in here, this room is gross, we’re on a mission, we’re supposed to be sleeping, we’re just friends, but all I want to do right now is put my body on yours and kiss the salt off your skin.

Leia turned back over to face Han. Avoiding things had failed miserably so far; maybe a little honesty would help. She looked down at his chest, then back up at his eyes. “You’re—a little distracting like this,” she said.

He chuckled softly, his eyes staying on hers as he carefully moved a bit closer to her on the blanket. There was still a space between them, but it was much smaller. “So ‘re you,” he said.

“Really?” His admission surprised her. Leia knew he found her generally attractive, as much as he did any woman, but she wasn’t dressed up for a ball or taking a dive into a lake right now; she was sweaty and disgusting and sleep-deprived and wearing the rattiest pair of Alliance skivvies she owned.

He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “You’re a beautiful woman, Leia,” he said in a low voice.

Leia could hardly breathe. Something about the way Han said her name broke her, the way his tongue formed the L, the space between his lips as he breathed out the last syllable. She closed her eyes, felt every nerve in her body come to attention, breathed in, breathed out.

She opened her eyes, saw Han’s eyes still watching her. Letting her take the lead. Strangely vulnerable, lying there beside her in the dark.

Her instincts had saved her life more than once on this mission, as had the man beside her. Maybe it was time to trust them again.

Leia pressed her lips to his, welcomed his arms around her, let his sweat mingle with hers on their skin. It was so hot, too hot, it made no logical sense, but she no longer cared. In Han, she’d finally found the one thing that could give her rest.

#scoundressaturdays #han x leia #hanleia #star wars #leia organa #han solo #myfic #prompt: it's too hot to sleep #pre-esb kissing #it's too darn hot #but leia's feeling pretty thirsty anyways #long post

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jahaanofmenaphos · 5 years

Photo

Art by the awesome @tommieglenn!

Of Gods and Men Summary:

When the gods returned to Gielinor, their minds were only on one thing: the Stone of Jas, a powerful elder artefact in the hands of Sliske, a devious Mahjarrat who stole it for his own ends and entertainment. He claims to want to incite another god wars, but are his ulterior motives more sinister than that? And can the World Guardian, Jahaan, escape from under Sliske’s shadow?

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QUEST 06: FATE OF THE GODS

QUEST SUMMARY:

The gods have returned to Gielinor, but something is preventing the arrival of Zaros. Jahaan is enlisted by Azzanadra to help bring his god back to their world, a task that would send him into the harshities of the Mahjarrat homeworld: Freneskae…

CHAPTER 2: FRENESKAE

Freneskae. A place nightmares are derived from. A hollow, empty plane of existence, where life comes in the form of threat and danger, and where nature actively works against all inhabitants, almost maliciously. Colour is absent; grey rocks protrude into a black sky, looming over an ashen floor. The only vibrant colour comes from the crackling slashes of lightning that tear through the foreboding sky, or the scarlets of lava and fire, hailing from the heavens or slithering across the ground.

As soon as Jahaan reemerged on the other side of the world gate, he tested the air on his tongue, and quickly realised how abhorrent it was compared to the glorious oxygen he’d left behind on Gielinor. Thick and cloggy, a blend of smoke and ash, with a pinch of copper, he gathered the air was at least slightly toxic to his human lungs. Quickly, he took out the cowl from his backpack and fashioned it into a face mask, something that took away the worst effects of Freneskae’s atmosphere.

Between coughs, Jahaan called out, “Hello?”

There was no reply, only the continuous rumbling of his surroundings.

“Is anyone there?” he tried again, pressing the cowl to his face. The heat of the lava pools beneath the rocky platform he’d landed on radiated upwards; he didn’t know how long he’d last before having to ditch his armour. Figuring that was a last resort, he pressed on ahead, carefully starting along the long and winding path ahead of him, hoping that Zaros was close by.

Suddenly, a lightning bolt struck a protrusion of rock hanging over the pathway, causing large pieces to crumble and fall, the weight of them breaking the apparently fragile pathway in front of Jahaan. Shocked, he fell backwards, clutching onto the ground under him for dear life, watching in horror as his lovely carved pathway suddenly became a lot more difficult to traverse.

Once his heartbeat calmed to a steadier pace, Jahaan clambered to his feet and carefully edged to the gap, peering into the fiery abyss below.

With a heavy heart, Jahaan realised he’d have to jump it. Sizing up the distance between the rock-face was promising - it wasn’t all that far - but considering how the pathway just crumbled moments ago, he didn’t exactly trust it not to break again under his weight. However, there were no alternate routes.

Gulping, Jahaan walked back a few strides and braced himself.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Jahaan bolted forwards, leaping over the distance and rolling to safety on the other side. Well, the safety was only momentary, for the ground protested at the shockwave of his fall and decided to start dropping chunks down into the lava below. These breakaways quickly chased Jahaan up the pathway, causing him to scramble forwards until he reached the comfort of a larger, thicker platform to collapse on.

Gasping for breath, Jahaan peered behind him and saw the ravine he’d created in his wake.

“No going back now…” he muttered to himself, picking himself up from the ground and soldiering on.

Jahaan didn’t know how long he trekked through the natural hazards of Freneskae, directionless and suffering under the heat. He walked on, not exactly knowing where he was going, hoping to stumble into something of note sooner or later, before the temperature took its toll too much.

All the while, he could feel a… presence. Something surrounding him, there but never there. Something watching him, stalking him, but he dismissed it as paranoia in this alien world. Occasionally, he thought he saw it manifest into a faint, flickering purple cloud. But again, he dismissed this as a trick of the light, or an afterglow from the flames surrounding him. But without even knowing it, he allowed it to guide him through Freneskae.

To the east, he saw what looked like a carved cave opening, and that purple light seemed to be guarding it. Jahaan blinked, but there it remained. He looked away and looked back, just to confirm it wasn’t a mirage. Still, it did not disappear. He felt it calling him towards the cave, mesmerizing him. There was only a rocky bridge keeping the two of them apart. Without removing his eyes from the purple glow, Jahaan carefully edged his way across the divide and followed the orb inside the cave.

Inside, architecture seemed to have breached the barren, empty world of Freneskae. There were carvings here, patterns painted into marbleized floors. Properly constructed bridges connected each area of the large chamber, with chains for railings, and stairwells that went beyond crude misshapen rocks. From the looks of it, Jahaan deduced it to be a temple of some sort. A sanctum, not unlike the one Azzanadra mentioned he contact Zaros in.

Realising the purple orb was likely Zaros himself, he felt safe enough to call out his name again. “Zaros? Did you lead me here?”

Alas, more silence, save for the swishes of lava Jahaan could hear in the distance behind him. At least this sanctum was cooler, protecting him from the harsh climate outside.

Not wanting to leave anytime soon, Jahaan made his way into the adjoining room, wanting to explore further.

Inside this new vast chamber were four crystalised pillars, shining like diamonds in the dimly lit cavern. However, Jahaan only got to marvel at their beauty for fleeting moments before an ominous hissing sound echoed around the chamber, sending chills down his spine. Gulping, he ventured, “Z-Zaros…?”

The sound did not sound like a god, nor did it sound like anything he’d ever encountered before, a low death-rattle submerged in the sharp, violent hissing of an otherworldly predator.

Fearing the worst, Jahaan drew his swords and tried to calm his breathing as he entered a fighting stance, his eyes darting all around the chamber to try and pinpoint where the first attack would come from.

Haunting eyes glowed from the hollow entrance dead ahead of him, and before he could register what exactly was hungrily staring him down, it charged, spearing Jahaan to the ground. He just about rolled out of the way before it’s talons could rip his face off, not even managing to get a good look at the monster before Jahaan scrambled away, wildly swinging his swords in defence. Suddenly, a blast of magic smashed into his back, knocking the wind right out of him as he was thrown forwards, crashing into the marble pillar he’d admired so recently.

A crooked, crimson fist punched through the marble pillar above his head; Jahaan just about managed to duck in time, instinct taking over.

It was only after pushing off the pillar and gaining some distance between him and his attackers did he finally take in what he was up against. These monsters were the stuff of nightmares, like Freneskae embodied. Four of them, twisted and warped variations of the other. One a blood-red horror, contorted horns above its head. Another looked like it was made of ice, only nowhere as fragile. The next, purple with shadows dancing around its essence, its wings tattered and shredded. The last, in contrast, had rather beautiful wings, reminiscent of that of an aviansie.

One similarity linked them all, and it was their striking resemblance to Nex, one of Zaros’ most loyal soldiers, and a nihil by origin. Jahaan did not know much of the nihil - such creatures were not native to Gielinor, and Nex was the only one his world had ever encountered, as far as he was aware. He only knew them to be creations of Zaros, abominations forged from the warped life essence of other races. Extremely powerful, deadly pack animals. He’d have to take them on one by one if at all possible.

Shuffling backwards, Jahaan tightened the grip on his swords and braced himself for combat. As soon as he did so, they all disappeared back into the caverns on the wall, quick as a flash.

Wise to their charging tactics by now, Jahaan concocted a strategy. Well, ‘strategy’ makes it sound well thought out and tactical; this was more of a fleeting idea that Jahaan desperately hoped would work in his favour.

Readying himself, he waited, waited, until finally the crimson nihil charged him again - this one did not seem to favour magic, instead lunging with its dagger-like claws and a shrill scream.

In one fluid motion, Jahaan side-stepped its charge and spun around, the velocity of the twisting motion increasing the power of his sword swipe immensely. Before the nihil could turn or retreat, Jahaan had drawn a large gash down its back, causing it to wail out in agony. His second sword swung lower, aiming for the back of its knees, nearly cutting the limb clean off. The nihil staggered and stumbled forward, its patented charging attack literally cut off at the knees. It lunged forwards again, but buckled under its own weight, unable to cover much ground in the state it was in. With futility, it tried flapping its wings to gain height, but one remained static, while the other waved about weakly; Jahaan figured that he’d cut deep enough into the creatures back to break the wingbone, perhaps damaging the nihil’s spine in the process.

Not complaining, he raised his sword aloft to finish the wounded creature with a decapitating strike, but the sudden overwhelming coldness of his palms put pay to that. Dropping the blade with a shriek, Jahaan saw ice crystals splintering from his fingertips, starting to melt. Looking around him, he saw the ice sculpted nihil ready another charge. Shaking off the rest of the ice from his frozen hand, Jahaan swiftly picked up his sword and dashed behind the a marble pillar just as the next blast was fired.

He peered out behind the pillar, only to be met with another charge of ice that cracked his pillar defence.

I can’t get close to it, he concluded, dropping his swords and removing his shieldbow from around his shoulders and loading it with an arrow. Just as he stepped backwards to aim, he was startled by a roar to his left, and taken down by a barge from the avianse-looking nihil. Coughing, Jahaan quickly scurried back behind a pillar closer to the end wall, trying to collect himself. Okay, so they all do the charging thing. Right…

Seeing as the centre pathways seemed to be their dedicated charging territory - they ran from one hole in the wall to another opposite - Jahaan dubbed that a ‘no-go’ zone and focused on ranging from a distance.

The first few arrows were at least on target, but none of them connected with the nihil; its ice attack shattered them before impact. Then, an idea sparked in Jahaan’s mind, and he rummaged through his rucksack for a tinderbox.

The flaming arrows definitely gave the nihil pause, and any that connected with its flesh did considerable damage. They seemed to be frightened of the fiery ammunition hurling towards them.

So focused was he on ranging the ice nihil that he didn’t notice the crimson one that had crawled up to him until it grabbed onto his leg.

“SON OF A BITCH,” he shrieked, startled beyond words, instinctively stabbing the arrow he was about to load into his bow right through the nihil’s skull. Gasping for breath, he tried to shake off the vice-like claw that, even in death, the nihil had attached onto him, eventually taking to prising the fingers apart one by one.

After collecting himself, it only took a few more arrows to take down the ice nihil.

Two down, two left. Who’s next…

Delicately, he stepped into the ‘no-go zone’ in the centre of the room in an attempt to lure out one of the nihils. Instead of charging on land this time, however, the avianse made use of its beautiful wings and soared through the sky, causing Jahaan to duck and jump out of the way. The first arrow he fired from the ground didn’t come close to hitting its mark, and when he reached for another, he found the quiver empty.

“Shit,” he cursed, scanning the other side of the room to see all the arrows scattered out of reach. As too were his swords, which he’d abandoned in favour of his bow. Scurrying out of the way of the nihil’s blast of smoke - and instinctively tightening his face mask to protect from its choking effect - Jahaan unsheathed his dagger and tried to come up with a plan.

It’s high in the air, and the arrows are right underneath it. I wouldn’t stand a chance. Maybe the swords? Ah but how can-wait a second…

Peering out from behind his cover, he noted the grooves on the wall next to the nihil looked like it could provide considerable purchase, if approached in the right way.

Just like Al Kharid, just like with Ozan…

The words repeated in his head in a comforting chorus, and his plan was decided upon.

Without allowing himself another second to talk himself out of it, Jahaan shot out from behind the pillar and dashed across the room, too fast for the charging nihil to register him, and just fast enough to avoid being it by the nihil’s smoke attack. It tracked him across the room, and Jahaan his to nimble maneuver in odd patterns to avoid being struck, but he made it to the wall. Leaping in the air, his foot connected with a groove and he ricochet off it, propelling towards the nihil, dagger poised and ready.

With a roar, he buried the dagger deep into the nihil’s neck, and the two of them tumbled to the ground. The nihil leaked weird fluid from the wound, but didn’t seem quite dead yet, and not wanting to repeat the same mistake he made with the crimson one, Jahaan stabbed the nihil a few more times for good measure until its hissing stopped.

Shaking the gross fluid from the dagger tip with a cringe, Jahaan sheathed the little blade and went to pick up his swords. He reminded himself to thank Ozan for the rooftop parkour training as soon as he got back to Gielinor.

Suddenly, the room darkened; a hollow rattle was all he heard before he was knocked to the floor. Quickly, Jahaan picked himself up and dashed for his swords, positioning himself in the corner of the room, breathless and aching. His vision was greatly impaired now as the light in the room kept dimming in and out, as if darkness had become sentient and was working against him. The shadows had taken over.

This was something Jahaan was all too familiar with.

Clenching the grip on his swords tightly, he tried to strategize on the fly the best way to combat shadow magic.

He drew a blank.

How do you fight an enemy you can’t see?

Jahaan was beginning to panic; darkness wasn’t something he was overly fond of, especially when he shared the company of a bloodthirsty monster. Panicking did him no good, as in his flurry of rapid breaths and erratic heartbeats, the nihil landed a winding blow on his chest.

Doubling over, Jahaan all but coughed up a lung.

If I can’t see it, maybe I can hear it…

To its detriment, the nihil was loud, a constant rattling and hissing from its foul excuse for a mouth. Jahaan could hear it scuttling at the other end of the room, no doubt preparing to strike again, and soon.

Jahaan could only see its shadow in the low light.

So, Jahaan steadied his breathing, tried to drown out his heartbeat, and moved towards the centre of the room. He closed his eyes, sacrificing vision in favour of his other four senses, particularly hearing - a crude variation of echolocation.

The scurrying gave it away, encroaching faster and faster and faster - until it was upon him.

The nihil was fast, dodging the first swipe of Jahaan’s sword… but it wasn’t fast enough for his second. Jahaan slashed a deep gouge through its midsection, causing the creature to roar in agony. Capitalising, Jahaan lunged forward and buried his other blade through its torso, twisting it inside, before slicing upwards as he removed it. This proved fatal; the nihil was dead before it hit the ground.

Catching his breath, Jahaan laughed breathlessly to himself as he examined the four nihil corpses. That was until he was startled back into sanity by the marble pillars glowing and humming around him. Then, at the other end of the cavern, a small doorway with ancient patterns carved into it opened, the heat of Freneskae flooding inside… and the mysterious purple cloud greeting him outside.

After collecting his arrows and various other pieces of equipment he’d scattered about the chamber, Jahaan headed for the doorway.

When Jahaan emerged through the other side of the door, and had climbed a cliff face immediately blocking his way, he noted he was now at the top of what appeared to be a volcano, where ash fell from the sky like snow. But he couldn’t have been prepared for the type of creature that he instantly met with.

It was… humanoid, in a sense. A collection of large rocks tied together through the bonds of molten lava, some which spilled out of its mouth as it breathed.

Breathed… slept, perhaps. It looked almost... peaceful, clawing fingers clenching slightly as if it were in the midst of a dream. It’s eyes - eyes that were bigger than the entirety of Jahaan twice over - were closed. That was all that Jahaan could see of it - a large head and one hand resting against the mountain-top, the rest no doubt extending deep into the rocks below.

Jahaan edged closer to inspect, but the purple cloud materialised in front of him. In a deep, echoed voice, it commanded, “Stop!”

Halting in his tracks, Jahaan let out a deep, shuddering breath as he knew exactly who he was face to… purple cloudy thing… to. “Zaros.”

“Yes,” the orb confirmed.

Feeling the pain in his muscles serve as a sharp reminder, he demanded, “Did you send those nihil after me? I know they’re your creations.”

“I did not,” Zaros assured. “I promise, I led you the safest way possible to reach this volcano.”

“That was the SAFEST route? Are you kidding?!” it boggled Jahaan’s mind how the Mahjarrat ever survived this place. Not sure where on the purple cloud Zaros’ eyes were, he took for looking somewhere near the top as he inquired, “Why have you led me here?”

“It was necessary,” Zaros was not an entity of many words, it seemed.

The sleeping figure beside them clenched its fist, its head lulling to one side as it croaked out an inhuman groan. Looking towards it, Jahaan inquired, “What's it doing?”

“She stirs in her sleep,” Zaros explained.

“She?” Jahaan choked. “That thing in the crater is a she?”

“She is the elder god, Mah... and her dreams can be violent. We should talk elsewhere. May we?”

Gazing around them, Jahaan didn’t exactly know where this ‘elsewhere’ could be, or how it could be any safer than anywhere else on Freneskae, but he rolled with it. “O~kay…”

Suddenly, the purple orb shot towards him, burying itself in Jahaan’s chest. Crying out, Jahaan fell to the ground, and the world became black.

When he… ‘woke up’... Jahaan was…

Well, he didn’t quite know.

Everything was white.

Everything.

There was nothing around them, no volcano, no sleeping Mah.

Just… emptiness, and the purple orb of Zaros.

“Where are we?”

“Inside your mind,” Zaros bluntly replied.

Scrunching his brow, Jahaan asked, “How’d you get inside my mind?”

“Have no fear, World Guardian. I would not enter your mind without consent, nor could I. I have only brought you here. I am outside, looking in. We needed a safe place to talk where she could not sense me. That is all.”

“So we’re still on the volcano?”

“Yes,” Zaros gravely replied, “And when you awaken, we will have to deal with Mah.”

Zaros continued, as if he could read Jahaan’s mind (which in this place, who knew?), to say, “You have doubts. Know this - I will never lie to you. And in this place you would sense if I did. Therefore, whatever your questions, I would answer them.”

Jahaan couldn’t shake the terrifying reality of Mah just inches away from where his body had collapsed. “Are you sure we have time for a chat? I can’t really defend myself while I'm here.”

“Fear not, World Guardian. While we cannot idle here indefinitely, we have time. You have traversed this world for me; the least I can reward you with is knowledge.”

Well, that’s an offer I can’t refuse, Jahaan thought to himself, excitement building alongside his thirst for knowledge. A one-on-one conversation with one of the most powerful deities to ever set foot in Gielinor, and hopefully without this one being assassinated in the process. Where to begin...

The Zarosian religion was quite a mystery to Jahaan; he’d only really encountered it in the fanatical form of Azzanadra. He knew of the Empire, of the Zarosian-Khandrian War… but that was pretty much it. So, he started with the basics. “What’s your philosophy?”

“It is my belief that everything that occurs in life - both good and bad - should be used to forge oneself, to better oneself. If we give in to weakness, then we do not deserve the gift of life. Where Guthix sought balance in the world, I seek balance in oneself. One must strive to increase in power, but also in knowledge of how to wield that power. The younger gods have tended to fulfil only one of these things. You, World Guardian, fulfil both of these criteria.”

Jahaan felt oddly honoured, but he wasn’t about to let vague compliments cloud his judgement. “And what’s your plan? What do you strive for?”

Zaros did not falter in his reply, like it had been rehearsed. “First, I must obtain a new body and regain my divine status. With it, I shall return to my ultimate ambition.”

A worrisome remark. “...Which is?”

“I intend to claim my birthright and become an elder god. Only then will I be able to stand equal to the universe's creators and speak on behalf of mortals.”

Jahaan blinked. Zaros wanted to ascend beyond godhood? For the first time, Jahaan considered what Sliske had been saying about not blindly following Zaros’ commands, for he wasn’t too sure how he felt about Zaros becoming an ultimate power like that, a top tier god, with all the trimmings that entailed...

Hesitantly, he asked, “Why do you want to become an elder god? Don’t you have enough power already?”

“Not everything is about power, World Guardian,” Zaros’ tone was neutral, but assertive. “Power will mean nothing when the Great Revision is upon us.”

Zaros really didn’t help the image that he was an ominous being of darkness with casual comments like that. “W-What’s the Great Revision?”

“All in due time.”

Helpful. “And where are the other elder gods?”

“They are where they have always been since the creation of Gielinor. On Gielinor.”

On Gielinor? This was a lot for Jahaan to process.

Taking a deep breath, Jahaan decided to give Zaros a chance. No red flags had flown so far. Well, the whole ‘elder god’ and ‘Great Revision’ thing wasn’t all that comforting, but even so, he was inclined to trust the deity. For now, at least. He seemed to be honest, in his blunt assertiveness. “Okay, so what do you need me to do?”

Zaros then shapeshifted into the form of Guthix. “The power Guthix bestowed upon you before his death dampens divine magic and energy. It is my belief that this power will also shield my presence from Mah. If she were to sense me and fully awaken, that would have dire consequences... for everyone. Beneath her, at the planet's core, I will be able to create a new corporeal form for myself. I wish for you to take me there, or to go there in my stead.”

“Why’s it so important that Mah can’t sense you?” Jahaan inquired, still trying to wrap his head around it all.

“Mah is my creator,” Zaros explained. There was a hint of a sigh in his tone. “Without her I would not exist, but she is like a child. She is an elder god, the youngest of five. Yet the anima of this plane was not sufficient to nourish them all, and Mah was malformed. She was born without memory or knowledge, only instinct. After finally clawing her way to the surface, her first instinct was to pour what little energy she had into the creation of me and my companion. To her I was akin to a child's doll. She is mentally fractured, but I have intellect, and I could not abide her possessiveness. As soon as she started to weaken, I left. She will want me back. If she cannot have that, she will try to destroy me.”

Jahaan didn’t know how much time had passed since he’d been lost inside his own mind, but it had been long enough. A part of him was prolonging the inevitable, of facing whatever the consequences were for disturbing an elder god. Common sense dictates they would not be pleasant, and the nihil had already exhausted him. “One last thing… tell me about your connection to the Mahjarrat. I’ve only heard bits and pieces from some of your followers.”

“The Mahjarrat did not exist when I left this place, but when I first encountered them I knew instantly that we shared kindred,” Zaros explained, taking the form of Wahisietel as he continued, “Their name means 'the children of Mah'. Their crystals mark their divine origin. They were unmistakably relations to myself.”

He began to shapeshift and cycle through the forms of Akthanakos, Lucien and Zemouregal as he spoke. “I saw them as sons and sought to protect them. Divine creations are more fragile than you realise. Their race is the epitome of potential, but their fate is also sealed.”

Then, Zaros took the form of Icthlarin, a jarring change from the Mahjarrat mould. “Had he known what he was truly dealing with, Icthlarin may never have brought them to Gielinor. He tried to reign in their nature, and it was not long before one of their number broke free. It was easy for me to convince that breakaway of my superiority.”

“Who was the breakaway Mahjarrat?” Jahaan inquired.

Zaros took the leering form of Sliske. “Sliske.”

Rolling his eyes, Jahaan muttered, “Of course it was Sliske…”

Jahaan recalled the book Wahisietel had given him, about the soldier in the Menaphite Pantheon’s service who encountered Sliske in the wars of the Second Age. Icthlarin had stolen Sliske’s wights and sent them to the afterlife, something the Mahjarrat did not take too kindly too. The rest, as they say, is history.

Taking the form of Icthlarin again, Zaros continued, “Not all Mahjarrat chose to leave Icthlarin's service, but the few that remained did not last long. In a desperate final act, the desert god Tumeken devastated his own lands to discourage me. I was given pause, and ended my campaign. I realised that I had become what I was fighting against. From that point on, I slowly started to remove my presence from the Empire I had created. I provided the Mahjarrat with the means to rejuvenate themselves on Gielinor - something of which Icthlarin was incapable, for he did not understand them. And I encouraged them to be less wasteful with their rituals. If they were to become leaders in the Empire, they had to endure.”

“And what of Sliske?” Jahaan pressed. Despite himself, he had a vested interest by this point.

Again, Zaros took upon the mantle of Sliske. “Sliske's loyalty has only ever been to himself. When our goals align, he can prove useful, but his recent exploits are not something I can condone.”

“Do you intend to kill him?”

“I cannot stand as both judge and executioner. I leave it to those he has wronged to bring him to any justice they feel he deserves.”

A loaded statement, Jahaan found. “Did you want him to kill Guthix?”

“I did not,” Zaros assured.

Jahaan did not sense any hint of dishonesty from Zaros, though he did have every reason to lie. Regardless, Jahaan stated, “I believe you.”

“I am glad.”

Suddenly, the ground started shaking, causing Jahaan to stumble.

“Enough talk, World Guardian,” Zaros’ voice remained stoic among the quaking. “Though Mah only stirs in her sleep, her nightmares will manifest and attack on sight, and her cries of pain will cripple you. You need only survive until her terrors subside. Only then will it be safe for us to proceed. But first, you must choose whether or not to allow me in.”

Jahaan hesitated. “Come again?”

“If you allow me in, I can lend you my strength to survive Mah's onslaught. I will not go beyond what you permit, and will leave once she is quelled or should you ask it of me. Do not let me in, and I cannot help. You put both our lives in jeopardy, and above that risk the fate of the very universe. Make your choice. We are out of time.”

Well, talk about a loaded choice, Jahaan thought to himself, then realised Zaros’ could probably hear him. “Okay, go for it.”

“Thank you for trusting me,” With that, the purple orb shot into Jahaan once more, causing his consciousness to falter. When he opened his eyes, the blasting heat and rocky mountain top of Freneskae greeted him. Picking himself up and dusting himself off, Jahaan secured the cowl tighter around his mouth and nose. He could feel a burdensome energy churning around inside of him, partly tickling, partly aching.

Nope, I’ll never get used to that...

“So where are we going?” Jahaan didn’t sound all that enthused about traipsing through Freneskae again, but needs must.

“To a place I refer to as the Elder Halls,” Zaros’ voice echoed inside Jahaan’s mind, rattling with purpose. “I require some of Mah's elder energy to be woven into a new corporeal form for me to inhabit. This new body must be a dark simulacrum! A light simulacrum will reject my essence.”

“Okay, Elder Halls, dark simulacrum, got it,” Jahaan repeated in confirmation. “Lead the way…”

DISCLAIMER:

As Of Gods and Men is a reimagining, retelling and reworking of the Sixth Age, a LOT of dialogue/characters/plotlines/etc. are pulled right from the game itself, and this belongs to Jagex.

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#runescape #sliske #Azzanadra #zaros

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jamesbvck · 6 years

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change your mind | three

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Reader (Modern AU, High School!Bucky) Summary: Senior Year: the last year to be a somebody or a nobody. A chance to fall in love, ace that final exam and make memories. After a terrible first impression, Bucky makes it his mission to fix the mistake he made with the new girl. Will they get their chance? Warnings: swearing, fluff A/N: Let’s break the ice, shall we? :D Feedback in encouraged!

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The nippy November weather swooped in too suddenly. The morning walk to school was now accompanied with frosty grass and biting winds. The leaves were beginning to dwindle from the branches of the trees, collecting in large piles on sidewalks and in front yards. It was perfect that the cafeteria was open before first period so you could grab something warm to drink and a muffin then head to class. The cooler weather also gave you an excuse to wear your big comfy sweaters too. It felt like you were wrapped up in a blanket every day.

Upon arriving at school you made a B-line to the cafeteria. There were a few students sitting at a table scribbling in last minute assignments before the bell rang. You walked into the separate small food room and grabbed a paper cup, filling it with hot chocolate and capping it with a lid. To your surprise the pastries were of low quantity and there weren’t any banana chocolate chip muffins left. There must have been a rush earlier. Nothing else looked too appealing, so you gave the cashier two dollars before heading to your locker. You stripped off your jacket, hanging it up along with your backpack. The warning bell rang and you took your history books before locking up.

You weaved through peers to enter Pierce’s classroom, ducking out of the way as one of the boys in your class attempted to toss a balled up piece of paper into the trash while claiming he was Steph Curry, shooting a three. Placed in the middle of your desk was an untouched, fresh banana chocolate chip muffin. You tipped your head, eyes moving to see Bucky at his spot next to yours. His textbook was open along with his notebook and he was jotting down some words. He had his own muffin and a bottle of orange juice in front of him. Slowly you approached the desks, taking the muffin and sat down.

“It was the last one in the caf, figured I’d get it for you before it was taken.”

Bucky didn’t look up from his work, messily scratching out a few words before continuing on. You set your books down and nodded. “How’d you know this was the kind I liked?” You asked.

“It’s the only one with a purple wrapper. They colour code the different flavours,” Bucky finally looked to you, sleepy half smile lining his lips. “Blue is blueberry for obvious reasons.” He used the end of his pen to point to his breakfast item.

You nodded, flipping open your notebook to a fresh page. “Not to mention you’ve gotten that muffin every day for the last two weeks.” Bucky added a moment after.

The second bell rang and Pierce sharply walked into class. The door closed leaving two students stranded in the hallway and ultimately a detention for ‘being late.’ Pierce never seemed to give kids much of a second chance which made him more terrifying than he already was. You weren’t sure how you made it two months in. It wasn’t that his class was difficult, it was more of actually paying attention and writing shit down because the tests and pop quizzes were always so unexpected.

Silently you peeled off the wrapper as Pierce began his class for the day: World War 2, Cause and Effect. The class felt never-ending. You doodled on the margins of your notebook, half day dreaming and mostly trying not to nod off in fear of the wrath you would incur. Bucky stayed rather mute as well, only poking you when you hadn’t finished your muffin and he was clearly still hungry. He happily took the rest and inhaled it within two seconds.

“You will pair up and choose a topic from the list being passed around,” Pierce handed the girl in the front row a stack of papers and she handed them behind her to go around the room. “Tomorrow you will tell me your partner and topic, one topic per pair. Then you will write an 1500 word, double spaced one sided essay about said topic, cause and effect. How did this certain situation affect America during this time?”

You took the paper and handed the rest over to Bucky. There was a list: Propaganda, Art, Clothing, Women in Warfare, it went on in two columns. The bell rang for the end of class with Pierce instructing everyone to pick up their last test that had been marked. You packed up and rose, finding yours at the front table easily. A ninety-two percent was more than enough for you considering you thought you botched the long answer.

Barely down the hallway, a hand caught your elbow and twisted you back. “Be my partner.”

“What? No way.” You shook off Bucky’s hand, shaking your head.

“Come on, you’re like the second smartest person in class.”

Your brows rose. “Who’s the first?”

“Me,” Bucky said in an obvious tone. He flipped his test around to show you his ninety-six percent grade in red marker. You rolled your eyes. “So you know I’m not gonna flake on you.”

Bucky had a point. At least you could maybe get this done in an efficient amount of time. And you already knew him, you didn’t have to make awkward conversation with someone else.

“Fine,” you caved. “We’re doing Propaganda.”

“Cool by me. We can start on it after school if you want, no practice today and we can finish before the weekend.” Bucky proposed.

“Got yearbook with Peggy but after?”

He agreed, “Yeah, sure. I gotta watch my sisters so you can come over.”

Your stomach flipped with immediate nerves. His house? A library wasn’t suitable? Then again was he really going to drag his sisters to the library? That’d most likely be worse. So you nodded, mindlessly agreeing even though there was caution coursing through you.

You parted for second period and joined Steve in English Lit. He shared a lemon loaf his mother had made with you which was beyond delicious. Hey, at least there were more treats to calm your overthinking and Coulson’s class was a breeze anyway.

Your phone buzzed in the middle of class, a new text message popping up on the screen. Unknown number but you had a hunch. You turned your phone to Steve who confirmed your suspicion.

“Sam have your number?” He asked, you nodded. “Probably gave it to Buck. They have second period together.”

“Bucky and I are partners for a history project.”

Steve’s left brow shot up. “Really?” His voice trailed as if he wanted to say some more but he refrained.

“Really, really.” You punched in Bucky’s name as an new contact, swiping to open the text.

Bucky Barnes: 1423 Westmount Blvd. Bucky Barnes: Figured that’d be helpful.

Your eyes rolled, typing back.

You: Damn was hoping to use a phone book for reverse search.

You watched as the tiny blue checkmark popped up in the corner of your message. Bucky had his read receipts on.

Bucky Barnes: Do those still exist?

It was unclear how you got trapped in a ten minute text conversation about phone books, but it happened. Mr Coulson politely asked you to put your phone away which you obliged and apologized. You zipped your phone in your pencil case, feeling it vibrate against the desk with another reply from Bucky.

Your nerves continued to flourish in your stomach throughout the day. Yearbook motored on by organizing the pictures from school events and Peggy had you designing layouts for Thanksgiving and Christmas. You were one of the last ones in the room with Peter Parker finishing printing his high resolution photos.

“Those look great, Pete.” You scanned over some scattered pictures on the desks. “You have a talent.”

He laughed softly, awkwardly. “Uh, thanks! Think these are some of my favourite, too.”

You brushed aside a few seeing a couple snapshots of Becca Barnes. You smiled, recalling how Peggy said Peter had a crush. “Don’t stay too late.” You told him, heaving your backpack onto your shoulders.

Peter waved as you left the room, starting your journey to Westmount Boulevard. The walk was a little farther than you believed, definitely your full exercise for the week. You looked up and down the street as you walked. The houses were a little bigger than your neighbourhood but it was nothing like where Tony Stark resided. You counted the house numbers before walking up neatly laid stepping stones to the dark wooden door of the colonial home. The garden was immaculate and Bucky’s Jeep sat in the long driveway. You stood on the porch, breathing in before knocking three times. There was shuffling on the other side, the lock twisting and door opening. Bucky stood with a granola bar in hand, chewing.

“Hi,” he mumbled, sliding away shoes to the side with his foot. He was in sweatpants and a basic navy shirt, opposed to his jeans and green shirt from earlier in the day.

You stepped inside and removed your shoes and coat. Bucky took it and placed it over the banister of the stairs. You only got a quick glimpse of the Barnes home but it was like looking in a home magazine; rustic yet contemporary. It was perfect but did feel well lived in.

You followed Bucky upstairs. Passing by the first bedroom the walls were lavender and there were two beds on either side of the room. The second room had music coming from it and the B on the door definitely indicated Becca was behind the closed door. There was a master on the other side of the hall and finally Bucky’s in the back. He pushed opened the door revealing a rather tidy bedroom. He had some posters, a TV on a dresser and a PS4 connected with a game in pause. His desk next to the window had papers, books and his laptop. Bucky left the door half open, sinking down into his desk chair.

“Kinda glad you chose propaganda. Did a project on it in the tenth grade, too.” Bucky swivelled around to log into his computer.

You slid off your backpack, still a little uneasy being in the house. Realistically there was nothing to fret about yet you couldn’t help but feel out of place. You moved and sat on the end of his bed, unzipping your bag and took out what you needed.

“So,” you finally spoke. “I guess we should start with what is propaganda and how was it conveyed to the public.”

“Radio, television, leaflets, posters,” Bucky listed. “It portrayed a way Americans should think and see of the war, a way to persuade opinions.”

You wrote as Bucky rambled. Surprisingly it was good enough to form a base of the essay hitting basic points and facts. He pulled up Victory Poster images and Careless Talk counterparts; know about the war, help your husbands, brothers and sons, talk about the war yet be cautious of spies. He knew a lot of stuff. You had moved to sit on the floor, back pressed against the bed as you used your knees to hold up your notebook and write. This was going way more smoothly than you could have imagined.

Bucky faced you, feet up on his bed as a footrest. He tossed a hand exercise ball up into the air and caught it a few times. He stopped, glancing over to the door. You followed his gaze seeing a smaller human hovering just outside in the hallway.

“Come here, Jules.”

The door was pushed opened slightly more revealing the littlest Barnes. Her dark hair waved down just past her shoulders, eyes sharp blue just like Bucky’s. She had her math workbook hugged to her chest and a pencil in hand. She looked sweet but shy and suddenly you felt bad for making her feel like that in her own home. She eyed you closely while she crossed the room to her brother.

“This is Julia,” Bucky introduced. “My most normal and favourite sister.” He proceeded to introduce you and Julia gave a wave before showing Bucky her math homework she needed help with. “I’m going to help her with this for a sec.”

It really wasn’t an issue. If it were you, you’d choose to help an angel face like Julia before anything else. You slid your textbook to yourself, flipping through the pages.

Julia sat on Bucky’s lap, showing him the fractions she had to calculate. You couldn’t help but watch for a few moments. Bucky was a natural teacher explaining to her the numerators and denominators, and how to simplify the equations.

“How many times does two go into two?” Bucky asked.

“One.” Julia’s voice was soft and small.

“Right! And how many twos go into six?”

Julia took a moment and used her fingers to do quick math. “Three.”

Bucky picked up her pencil and scribbled down some numbers. “So it’s one over three. Do you wanna do another one?”

She nodded and they proceeded to practice two more equations before Julia felt confident enough to continue on her own. Bucky promised that after dinner he’d look over the rest of her work although he was certain all the answers would be correct. She hopped off his lap, the tiniest satisfied smile on her face.

She skipped to the door before turning back around. “Can I go get a cookie?” She asked Bucky.

“Only if Abby doesn’t see, and bring us one.”

Julia nodded frantically before taking off down the hall and stairs. You laughed lightly, turning back to look at Bucky.

“How old is she?” You asked.

“Ten,” he replied. “She’s a little shy at first but she’s great. A funny kid.”

“Abby is your other sister?”

He nodded. “She must be in the den or something. She just turned thirteen and she’s been arguing with my parents how she should have her own room like Becca.”

Julia was dashing back into the room in no time. She handed you a chocolate chip cookie and one to Bucky as well. “She didn’t see!” Julia mumbled through cookie bites. Her and Bucky exchanged a high five before she was bustling out of the room again.

Perhaps you sized Bucky up too quickly, or maybe there were two sides to him. There was the Bucky that pulled you out of the haunted house when you were scared, the guy who bought you a damn muffin and helped his little sister with homework. But then there was the other Bucky, the drunk side who was a douche and the athlete that knew he was hot shit at school. You couldn’t decipher him, he was a puzzle.

“Mommy’s home!” Julia called out. You could hear her feet stamp down on the steps as she ran downstairs again. Bucky glanced towards the door again and you felt the nerves return to your body.

“I should go. I think we have enough stuff that I can start an outline.” You mumbled, closing your books and shoved them into your bag. You’d only been there just over an hour but there was progress made.

Bucky shook his head, “You don’t have to go.”

You turned your back to him, slinging your bag over your shoulder. “I’ll do the outline then we can finish it another night.”

A quiet sigh breathed from behind you. Bucky had stood up to walk you downstairs. “Can’t do tomorrow. How about after the game on Friday?”

“You sure? Won’t you be tired?”

He shrugged. “Rather get it done before the weekend so I can just sleep it away.”

“Okay.”

Bucky grazed your arm as he went by you, opening the door and headed downstairs. You followed him, gripping the strap of your bag tightly. There were groceries being carried in by helper Julia and you caught a glance at what must have been Abby in the kitchen unbagging the groceries. Bucky handed you your coat as you slipped on your shoes. He stuck his feet in some sneakers and walked outside with you. The hatch back of a silver SUV was open, Bucky’s mother handling a few bags.

“I got ‘em, ma.” Bucky swooped in and scooped up the rest of the bags she had.

You stood off to the side watching the mother and son for a moment. Awkward was an understatement. Did you just keep on walking and not say anything? No, that was rude. Did you offer to help? It looked like Bucky had everything taken care of just fine. Your weight shifted from leg to leg, gnawing on the inside of your cheek.

“Hey, uh, ma. This is my friend,” Bucky hesitantly introduce you to his mother. She poked her head out from behind him, beaming with delight. She was short, maybe five foot four, soft brown long hair that framed her face pleasantly. She had those eyes, those blue ones that could brighten a day just looking at them. “We’re doing a history project together.”

You stuck out your hand to shake, polite smile on your lips. Instead Mrs Barnes pulled you in for a hug, surprising you but it was comforting and not as weird as you thought it’d be. She had beautiful smelling perfume on, something warm and appropriate for the winter weather approaching.

“It’s so nice to meet you, dear.” Mrs Barnes greeted.

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mrs Barnes.”

“Winifred.” She corrected. “No need to be so formal. Mrs Barnes is my mother-in-law.” Winifred took a moment to look you over like an exam, assessing you from head to toe. “James, she is absolutely stunning.”

Bucky grimaced, adjusting the bags in his hand. “I’m going to take these inside. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

You nodded, saying bye to him. “I have to go, but it was really nice meeting you, Winifred. Your house is lovely.”

“Come back any time. I usually make too much food for dinner since usually one of the boys are over. It’d be nice to have a new face in the house.” Winifred squeezed your arm gently, giving another friendly smile. You said thank you, telling her to have a good evening then started your trek home.

You missed your mother when you got home, already off to work. A note was left from her on the stove saying there was shepherd’s pie being kept warm in the oven with a few hearts and a smiley face on the sticky note. You pulled the casserole dish out and spooned yourself a piece, taking it up to your room for the night. Idly you ate and typed up an outline, though your thoughts reflected at your short time at the Barnes residence. It stuck with you how Bucky dropped everything to help Julia and then without being asked assisted his mother with the groceries. It was small things but nice.

You laid back in bed after showering and changing into cozy clothes, snuggling up under the blanket. You grabbed your phone off of the bedside table, tapping on the text message icon.

You: So… James?

You barely flipped to another application before seeing the drop down message with a reply.

Bucky Barnes: Yeah. Bucky Barnes: Did you think my name was legit Bucky? You: Could have been. Frank Zappa literally named his daughters Moon Unit and Diva Muffin. Bucky Barnes: Don’t think Bucky is that extreme.

You: Guess not…

You watched as the three dots popped up on the screen for a few moments then disappeared with another few seconds passing by. There was dead air in the conversation, or lack thereof. Truthfully Bucky didn’t need to reply back. School was in the morning, he was probably going to go to sleep soon anyway. Then the dots appeared again.

Bucky Barnes: My mom made more cookies. She said I gotta bring you some tomorrow and share some with the guys. Think she made like three batches.

You smiled.

You: Winifred Barnes, MVP.

You wondered if Bucky laughed or not. It was cheesy but it was nice of his mother to go out of her way to bake for his friends. Friend, you thought. He had called you his friend earlier. Were you even considered that? Your mind spun, too deep of thoughts for your tired brain. You texted Bucky saying you were going to sleep, plugging your phone in and set your alarm. Bucky replied; simple yet sweet.

Bucky Barnes: Goodnight :)

Peggy was smart and brought a blanket to the football game on Friday. You were both bundled up in jackets and shivering from the wind that crossed the field. Natasha had went to the food stand to grab some warm drinks for the three of you. The game was tied and you wondered how in the world the boys played in such crisp conditions. You could see your breath.

Natasha returned and handed you and Peggy hot chocolate pulling the blanket over her legs too. “There are scouts here tonight.”

“How do you know?” Peggy questioned.

“Overheard Sam’s mom talking in line.”

You glanced behind you, searching the bleachers. That was good news for the boys; a scholarship would be incredible. Everyone blended together and a scout probably would have wanted to fit into the crowd instead of being a distraction. You turned back as the offensive line came on. Steve had everyone huddled up to direct a play before breaking and getting into formation. They got a five yard gain, Steve calling another play shortly after.

You watched intently as the ball was snapped back to Steve. He scanned the field looking for an open man. Bucky was blocked and Sam couldn’t get a man off him. Steve went left, faking a throw in hopes someone could get free. Then out from the right a giant lineman tackled Steve, sacking him flat on his back. The crowd gasped, Peggy was immediately on her feet as Steve was motionless. Bucky broke through players, helmet off as he went to Steve, taking a knee beside him and a coach came onto the field.

Your own heart started to quicken at the sight. Natasha eyes were wide and alarmed. Clint was shoving at a few guys on the opposing team which caused a few shouts from dads at the stands. Sam was having a stern conversation with one of the referees, clearly not getting the answers he was looking for. Another minute passed. Bucky gripped onto Steve’s hand and slowly pulled him up to his feet.

“What is he doing? Is he staying in?” Peggy asked, slightly frantic.

Bucky patted Steve’s chest, swirls of breath coming from the both of them like they were laughing about something. Steve readjusted his helmet, calling back his team. Cheers erupted from the spectators as their Valhalla quarterback was back in the game. Peggy sat back down, still tense but there was a big smile of relief on her face. You looped your arm through hers, squeezing lightly for support.

Down to the last two minutes of the fourth quarter, the Panthers were only up by three. It was crucial to keep possession of the ball and let the time dwindle down. There was tension in the atmosphere. Your eyes darted to the scoreboard and back to the field. Time ticked and small plays were made. A quick timeout was called to regroup and gain focus. Encouraging cheers rang out, clapping and hollering. You felt nervous, this would be a big win and they would be first for the playoffs. You clapped along as Nat and Peggy did. The players took their positions, less than a minute left of play. They could run the clock but it was worth a shot to go for it, 30 yards to the end zone. The ball snapped back to Steve. Bucky was open and Steve drilled the pass to him. Bucky effortlessly caught it, feet motoring. Voices got louder, your heart rate increased hoping for a successful play. Bucky reached the 5 yard mark going to dive in— then a hit. He was taken down by an opposing player. Bucky reached out for the ball to cross the line and from your angle, it looked to be a touchdown.

The crowd was an exploding volcano; the bleachers shaking. You grinned, clapping excitedly at the unbelievable play. But that was it, it was unbelievable as the referee waved it off. The mood quickly shifted from happiness to boos and foul mouths. Your brows furrowed, looking to Peggy who was just as puzzled. Bucky had rolled back onto his feet and invaded the ref’s personal space. You could see him arguing, heated by the official call on the field. He was robbed.

Sam guided Bucky away from the situation, attempting to ease him down. Parents were outraged, the coach was having his own words with another ref but it seemed to be settled. The Panthers still won but it wasn’t the great ending they were looking for.

There was a hum of chatter as people descended from the stands. The little football town was in quite the uproar. You parted from Peggy and Natasha, having told Bucky you’d wait by his car. If he was in a bad mood, maybe it wasn’t best to finish the project now. You sat yourself on the edge of the Jeep’s bumper, shivering as you waited. You watched the parking lot empty of cars until there were only about seven left. Maybe you should have waited inside the school, he seemed to be taking longer than normal. Players retreated from the doors but none were Bucky yet. Your nose was cold and fingers nearly numb.

Bucky appeared a few moments later, head down, hair wet, and a slow pace. You stood up, fidgeting your fingers. A man approached Bucky causing him to stop and adjust the strap of his gym bag on his shoulder. They shook hands and the man began to converse with Bucky, handing him a business card. That must have been a scout. It had to have been. The man patted Bucky’s shoulder, another handshake before he went on his way. Bucky scanned the card for a moment before coming towards you.

“How long have you been standing out here?” He asked. “It’s cold.”

“Yeah, well, I wasn’t running around a field for over an hour,” you said. Bucky unlocked the doors, tossing his bag into the backseat. You climbed into the front of his car taking note of the leather seats and the pristine interior. The car even still had that brand new smell.

Bucky turned on the engine and cranked up the heat. You began to dethaw.

“Was that man a scout?” You looked at him.

Bucky nodded, handing you the business card. On it was the Stanford University logo, along with the man’s name and title. “Wow,” You murmured. “This guy came all the way from California?”

“I guess.” Bucky didn’t really seem too interested in it, at least not right now.

You read the card again, then looked back at Bucky. “I’m sorry about the end of the game. It was a clear touchdown.”

“That ref hates me anyway,” Bucky shifted the car into reverse. “His kid plays for another school and we got into it one game last season. Kind of ended in a fight.”

“Kind of?” You inquired.

Bucky half smiled. “Yeah, kind of,” he pulled out into the main room, turning left. “We’re going to your place. I’d rather not be in a house with four thirteen year old girls. Abby’s having a sleepover with her friends.”

You nodded. You weren’t in the mood to be questioned either so it was a good idea. Bucky seemed to know where he was going. Obviously he knew were Peggy lived, so essentially he knew where you lived. You continued to hold onto the small rectangular card between your fingers, soaking in the heat and watched the road. Bucky parked next to the curb, grabbing his backpack from behind his seat. You hopped out and walked to your front door, unlocking it and going inside. It was much more homey now; less boxes and pictures hung. Bucky closed the door behind him, heeling off his shoes.

“No one home?”

“My mom’s working a double shift at the hospital. Apparently two nurses called in sick.” You told him.

“Your dad?”

You stopped halfway to the kitchen. The topic of your parents hadn’t really come up before. And truthfully it wasn’t important. “Haven’t seen him since I was eight. Said he had to go out to the store one night and didn’t come back.” You found your footing again, going to the fridge.

“Shit, I’m sorry.” Bucky frowned.

“Doesn’t matter.” You handed Bucky a can of Coke and gave a half hearted smile. “Popcorn?”

Textbooks, notebooks and loose papers were scattered across your bed. You sat near the end, legs crossed with some printouts, highlighting important information. Bucky was sitting up against the headboard, typing away on your laptop using the outline as a guide. You and Bucky worked well together, you thought. You’d suggest something but Bucky would take it to another level of expertise. Surprisingly he was pretty good with written word.

“Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” Bucky leaned forward and grabbed a few pieces of popcorn.

“What did you say to Steve to get him back on his feet? The hit looked pretty bad.”

Bucky chewed and swallowed. “Told him that Peggy was already halfway across the field and she was gonna beat his ass if he didn’t get up. He just got the wind knocked out of him.”

You smiled, laughing softly. “She was worried.”

“Yeah I saw her standing there. He’s alright, though.”

You sighed softly, sorting through pieces of paper. You snuck a peek at him. His eyes scanned the computer screen, deleting and retyping a sentence a few times. His face was concentrated, mind lost in a deep thought. You thought back to that scout again, and the business card. It was on your desk. You wanted to ask Bucky what he thought about it; did he have other offers? Did he want to go pro?

Maybe you’d ask another time.

“Starin’ at me?” He lightly teased.

You shook your head. “No—uh, was trying to think of how the conclusion should go.”

Bucky hummed, placing the laptop beside him as he rubbed his eyes. It was a little after midnight, it had been a longer game due to all the commotions, so you didn’t get home close to 10:30. You moved away some of the books and papers, crawling over and settling next to him, pulling the computer to your lap. The document was already at six pages double spaced typed up. Editing still needed to be done and a works cited page, MLA format. You could do that on the weekend and hand it in on Monday.

“How does it look?” Bucky asked.

You hit the down key to scroll through. “Good, well, to me at least. Who knows what the hell Pierce will think.”

“He likes you, so he’ll like it,” he shrugged. “Me? Not so much.”

“I feel like there’s a story.” You saved the document, closing the laptop and put it aside.

Bucky had his eyes closed, head tilted back against the wall. It looked like he could pass out any minute. “Sometimes authority figures and I don’t get on too well. Tenth grade, Clint convinced me to skip third with him and I went along. The class I skipped was Pierce’s. We went back for fourth and he caught us coming back in and reamed us, brought us down to Principal Fury’s office. I said some shit that I probably shouldn’t have, talked some shit about how Pierce couldn’t even teach. Landed a three week’s worth of detention and probation on football. Wasn’t even failing his class.”

You listened, trying to imagine it and you could see if very clearly. It was apparent Bucky had a mouth on him, you had witnessed it at the party, him and Tony’s short squabble and tonight at the game when he got into the ref’s face.

“And now you’re back in his class.” You murmured.

“Karma, she’s a damn bitch.”

The corners of your lips tugged upwards as you dug your feet under the blanket. Bucky was first and then somehow, before you could even comprehend, you were out like a light. It was a solid snooze until the AM. The sun peeked through the curtains, a breeze rattling the windows. You rested on your side, nose touching Bucky’s arm that was draped over yours while he laid on his back. Wrists kissed and fingertips grazed.

This was… nice. He was warm.

Bucky’s phone aggressively vibrated against the mattress three times. For a moment he was still, lost in slumber until it occurred again. His fingers became vacant from yours, now only a memory as he slipped his phone out of his pocket. Slowly you peeled one eye open, vision blurred but you could make sense of Sam’s name and three text messages. You blinked a few times and Bucky opened the texts.

Sam Wilson: Guess who just saved your ass, yet again. Sam Wilson: That’s right, I did. Now you owe me 3 pizzas. Count ‘em: 3. Sam Wilson: Poor Winifred was worried sick, James.

Your insides rattled with silent laughter at Sam’s sass. Bucky ran his hand over his face, simply typing back a ‘yeah, yeah thanks’ to Sam. Then there was a follow up.

Sam Wilson: Where are you?

A low and slow exhale came from Bucky’s chest. His fingers hovered for a long while over the letters. Your eye shut quickly when he turned his head to look at you and you prayed he still thought you were sleeping. He was still for a moment, and from what you could tell he discard the conversation and locked his phone. Gently he pulled himself up into a sitting position, combing his fingers through his hair. Both feet set on the ground and he was hunched over. You rolled onto your back, stretching out as you normally would in the morning and yawned.

You had an urge, unsure if it was good or not, to reach out and pull Bucky back down. Just for a minute or two, yet you resisted. This had been an accident with both of you falling asleep.

“I should go,” Bucky barely looked over his shoulder. His voice was sleepy, a little dry in the throat.

“Do you want breakfast?” Your words came out before you could process anything. You didn’t sound desperate for him to stay, he didn’t need to stay. But… it was nice having someone there. You sat yourself up wanting to bury your face in your hands. “Say no, it’s okay.”

“I don’t really want to say no.” He admitted.

You got off the bed, straightening out your shirt and grabbed some sweatpants off your floor by your desk and your phone. “Pancakes. I’ll make pancakes,” you told him, trailing out the room backwards. “Bathroom’s here, by the way.” You pointed to a door just outside your room before disappearing downstairs. You changed in the downstairs bathroom, rinsing your face with water.

Your feet padded against the cool tiles of the kitchen floor. You opened the pantry and took out the pancake mix, retrieving eggs and milk out of the fridge. There was water running from upstairs and you breathed in deeply.

So, now Bucky had been in your house. Not just that but in your room, on your bed, slept right fucking beside you. It was fine, like you said an accident and accidents happened. Yet here you were now in your kitchen mixing together pancake batter for breakfast. You didn’t owe him breakfast. It felt like your head was going to explode.

You had a few pancakes made by the time Bucky came down. He had his backpack packed up and his jacket, placing them against the kitchen table. “Do you need help?”

“No, I’m okay.” You kept your back to him, flipping over a pancake.

The legs of one of the chairs scraped the floor and he sat down. There was silence; a sizzling frying pan and the wind continuing to howl outside. You wouldn’t categorize it as awkward but it was definitely some form of that. You were quiet, Bucky was mute scrolling through his phone to keep himself occupied. You weren’t sure if you should say anything. Was there really anything to say?

Once there was an good stack on the first plate, you brought it to him along with a fork and knife, and the syrup. Juice options were fruit punch, apple and orange but you already knew he’d go for orange so you poured him a glass.

“You’re like my ma,” Bucky said. “Always making sure everyone has what they need before they eat.”

“Is that a good thing?”

“Don’t see how it could be a bad thing.”

You finished making breakfast, taking the seat across from him. He cut into the stack, having four layers of pancakes stabbed onto his fork and shovelled it into his mouth. He was an athlete, he probably ate way more than the average human. Bucky still looked tired. He did say he’d sleep the weekend away so maybe he’d go and do that.

“I’ll finish the the end and conclusion and send it to you.” You told him. It was only fair since he mainly typed the entire essay last night.

“You sure?” Bucky set down his fork and looked at you from across the table. You nodded. He held your gaze as he took a long sip of orange juice. “Alright.”

Nerves. There were nerves erupting in the pit of your stomach, a pang but not like the one you had felt before. It wasn’t gut wrenching and painful, but it was still enough to make you wince. You phone vibrated against the table and you quickly picked it up.

Peggy Carter: Is that… Bucky’s car on the side of the road?

Oh fuck.

You dismissed the text and left your phone to the side. That text could be dealt with when the person in question wasn’t in the same room as you.

Bucky cleared his plate of food and got up, rinsing the plate and left it in the sink as you instructed him to. He was slow to pick up his bag and coat almost hesitating. You could tell he wanted to say something due to his pinched brows and lost eyes. You walked with him to the door, leaning against the wall while he tied his shoes.

“See you on Monday at school?” He asked.

You nodded, “Not sure where’d else I’d be.”

He flashed a smile, teeth and all. You pulled open the door for him and watched him go to his car. You stood with the door open until his car was on and he waved. Your hand rose, fingers wiggling with him driving on by. You closed the door, locking and leaned your forehead against the wood with closed eyes. You felt yourself sink and grow sad at the departure. Why? Why now? Just because you learned about him didn’t mean shit. It didn’t, it really just… You were lonely. Lonely in a house while your mother was at work and your friends all had other things to do.

You were lonely as you crawled back into bed seeing the creases of where he laid, and his fragrance still lingered. You tucked yourself under the blankets, pulling them up to your chin.

Lonely, you thought. You had been lonely from years, starting new schools, meeting new faces that all blurred together.

You didn’t want to be lonely...

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